Chapter 8

Really did try to live a normal life and stay in the present. Sure, I had reminders of my past, of the men that had most recently been a part of my life, but those were inconsequential. A tattoo of a ring of thorns around my right pinkie brought to mind my secret lover, whose hands were littered with vibrant tattoos, as well as the guy who enjoyed exorcising my demons. The sick bastard even collected different types of barbed wire. Very sick.

I also had a promise ring given to me by the nice boyfriend, but I never wore it, something that really got to him. What can I say? I was a bad girlfriend.

All in my past, and I was hoping to just go back to being a lone sulking girl in the corner. That would have been fine with me. Then my life turned another blind corner. Totally didn’t see this coming.

Alice and her mother had gone to some strip mall for something and I’d gone along. It was only a few blocks from my house, so when her mother asked if I could just walk home while she took off on other errands, I shrugged and thought nothing of it. It was a nice spring day, and my walk home took me down a couple of streets I’d never bothered exploring before. Just more junky houses and dead lawns and boring people I never thought to see again.

Except for the handful of guys washing a car and getting drunk and playing loud if kind of outdated music, as though giving a big middle finger to the average lifestyle all the rest of the neighborhood seemed locked into.

And just to digress for a bit, their choices of music varied from Miles Davis to Pink Floyd to Black Eyed Peas, all of which they played on iPhones or via a CD player or even an old turntable, like big black plastic records. Not that I cared or knew about any of that stuff. Music was never my thing. Only got to know this by hanging out at their place over the next few months.

So, walking past these guys and their antics and music, my experience being that even a glance in a guy’s direction could bring on unwanted attention. Then the shirtless one in wet jeans (Joe, though more commonly referred to as Jose, so I’ll keep referring to him like that) ran over and called out in a fake-sounding Mexican/Spanish accent, asking if I was hungry because he had a great enchilada casserole about to come out of the oven. Another guy who just happened to be a handsome hunk, Steve, immediately pulled this first guy back while waving me off and saying I should ignore his asshole friend. Jose immediately turned on Steve, saying in a more standard American voice that that he did indeed have a casserole and that I was welcome to join them for a late lunch.

Steve looked at me and shrugged and said, “Well, he’s not lying, and Jose here is a good cook. And harmless, so be my guest.”

I looked around, open mouthed, but since none of the neighbors were waving me off and I didn’t feel like going home, I went against all my instincts and took a leap. Steve and Jose and a third guy, a big quiet guy by the name of Raphy (short for Raphael to his great embarrassment) led me into their large two story house that was even more dilapidated than my own place. Mis-matched furniture, no two speakers or chairs or even plates alike, but relatively clean. I had no qualms about using the bowl and spoon given me, and the casserole really was good.

The guys sat around a big wooden table and talked, sometimes asking about me but also just accepting me, a total stranger, as a normal part of the group. To tell the truth, it was nice to be a girl amongst a bunch of guys while also being ignored. No, not so much ignored as just a normal part of the group without being acted on in a sexual way. I felt comfortable.

My cynical and paranoid and more untrusting side finally took me over and I told them I had to get home. Steve asked where I lived, Joe/Jose insisted that I come back sometime, and Raphy finally spoke up, saying something about some girl’s birthday party that weekend. Jose slapped his head, pulled my hand over to write down his phone number in case I wanted to talk to him at some time, and they all waved goodbye as I walked on home. It was the strangest thing I’d ever been accidentally pulled into, even more than that time I followed Jena home to draw Pokemon characters. And when I finally closed my bedroom door and had five minutes to think about it, I couldn’t wait for the weekend when I could meet all those guys again.

Mentioned my run-in with the guys to Alice. She acted amazed that I wasn’t drugged and trafficked to Mexico, but when Saturday afternoon rolled around, I put on my most laid-back jeans and top and walked over. It was so quiet in the house that I thought I’d made a mistake. Even walked through the house and into the kitchen, wondering if anyone was home. Found Raphie reading a book and drinking tea at that old table, and all he did is look up and say “Hey! You made it. Great,” Before turning back to the book.

Turned out that the party started mid-afternoon but that nobody would really turn up until five, and even then the real party wouldn’t get going until well after that. I actually went home, cleaned the kitchen, made a snack, told my mother I wouldn’t be back until towards midnight, and returned to the guys’ house about seven. Totally different scene.

Lots of odd people in varied clothing, totally focused on each other while ignoring everybody else. I walked in, grabbed some chips and wine from a cardboard case (Deanna would have been scandalized. She only drank something after carefully scrutinizing the bottle and place of origin) and found a seat on the scruffy couch. It was fun just watching all the people, checking out their eclectic clothing and getting a buzz just on the energy that filled the house. Before ten minutes had passed I thought it the most relaxing and enjoyable party I’d ever been to.

Anyway, met a bunch of people, from a creepy guy in a sports jacket to a woman dragging a little kid around who was hoping to find her ex- at the party. Only thing that mattered though was my time with Steve and with Jose. They’re the ones who most affected my life over the following few months so I should get right to them.

Steve mostly spent his time in the back yard, if you could call the collection of weeds and debris a yard. He was talking to a group of like-guys, all young men, when he saw me. He introduced me around, made sure I had something to drink and eat, and then peeled himself off to talk with a few others before returning to me. Did that a couple of times, but then he pulled me into a corner of the front porch and sat down and we had a long talk about nothing.

Nothing, meaning nothing real substantial, and yet totally about life and living and getting by. He seemed really interested in knowing more about me, like my school and teachers and plans for college and what I most liked about my mother’s cooking.

I was initially wary of Steve, but found that he served himself up with minimal bullshit. Treyvon was full of it, but in a fun way. Steve was sure enough about himself to not need it. I actually had to push for him to giver up some personal info. He kept it simple but not shallow, like giving clues about online college classes and a desire to see the five most sacred mountains in China. I didn’t mention that I was Chinese and he didn’t push it, something I really appreciated. We got into my background in later months but just then he simply accepted me for who I was without any assumptions of ethnicity.

The guy was totally smooth but without any of the creepy underlayer so many men give off, like when a girl knows the guy is trying to peel her clothes off with his eyes. Steve was tall, handsome, well spoken, and with an interesting air that made me want to see him again. Not in a romantic way or anything, just as a really interesting guy.

And the only time he ever touched me was when he got up to talk with a woman who’d come over to ask about something. Steve looked into my eyes and said, “Gotta go May. Really nice talking with you. I hope I see you again. Drop by anytime. Really.” He touched my shoulder and I swear I felt an electric shock just before he turned away. I had to stop myself from following him into the house.

Then there was Jose. He was intense, but he was always intense, like with far more energy than seemed necessary for whatever was going on. When he saw me on the couch he pulled me up, gave me a hug, went on about how Raphie had mentioned I had dropped by and how upset he was that he’d missed me. He finally calmed down enough to take me into the kitchen, got me another drink while asking if I’d prefer soda or wine or beer, and then pulled an old oven rack with string attached to two ends from the corner of the kitchen and told me to the music of the gods.

Pretty bizarre, but in a fun way. With others standing around and watching, Jose had me wrap the strings around my two index fingers and stick the fingers into my ears and close my eyes. Then he “played” the instrument by hitting the oven rack with different things, like a fork or wooden spoon. Not quite Beethoven’s ninth, but the different sounds filling my head were pretty unique. Jose said it all sounded better when the person was stoned. Of course.

Interesting point here, from the perspective of a girl. Guys always wanted to give me drugs. Alcohol and dope were the most common, usually wine and a blunt, but stronger stuff was pushed my way, and I do mean pushed. This party at the house was full of everything, the air in a back bathroom filled with enough smoke to get me high after only a quick pee. Yet not once did any of the guys pull me aside and insist on me joining them in a toke or a chug or anything. There was no pushing. Anything and everything was available, but only if I asked. It was a really nice change from other parties I’d been to.

Back to Jose. He’d taken me into the garage to show me a bicycle frame he was painting, something about fitting a three-speed hub onto a ten-speed frame, all of which went over my head. All of this led to his bringing up work and his need to get up the following morning at six and how he had to watch how much he drank and how his father was able to drink a half-case of cheap beer and make it to work and how Jose was a disappointment. His words remain with me to this day. We sat together on a low wooden bench in the garage, tools and paint and the bicycle frame surrounding us, and he talked to me as though I was his best friend.

“Yeah. My dad. Can’t fault the man, you know. Works two jobs, like sixteen hours a day. Can barely put together a complete sentence in English but can still make enough to support a family and send money back to Mexico.”

“So, you’re Mexican? Were you born in Mexico?”

“Hah! No. My dad’s English is way better than my Spanish. Born here, like my mother,” and here Jose crossed himself like a lot of Christians do. “She died, like after my youngest brother was born. Totally tore my father apart. He might drink on a Sunday afternoon, but the next day he’s off to work. Leaves my teen sister to take care of my younger brothers. Makes me feel like shit for deserting them, but I did that for years already. I had to get out and live some life on my own. Do you understand, May? I respect my dad, totally, but he doesn’t get why I need to do something for me. Am I a selfish asshole for doing that?”

“No, but I get where he’s coming from too. Single man, kids, bills. Needs you to help with the load. Neither of you has an easy path, but you’ve got to choose. Seems like you’re trying to straddle a fence.”

“Yeah. Just like that. I do what I can sometimes, like when my sister calls and asks for help, but I can’t always be there. Maybe he’d like it more if I spoke more Spanish. Can you believe I got a C in Spanish in school? He didn’t know whether to laugh or hit me.”

“Yeah, well, your Spanish can’t be any worse than your fake Mexican accent and Spanglish. That’s so sad.”

“That would have him whomping my ass for sure. He’s even embarrassed when I pull out my street Spanish at the flea market. Maybe he’d be happy with me if I had a real job instead of making bread at a [local] bakery. Tamales he respects, but not a good sourdough. A real man has calluses on his hands.”

As he spoke, Jose’s eyes were focused on a dark corner of the garage, his mind elsewhere, as though the music and noise of the party no longer registered. I felt for the guy, maybe in ways nobody else I knew could understand.

“Hey, I get that. My parents have pretty much written me off, giving all of their attention to my perfect little sister. Maybe if my Chinese were better they’d like me more, but nothing I’ve done so far has ever been good enough.”

Jose came out of his trance and looked at me, giving a big smile and taking my hand while saying, “Chinese, eh? You know, I make a killer hot and sour soup. From scratch, no packaged stuff. Learned from a very old Chinese guy who used to live next door. My mother loved it, nice and spicy. Amazing how it goes really well with a loaf of sourdough. Ironic, right?”

“You’re kidding! You make hot and sour soup? The real stuff? Nobody I know can stand it, except my family of course. My dad’s is okay, but none of the restaurants in this town are any good. And you make it? A Mexican?”

“Now, now. Don’t be racist. We Mexicans are open to a lot of cultures. Dad’s mentioned he had Chinese neighbors back in his home town. I’ll make some soup for you sometime and let you judge. Well, hell. Time to go back inside. Didn’t mean to bum you out with my tales of woe.”

I let Jose pull me back into the fray, but nothing else that evening touched me in the way he did. I only stayed another hour, getting home near eleven and thinking that it had been a fun time. The party, like all the guys, seemed very relaxed and laid back, though when I told Alice about the many different people later that week she said they all sounded like a bunch of slackers and misfits. Maybe, but they all seemed happy and sure of themselves, and certainly not worried about how they were going to be judged by friends or what their next paycheck would be. And what I really liked about the party was that not once did any of the guys try to pull me into a bedroom or even try to palm my ass.

Nice guys. I felt I could trust them like no other men I’d ever met in my life. Boy was I wrong. Yet, thinking back, I still wouldn’t have changed a thing that happened over the next six months.

It was a busy week, mostly school work and when Alice had stuff of her own to do after a half-day at school on Friday, I wandered over to Steve’s and Jose’s place.

Sure, Raphie lived there too, but on this day of days it was just Steve and Jose. I knocked but nobody was there, and its saying a lot that I felt just fine with walking through the house and yelling out Jose’s name. I heard a call back and found Steve and Jose in the back.

Steve was playing with some weights, shirt off in the early spring sun, his body looking nice along with his clean shaven face and rakishly disheveled brown hair. He looked up at me from where he was sitting on a long low bench, throwing up his chin and saying my name as though I was his favorite girl. I felt good in all the right places and almost missed seeing Jose at the foot of the back porch stairs.

“Hey, May. Good to see you again. Can I get you a beer? My treat.”

“Um, no. I’m good.”

“Your choice, but the water here is junk. Too much chlorine.”

“Or not enough chlorine,” chimed in Steve, flexing a weight in each hand. “You know they pull the water in from the river. Bad stuff. What’s up May? Why aren’t you in school? It’s only just past noon.”

“Oh, short day. Teachers have some special training or something. And how about you guys. No work today?”

“Shit,” replied Jose, tapping his beer bottle against the house. “I just got home after eight hours at the bakery. Worst part of that place is the hours. No wonder bakers are a dying breed. No time to make babies.”

“Or in your case no time to date,” said Steve with a laugh. “And I’m working from home. Writing up a report and had a brain freeze.”

“You write reports, like for a business?” I asked, feeling a bit of respect mixed with doubt about these guys Alice had referred to as slackers.

“No, no,” cut in Jose with a laugh of his own. “Steve here is an intern at a local environmental non-profit, meaning they don’t pay their workers. He’s does their grunt work with the hopes of getting a real job some day.”

“Part of my college program,” said Steve, pretending to ignore Jose. “I get experience and college credit, though I’ve got to admit that more money would help me buy a better car. That’s for later.”

That’s when Steve lay down on that low bench and put his hands up to some big round weights resting on some metal bars at the end of the bench.

“Hey, Jose. Come over and spot me. Just for a few, will you?”

“No can do superman. Don’t want to trust me in my state. Go on May. You do it. Just make sure the bar is pushed into it’s proper resting place and doesn’t fall on Steve’s chest.”

“What? Just one of those things weighs more than I do.”

“It’s fine May. Just guide me. I’ll do all the work.”

With Jose urging me on, I dropped my book bag and walked over to the head of the bench. Steve showed me where he wanted the bar to go each time, again saying I only had to guide him and not actually hold the weight. It turned out to be fine, the weights not being so heavy as to keep Steve from asking me about my day. When Steve stopped to add a couple of weights to the bar, Jose threw out the idea that it would be easier and safer for me to straddle Steve’s body while pushing instead of pulling while guiding the bar back to its place.

Steve gave Jose a long look then shrugged, saying, “I guess. You’re a bit short, but you can give it a try, May.”

I shrugged back and said, “Okay.” Except that when I did as instructed, I found myself almost sitting on Steve’s naked chest, his chest hair shining with perspiration, his smiling face only inches from my crotch while looking up at my embarrassed face.

A deep breath swelled Steve’s chest, filling my open thighs which he seemed to ignore as he went back to his weights. Slower this time, more careful, but after only a minute of me only pretending to help, Steve’s voice and demeanor changed.

“May. You’re a beautiful young girl. You must date a lot.”

“Um, no. Not much,” I mumbled, my mind clouded, my words chosen to fill space without giving any meaning.

The weights were put in their slot on the bar and Steve moved his hands to hold mine. Steve easily slid down, only having to move a few inches for his lips to touch and kiss and tongue my thighs. I was thankfully wearing loose shorts instead of a dress, but my thighs remained open and Steve’s lips had an amazing effect on me.

One of Steve’s hands pulled in on my already weak knees and I collapsed, fully sitting on his chest. He easily pushed me back and pulled me down, bringing my face even with his. Steve’s kisses to my neck and face and lips, soft and slow and loving, distracted me long enough for his hands to push under the loose legs of my shorts and begin a massage of my butt cheeks.

“Steve. It’s maybe, you know, too fast,” I gasped, my mind in freefall.

“Yes. Too fast, for me too, but no way I can stop. Right now you are all I can imagine. All I could want.”

I felt a little better when Steve removed his hands, pushing me further back onto his chest until my face came into contact with his hairy nipples. I think the man’s stink got to me. Without thinking I gave a soft kiss to his nipple, then a slightly longer kiss and suck, my mind being taken over by the taste of his body, his sweat and odor filling my head. And that’s when I felt it.

It took a second to realize Steve’s hand was guiding something else up my shorts. My eyes flew open and I gave a gasp when I felt his fingers push past my panties and into my slit, having to hold back a loud yelp as one or two digits slipped into me. Trying to pull away and escape, Steve only used my energy to push me further back, his fingers exiting my hole only for a larger and much thicker piece of his flesh to take up space in my thick engorged lips.”

“You’re very wet, May, and hot enough to fuck.”

Hands holding me tight, Steve adjusted his place under me and pushed my hips back. With a loud groan I felt Steve enter me, the leading tip of his member quickly widening to a thick trunk that took up all the space my newly invaded pussy could provide. Steve said more, about my beauty and of course about my wet pussy, my treacherous thick length of feminine flesh secreting my own version of liquid lust and making this man think I wanted him. Which I did, but like that? On a weight bench in the backyard?

Then began a fuck, a nice slow fuck, though one of the strangest ever. I was still clothed, my chest still covered, my shorts still on, but with this man’s dong pushed up my pants leg and into my twat, giving me a shallow but very nice fuck for a very nice long time. Long enough for me to stop trying to escape and actually start to enjoy the man’s skills. I began to get into it, grunting with our shared movements and even grinding my hips down to meet his.

Then Steve pushed up at my shoulders, pushing my face off his chest, grunting out, “Get up, May. Ride me. You take over.”

I couldn’t really think clearly just then and did like the idea of pulling my face out from the hot sweaty chest my body was lying on. I sat up only to feel myself slip further down onto the man’s pumping cock. I tried to rise up on my feet, but I wasn’t quite tall enough. I felt myself slip down, my twat fully impaled on the cock I was literally riding. My eyes blurred and I almost fell off of Steve’s lap, but his hands were there, holding me down while helping me move up and down his pole.

In the midst of the fuck, my own brain wasn’t working all that well. Something in me loved it, loved being held and fucked by Steve, a man whom I absolutely had some attraction to. But it wasn’t supposed to be like that, not out in the open, and I thought it best to bring the fuck to a quick end. How? Get the guy to blow his load as fast as possible. How? Kegel.