Fuck Buddy (6 page)

“I don’t know. I mean, she was dating guys off there for a while. She finally met someone, but not on there.”

He slapped my ass lightly and began to fuck me steadily. With each second or third stroke his hand came down against my butt cheek.

Oh fuck yes. I like that.

I turned, peered over my shoulder, and grinned.

“What are you doing?”

“Cooking,” I breathed.

She didn’t respond.

Come on, bitch. Tell me something.

For what was probably no more than fifteen or twenty seconds, I let Luke fuck me and slap my ass. My otherwise mundane sex life was at an all-time high, and I was enjoying it. Lost in the sexual act, and completely oblivious to the fact I was going to be deprived of his dick if she hung up, a beep from my low battery warning reminded me of my commitment.

“Uhhm. So, if you’re not seeing Mark, who are you seeing?” I rattled the sentence out without so much as taking a breath.

Say something, Chloe. If you ruin this for me, I’ll to hate you forever.

The few seconds of phone silence that followed were far from silent on my end.

“This guy. His name is Kavin. With an ‘A’. He’s kind of a dick, but in a good way. He’s really possessive, and kind of controlling, and whatever, but the sex is good.”

He began to powerfuck me again without any warning. Whether or not he was withholding cock from me earlier I didn’t know, but this time was much different. Each
in
stroke took the breath from me completely, and a muffled
humph
burst from my lungs.

About three or four strokes into it, and my eyes fell closed.

I was going to explode.

Fuck yes, keep fucking me just like that.

Just. Like. That.

As I became engrossed in the sheer joy of Luke fucking me senseless, Chloe’s voice caused me to realize it would end and end quickly if I didn’t continue to focus not only on being fucked, but on talking to her.

“Hey, Liv, let me call you back, okay?”

I opened my eyes and stared down at my saliva-covered phone.

“Nooooooo!” I groaned.

“Yeah, I really need to go, and you’re busy…”

My mind had long since surpassed the confused state, I had been fucked to the point I was delirious. I needed Luke to keep doing exactly what he was doing, and although I sure as fuck didn’t need to be talking to Chloe, I realized if I didn’t keep her on the phone he would stop. I couldn’t think properly, couldn’t reason with myself, and damned sure couldn’t speak legibly. I needed to focus on what was happening and what I was feeling.

And I was sick of talking on the phone.

“Don’t hang up,” I begged. “Right now. A guy is fucking me…”

“And. I mean. Like right now. It’s. Like a. Sex. Contest,” I explained as Luke continued to shove his fat cock into my ever-so-eager pussy.

“And. If I hang up. He’s going to. Stop. Just. Stay. Here. Please.”

He pounded himself into me even harder. I felt myself begin to reach climax. It was coming, and it was coming fast.

“Stay here on the phone. Until. I. Come,” I begged.

“Oh my God, Liv. You’re fucking someone? Right now?”

“Uh…huh,” I breathed.

“I fucking knew it!”

I closed my eyes and concentrated on Luke’s massive cock.

“That’s so fucking hot!”

Shut up, bitch.

Luke might have thought I cheated, but I took a big chance in telling her. It worked, and apparently he liked the fact Chloe knew, because he began fucking me like he was trying to kill me. As his balls steadily tapped a rhythmic beat against my clit, I arched my back, craned my neck toward the ceiling, and bellowed out a blood-curdling wail.

Simultaneously, his cock swelled. A few more strokes, and I felt him erupt inside of me. As he came, an orgasm exploded from deep within me, and with it, my entire body was somehow transformed into a sexual bundle of nerves.

The orgasms continued for several seconds, sending electric shocks from the balls of my feet all the way to the back of my skull. Chloe’s voice chattered in the background, but I had no idea what she was saying. I opened my eyes and glanced into the kitchen. Everything seemed so out of place and new to me. The few aftershock orgasms that followed caused my legs to shake violently.

I felt Luke pull out and I collapsed onto the counter. My quivering legs struggled to hold me up. Chloe’s irritating voice continued to babble from the speaker on the phone.

Exhausted, weak, and incapable of thinking clearly, I simply wanted the feeling to linger as long as it possibly could.

As she continued to vomit her ideas and opinions, I reached for the phone and pressed
end.

The phone went silent.

I lowered myself to the floor, pulled my knees to my chest, and began to hum.

Size matters.

CHAPTER SIX

LUKE

My home was above my surfboard shop, and the entire building was purchased by my father when I was a small boy. Walking distance from the ocean, my frequent midnight strolls along Mission Beach went unnoticed by almost everyone. Positioned in a high traffic area for the local surfers, the shop could keep me much busier than I chose to be. At the present time, I hand-crafted one surfboard every few weeks, only for the people I really wanted to make them for, and never anyone who was in a rush.

“Mr. Eagan, you got anything today?”

I lowered my file, turned toward the door, and removed my dust mask. “Tell you what. I’ll be done with this in about an hour, and then I’ll get it gel-coated. Come back in say, three hours?”

“About four?” he asked.

Juan lived half a mile from the shop, and often did odd jobs for me. He was dressed in khakis, a white wife beater, and navy blue canvas slip-on sneakers, and he looked the part of every other gang-banger in the area, but he wasn’t. He was a good kid. He was fourteen, Hispanic, and although I was fairly certain he was a US citizen, I suspected his father was an illegal immigrant. There were tens of thousands of illegals in the San Diego area, and many of the adults worked odd jobs for cash. No one, however, was interested in hiring a teenager to do anything, illegal immigrant or not.

He started coming around my shop when he was ten. By the time he was twelve, his older brother was given a seven-year prison sentence for drug related crimes. Immediately following his brother’s incarceration, he lashed out by spraying graffiti on many of the buildings along the boardwalk.

I decided hiring him to do odd jobs just might keep him from eventually traveling along the same path as his brother. Soon thereafter, I learned his work ethic was outstanding and everything he did was done with extreme caution and tremendous care. I had little doubt that whatever money he earned went straight to his family, probably assisting in their provisions for food or housing.

“That’ll be fine, you can sweep the shop and take the trash to the bin,” I said.

As I pulled my mask over my mouth, he turned toward the door. I watched him peer through the glass and into the street for some time, and after realizing he was in no hurry to leave, put down my file and walked toward him.

“Everything okay?” I asked.

He continued to stare out into the street. “You ever have something you didn’t want to do, but part of you wanted to do it? Like the bad part of you?”

I chuckled. “The bad part, huh?”

He turned toward me and nodded. With his closely cut hair, tanned scalp, and lean muscular body, if he was a few years older he could pass for one of the many Marines in the city.

“I suppose so. I call it temptation. The fight within us between good and evil.” I pointed to the bench beside my work bench. “Have a seat.”

He sauntered over to the bench and sat. I walked to the small refrigerator I kept in the shop, grabbed an orange soda, and sat down beside him.

I handed him the bottle of soda. “Here.”

“Thank you.”

“Good and evil.” I paused and wiped my hands on the thighs of my jeans. “Most of us have a line we’ve drawn in the sand. Good is on one side and evil is on the other.”

He opened the soda on the edge of the bench, took a drink and nodded. 

“Not everyone agrees on what is good or what is evil. We each have our own beliefs. But, no matter who we are or what we believe in, at some point in time, we’re tempted to do what is evil,” I said. “To cross the line we’ve personally drawn in the sand.”

“Abuela says evil is black, good is white, and some people are colorblind,” he said.

“Sounds like your abuela is a smart woman,” I said.

“You know Big Lopez?” he asked.

I shook my head. “I don’t think so.”

He took another drink of soda and gazed down at the floor. “You remember my older brother, Luis?”

“Sure do.”

“He worked for Big Lopez.”

“And what? Has Big Lopez got the bad part of you arguing with the good?” I asked.

He finished the soda and nodded. “Big Lopez pays big money.”

“And big money got your brother in prison for what, seven years?”

He nodded again. “Yep.”

“You know, any time we consider doing something that’s contrary to what we find acceptable, we naturally weigh the risk. It seems that’s the deciding factor, each and every time. If the risk of getting caught is small, or if the punishment associated with the risk is small, we tell ourselves it’s acceptable. If the risk is great, or if the punishment is great, we’ll inevitably refuse. Selling drugs for Big Lopez seems like a pretty easy decision.”

He shifted his eyes from the floor to the front of the shop and gazed outside. “But what if the guy offering the risk is mean, like Big Lopez?”

“He’s mean, huh?” I asked.

He took the final drink of soda. “Yep.”

“So, where’s Big Lopez stay?” I asked.

“Barrio Logan. Or sometimes with his sister at Logan Heights,” he said.

“By the Navy Base?” 

“Yep.”

“Well, what do
you
want to do?” I asked.

“You mean if I didn’t have to worry about Big Lopez?”

“Yeah. If he wasn’t a problem.”

He glanced in my direction. “Keep doing what I’m doing. Luis says prison’s no good. He said he’s never going back.”

“Well,” I said as I stood. “Listen to your abuela, and don’t become colorblind. And remember, things always have their own way of working out. Just give it a little more time. I’m sure everything will be fine.”

He stood, turned to face me, and wiped the wrinkles from the legs of his khakis. “Mr. Eagan?”

I reached for the empty bottle. “Yeah?”

“I’ll see you at four.”

I tossed the bottle into the trash. “See you at four.”

He walked to the door, pulled it open, and hesitated. As I pulled my mask over my mouth and grabbed the file, he peered over his shoulder. “Thank you.”

I nodded and waved.

As I watched him ride away on his bicycle, I pulled off my mask, laid the file on the bench, and placed the surfboard in the rack. One more day wouldn’t matter to the customer. One more day to Juan might change his life forever.

And I knew a little too much about altering the path of a child’s life.

***

I walked into the restaurant, surveyed the few patrons, and fixed my eyes on who I suspected was Big Lopez.

Sitting alone at a table eating, he was wearing khakis, a plaid button-down, and had a hat on top of his very large head with the word BIG embroidered across the front. By my guess, he weighed an easy three hundred pounds.

Soft mariachi music filled the air as I walked directly to the table, pulled out the chair across from him, and sat down.

Without looking up from his plate of tamales, he spoke. His thick accent was a complete contrast to Juan’s almost perfect English. “You lost?”

“You know,” I said. “Temptation’s a bitch.”

He pushed his chair away from the table slightly and studied me. “Something you need to say?”

“Juan Ramirez, Luis’ little brother. After Luis went to prison, I started looking after him. You know, like a big brother. And now I see my younger brother tempted to do something that I don’t agree with.”

I leaned forward, pressing my forearms into the edge of the table. “So, I’ve got to do what any big brother would do.”

He wiped the corner of his mouth with his napkin and widened his eyes as if feigning interest.

“I’ve got to step in and make sure he does what’s right,” I said.

“That’s what you’re doing?” he asked with a deep laugh. “Stepping in?”

I leaned away from the table and nodded. “I’ve stepped in.”

He pressed his thumb against the bill of his hat and lifted it slightly. “You think some guero throwing a buck-eighty at me is going to make me flinch?”

I glared back at him. “I look at Juan as my responsibility. He’s not coming to work for you. Not now. Not ever. My best advice to you is to avoid him at all costs.”

He glanced over each shoulder, fixed his eyes on mine, and grinned as he pulled his hat down tight against his head. “Hijo de la chingada. You got some balls, homie. Coming in here threatening me.”

I shook my head. “I haven’t threatened you. Yet.”

Almost hidden by the bill of his hat, his brown eyes narrowed.

I stood from my seat glared at him. “Ask yourself this. Is the risk worth the reward?”

He tilted his head back slightly and gazed back at me. “Depends, Guero. What’s my risk?”

Without responding, I turned and walked toward the door believing that some things were best left to the imagination.

And I had one hell of an imagination.