Chapter 8 #2
“Nope, it is one of the downsides of living out here. Nothing like the city, or even Ithaca.” I was trying to make conversation, but Nesto shirtless was a distraction.
He had turned down the lights in the room, too, so he was half in shadow.
His chest was sculpted and deeply tanned; it looked like brushed bronze.
He also kept running his hand over his left pec and every time he did, my eyes would follow his hand’s movement.
I tried to make out the tattoo he had there, but his hand blocked my view.
He had other ones, two quotes in fine black cursive font, one on each forearm.
I’d read them the night at the bar, when he pulled back the sleeves of the shirt he’d been wearing.
I sat up on the other end of the couch and pointed at them. “Tell me about your tattoos.”
He finished swallowing, placed the container on the table, and extended his arms out, palms facing up. “Well, these two are lyrics from a song my mom used to listen to a lot when I was a kid. It’s from a Spanish artist, his name is Joan Manuel Serrat. It’s from a song called Cantares.”
I read out loud, running my fingers over the inked words as I went. On the left, Caminante no hay camino, and on the right, Se hace camino al andar. “Walker there is no path, you make the path as you walk.”
I looked up at him and smiled. “I love that.”
“It’s pretty much our family mantra. You just keep going. You make the way.” He said it with a nod and ran a hand over his chest again.
Looking at his skin, I remembered how warm it felt under my hands when I’d touched it.
The craving to reach out, feel him under my fingers, made me shiver.
We sat there silently for a few moments as Nesto ate.
When the container was half full, he stood and put the lid back on before putting it in the fridge.
He came back to the couch and sat closer, so our bodies were almost touching.
He took a sip of his beer, and then leaned in.
He asked in a husky whisper, “Where did you learn Spanish? I’ve been meaning to ask, but every time I see you my mind starts running in a million directions.
” The rueful smile on his lips made me want to kiss him so badly.
I looked down and thought of giving him one of my usual evasive answers. Those unnecessary walls I always put up to avoid having to say too much about myself. My usual “oh just in school” answer seemed disingenuous now, with Nesto so close, his skin brushing mine, and his eyes full of interest.
“I lived in Honduras for a year after high school. I learned there mostly, but over the years I’ve tried to practice, so I don’t lose it. Watched movies, read and listen to music in Spanish. Stuff like that.”
“Did you do a study abroad program?”
I almost said yes, but again for some reason I didn’t want to go down that road with him. To lie by omission or agree with whatever he was saying to avoid getting into my family baggage.
“No, I went on a mission trip through the church my family went to growing up. They, ah, have an ongoing program there and sometimes younger members of the congregation go for a few months, or even a few years to help with the projects they have.”
His eyes widened at my explanation, like he wasn’t sure what to make of what I said. “Oh wow, that sounds pretty intense.”
I shrugged uncomfortably, not sure how to proceed. “Working for the church wasn’t great.” I wondered what he would think about the way our church moved in on the locals, bribing poor families to join the congregation with food and then tried to brainwash them once they were in.
“I loved the people I met though, and travelling around Honduras and some of the other countries in Central America was amazing. Learning Spanish was also one of the best things I’ve ever done. It’s been so useful in my work.” I couldn’t help but smile remembering the people I’d met there.
“It’s also kind of magical, knowing Spanish. Feels like I have an in to a universe people who don’t speak the language miss out on, you know?”
His face lit up as I talked and he looked at me with curious eyes. “Oh. How’s that?”
“Well, I get to experience books, music, artists, I otherwise wouldn’t. Like reading Borges in the original language, listening to musicians who only record in Spanish. It’s a whole other world.”
His face glowed from my words. “I know. I always think about what it would be like for those people who look at our brown skin and only see interlopers, to actually learn about all the treasures we’ve brought with us.
Our colors, our words, our songs, our stories even.
Because most of us, we want to share them, we want them to be part of this place, too. ”
An impulse moved me to put my hand against his face.
I tried to imagine what it would be like to have people dismiss you out of hand because of the color of your skin, or the place you were born.
To have to put up with people like Misty diminishing your entire culture as unimportant.
He was so beautiful, and his face looked so open, so earnest. I almost told him I wanted to hear all of it, to know him.
To say, “I want you here” even though it felt sort of ridiculous.
After a moment Nesto took my hand from his face and kissed the palm.
Just a brush of his lips, but the sensation moved through my body like thunder.
I trembled, knowing what was about to happen.
I looked at him and tried to focus on the conversation, when he leaned down and kissed me.
Just grazing of lips again, but the effect was fire running through my veins.
Every part of me lit up when Nesto was near.
He pulled back and whispered softly in my ear, “Is this okay? Can I kiss you again?”
I nodded and pushed in closer, turning so I could wrap my arms around his neck.
He pulled me so I was leaning on him and started kissing me again.
This time a lot hungrier, with tongue and teeth.
Our ragged breaths were the only sound in the room as we frantically bit and sucked on each other’s lips.
His skin was so hot under my hands, and there was so much of it to touch. I had forgotten what it could be like to be overwhelmed by the feel of another body. How their closeness and their breath on you could make yours catch. He groaned and moved us again until I was lying under him on the couch.
“Ever since that night at Ophelia’s I haven’t stopped thinking about your mouth.” He ran his hand down and brushed against my hard cock as he looked at me with an intensity that made me burn. “I wondered how you’d taste.”
The idea of having his mouth on me made mine water. All I could do was nod and moan as his hand slipped under my shirt up to my chest. He took my nipple between his fingers and pinched, then he ran his teeth and tongue up and down my neck making me gasp.
“Nesto.”
“Lift your arms, baby.” I did and he pulled my shirt over my head. I was panting and shivering as he touched and kissed everywhere.
“I wanna see what you have for me here,” he said as he ran his hand over my crotch, and I nodded frantically, wanting him to get on with things. My reluctance from earlier floating away with each touch.
“Tell me how much you want my hands on you, Jude.” He ran his teeth over my neck, nipping at my collarbone.
I heard myself speak in a breathless voice. “Just keep touching me. You feel so good.”
“I bet you’d like it if I played with your balls.
” My body jolted like I’d been shocked. He gave me a dirty look as he undid my fly and squeezed my cock.
I was so hard I was afraid I was going to come any second, but still I couldn’t speak.
I opened my eyes to let Nesto see how good he was making me feel.
“More.” It was all I could manage.
“Mmm you’re wet and hard for me, papí.” He started stroking me off, all the while moving his tongue inside my mouth and sucking on my lips as he went.
I returned the favor by nipping at his mouth, which was becoming an obsession.
His lips felt so good on my skin, like I would feel them for days on every spot they touched my body.
As he moved his hand faster, running his thumb over the head of my cock, I felt my orgasm build, panting out short breaths as he stroked me.
“God, you look so hot like this. Fuck my hand baby, come on.” He pushed up so he was kneeling in front of me, and kept jerking me off with one hand while he brought the other one up to my mouth, pushing his thumb inside.
I sucked on it hard, and after a moment he popped it out and brought it down, right under my balls.
He just grazed my entrance and my orgasm hit, my vision going white and that sweet liquid sensation flooding my ass and groin.
I gasped as a shudder ran through my body.
I opened my eyes to see Nesto looking at me, his face hungry.
“Your eyes look so blue right now,” he said as he got his cock out of his shorts and grabbed himself. With his hands covered in my come, he started stroking. As he thrust into his hand, he moved his hips fast, circling them in a tight grind.
“That’s so hot.” I imagined him working himself into my body in the same way, and a whimper escaped my throat.
I moved my hand up to where his was on his chest and touched it, then up to his face and put my thumb in his mouth.
He sucked it in and groaned, then closed his eyes and threw his head back, lost to his pleasure.
After a few more strokes, he doubled over, a look of exquisite pain on his face.
When it was over, he slumped on top of me and turned to kiss me again.
For a few minutes we touched lazily, running our hands all over each other.
We were a mess, but I didn’t want to move.