Surreptitious

I'm a straight up dumbass sometimes.

I grew up in what I considered to be a pretty quiet neighborhood of good, hard-working folks just trying to get by.  I never understood why people felt the area was kinda sketchy, despite the number of times I saw police activity at the liquor store down the street or the number of times I heard stories about bullet holes that were supposedly peppered throughout the facades of every house in the neighborhood.  I mean, the way people would talk, it sounded as if every house looked like a brick of swiss cheese.  It wasn't.  I never saw anything remotely like that.  In fact, it was a pretty close, tight-knit community where everyone knew each other and helped each other out (well, until the housing bubble fucked everything over and people were moving in and out so much you had no idea who was who).  Seemed more like the kids were making shit up trying to act "hard" and up-play the thug life thing.  

Here I am, standing on the porch of some guy's house I met off of Adam4Adam, trying to will the door open on one hand and on the other, mentally counting to 10 (although kinda slowly) before I turn around and head back to the car.

"Hey there!" shouted a voice from behind.  Dammit.  It was the neighbors from across the street.  I had counted to the number 8.  I should have counted faster. "You looking for someone?"

I turned around.

"Yeah, um...  I was just coming by to drop something off..."  Fuck.  Me.  I knew I should have gotten his name.  I mean, that didn't sound weird or vague at all, right?  I'm not sure if he even heard me as my voice sounded a bit weak trying to carry across the street.

"For Justin?" he shouted from the other side.

God, I hope that wasn't a test.  "Yeah.  He said he was going to be around..."

"what's your name?"

Okay, better just keep it simple and make it as close to the truth as possible.  

"Bruce."

"Okay.  I'll let him know you stopped by.  Just wondering 'cause that place has been broken into twice in the last month.  Now, I'm not saying it was you but you can't be too careful."

"Yeah, I hear ya on that.  I'll come back tomorrow."

I really should have counted faster.  That was awkward.  A part of me thinks it would have been less awkward just to tell the guy the truth.  Yeah, I have no clue what his name is, but he has a meaty hot-as-fuck ass that I'm dying to pound my load in deep.  I'd probably be walking back to my car with a fuck-yeah-you-heard-me-right strut rather than the head-low-hands-in-pocket walk of shame I was doing down the concrete runway splicing through the crowds of snickering overgrown grass.

And a large part of me didn't think anything of it.  Yeah, I heard this neighborhood was kinda shady.  Yeah, I already got busted by the nosy neighbor.  But it really wasn't anything different than back in my hometown.  Just good folks watching out for each other.

And I was dying to get laid.  So I texted him at the gas station down the street.  He texted back immediately apologizing but he didn't want to face his neighbors since he was "on the downlow"...  as if people immediately think you're having raunchy, dirty gay sex if someone comes to your door knocking.  Well, okay.  That's what usually crosses my mind, but I think I'm in the minority there.  He begged for me to stick around for about 15 minutes until the neighbors leave.  Well, it didn't take much begging.

I should have bolted though.  I mean, there's some things you just don't do.  Like trying to cross the 405 freeway in West LA during rush hour unless you really want to spend half an hour going one mile (I don't think they even make treadmills that slow...  actually, I don't think even zombies go that slow).  Another thing you don't do: return back to the scene of a crime that some accuses you of committing.  Sure, he said that he didn't think I was the burglar, but the implications were clear.  I mean, I might as well have donned a hoodie and snagged a crowbar before creeping around to the backdoor.

But there I was knocking on his door again.  Quickly counting to ten, but only making it to 2 before he quickly opened the door and pulled me in.  He started to apologize and explain but I didn't hear any of it.  I just stood there and gawked.  He was every thing he advertised and a bit more to boot.  A latin kid, well over six feet and built like an ox.  Not a gym rat, not artificially sculpted but solid.  Sporting a high and tight haircut and a couple of tattoos that peeked over his tank top and athletic shorts.  An image of solid power that was curiously at odds with the vulnerability he was displaying while fidgeting with his hands, which only served to call attention to the badly drawn tattoo there.  I couldn't tell if that ink was done while he was in the back of a pickup truck on a dirt country road or a DIY project that went horribly wrong, but the jagged lines of a cross (or maybe an anc?) was reminiscent of a prison tattoo from a fellow inmate that fashioned a tool out of an ink pen, radio parts and a paper clip.  

In a flash, I grabbed the tattoo and led him into my arms.  Big bear hug with one arm and my other hand pulling his face down to mine.

Just what I thought.  Solid, smooth, but pliable.  A little bit of padding unsuccessfully masking the strength and power underneath.  I didn't answer his apologies.  Didn't acknowledge them.  I just needed him to show me to the bedroom and I said so.

Kicking clutter out of the way as he led me down the hallway to his room, I tried to grab him from behind.  Our parts barely aligned due to the height difference but I'm sure he felt the urgency in the matter through his thin gym shorts as I swelled underneath mine.

When we landed on the bed, we were a tangle of limbs.  I found that his neck was sensitive as I nuzzled and lapped on it a bit.  His ears overwhelmingly so.  His nipples weren't wired at all, but his smooth chest loved being raked by the stubble I had from a few days growth.  He gave perfect head and was hard and leaking like crazy while giving it.  His mounds were too much for me to handle while I sat back and watched him on his stomach lapping at my meat.  We rolled around a bit and every now and then I'd roll over onto a patch of cold precum that flowed freely from his uncut cock.

Eventually, I had him on his back and his legs instinctively opened and started to wrap around me.  Quickly spat on his hole and a bit on my cock and we were then back in position.  Forehead to forehead, looking into his eyes, searching for permission while I teased his hole before I got an almost imperceptible nod.  I worked the head of my cock in.  Slowly sinking in his eyes rolled to the back of his head as he moaned.  All the rest was a blur.  When I felt the warmth of him from the inside, there was no holding back.  I pounded him hard, varying the tempo a bit whenever I started to lose interest, but drilling him insistently deep nevertheless.  I was in a zone where his needs didn't matter.  And it kinda showed.  His cock deflated a bit when I finally grabbed it to stroke him off in time to my fuck.  I pulled out and flipped him on his stomach.  No need to remind myself of the failure.  I kneed his legs apart.  Wide.  And then Used my knees to nudge them higher until he was partially on his knees, but low to the mattress with his chest down, back arched and knees spread wide.  I lined up when he said it:  "Fuck me, man.  Fuck me hard."

I did.  Every thrust made ripples across his bubble butt until they all synchronized and merged into a big wave that tsunami'd over me.  I pummeled his ass hard until I growled and emptied my load with one final thrust deep inside him.  My body convulsed well after my nuts were drained and I was all spasms while I collapsed onto his back.  

He gave me a free pass on trying to get him off and instead asked if I needed a shower.  He got the water running while I tried to come down from the incredible fuck.  Man, he was tight and yet so inviting.

Shaking it off, I hopped in the shower and cleaned up.  As I was getting dressed, the story came out: He's recently divorced and suspects the two break-ins (the neighbor wasn't lying there) were somehow connected with her.  They knew exactly where to go and what to get.  All the big, name-brand accessories and electronics were gone aside from one that he moved after she had already left.  

I felt bad.  But then, I felt a little less bad and naive as hell when I noticed that my wallet was several twenties lighter than when I last checked at the gas station around his corner waiting for his neighbors to leave.  D'oh!  Dumbass!