Disclaimer: The following story is a work of fiction depicting sexual acts between males. It is for entertainment value only. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. If you are prohibited from viewing this story in the jurisdiction in which you live, or if such acts offend you, you do not have permission to view this story.
Copyright 2011, All Rights Reserved
It was a Friday night, and Rich had left the party. It wasn't like him; usually he'd wait to leave with everyone else, at one or two or later. It was probably a combination of a couple things. On the one hand, he could get sick of it, the typical college house-party routine. On the other― well, he was hungry. When he asked if anyone wanted to go with him and no one volunteered, he said screw it. So here he was, not even eleven, hands stuffed in his pockets as he hit the sidewalk.
He was going through the residential neighborhood abutting campus, where most students lived in groups of three or four. On a weekend night, it could get pretty busy. Cars revving, hip-hop bass, laughter, even broken glass resonated through the night air. Houses nearly touched, blinds closed and yellow light peering through.
Finally, he was through it. He took a turn, onto the wide boulevard that separated the college bubble from the vast world beyond. It was on this boulevard that he'd find his destination. Sometimes just one, sometimes five or more. Taco trucks. They sat there, oases surrounded by miles and miles of concrete. They were welcoming, sometimes even, in their odd way, comforting. Each had a character, a personality. You could get to know one, the food, the people, go there four times a week from dusk to dawn and then -- just like that -- it was gone. That was the beauty of it. You never knew what you were gonna get. They were like ghosts, with their peeling paint and tinny radio blending into the purple night. For Rich, as well as most of the guys he knew, they were a tradition. College wouldn't be the same without them.
He kept up the pace. By now, he was positive― he was definitely hungry. He had had a few beers, but somehow he had skipped dinner. He was getting closer. Though he was wearing shorts, he wasn't cold. Other than an occasional midnight chill, you could wear pretty much anything in this warm-weather state.
Rich kept walking. Five minutes went by, then ten. He was starting to get skeptical. By this point, past the bus stop and the cheap stores, there were usually one or two. Maybe tonight was an off-night; it wouldn't be the first time. Or maybe tonight they were down, by the freeway, on another major road. But that was clear on the other side of campus. There was no way he'd go all the way down there now.
He was about to give up hope, about to settle for some day-old turkey sandwich, when he saw it. Dark, parked on the side of the road. It was easy to miss. This was past the usual area, and for good reason― other than the road there wasn't much more than a big empty lot. Still, Rich was glad to find it. He approached. It didn't look familiar. Faded metal side, pickup parked in front. If not for the glow, a faint yellowy light, he'd think it was abandoned. As he got close, he smelled it. It was for real, all right.
He stopped. He didn't see anyone. He could hear the sizzling. He gave it a sec. No luck. "Uh, hey..." There was some shuffling. From the side, a guy emerged, young, his age, in fact―
"Hey. Oh, hey, what's up?"
"Not much, man. You... work here?"
"Yeah. I do." Rich recognized him. They had a class together. Obviously the other guy did too. Rich scrambled for his name. It was a small class; he should remember. It was Mexican, D-something, D― "Diego."
"I'm Rich again."
"Pleasure." He stood there, spatula in hand. Smoke, fiery, scented smoke, filtered out and into the street. "So, what'll it be?"
"Hmm, good question, lemme take a look..." Rich looked behind Diego, squinting at the menu. It was short, hand-written. Prices, as always, were low. None even approached double-digits. "All right. Carne Asada."
"Cool. Coming right up." For the next few minutes, Rich stepped back as Diego went to work. He figured somebody else would come by, but no one did. In keeping with what he saw earlier, for some reason it was just deserted out here tonight. Oh, well. Better for him. If he had wanted crowds he would have stayed at the party. "Here you go." On the counter was a steaming paper plate. Rich reached up for it.
"Wow, thanks. Looks amazing." Diego told him the price; he paid. His wallet hardly knew the difference, but his stomach did. The tortillas were soft and flaky, the meat tender and tart. Within a few minutes, it was gone. Rich made the walk back to campus, as the sparse traffic went by.
Rich was surprised to see Diego there, for more than one reason. For one thing, he had never seen or heard of a student working a roach coach. Not that there was anything wrong with it; he just wasn't aware. For another, though at first he had forgotten the name, he definitely hadn't forgotten the face. It was one of the few faces that had caught his eye over the years. One of the few faces belonging to another guy, that is. He didn't know what it was, probably never would, but something had caught his interest. He was, in a word, pretty cute.
Diego was an inch or two shorter than Rich's six feet. He was thin, thinner than Rich. He had a long face, full lips. He had an ear piercing. His hair was a bit out there, with a kind of faux-hawk thing that was bleached at the top; but it wasn't disgustingly greasy, and the bleach wasn't washed out. It managed to look, somehow, understated. He tended to dress in muted colors, with a vest and maybe a bracelet thrown in. He was quiet, didn't talk much in class, but when he did it was soft, even. And then, maybe the thing Rich had noticed the most: his skin. Even from twenty feet away, it was perfectly smooth and clear, tan with a hint of olive. Though he was latino, he wasn't all that dark.
No, Rich had no clue why this Diego dude, of all people, grabbed him. But he did. On days when he came close to skipping the class, he didn't. That was the reason.
The next night was Saturday. It was somebody's birthday; Rich didn't really know them. In the end, he got dragged along. He didn't particularly want to be there; he had hoped to be somewhere else. As time went by, he realized something. It was starting to feel like a repeat of the last night. One difference was that, this time, he had actually eaten dinner. Still, he couldn't stay full forever. It was well before twelve when he decided to peace. Waving goodbye, he slipped out the door.
Since twenty-four hours before, Diego and the taco truck had come to mind more than once. Now that he had bumped into him, he was starting to wonder. Did his family own it? Was it a part-time thing? One thing was certain: the food was awesome. The guy clearly knew how to cook. Standing there, on the side of the road, waiting for business... Rich found the whole thing kind of intriguing. Without really deciding it, he felt himself drawn back. He was curious to see if the coach was where he had left it.
The walk was longer than he remembered, and the air had the slightest bit of chill, but sure enough, sitting on its own in the desolate purple stretch, he found it. Just like last night, it was the only one. Just like last night, it was awfully quiet. By the time he got there, he had walked off what buzz he had. Slowly, he stepped up. Steam rose from the grilltop. From somewhere, a radio just barely played. "Uh, hey..." There was some shuffling. This time, it took a good ten seconds for the figure to appear.
"Hey, welcome to―" He froze; then smiled. "So, back for more?"
"Nice. Well, I'll take it as a compliment."
"Please do. Your food's amazing, man."
"Couldn't stay away."
"I can see that."
Rich looked to the side briefly. He felt a slight pang of awkwardness. "So I guess the Asada again."
"Asada. Okay." He turned, then paused. "You liked it last night?"
"Then try the Verdes. I make the sauce myself. It's tangy, spicy if you can handle it, but flavorful, not like the usual―"
"Sure, hey, that sounds awesome." Rich was sold. Diego nodded. Then, to the grill.
It took a bit longer than last night's. Over the small counter, he could see Diego at the grill, then opening the grubby looking fridge, then reaching down for something. For such good food, it sure looked like a piece of shit. But that was pretty much like all of them. It added to the appeal. Patiently, Rich waited. His arms were crossed. Again, like last night, no one else came.
"All right, Rich. Ready, just for you."
"Sweet." Rich reached up and grabbed it. Soft flaky tacos, a bubbling green sauce, it looked even better than the others. He hesitated. "Hey, you... mind if I eat it here?"
"No way, please do. You can tell me what you think."
"Great." Rich stepped next to the tiny counter, barely big enough for his plate and a small empty jar that said "tips". He started to eat. The first bite hit him hard; he almost choked. It was spicier than he was expecting. Still, it was incredible. Diego was right― there was way more to it than spice. He could almost taste the chopped up herbs or whatever used to make it. It was sweet, tangy, savory, all of the above. The bottom had that nice, signature coating of light grease, just enough to help it slide down. In less than two minutes, there was just one taco left.
"I guess I don't have to ask if you liked it, huh?" Rich looked up. Diego, since he started, had been watching him.
"Dude," he said, swallowing. "This is... fucking unbelievable."
Diego chuckled to himself. "Thanks. I love the encouragement." He feigned a little bow.
In another minute he was done. He took a sec to let it settle down. It was the best full-feeling he could remember in a while. "Hey, you got anything to drink?"
"Yeah. Here, take one of these." He pulled out a Corona from the fridge, then tossed it over. Rich took a long swig. Just what he needed. "On the house."
"Oh, right. Sorry, I forgot to pay."
"Don't worry about the beer, actually, we're not supposed to sell them anyway. In fact―" he looked at Rich, "don't worry about any of it. It's on me tonight."
"Wait, you sure?"
"Yeah. I insist."
"Damn. Thanks." Rich took another swig of the beer, then another. He stayed there, an arm propped against the counter. Something occurred to him. Before college he had had Mexican food maybe twice in his life. Now, he was hooked. A piece of old newspaper blew softly by. "So... where is everybody tonight?"
"Yeah. You know, taco trucks."
"Ah. Well, I'm not sure. I think it's just one of those nights." Rich nodded. "Actually, I do have an idea. There's a big thing on the other side of town, call it a― Mexican cultural event. I think they might be there." Seconds went by. He continued scraping the grill. "Actually, it's funny. I almost never work around here. I go to school here, but I prefer working other areas. This is almost the first weekend I've done it."
"Yeah, `cause I was gonna say," said Rich. "I come here all the time and I've never seen you."
"You know, variety is good sometimes. Why not." He looked up. He was, Rich couldn't help but think, damn cute tonight.
A few minutes went by. Rich swirled the bottle; there were just a few drops left. He didn't feel like setting it down. "So, you like going to school here?"
"Yeah," he said with a shrug. "I do. Gettin my education, right? Gotta make it in the world."
He paused. "I mostly do school just for the school. I don't get too involved or whatever it is. Not like you, probably."
"Yeah, you know, the whole community thing, sports teams and clubs and all that. I sorta do my own thing."
"Oh." Rich thought for a minute. "I mean... I guess I'm into some of that. Hopefully not as bad as you think."
"No, sorry, I don't think it's bad. Not trying to knock it. It's just not so much my deal."
For a while, Rich stayed like that, propped against the truck. Diego finished what he was doing, then stood, a few feet above, talking. They talked at a slow pace. They talked more about school, about baseball, about the city and getting around. Diego had lived here most his life, about an hour away. Contact with his family was erratic; sometimes he'd spend a whole weekend with them, other times he'd get too busy to even call. Sticking together was pretty big for them, they definitely had a big family attitude. He didn't mind it, most of the time. He worked the truck to make some cash, partly to pay for college, though in his words he qualified for the platinum diversity package. Though Rich had hardly heard him in class, he was a good speaker. He had a slight accent, but clearly had no problems with the English language.
Cars zipped by every now and then. It was twelve, then twelve-thirty. "Hey," said Diego in a lull, "it's not just us that are missing tonight. Where are all you guys?"
"Beats me," said Rich. "Looks like everybody's got something better to do tonight. Sorry if I'm your only customer."
"Nah, who cares," he responded. "This is better anyway." A few more minutes went by, a few more cars. Then, glancing at a clock, Diego shrugged. "That's it, we're closing shop. I was planning on working at least a couple more hours, but not like this."
"Oh." Rich hesitated. "I don't blame ya."
"Hey, you wanna chill around for a bit?" Diego stopped, holding two pans. "I'll be up anyways."
"Nice. Then why don't you hand me that bottle you been holding for an hour." Rich laughed, then handed it over.
It didn't take Diego more than five minutes to finish closing. He put a couple things away, wiped down a counter with a rag. While he did, he had Rich step up inside and watch him. The inside sure was cramped; there was hardly room to move. It was, admittedly, messy as shit. Things were shoved into tiny spaces, the lights had a layer of grime. Still, it wasn't the worst he'd seen, and that was a fact. Mostly it was the result of having so much crap and so little space. "So," he said, closing the side-canopy that was the final step. "You wanna get out of here? Take a walk?"
"Nice. After you." Diego locked up; then, they were on the pavement.
They didn't stay on it long, however. They strayed onto the abandoned lot. It was big, grassy. Before long, Rich saw that it led almost to the backside of campus. There were the dusty hills, with the mountains behind them. They were littered with sticks and brush, as well as the occasional beer bottle or wrapper. It was funny; he never knew about this place. It was nice, secluded. Already you couldn't hear the traffic.
Finally, they stopped. It was a nice place, a natural tiny valley. On one side, the grass grew on a gentle downward slope. Right in front of it, the dusty hill started, steep, almost too steep to walk on. In between, someone had left an old picnic-table. There was also a tire-swing, and a tipped-over trash can. "You come out here a lot?" asked Rich.
"Nah, I just found out about it, actually," said Diego. "Kinda nice. Funky, secluded."
"Yeah, that's what I was thinking." Rich thought they might go as far as the table, but they stopped short. At the far edge of the grass, before it turned to dirt, they sat down. The grass was cool, dry. A light breeze blew through it. It felt good.
"Hey, look," said Diego, leaning back. "Full moon." Rich did. It was high, a little above the top of the hill. It was big, yellow, luminous. They didn't speak for a minute. Then, at the sound of a rustling, Rich turned left. Out of a cargo pocket, Diego was quietly removing something. A plastic bag, glass. "Hey," he said softly, "no pressure, but, if you're down..."
"I thought you'd say that," he said with a chuckle. He started to load the small pipe. "Actually, I don't smoke very often. I just happen to have it right now." He paused. "So, don't go referring your friends."
"I wouldn't do that." Diego chuckled again. Rich watched him. Even doing this, he was meticulous. His fingers were slender, deliberate. Overall, he had a look to him, against the grass, in the moonlight. Rich felt his cock jump a little. Diego was in a tank, gray and white horizontal stripes. It was a little wrinkled and faded in a way that might or might not have been on purpose. He wore a simple necklace. His pants were black, cargo. He wore flip-flops. He was sitting there, cross legged. His ankles, both exposed, were incredibly smooth. His hair, too, looked good for some reason. It was matte, not shiny at all other than the bleached top. Still, with no or little gel, it stuck up in a way. It was thick.
"All right. After you." Diego offered it, along with a lighter. Rich took. He hit it twice; it was smooth, almost silky. He quickly felt the high come on. He passed it. Diego hit; then back to Rich. They finished the bowl. They sat there. There was the sound, from the distance, of a coyote. Rich took a deep, full breath. "Good?"
"I agree." Minutes went by. They let it sink in. Suddenly, the darks of the hillside were purple, green, tan. The shapes were soft, floating. Most of all, they were perfectly, supremely, relaxed. Their legs sank into the grass, soft as a pillow. One followed by the other, they lay back. Next thing Rich knew, he was on his back, arms by his chest. Along with the moon, he could see a couple stars. A wispy cloud seemed to go by. It was hard to make out in the darkness. It felt like, for miles, they were the only two people around.
And then it started. Slowly, almost imperceptibly. They were close, touching. Their clothes touched as they lay in the grass. Then it was their arms. Then their legs. The bare skin, at their elbows and ankles, was in contact. They started to rub. It wasn't clear who started it; they just did. Softly, smoothly, they felt each other's skin. For a while, it went on. From nothing, to something full, obvious. It might have been one, or twenty minutes. Their fingertips now. More than once they half-clasped hands. Without realizing it, Rich was getting a hard on. It was sticking up, more and more in his plaid shorts, until the tent was obvious. He wasn't really in control of things; the high made sure of that. Still, he was plenty aware what was going on.
Then, swiftly, Diego was on top of him. Above him, Diego's silhouette formed in the night. Neither moved. He could hear their breath. After what seemed like a full minute, his hands. They started up, on Rich's chest. They felt; didn't grope, didn't press, just felt. Lower and lower they went. When they got to his waist, they stopped. Slowly, they started to undo his belt. Then the button. Then the zipper. Then, he slipped them off. Somehow, Rich hardly had to move in the process. His heart racing, he waited.
The tent was full from inside the boxers. Diego touched it. Through the thin cotton, he touched it. Rich nearly jumped. He felt it, with his fingertips: up, then down, then back up. Rich's muscles contracted. It felt too good. Then, the boxers, too, were off. Diego did the same thing, this time on the bare skin. His fingers, up, and down. Rich's head tilted back. He couldn't believe it, this was actually happening, yet― and then his mouth. It was soft and wet and warm. Incredibly warm. He took the head in his mouth, feeling it lovingly with his tongue, then gradually descended along the shaft. He never gagged. At close to eight inches, Rich was by no means small, yet Diego seemed to know his limit. He had over half down his throat, inside the tight warm space, as he licked the head some more and brought all the blood in Rich's body surging inside. Then he was back, up, off it. He dove down, holding the cock up as he went for the sack. It was moist, a little sweaty; but Diego didn't seemed to mind. He licked at it, tonguing at it. Rich let out a moan. He swirled his tongue at the balls, taking them one by one into his mouth. Rich thought, just a little, he could hear him sniff. He coated them in his saliva, warmed and sped up the sperm inside.
Then he was back on the cock. As great as it was, Rich knew he wouldn't be able to last long. This time, Rich used his hands. He held Diego's head as he licked and sucked, stroking his hair. He felt his forehead, his ears, guiding him over it. Diego, meanwhile, used his hands, too. He gripped at the base, squeezing it slightly. He gently rubbed Rich's newly coated balls. He jerked it, stroking up and down as his mouth pleasured the head. He opened Rich's legs, pulling them farther apart so he could rub his thighs, too. Rich's breath was loud; his chest was heaving, as his body headed for climax. Diego seemed to know. Touching him, licking him, the Mexican boy brought him closer and closer. His cock was huge and wet, glistening in the moonlight; his balls hung low and bounced with his cock. At the peak of their highs, they were there, down and dirty, as Rich's body coursed all the way.
Diego alternately lapped and sucked the cockhead; his hand gripped and slightly jerked the base. Moaning, and breathing, Rich was on the brink. Looking down, he wanted to see it. Diego was ready, hungry for it. His mouth and hands were moving fast. Rich could feel it, closer, then― his hips raising― he started to blast. For a while it looked like Diego would take it on his face, or maybe let it land back on Rich; but at the last minute he changed. He took it, plunged the head back into his mouth, so that every shot after the first went straight into his cheek. Rich hadn't been expecting it; it made him cum even harder. He came, volley after volley of ropey hot cum into Diego's eager mouth.
Finally, as Rich sank back to earth -- though still very much high -- he watched Diego. Tons of cum still in his mouth, steaming inside his cheeks, he tilted back, slowly, and swallowed. Rich's eyes bulged. He could almost see it, the river of it, sliding down his throat. Afterwards, Diego licked his lips, to savor whatever else he could, then used his mouth to gently clean the cock as a final favor. For a second, it almost got Rich hard again. At last, done, Diego stood up. When he sat back next to Rich, Rich could see. In his pants, through his open fly, was a stain. Somehow, at some point, he had jizzed himself. Now, all he did was discreetly zip it back up.
They lay there for a while longer. Their highs lingered, along with the faint scents of grass and cum. At last, without speaking, they stood up and walked back to the road.
Chapter 2 to follow