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Hmmm…a new day, renewed possibilities. The
following morning, my mood had improved significantly--which had a lot to do
with cooler weather. Much of the oppressing humidity had melted away. As the
brilliant sun streamed through the bedroom suite’s open French doors, a
pleasant, light breeze wafted through.
What I didn’t know was that Ms. Divine Destiny (Destiny’s always some broad,
right?) would drop someone into my world--thereby changing it forever. This
person would give me the most intense, the most substantive love I’d ever
experienced. On the flip side, though, he’d present me with the toughest
challenge of my life.
The “he” in question was Antonio Miguel Rios,
Jr., a 30-year-old Puerto Rican I was preparing to interview that morning
for the position of Chief of Security. This man would, as Toni Braxton sang,
“stir my private parts. And how.
I was in my sumptuous bedroom suite,
preparing for my appointment with Rios. This was my favorite room of the
mansion. (I wonder why? Smile.) Arresting African-American art, similar to
the work featured in the classic television series “Good Times,” hung
throughout. The spacious sitting room was replete with mahogany desk, a
couple of chairs, sofa, and a couple of wide curios holding crystal,
porcelain objects d’art, and collector teddy bears.
Go up three steps, and voila! —the spacious
bedroom area. First, there was the super-duper king-sized, cherry wood bed
that I’d imported from France, which was solid wrought iron and hand
painted. (When I get busy, I require lots and lots of space.)
Directly across from the bed was a cozy
fireplace. Then, there was the glass ceiling and mirrored wall facing the
bed. All of this enhanced and heightened the fine art of…well, you know. Now
that’s what I’m talkin’ ‘bout.
At 9:45, the phone rang. It was Mrs. Frieda
Jackson, my house manager. “Mr. Kelly,” she announced, “Mr. Rios, Jr., your
10 o’clock, is here to see you.” Rios would be the fourth applicant for the
Chief of Security job.
Rios was minutes early. I liked that. A good
sign. Promptness is one of my pet peeves.
Hmmmm…I must say that I was smokin’.
Considered strikingly handsome, I appeared a good 10 years younger than my
44. At 5’10, 208 pounds, I’d honed a well-proportioned, muscled physique,
the hard-earned result of years of sweat and pain in the name of personal
training. However, shedding that last inch of fat around the middle proved a
bit elusive. Metabolism slowing down after 30 is such a bitch.
That morning, I was sharp and lookin’ fly. My
shaved head was glistening. My ‘stache was neatly trimmed. And, my mocha
skin was moisturized and lookin’ healthy and bright. (Yo guys—you gotta
moisturize.)
A small hoop adorned each ear. I was wearing
a blue silk shirt, and maroon and gray tie with an intricate pattern that
said power in an understated way. Also, I had on black cuffed slacks and
soft, black leather loafers. I’d selected Lauder’s Intuition for Men (such a
subtly sensuous scent) from my cologne treasure trove. Hmmmm…for some
strange reason, my intuition told me to be extra hot that morning.
Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.
Any who, I thanked Mrs. Jackson, telling her
I’d be down shortly. She’d been with me for years, and I simply couldn’t
survive without her. She made Kellyheart, my magnificent estate, run
smoothly like a well-oiled machine.
Even in her early sixties, Frieda was
vibrant…and absolutely ravishing. Standing five feet five inches tall, she
was a petite, classic beauty. The way she looked, the way she moved, she was
the personification of proper breeding and class. She reminded you of one of
those golden age movie stars, reminiscent of Lena (Horne) and Dorothy
(Dandridge). Impeccable style and grace. And, God. She always smelled sooooo
good!
I decided to take the winding staircase
instead of the elevator to the first floor. Rios and Mrs. Jackson were
sitting in the foyer.
When they caught sight of me, they rose. And
when I first saw Rios, something inside my pants rose to full attention… and
throbbed. (Don’tcha know what I’m talkin’ ‘bout? “Mr. Woody”, doggone it!!)
Y’all, Rios was a fuckin’ sight to behold.
Ruggedly handsome, he was 6’4”, 280 muscularly immense pounds. Massively
built and exquisitely proportioned, he was, hands down, a “bodybuilder’s
bodybuilder.” Powerful, wide neck. Barn door shoulders. Bowling ball biceps.
Horseshoe triceps. Chiseled, expansive chest. Narrow, firm waist. And the
way his jeans fit! Daymn. I could detect that he owned humungous glutes and
calves…and (gleefully) something else. Sumthin’ else, indeed.
The stud was clad entirely in black--shirt;
jazzy (but tasteful) tie; form fitting jeans; and kick-ass cowboy boots.
Masculinity with touches of sensitivity oozed outta him. I was fuckin’ taken
aback, which usually doesn’t happen often. I felt I was losing control. I
had to regain it. Quick like.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Kelly,”
Rios smiled, broadly. That 100-watt grin could’ve lit up the entire nation’s
capitol. Immediately extending his power-packed mitt, he followed with,
“Thanks so much for this opportunity.” “Stud Man” had this syrupy, so
sensual, low baritone with a full heapin’ helping of Latin accent stirred in
for good measure.
And his eyes! A liquid blue-green, they
seemed to be as endless as an ocean, sucking you right in. They peered deep
inside, searching for the real you. I swore they seemed to have a life of
their own...
Rios had a caramel-tinged complexion, and
short, curly, jet-black hair. His sideburns connected with a neatly trimmed
goatee, which in turn merged into his ‘stache. He had these full lips, which
begged you to kiss them. Mos’ def.
And his handclasp! God. It was warm,
supremely confident. Well-manicured, those hands were like meat cleavers--so
thick, so sturdy, so powerful. His touch, his grasp, made my whole fuckin’
body tingle through and through. Nobody—and I do mean nobody—had touched me
that way in what seemed like fuckin’ eons. I swallowed hard. Just like Nelly
said, “Hot in Here.”
Floating back to earth, I responded, “I’m
sure the pleasure is all mine, Mr. Rios. Welcome.” Not to be outdone, I
returned a formidable clasp of the palm myself.
Then, without warning, our eyes seemed to
zoom into each other, like heat seeking missiles. After reaching their
destination, they settled into the lockdown position. All of a sudden that
ol’ magical thang called “chemistry” burst forth, spinning around, totally
engulfing us. The sensation was electric, hard-hitting, exciting…though
downright scary. It was as if Mrs. J weren’t in the room, that the big man
and I had tucked ourselves away in our own secluded, far-flung universe.
Hey--remember that song, “Just Don’t Disturb this Groove?” Well, let me tell
you--this was it.
Hmmmm…I could swear he was checkin’ me out,
scopin’ me, as well. And I noticed him noticing my erection. (Y’all, I’ve
got a “Big Whopper,” and I ain’t talking Burger King! Smile.) The muscle
stud’s eyes stretched wide for more than just a few seconds…
Suddenly, I heard Mrs. Jackson chime in, “Mr.
Kelly, if you need anything, please buzz me.” She noticed how attracted I
was to Rios. So, she cut me this glance that said, “Boi, you really outta
just take a chill pill.” With that, she smiled, taking her leave.
“Mr. Kelly,” Rios offered, “Please…call me
Antonio.”
“Thanks…Antonio,” I responded. Yo. His name
sounded so divine falling off my lips. He was sporting Givenchy’s Grey
Flannel (the light blue liquid version), one of my favorite fragrances. Not
too much, just enough to tantalize. And, he had this pleasant
cinnamon-spearmint breath!
Nodding, he smiled, “You have an exquisitely
lovely home here, sir.” Oh, shit—already I couldn’t get enough of that
seductive baritone with it’s hot ‘Rican flava. WOOF.
And, what a charmer. Such sincerity. Of
course, I thanked him.
I was extremely proud of my Kellyheart.
Constructed in 2002, the property was located in McLean, Virginia, about a
40-minute drive from D.C. A spectacular light brown brick and stone custom
built, three-story mansion with charcoal blue-gray roofs, it was situated on
two private, wooded acres complete with gardens and pool. The mansion had an
extra wide, circular driveway and garage space for eight vehicles.
Kellyheart boasted high ceilings, walls of
windows in most rooms, and a winding staircase connecting the first level to
the second. As well, the elevator serviced all three floors. There were
fireplaces, five bedrooms, six full bathrooms, and two powder rooms. African
and Asian art adorned the mansion.
On the first level, one found the foyer with
marble flooring; living room; two-story family room; separate dining area;
library; servant’s den; the powder rooms; and the gourmet kitchen, truly a
chef’s paradise.
The second level contained the master bedroom
suite with master bath; three bedrooms; three other full baths; and the
laundry area.
And, the third floor comprised the remaining
bedroom; two full baths; “lock room” for valuables; soundproof theatre;
bowling arena; state-of-the-art gym; indoor pool.
As I chatted with “Mr. Man,” the chemistry
between us was becoming red hot, deliciously intense. It had gripped me so
tight it made me wanna holla! Antonio radiated such pure animal
magnetism…along with enticing, sensitive masculinity. This attraction,
although undeniably appealing, was intoxicating, bordering on the
overwhelming.
In other words, these sensations were
exhilarating, dizzying; but at the same time, somewhat unnerving. And daymn--our
eyes were still bearing down on one another. “Oh, Lord,” I thought, “was he
feeling what I was feeling? He had to be! Well…wasn’t he?”
Breaking eye contact for a few seconds, I
announced, “Antonio (Whoa. Once again, that name sounded sooooo good
dripping from my lips.), let’s adjourn to the library.” Walking side by
side, we reached the room. Opening the doors, I gestured him in.
Glad I did, because I was rewarded with an
absolutely mouth-watering site! Antonio had this “phine”
basketballbubblebuttazz. Pushing through his pants. Perfectly round. Meaty.
“Bootylicious.” Ready to be squeezed…and plundered. (Ya see, as an “ass
connoisseur,” I’m an expert about these affairs. Smile.)
I was teased even further when he strode into
the library. His musclebootybutt jiggled ever so slightly, ever so nicely,
in his tight black jeans. Meanwhile, I had to quickly adjust Mr. Woody in an
attempt to conceal my growing, burning arousal.
“Antonio, please have a seat,” I invited,
motioning to the sofa opposite the mahogany desk. I climbed into the leather
chair behind it, picking up his resume.
Our eyes said “hello” again. “Antonio, may I
get you something? Water? Juice? Soda, perhaps?” He remarked, “Evian with
ice works. Much appreciated, Mr. Kelly.”
Picking up the extension, I said, “Mrs.
Jackson, would you please bring Mr. Rios a bottle of Evian and ice...and a
chilled one with lime for me. Thanks.”
I settled back into the plush chair. I said,
“Antonio, please make yourself at home while I review your credentials.”
“No prob, Mr. Kelly.”
Lickety-split, Mrs. Jackson rapped on the
door, and handed us our orders. Shyit. I wanted to pour that frigid liquid
all over me. Is it hot in here, or what???
As I scanned his resume, I became aware of “BigGuy’s”(my
later nickname for him) eyes inspecting, dissecting, analyzing me. He was
trying to read me, workin’ to figure out what I was thinking…about him.
Meanwhile, the mounting, swelling sensations (hell, in more ways than one,
if you catch my drift) I was experiencing were inflaming my potent, pent-up
desires.
I became lightheaded. Beads of sweat formed
on my forehead. My left wrist, with the Rolex wrapped around it, began to
sweat and itch. And, the chilled Evian I was sipping in earnest couldn’t
seem to wash away the parched feeling that had stubbornly claimed my throat.
Then, all of a sudden, in that moment, my
mind stumbled into a dense fog. I began to fantasize, have “nastee” thoughts
about Antonio, which went like this:
Ahhh, yes…both of us buttnekked, him doggy
style, perched on my broad mahogany desk. Ahhh…me kneeling, with his
bubblebuttbootylicious azz all up in my face…me swathed in delicious
anticipation while I’m stroking, fondling and squeezing that marvelously
round, voluptuous treasure.
Me, salivating, as I’m slowly, so
deliberately parting the tepid, lusciously solid muscle cheeks. Squeezing
them, prying them W-I-D-E open. Him enthralled in passion, vocalizing erotic
murmurs.
Me, after thoroughly licking and lapping the
entirety of that musclebooty, for what seemed liked forever… and two days,
skillfully, leisurely delving my tongue so deeply in and out, in and out, of
the tight, lush, moist “valley” of that bubblebuttbootyliciousazz. Me,
becoming even more aroused by the exquisite sensations inspiring and driving
Antonio to grunt and groan, shake, rattle and roll…Him pushing my head ever
closer into his glorious musclebootytreasuretrove…
Me, after finishing my delectable, tasty
feast and at the zenith of my nasteeness, carefully and totally lubing up
the entrance to BigGuy’s valley, which had the heat and moisture reminiscent
of a tropical rain forest. Then, I slipped on a latex “raincoat”, and…
Abruptly, a resonant voice of authority
inquired, “Say, Mr. Kelly--are ya feelin’ all right?” Jarred back to
reality, I swallowed hard. There were a few more beads of sweat dancing on
my head. My throat remained partially dry.
Looking straight at BigGuy, I muttered, “Ah,
yes. Thanks. Just focusing on your resume.” Then, as if a hard, driving rain
had cooled off a stifling, muggy August day in Washington, that chilled
Evian finally cooled off my parched, dry throat. But the H20 was only able
to quench one of my thirsts, one of my hungers.
And what a helluva resume. Antonio was an
amateur bodybuilder/ boxer, and skilled in the martial arts. After finishing
high school, he’d completed a two-year stint in the Army.
Next, Antonio earned a Bachelor of Arts
(B.A.) degree in business administration. Subsequently, he spent six years
as a professional bodyguard. His clients included influential government
officials and corporate execs. At the time of his interview with me,
Antonio’s sole client was an affluent political family.
Lounging in my chair, I commented, “Antonio,
your credentials are impeccable. You have much to be proud of.” Smiling his
thanks, I could tell that BigGuy was relieved. Oh, oh. His eyes seemed to
inspect, dissect, and analyze me all over again…
Settling back in my chair, I announced,
“Antonio, let me tell you what I need. Since I’m about to resume performing,
I’m gonna require increased protection. Also, I want Kellyheart even better
secured. Therefore, I need a small team of professionals assembled.”
I continued. “Therefore, the Chief of
Security will be responsible for forming the team and supervising its
activities. And, the chief will serve as my principal bodyguard.” Firmly, I
stated, “Now, I can be a demanding boss, but the team will lighten the
load.” BigGuy listened intently.
I went on, “Chief of Security will solely
manage all security affairs. I won’t interfere—unless I deem it necessary.
Is this something that interests you?’’
“Si. Absolutely, Mr. Kelly. I relish the
opportunity…and the challenge,” he quickly replied, displaying all his
pearly whites. Daymn. Once again, his eyes had me under their spell. I was
totally mesmerized. Bewitched.
This man’s stature, warm-heartedness, and
easy-going masculinity were so darn addictive. I’m pretty much emotionally
secure, and look for the same in someone else. I’d been so fuckin’ bored
with and tired of being my intimate partner’s “daddy” 24/7. My mind and
heart were crying out for a relatively secure, self-assured guy to hold me
in his strong arms, ad make me his boi—for just awhile at a time.
I inquired, “Antonio, why do you wish to work
for me?”
He chose his words carefully. “First off,” he
conveyed, “the position is exactly the challenge I’ve been searching for.”
Then, looking at me dead on with the utmost
of authority, he added, “And, I’m always up to a challenge.”
I tried to camouflage my befuddlement. Three
beads of sweat popped up on my forehead. Hell, yeah--I was certain he was up
to any and all challenges.
Not missing a beat, Antonio continued,
“Besides, it would be exciting and a blast to work for you. I’m not a
groupie or anything like that, but I’ve followed your career for years.”
And he gushed, “You’re one of my favorite
performers.” His boyish grin was so damned infectious. I suddenly felt shy.
Boy, this guy was really workin’ me over overtime!
Then, unexpectedly, BigGuy made a revelation
that simply “slapped my face.” With those soulful, liquid blue-green eyes
intensely gazing at me, he confessed, “And being gay myself, it would be big
fun to work for you. And an honor!”
Yowza! That admission floored me. And my
“gaydar” was smack dab on target! Antonio was a hunky, virile member of “The
Brotherhood.” No shyit Sherlock. Daymn. Double daymn. Oh, oh. Mr. Woody shot
back to life.
The only response I could come up with was,
“Antonio, I really appreciate you telling me that.” I smiled.
There was absolutely no question in my mind
that Antonio was the only choice for the job. However, I had to regain
control. Play it cool and “close to the vest,” if you will.
So, using my patented “Kelly business tone of
voice,” I stated, “To be honest, Antonio, I have a few other promising
individuals to interview. As well, I must also check your references.” This
time, beads of sweat began to form on the BigGuy’s forehead. I’d unsettled
him.
Silence.
After three seconds or so I interjected,
“However, Antonio, you are my leading candidate.” As Toni Braxton sang, (he)
breathe(d) again.
Rising from my chair and extending a resolute
handshake, I stated, “I’ll be in touch very soon with my decision. You can
count on it.”
Swallowing a little hard, the BigGuy returned
the clasp in kind. “I look forward to it,” he smiled. Daymn. That fuckin’
hand of his. Tingles radiated throughout my body.
Patting him on the back (and Jesus, what a
back!), I responded, “Let me lead you out.”
I opened the main double doors. Antonio
stepped out, and then smoothly turned around to face me. Gazing at me with
those emerald blues again, which this time were sort of sleepy-like, he
offered, “Even if you don’t select me, Mr. Kelly, I wanna thank you so much
for the opportunity to make your acquaintance.”
I continued to be impressed. This man was
gracious. And, I knew he was speaking from the heart.
I responded, “I totally feel the same way,
Antonio. It’s been my pleasure.”
“I believe in being decisive and expedient,
so I’ll get back to you shortly. (Pause.) I have the distinct feeling that
you are, as well.”
“You are correct, Mr. Kelly,” the BigGuy
confirmed, taking my palm once again. Daymn. We couldn’t seem to get enough
of each other’s touch.
I ended our “dance” by stating, “I’ll be in
contact. Have a good day.”
“Backatcha,” Antonio flashed a broad smile
and gave me a wink. He turned and walked away--kinda like a combination of
Richard Roundtree’s “Shaft” and James Arness’s “Matt Dillon” (I know y’all
remember “Gunsmoke.”). WOOF.
It was a no-brainer that I was gonna hire
this guy. And fortunately, he accepted my offer. Awww, “sookie, sookie,”
now—let the games begin….. |
