fleshy thump against the cold metal machine when he leaned in to grab the detergent from the shelf behind the washer. For a moment, he enjoyed the contrast of cold metal vs. warm engorged excitement.

For breakfast he had crème caramel and a small omelet, which he ate in the bedroom. He cradled the phone to his ear, turned down the TV and pushed send. The little nervous flutter he got elevated with each ring making the last wave of anxiety pale against the one before. Two, he is probably not going to answer, three, maybe he is not home, four, maybe he is home and wont pick up because he doesn't want to see me.

"Bueno."

Silvio paused at the sound of the voice and removed the phone from the crane of his neck to make sure he'd dialed the right number. Realizing that Christoff had answered in Spanish was reassuring, it was a clever cute thing to do. Silvio found himself smiling and feeling frantic. He asked how the floor was coming, and was told, "The work might go faster if I had a little help."

"Your dad going to be home?"

"No. He is keeping watch. My uncle is sick." Christoff had corrected the lie the night before, "actually my roommate is my dad" he'd confessed. Technically, it didn't matter. There would be things that Silvio wouldn't tell if they continued to mess around, and things that he would, like how he craved Christoff's tongue on his nipples. The baritone words would jog out of his throat, sweaty and twisting like an animal in heat. He wanted it assured that his hard wet kisses with little flicks of the tongue under the ticklish parts of arms gave the desired affect, that having his nuts stuffed in Chris's mouth made him look silly but felt like living. A mans' body was a vice only to be craved and never loved became his new philosophy.

There would be other things he'd say too. "You know I'm not gay right? I mean I like to fuck, get high or whatever but that's it." He'd thought it, it came out of his mouth, and it made sense. He had a girlfriend after all, he lived with her, he was a father, he was the top, the man proud of his masculinity with an abuela who'd raised him to be strong. Silvio felt as potent as his persistent itch. The speech however, came off as lackluster. Christoff had looked relatively unaffected. Silvio wanted it to be driven home more forcefully, wanted it to be known that "you are the one enjoying IT." Maybe he hoped for tears, or drama, instead he got none while his conscious mind rushed ahead to the next encounter with Maria. He plotted offering help with the terra cotta tile so he could savor the accolades of being made hungry for her. Chris would praise him, 'you make me feel so good papi' or yeah 'give it to me like that.' Silvio wanted to walk in and simply say "chupa me" and have the deed done again and again, so he could go home and fuck his girl, spend the money his dick had made, the money that his hands had earned.

He wore the jeans that drew the eyes to his famous cock and a sleeveless blue T-shirt under a thick pullover so he could peel away the layer, show his arms awhile, then strip to a bare chest. Chris smiled brightly and