Marie Sexton - Coda 02 - A to Z (3 page)

I undid his pants, pushed them down enough to be out of the way, and grabbed him. He moaned into my mouth and pushed harder against me. His hands were still on my ass, his fingers rubbing in my crack. “That’s good, Zach. God, you turn me on.”

I stroked him for a while, but his hands never left my ass. I let go of him long enough to undo my own pants and get them out of the way. My own erection bumped against him, and I pulled him tighter against me and kissed him more, grinding against him. I loved the feel of our cocks pressed tight between us. I could have gone all night like that, just rubbing against him and feeling his hands on me. I humped into him, holding his hips tight against my own. He groaned, took my hand, and led it back to his cock. Then his arms went back around me.
I wrapped my hand around both of us and started stroking.

“That’s it, Zach. A little harder.” His fingers were rubbing up and down my crack, fingering my rim. “Harder, baby. Harder.”

I gripped us tighter and sped up my strokes. He wasn’t kissing me anymore. His head was buried in my neck. He was breathing heavy and talking low. “That’s it, Zach. Oh God, that’s good. Keep going. Keep going.” I knew he was about to come when his hands clenched tight on my ass. His first shot of come made my hand slick, and that was all it took to send me over the edge too.

He kissed me some more, and then eventually went into the bathroom to clean himself up while I changed into a clean pair of sweats. Then I walked him to the door. He pulled me close and kissed me. “See you soon.”

T
OM
and I had another date three days later. He was supposed to pick me up at six, but instead, he came by the store at four to break it off.

“Baby, I’m so sorry,” he said. “We have a meeting—it just came up—and I can’t miss it.”

The skinny punk with the attitude was back, and I was wishing Tom would keep his voice down. The punk wasn’t looking at us, and I hoped that meant he wasn’t listening. “You have a meeting at six o’clock?” I asked quietly, not quite believing him.

“I’ll be done by eight, Zach,” he said, and he really did sound apologetic. “I’d love to see you afterward, if you’ll let me.” That would certainly be better than nothing. “That sounds great,” I said, trying to sound casual and not pathetic, like I felt.

He left and I went back to doing my crossword puzzle. I was disappointed, but I tried to tell myself that it could be worse. He still wanted to see me. That made up for missing dinner. Mostly. Still, I dreaded six o’clock, when I would close the store and go home to my empty apartment.

My thoughts were interrupted by a sudden question in an impudent tone. “Can you help me find a movie?” It sounded like a challenge.

I looked up to find the skinny punk looking at me expectantly. He was quite a few years younger than me, probably early to midtwenties. He was about five-seven. He was wearing combat boots, a T-shirt that had been washed so many times I could practically see through it, and baggy jeans that were low on his hips. At least his ass wasn’t showing.

“Maybe,” I said. I would have liked to be able to just say yes, but it would have been a lie.

“Can’t really figure out your system.”
“They’re alphabetical.”

He gave me a lopsided smirk which might have been cute if it wasn’t so annoying. “What alphabet you usin’?”

He had me there. I had given up on the alphabetical thing a long time ago. “They’re grouped by genre.” I pointed to the little labels at the top of the shelves.

“In theory, man, but they’re all fucked up.”

I was starting to get annoyed. Not least of all because he was probably right. Still, I didn’t really want this punk giving me lessons on how to run my business. “Like what?”

“Like this.” He pointed to the shelf next to him. It was labeled Classics. “
Sixteen Candles
is
not
a classic.”

 

“It’s a classic to people my age.”

 

“No, man. No way does it belong next to
A Streetcar Named

Desire
. I don’t care how much it reminds you of your long lost youth. And this.” He walked a few steps and pointed to another shelf. “
True Romance—
not a romance.”

“What do you mean?”

 

“Quentin Tarantino. It’s an action flick. You never watched it?”

 

I was getting uncomfortable now. “No. I don’t like romances.”

He rolled his eyes. “Right.” He pushed his hair out of his face, sighed, and said, “I’m lookin’ for
The Bridge on the River Kwai
. You got that?”

“Ummm… I think so. That’s the one where the nun blows up the trestle bridge, right?”

He gave me the lopsided smirk again. “No, man. That’s
Two Mules for Sister Sara
. Shirley MacLaine and Clint Eastwood. I’m talkin’ about Alec Guinness. You know—Obi-Wan Kenobi?” I nodded, because I did at least know who Obi-Wan was. “I don’t remember much about it except that fuckin’ song that they whistle, so thought I’d check it out again, you know?”

“But there’s a bridge, right?” Don’t ask me how that was supposed to help me locate the movie. I was just trying to keep up.

He shook his head at me. “Forget it, man.” He turned and grabbed
The Shining
off the shelf next to him, walked over, and tossed it on the counter in front of me. He was a few inches shorter than me. He looked up at me through his overgrown bangs. “Don’t you watch any of these movies?”

“I guess I like the blockbusters more.” I was trying not to sound defensive.

“That’s not really the way to go, is it? I mean, all the stores carry those types of movies. You gotta carry the shit that they don’t have space for. Cult classics, you know.”

“Cult classics?”
“Right.”
“Like
The Breakfast Club
?”

He blinked at me. Once. Twice. Then, “How fuckin’ preppy were you in high school?” he asked harshly.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”
He rolled his eyes at me again. “Never mind.”

The Breakfast Club
wasn’t a cult classic? Although I had heard that term before, I realized I didn’t really know what it meant. “What kind of movies are you talking about?” I asked him, making an effort to sound sincere. “I really want to know.”

For a minute he just looked at me, and I could tell he was trying to decide how seriously to take me. Finally he pushed the hair out of his face again and said, “
The Toxic Avenger
. You got that?”

“I think so. Maybe. I don’t know.”
“
Ed Wood
?”
“Ed who?”
“
Ed Wood
, with Johnny Depp.”
“Is that the one where he cuts hair?”
“You talkin’ ’bout
Edward Scissorhands
or
Sweeney Todd
?” “I thought we were talking about Johnny Depp.”

He rolled his eyes. “How ’bout,
The Cook, the Thief, His Wife, & Her Lover
?”

“Is that one movie or four?”
“What about
Re-Animator
? Or
Heathers
? Or
The Warriors
?”

“
Heathers
!” I said triumphantly. “I think I’ve got that one here somewhere.”

“Hey, Ram, doesn’t this cafeteria have a no-fags-allowed policy?”
“
What?
”

“The answer is, ‘They seem to have an open door policy on assholes, though, don’t they?’”

 

I just stood there, trying to figure out if he was calling me a fag or an asshole or both, and he rolled his eyes at me again.

“It’s a line from
Heathers
, man. Never mind. I should have known you wouldn’t get it.” I felt like we weren’t even speaking the same language. My confusion must have been obvious because he sighed and started digging in his pocket for his wallet. “You should watch some of your own movies, you know. How can you run a store like this if you don’t?”

I had been thinking the exact same thing. And Tracy had quit. I decided to take a chance. “Uh, do you want a job?”

 

“I got one.”

 

“Oh.” I wasn’t sure why I had assumed he was unemployed. “Okay.”

“Sure.”
“Sure, what?”
“I want a job.”
“You just said you already had one.”

“I do. I got two. But if you’re hirin’, I’ll quit one of ’em. It hella sucks anyway.”

 

I didn’t know what “helisux” was, but I wasn’t about to ask. “Can you organize all these movies?”

“Easy.”
“When can you start?”
He smiled at me. “Now.”
“What’s your name?”

His smile disappeared. “Man, I been rentin’ here almost every night for the last three weeks, and you don’t know my fuckin’ name?” He was right. I was terrible at that kind of thing. He shook his head at me before I had a chance to respond. “It’s Angelo. Angelo Green.”

E
IGHT
o’clock came and went that night with no sign of Tom. In fact it was just after nine when he rang my doorbell.

 

“You’re late.” I tried to say it casually and not let it sound like an accusation. Maybe I pulled it off.

“I’m so sorry, baby.” He leaned me against the wall and kissed me. His tongue brushed the roof of my mouth, and his cock, already erect, ground against me.

I wanted to be mad, but it just wasn’t working. He was so gorgeous, and his hands were squeezing my ass, and his groin was grinding against mine, and God, I wanted him so much.

“I have wine,” I managed to gasp out.

“After.” His mouth was hard against mine, and he moaned, “Zach, please let me fuck you tonight. I want you so much, and I know you want it too.”

He was right. Just hearing him say it had me so hard it was almost painful. “Okay.”

 

We made our way to the bedroom, kissing and groping, shedding clothes as we went.

I took a condom and the lube out of the drawer and handed them to him. He turned me around and pushed me down onto the bed, then grabbed my hips and pulled me toward him. A second later I felt his slick fingers pressing into me. I moaned and leaned into him.

“Do you like that?” he asked as his fingers plunged in and out of me, touching that sweet spot inside, sending waves of pleasure through me.

“Yes.”
“You’re so tight, baby. How long has it been?”

His fingers were still moving in me, and it wasn’t easy to formulate a response. “Too long,” I said, pushing harder against him.

“That’s it, baby. Tell me how much you like it.”
“I love it,” I gasped out.

“I can’t wait to fuck you, Zach.” His fingers were gone, and then I felt his cock pushing against me. “I can’t wait anymore.” He pushed in, hard, and I bit my lip to keep from crying out. “Oh God, baby, you’re even better than I expected. So tight. Damn, you feel fine.”

I was a little bit pissed because I could tell he wasn’t wearing the condom. Why did he think I handed it to him? That seemed like a pretty obvious request. Still, it was too late now. I was trying to let it go and just relax around him. He was already thrusting, talking the whole time, an endless stream of meaningless words. “So fucking fine. So tight. That’s it, baby. That’s it.” I’ve never been one for talking dirty during sex, but I sure wasn’t going to ask him to shut up.

He was already speeding up, and I could tell he wasn’t going to last long. I braced myself on the headboard with one hand and reached down with the other to start beating myself off. He was slamming into me, and I knew I was going to be sore in the morning. His hands were gripping my hips tight. “So close, so close.” And then he came, pounding into me hard. I was still going. He didn’t reach around. He stayed there, still inside of me, holding tight to my hips until I finished, and then he collapsed next to me on the bed.

“You’re amazing, Zach.”

I wished I could honestly say the same thing to him. Still, any sex was better than no sex, and I figured it would get better with time.

“Why did you have to work so late?” I asked.

“The meeting ran late. You know how it is. Everybody talking, nobody listening.” Actually, I didn’t know, but I didn’t answer. “It’s boring.”

“I’m glad you made it.”

 

“Me too. I missed you.” He rolled over to kiss me, then stood up, and started getting dressed. “I’ll take some of that wine now.”

I put on some sweats and a T-shirt, then poured the wine. He followed me into the living room. I turned on some music and turned around to find him watching me from across the room. We stood there, awkwardly staring at each other. It was ridiculous. I had just let him fuck me, and yet I had no idea what to say to him.

He glanced into the dining room and saw the puzzle sitting on the table. He walked in to look at it, and I followed him. “Do you like puzzles?” I asked.

He smiled at me. “You bet.”

I sat down in one of the chairs, and he sat in the chair next to me. “This one’s harder than I thought it would be,” I said as I started searching for one piece in particular which had been eluding me. “There are so many different shades of gray.”

He made a disinterested sound. I kept looking for my piece. He fidgeted for a bit, picking up pieces randomly and trying to fit them in. After a few minutes, he got up and wandered into the living room. Suddenly my music stopped, and he turned on the radio and started turning the knob. It took him a long time to find a station, and the constant stutter and stop of radio chatter punctuated by distressed static annoyed me more than it should have. What was wrong with the music I had on? If he didn’t like, he could have just said something.

He finally found a station that he liked and came back in to the dining room. He didn’t sit down, though. He set his empty wine glass on the table and said, “I need to get going. I have to be at work early.”

“Okay,” I said, trying to hide my disappointment. I walked him to the door and kissed him good night.

 

I ended up drinking my wine alone.

 

T
HE
next morning was Angelo’s first day working at A to Z Video. I almost expected him to do a no-show, but he arrived right on time.

“Where did you park?” I asked him when he came in the door. “You don’t want to park under Sensei’s balcony. At least twice a year, one of his students pukes over the railing.”

He looked amused by that but shook his head. “Don’t own a car.”

 

“You don’t drive?” I asked in surprise.

“I don’t
own a car
,” he said again, as if the distinction was important. “Don’t need one. Only live two blocks away. My other job is four blocks over. Grocery store between here and there.” He shrugged. “Easier to walk.”