Snippets: Pedro, The "Bodega" Owner

Who knew a bacon, egg and cheese sandwich would cause me to find my favorite lover?

I moved to Norfolk (Virginia) from Portsmouth, a town just across the Eliza after being hired for a new job. I moved to the Norview neighborhood into a house just a mile from Norfolk International. I saw the two story, quarter acre sized property, and I wanted to buy it after realizing I was in the middle of all of my necessities for daily living. At the time, I didn't know that one of those necessities was a New York-style bodega, one that sold hot food to the community, and all other daily items I'd need.

"Hey amigo," Pedro yelled to me one morning. "You should try my bacon, egg and cheese. Damn those pastries."

I had my eye on a bear claw when he made that suggestion. This seemed random for him to just call out to me the way he did. The ornery Pedro I'd find was the owner of the store. He was a short, stout, silver goateed Puerto Rican with a strong, masculine New York accent. He was standing beside two other Latino guys who could've passed as his sons, and was being aggressive in his disposition like only a New York Latino could.

"I want the bear claw," I playfully bantered.

"It'll change your life my friend," he said to me as I wondered why he was trying to sell me a sandwich.

I took his word for it the next morning, and this regular sandwich would become my daily addiction for quite some time. It was made on a grilled, buttery bagel bun, with seasoned cream cheese, crisp bacon, and scrambled eggs meshed with sharp cheddar cheese.

"Morning papi, I made your sandwich already," was the standard statement from Pedro after the fifth day as he was my "breakfast sandwich dealer."

Part of my routine each day became me stopping by the store to grab one of the sandwiches. A couple months passed, and Pedro offered a free Coco Rico.

"Wash it down with this," he said as he handed me a can of coconut soda.

The sandwich and soda offer was an official introduction to us becoming good friends. He was abrasive to others I noticed, but seemed a bit cool on me whenever I patronized his business.

"You fish, Pedro," I asked.

"Travis, I'm Puerto Rican," he answered one morning as I was offering to take him fishing.

His tone was more leveled out, and a little more intimate whenever I spoke to him. When he was really agitated, he spoke his devout native tongue, but with me it never rose a decibel as he elaborated in clear English. Time rolled along and we'd take fishing trips, or hang out in our backyards. I was loving Norfolk even more with the chubby Pedro being the jewel of it all. I found myself being invited to family events of which his people from New York, and Puerto Rico would attend. This happened so sudden as within months Pedro and I were moving like we were best friends.

"You need a old dog like me in your life," he said to me.

Pedro mentioned why he appreciated me most. He claimed I was the epitome of why he moved from New York, for he felt he didn't have many genuine friends there.

"You're a warm guy," he admitted to me one morning when I came to the store.

He overallI loved the south for he claimed the people are nicer, and interact better. The 55-year-old noted he'd never relocate back up north if he could help it.

"I'll die here," were his exact words.

Our friendship led to us connecting to other people within our local circle. Pedro, who owned a home in the Park Place section of the city, needed constant repairs, and so I pushed my network to him for viable services. He in turn offered his guidance with situations I encountered, even giving me financial advice like the parent he was (two grown daughters). A year would come around since I bought my home, and he triggered the idea of me celebrating home ownership.

"Have a cookout, papi," he suggested.

He owned a large smoker and grill, and offered his skill to ensure me and friends were fed. He considered it a big deal for a young man like myself to have my "piece of the pie." I wasn't looking to celebrate this anniversary, but he persisted, for he wanted to ensure that I was living "the good life" at all times. It felt good hanging with Pedro as he became somewhat "my primary friend." He really grew on me, to the point where I could see myself being intimate with him, if the opportunity rose. I had to refrain from being "too cool" on him, for I chanced the problem of him not being into me, or men in general. I followed through with the party, and in turn it would be something that was probably unprecedented for anyone on the outside looking in.

"Pinchos, pollo asado mijo, and te cambiaria la vida," he said to me.

Those were some of the dishes he'd prepare for his Puerto Rican menu. We were far removed from the bacon, egg and cheese sandwiches, and more into him proving he was a cook outside of working the bodega grill.

Pedro climbed into his raised Ford F350, and hauled his large cooking contraption from one side of Norfolk to the other, in honor of a small gathering. I invited a few of my closest friends and family, while he, along with the two other store workers, would attend. We all munched on the goods prepared by the short, fat brown guy who cooked with a New York Yankees cap turned backwards. I sat on my patio, sipping beer, and laughing with other friends while my good friend was in his element. He barked in Spanish at his workers as if they were his personal cooking assistants. I watched him as he slammed meat on the grill, dancing on occasion as that fat ass of his moved quite well in his jean shorts. When the food was done, he closed the grill, and all 20 of us joined hands as he said prayer without a stumble. We all said Amen, and I looked over at him, with him looking at me, smiling and winking.

There was Coco Rico, cold Modelos, chilled wine, and liquor on top of oodles of food to feed an army. We ate on the patio, with everyone serving themselves while he and I sat beside each other. He was getting to know my other friends and family, and feeling comfortable as he sipped his beer, waiting for everyone else to eat. I finally broke from him and made a plate. Though we'd been friends for a long period, this would be the first time I had his authentic Puerto Rican food.

"When he's licking his fingers, its gotta be good," he said to me as everyone watched me devour what I ate.

I turned to look at the bastard as he embarrassed me in front of everyone. He winked, took a gulp of his beer, then rose to his feet to make his own plate, while everyone congregated. The day turned into night, and people began to leave to where it would just be him and I. The night breeze felt too good for me to go into the house. He felt the same, and we kept drinking as we both had a good time.

"And you didn't want to celebrate," he asked.

I giggled, and he moved his lounge chair closer to mine as we looked at the stars. He played some Puerto Rican music, a soft tone jazz, with a guy singing in Spanish as he started getting personal.

"Travis, I realized you never, ever talk about a girlfriend," he said.

I was sipping my beer, but sat upright to process what he just said.

"I don't have a girl," I replied.

"And why is that," he asked.

I turned to look at him, as his full body was turned towards me. I wasn't sure if he was asking because he liked me, or if he was drunk and being inquisitive. I liked women, but my choice of sexual partner as of recent was a man.

"Soooooo, you're just out here doing yourself," he asked.

"I do," I said with a laugh before he proved he was serious.

"You never, ever have a mija, or never talk about them," he said.

I was getting a little agitated, and told him to get to the point.

"I like you," he admitted.

I looked over at him as I was thinking his gait would break, and he'd tell me he was kidding. He was dead serious, and proved so when he put his beer down, then came out of his chair. Under the dark sky, he removed his shirt, and boldly showed off his hairy chest, with his soft, hairy tits. My dick was raging as I couldn't believe what was happening. I found myself sitting upright, and he stood in front of me, holding his hands together until I leaned forward to suck his tits. It was as if this was natural how my tongue slapped at his left nipple. He groaned, and my hands magnetized to that fat ass as I got a whiff of his cologne. I loved the feeling of his big, hard nipples as they were assaulted by my tongue. I squeezed them with my lips, and he moaned loudly, then began speaking Spanish as I for sure had this bodega owner turned on.

"Papi, let me suck your cock," he said in this quick turn of events.

"I'm glad we're finally on the same page," I told him as he sat down in my chair.

I stood up, and heard his narrative of how he was always bisexual, and how he found me highly attractive. He even admitted that he usually made the sandwiches at his bodega basic, and that he went the extra mile for me just to come to this moment.

"So it took you a whole year," I asked as he pulled off my belt.

"It did, but after we're done, you're gonna realize it's worth it," he replied.

I slapped his hat off his head. My shorts fell to the ground, and he'd tug at the waistband of my underwear before they fell, too. I raised my feet from the loops, and placed my left leg on the chair while Pedro went to town.

He planted his face in my pelvis, then sniffed my crotch while my precum drooled onto his left cheek. before placing his thumbs in the waistband of my underwear.

"Papi loves your cock," he whispered before his lips met my tip.

"Pedro," I cried, for the way he massaged my member had me in a swoon.

Pedro was actually the first guy I let into my home. He submitted himself to savor me delightfully, using his tongue to wrap around my tip, before his lips engaged with my entire member. I looked down, and saw his pretty lips curling around the halfway point of my shaft. I saw the detail of his thick mustache as he whittled his skull back and forth. Pedro's eyes were closed as he was making love to me under the night sky.

"My God, I never had a dick so thick as yours," he said during a short break. "Maybe one day you can bend me over on this patio and fuck me like a papi needs to be fucked!"

I kept my hands on my hips while watching the man who cooked a meal for me, feed off me the same. Pedro sucked dick like his life depended on it, for he didn't gasp, and swallowed my pole as if it belonged in his throat. Each time I moaned, he moaned, for it was moments of emotion between us that intertwined with emphasized feelings.

"You been wanted to do this," I told him as he giggled when he had me completely down his throat.

The invite to the anniversary party seemed to be the perfect setup to show me just what I was missing.

"So what? You wanted it, too, because you didn't push me away," he said before he leaned further.

He used his tongue to swipe at my balls, and immediately made me shiver. He snickered, and kept at it until I tried to pull away, only for him to "hit the jackpot" when his lips corralled my left nut. I screamed briefly from the slight pain, before realizing I was outside.

"Sorry baby," he said before he'd let up, then latched on a little softer.

He caressed my balls with a combination of his lips and tongue, making me feel weak in the knees for no one massaged me ever in this manner. I was trying my best not to moan, but couldn't help it because Pedro was in tune with what seemed like every part of me. He asked me if I enjoyed it when he broke from sucking my balls, then stuck out his tongue to lick my navel while I reached down to rub his nipples.

"I want to fuck you, papi," I whispered to him.

He wanted it, too, but warned me that he wasn't "prepared" to take any cock.

"How about I make you cum, and I take a raincheck," he offered before he latched his lips to my tip.

My dick was so hard, it began to hurt. He claimed I owned that "fat Puerto Rican pussy" whenever I wanted it.

"You gon' fuck me," he asked with a mouthful of cock.

He kept asking as he slid his face back and forth from my pubic base to the tip. He placed his hands on my tip, and I let go of his tits to massage his scalp. Pedro barely had a follicle on his head, for I felt his smooth skin as he continued to gorge on my member. I was showing my stamina, but he was showing his as he wasn't quitting until I released. I felt myself slipping for the sensation was too hard to ignore.

"Pedro, my God," I cried out as he was sloppily giving me a blowjob.

He was making all sorts of sucking and smacking sounds, making me think he for sure was a professional at giving top. I was his "candy," and he would continue to work the "lollipop" until I screamed, busting in his mouth. I was loud enough to wake neighbors, but didn't care if anyone witnessed this. Pedro didn't let up, and as a result he got the hot sperm that he'd been waiting patiently for.

"You sumbitch, you made me cum in my shorts," he said to me when he finished me.

He showed me, as he pulled down his shorts, and showed the wet spot in his briefs. I wondered in my head what it would look like seeing him cum while fucking him.

"You can't get rid of me now," he said to me as I got dressed.

I handed him his shirt, and we embraced, then kissed as a moment of intimacy passed through us. We cleaned things up, and I helped him hook the grill back to his truck. He grabbed his hat, we kissed once more, and he climbed into his truck before letting me know he meant what he said. He drove off, and let me know that he would see me the following Monday.

We'd meet again for sure.

To be continued.