Latin Night

Author: • March 12, 2018 • Short Stories

I followed him down a few pitch dark blocks in some unknowable part of Brooklyn. There were cars parked alongside the street but no people out. There were no house lights on in any of the houses in any of the windows, and there weren’t sounds of life, just the sound of our shoes hitting the pavement. We walked in silence until Jason turned into a building. He walked down a few concrete steps then took his keys out and started jiggling them against his door. That sound, keys hitting keys and opening locks, was pure magic, a hell of an icebreaker in those tomb-like streets.

Jason opened his front door and let me in. He flicked on a dim lamp and revealed the inside of his living room. The floor was covered in trash, the shelves were too. The house was full of so much garbage that it was impossible to move without kicking something. I was unable to understand what I was seeing. Jason struck me as neat, carrying a pack of Kleenexes, cleanly dressed, but his home showed an inability to throw anything out. Maybe his trash, unlike other people’s trash, was comforting. He took my hand and led me through his trash filled living room down a grimy hallway, and onto his bed. He kissed me, and any concerns about his apartment vanished. I stroked his face and hair with my hand, and felt his tongue dance with mine. It was familiar. I was transported to that night almost two years ago when I first met him, and when we were together for the first time. I thought it had been an act then, but now I wasn’t so sure. Now—when he took off my clothes, and I took off his, and he probed me with his mouth, and I did the same to him—it was more real than then. I excused myself to wash myself in his bathroom because I wanted all of him. As soon as I walked to his bathroom and turned on a light switch, I saw the garbage piled up everywhere again.

I took a shower and washed completely, and when I came back to him I caught a sheepish look on his face. Was he embarrassed? Did he not want to show me how he lived? I jumped on the bed, totally naked, put him in my mouth, made him rock hard, then put a condom on him. I wanted to show him with my body that I didn’t care how he lived. I pushed his back to the mattress and sat on his dick, and I watched pleasure take over his face, but he didn’t make a sound. We fucked for what seemed like hours, though it might have just been minutes in a drunken stupor. Jason was gentle, and I kissed him almost the entire time. We were mostly silent, not daring to whimper because when we were first together we made lots of noise as if to impress each other, but this was different. I don’t remember coming or even if he came, but I do remember him falling asleep in my arms.

I woke up in the morning and looked at Jason next to me, still sleeping, but when he looked at me I didn’t recognize him. Whose child was this? I thought to myself. He woke up and I told him I had to go. He said OK. I quickly got myself dressed, pushed several pieces of paper out of the way to find my socks and shoes, slipped those on, and walked out through his front door.

About the Author

Cecile's Writer: K. JoffréAuthor: K. Joffré

Country of residence: United States of America

Nationality: Guatemalan-American

Mother tongue: Spanish

Joffréis the child of immigrants from Guatemala who moved to Los Angeles, California looking for a better life. He received a bilingual education before the passage of Proposition 227 banned the practice in the state. He is a contributor to Slate with fiction in ContemporaryQueer.com. Slide into his DMs @meanhood on twitter.


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One Response to Latin Night

  1. […] and On Conspicuous Families. Early last year I wrote short stories for fiftywordstories, and Cecile’s Writers. I placed a story in Opossum Literature’s Fall 2018 issue. During the last half of the year I […]