A Daddy for Benito by Joe Satoria

12. HARRY

Benito dressed in a Japanese school girl dress; the blue skirt, white top, and red bow at the chest. It was the same type of dress I’d seen on the anime as we sat and watched another episode. I always liked to be doing something, and I couldn’t easily lose myself to something on TV. That’s why I liked numbers, they were engaging, they were solid on the spreadsheet.

“One more episode!” Benito said, bouncing on the sofa. He slapped a hand at my knee. I was dressed in shorts and a vest, better I was dressed than wishing to clean the sofa after every time I left it. “Please.”

It was mostly fun just to see the way he watched the show, snapping his fingers, making sassy remarks. He would be hell to watch an actual film with because he liked the sound of his own voice much more than what they were saying on the show.

“You said that last time,” I told him. And I had promised we would do nothing but watch his program and laze around on the sofa all day, but between cuddling him and now, we’d already agreed we should get some fresh air and Benito wanted more yoghurts, naturally.

His hand caressed at my knee, stroking it. “Well, please. I’ve been good. But I can be—bad.” His hand grabbed at my cock. A handful. My knee jerk reaction to squeeze.

“But you know, I can be persuaded,” I said, my legs relaxing as the tension grew like a knotted muscle in my cock. “You said you only ate yoghurt.”

Benito looked me in the eye. “What flavour?”

“Me flavour.”

He looked hungry, the feast in his eyes, wider. He was already tugging at my cock, and with a mind of its own, it was growing with each and every tug he gave. His grip, squeezing lightly, tugging away at me.

“Lay back,” he said.

I leaned back, hooking my hands around the waistband of my shorts, I pushed them down my thighs, pushing my cock out. Benito removed his hand from the inside of my shorts. The end of my cock was covered by the waistband, ready to spring into action if I pushed the shorts a little further.

Thunk. My cock slapped back at me.

Benito didn’t waste any time. He laid across the sofa with his head at my lap, gobbling away at my cock. Up and down, he was bouncing on it with his face, his tongue lick a sofa wash cloth, tickling and tingling at the nerve endings. He was pressing it all the way to the back of his throat. I pressed both hand on the back of his soft head of hair, pushing it. He let out a light gag, the sensation of his throat closing around my cock was the same sensation his hole gave last night when he came before I could finish in him.

He pulled away, saliva around his mouth and a redness to his eyes. “Is that convincing enough?”

I stroked at his face. ”I don’t think you got any of the yoghurt.”

Benito stared at my cock, twitching for him to come back and give it mouth-to-mouth. He went back, taking it hole, no teasing, all the way, stretching out his mouth.

KNOCK. KNOCK.

He hummed, vibrating on the tip of my cock.

My head flinched in the direction of the sound.

Another knock came.

Benito pulled his head from my cock as it throbbed with the excitement of someone catching us. It was my flat, and the door was locked, but it still excited me. “You have someone coming over?” he asked.

“No,” I said.

“Well, it must be important.”

Another knock.

“It’s probably someone from next door.” I grabbed my dick by the base, presenting it to him. “It’s lonely.”

“Harry!” a voice called from behind the front door. The particular snap to it sent a chill through me. And seconds later, I was flaccid.

“Fuck.”

“What?”

I stood, pulling my shorts up. “I usually go and see her, but I cancelled.”

“Who?” Benito looked panicked and confused.

“Can you go in the bedroom for five minutes?” I asked.

“Who is it?”

“It’s my mum,” I said.

“Harry!” her voice, screeching out. I don’t know how she’d got into the flat block; it wasn’t exactly an open door. You needed a key fob to pass through.

He stood, tugging at the way the clothes he wore sat on him. “Ok.”

As Benito went to the bedroom, I tried to make myself look sick. That was what I’d told her already, I was sick, and she was probably here to give me some of her expired medication that she swears by. My mother, Ginger Jameson was in her late-sixties, and recently retired, so she had all the time in the world.

At the front door, my mother. Dressed in her long cardigan, a skirt to the floor, and a t-shirt. She had a full head of wiry black and grey hair.

Leaning against the door, trying to make it look impassable. “I told you I’m sick.”

“It’s a Sunday,” she let out in a gasp, “you have work tomorrow, you can’t be sick today. What will they think at your job if you don’t go in? They’ll think you’ve been out having too much to drink over the weekend. That’s not something you want to have a reputation for.”

“Mother,” I said, using a formal title. “I’m just feeling under the weather. It’s not a big deal. You probably shouldn’t come in though in case it’s a bug you might get.”

She scoffed. “Don’t be stupid, Harry.” She forced her way inside, revealing a wheeler bag as she pulled it along behind her.

“What’s that?”

“I figured, I would bring you food, medication, you remember when I had that infection last year. I still have some antibiotics. That should get you feeling better.” She paused, halfway down the hallway. “Oh, blimey. You should crack a window and open the curtains.” She sighed, shaking her head. “I expect more from you, the place is a mess.”

“You can’t be giving out expired prescriptions,” I said, “and honestly, I’m fine. I’ll see you next week. I’ll be much better. I’m sure.”

In the living room, she looked at the TV screen. “Cartoons?” she asked. “In the middle of the day. Maybe you are sick.”

I nodded. “I’ll be fine, you want me to call you a taxi?”

She scoffed, her voice giving me anxiety. “Flowers. Oh. Do you have a guest over?”

“No, why?”

“You’re letting yourself go,” she grumbled, her upper lip curling. “If your dad was still alive, he’d have you down at the gym.”

“Mum, please,” I said. “I’m going to need you to leave. I will come see you when I’m not feeling sick anymore.”

“Suit yourself,” she grumbled, “I should’ve listened to your father and had another child, but I thought boys were supposed to love their mothers, and not treat them like dog shit. You don’t see me all week, and when I come around, you’re just telling me to shove it.”

“I’m not telling you to—” I sucked in a deep breath. She wasn’t going to do this. Not today, not while Benito was probably at the door, listening to every word we exchanged. “If you want do this today, fine.”

She rolled her eyes. “Dramatic, as always,” she said. “I came offering to look after you, but you’d rather I go elsewhere with my love and care. Some people don’t even have parents. You should be grateful.”

A door slammed from the bedroom.

“You need to leave.”

“So you do have someone over,” she scoffed again, tugging at the wheeler bag. “I felt sorry for you, that’s why I came all the way over.”

“Mum, I’ll pay for you a taxi,” I said, “but please, I told you I was sick because I know what you do when I tell you the truth.”

She stuttered over her words. “What I do?”

I nodded. “I’m seeing someone, and he’s great.”

“He.”

“Yes, you know this. I think it’s best if you leave. And I’m not going to argue with you. And I’m not going to come with you to whatever help you’ve tried to get me over the year.” It felt like the last straw, and it was a kind relief on my skin as I said the words to her. “Get out.”

“I’m going, ungrateful.”

My limbs were shaking, following her out. She left. I slammed the front door shut. My hand quivering around the handle. I was stronger than that, but every single time she tried, it made me feel so small, it made me feel less than. My throat clenched and unclenched, growing dry.

Benito had been listening. I rushed to the bedroom.

The en suite bathroom door was shut.

I knocked on the door. “She’s gone.”

“She’s awful,” Benito’s voice sniffled back.

“I know,” I replied. “She’s been like that my entire life.”

He unlocked the door. He stood in a pair of my underwear. He’d taken the dress off. His eyes wide, blinking wildly. “You know, I don’t have a relationship with my parents,” he said. “They cut me out of their life when they found out I was gay.”

“No,” my voice grew soft. I embraced him into a deep hug as he dipped. “You’re ok. They’re missing out on you, but that’s fine, because I’m here to take care of you.”

“You didn’t tell me your mum was like that.”

I had to admit. “I meet her once a week, and it’s for a few hours. It’s all I can take; she really grinds me down to feeling like nothing. I would never have let you meet her. She’s not fit for consumption by people that I like.”

“You like me?” he smiled.

Snickering, it was too soon to know. “Only a little bit, but it’s growing.” I puffed out a breath I’d held in the back of my chest. “Well, I think after that, we need ice cream.”

He nodded. “Strawberry ice cream?”

“Whatever flavour you want.”

Benito squeezed me in his arms a little harder. “You flavour?”

Now, I wasn’t sure I could produce enough of anything for it to be considered me flavoured.