A Daddy for Benito by Joe Satoria

EPILOGUE

THREE MONTHS LATER

MONDAY

BENITO

Harry was a man of his word. He was also a man with a very large instrument that I feared might one day inflict harm on me, apparently, according to my dentist, I had a bruised throat, and while that was the case, I was on rest from speaking, much to Harry’s pleasure though.

It was a nice warm day on the beach in the south of Spain. Laid out on our sun loungers with our cocktails. The ice was good for my throat. It was also good for cooling down the heat on my almost naked body. We were on holiday, I only brought Speedos with me. Harry insisted on bringing my other clothes, but I only brought Speedos.

“I think it was written in the stars,” Harry chuckled to himself.

I looked at him, giving him a glance. I was starving off my vocal chords for as long as I could.

“The doctor saying you shouldn’t use your voice in the same week we’re out on the beach, in the peace and quiet,” he said. He was trying to goad me into speaking. It wasn’t going to work. I was stronger willed than that, and he knew it. I could tough it out.

Squinting. I was getting the hang of non-verbal communication.

“You’re just lucky they said a daily pounding was also on the cards.”

Not true. My ass wasn’t inspected. But if it was, maybe that would’ve been prescribed for me as well. They more or less said no sucking dick. I rolled my eyes.

“You know, apparently, when you lose one sense, the others are heightened.”

I rolled my eyes once more. Speaking wasn’t a sense. He was trying to get me to speak. I grabbed my cocktail, giving a long slurp through the straw.

“Nothing?” he chuckled. “I know you want to say something.”

Through a raspy voice, I broke. “Now whose being a brat.”

He scoffed. “What can I say, I learned from the best.”

I continued to let out another long slurp through the straw, getting every last drop from the glass.

“How’s your throat?” he asked. “Maybe you could see my tool to go inside and check it out.”

Shaking my head, he knew the rule.

“You’ve already spoke once,” he said, “a little head won’t hurt.” He pouted at me. Turning over in the sun lounger, he removed the bunched towel from his lap to reveal a large bulge inside his swimming shorts.

I looked away. I wasn’t going to be tempted. The doctor said it could lead to permanent damage the way I seemed to like jamming things in the back of my throat. His words, not mine. And I was working at Pink Paws, I needed my voice to deal with customers. And also to quietly inform certain guests about the thriving scene going on behind closed doors.

“Fiiine,” he said, reaching inside his shorts.

I shied my head away, looking around. There were people on the beach, not close enough to see, but definitely close enough to know what far away action he was about to do.

Harry cleared his throat. “Benito Harlow,” he said.

Full naming me. What did he want this time?

I turned my head back to him. He was on one knee in the sand. At my lounger, he presented a jewellery box.

“Benito Harlow, will you—sing me a song?” he chuckled. Holding a closed fist to my face like a microphone. “No, I’m kidding. Marry me.”

A statement or a question. I didn’t know what was happening. Was this sunstroke? Was I hallucinating?

“Cat got your tongue?” he asked. Inside the box, there was a silver ring. “Will you marry me?” He was waiting for me to speak. He knew full well I couldn’t. “If you don’t say anything, I’ll take that as a yes, but if you blink one million times, I’ll take that as a no.”

With my lips butted shut, I nodded, and hummed.

“That’s a yes?”

“Yes,” I let out through the rasp in my throat.

He grabbed me, picking me up from the chair. I spilled the rest of the ice from the cocktail onto the sand. He swung me around, pecking kisses on my cheeks. “Do you want to renegotiate terms?” he asked. “If you don’t say anything, you have to suck my dick right now, and if you say something, then you don’t love me, and we should call off this engagement.” He chuckled.

I burst into happy tears, rolling down my cheeks. “You’re stupid,” I let out. “And no, I still want my yoghurts.”

He chuckled, kissing me with a deep press of his mouth to my lips. “Love you.”

“Love you too,” I said, even though it hurt to speak.