Guatemalan Blend Pt. 02

Next installment, and I suggest reading them in order. Still a slow build but be patient.

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I couldn't get the proposal I made with Marisol out of my head. No, not THAT kind of proposal, but a business arrangement. I had suggested that I hire her brother and her sister and invited them to live in my home... as renter, yes, but the family would be together.

Maybe that was what prompted me to make such an odd bargain: family. I've never had one. My parents were both dead, and I wasn't close to either one. Sure, I had a modest inheritance from them, but I used that to invest in various partnerships to give me a small piece of several profitable businesses. I had interest in construction, lumber, tractor sales (Surprisingly lucrative, though I still don't quite understand why), a floral shop, an event venue, a tailor shop, a fabric store, a hobby shop, and a very profitable commercial real estate development firm. My lawyer said I was like the Mafia: I had my hand in everything.

Needless to say, I had earned quite a bit of money, bought a large house, hired a live-in domestic staff... and just offered positions on that domestic staff to all of my housekeeper's, Marisol's, family.

What was I thinking?

Okay, I know what you're thinking. You believe that my doing this was part of some elaborate manipulation scheme to get Marisol into my bed. I'll be honest, the thought NEVER crossed my mind. Okay, to clarify an elaborate manipulation scheme never crossed my mind. Granted... I'd be lying if I said she hadn't crossed my mind. She was a Latina goddess from Guatemala who had attributes in all the right places: richly-dark hair, deep brown eyes, sensuous rose-petal lips, luscious curves, and a poise and grace that would rival most movie stars.

But suggesting she OWED me for the offer never crossed my mind. In fact, I made it clear she did NOT owe me.

Didn't stop me from fantasizing, though.

See my tirade in Part 1 about me being an asshole. I am most definitely an asshole.

I finished out that day, locked in my study, not coming out until well after dinner time and Thomas, the retiring groundskeeper, and Marisol stopped their work and retired for the evening. I went to the kitchen, found the food that Nero, the cook, had prepared, opened a bottle of good wine (I'm kind of a wine snob), and sat down to eat... alone as usual.

From the dining room, the pool shimmered in dusky blues--calling me toward a moment of quiet reprieve, and I thought I would take a swim after dinner, then maybe a soak in the jacuzzi. A quiet evening to relax after a rather unusual day.

I finished dinner, poured another glass of wine and took it out on the patio near the pool. There I sat and watched the sunset as I finished the glass. Then, I went to my room to put on a bathing suit (checking to see that Marisol returned the cash to its place... which she did) and went out to the pool.

To clear my head from the day, I dove straight in and swam several laps, working up a good sweat... or as good of one as you can get in a swimming pool in April in California. Rain wouldn't have deterred me, but the clear night felt like a silent blessing. The workout helped, and by the time I had swum about 300 meters... give or take since it is hard to measure in a smaller pool like this, I had calmed down a bit. Maybe the wine helped too, but I got out of the pool feeling MUCH better.

I climbed into the hot tub, leaned back, and relaxed, the jets massaging all the right places, calming me down even more. Steam curled around me like a quiet absolution. The stars didn't answer, but they didn't judge, either. It would be fine, right? Marisol, Carlos (her brother), and Maria (her high-school-aged sister) would all come to live here, work for me, and be happy. One big happy family.

Well... them, at least.

And that made me glad. I was in a position to do this for them. I WANTED to do this for them. They were poor, and Carlos had dreams of starting his own business and Maria was about to graduate high school and had her whole life ahead of her. My offer for them to live here and to have jobs helped them where they needed it, right? They could save some money and try to live the American Dream the best way they could.

And I made that possible. With no thought of reward. No need for one. Right. When is an asshole not an asshole?

I opened my eyes and glanced up at the stars coming out. A sliver of movement behind a window curtain caught my eye--dark hair backlit by moonlight, there and gone in a breath. Marisol at her window. Was she looking at the stars, too? Was she looking at me? Was she thinking of me... and that moment of spark between us earlier?

Whatever spark had crackled between us earlier, it felt like a circuit misfiring--charged, yes, but hopelessly one-sided. Was it Pity? No, I felt bad for Marisol and her family, bad enough that I wanted to help them, but this wasn't just pity. Desire? Well, Marisol was definitely a beauty, but that feeling was only one-way. There was no way in hell a woman that young and vibrant and warm and alive and caring and beautiful (I seem to have gotten carried away there) could ever think of 50-year-old me in that way. I was twice her age... more than twice, actually. She was 24 and I was nearing 51. A creepy old man to someone in their prime.

But still... just what WAS that spark... that crackle of energy that arced between us in my study?

Well, one thing the romance novels don't tell you about this spark... electricity is one-way: positive to negative... on to off... yes to no... male to female. So, whatever current that MAY have existed, it was extended from my asshole male-ness to her beautiful femininity. She could never think of me in that way.

Could she?

No.

The voices in my head kept up this debate in my head for several more minutes before I decided to drown them out with a book... and more wine. I got out of the spa, dried off, returned to the kitchen, poured another glass of wine, and took it to my room.

I tried to read. I honestly did, but I couldn't get Marisol out of my head. She'd lived here for a year, and I've never felt so conflicted. Oh sure, I had fantasized about her... and her tight, black leggings and form-fitting shirts... which accentuated her the curve of her ass and her breasts... the way the fabric would stretch when she reached up to clean a high shelf or when she bent over to wipe down a low one.

I felt my dick pulse as these images flooded my brain. With them came other unbidden scenarios. Ones where Marisol shows her gratitude... down on her knees... or on all fours... or up against a wall... or in the hot tub. I close my eyes and take hold of my rigid cock, stroking it slowly, letting the images play out in my mind.

Mister Mike... how can I ever thank you... let me thank you with my body.

Mister Mike... you have been so good to me... let my tits be good to you... titty-fuck me, Mister Mike.

Mister Mike... I had no idea your cock was so big. Let me suck it.

Mister Mike... I am your slave... use me... use my ass.

A few scenarios like these and my cock erupted in a strong orgasm, spraying cum all over my stomach, legs, and sheets.

God, I really was in trouble.

The next morning, after a fitful night's sleep, I resolved I would remain professional, regardless of... anything. I focused my mind on the business ahead: arranging with the agency to hire Carlos and Maria once they registered, going to the bank to get the 20K, preparing the standard interview questions for Carlos and Marisol, and crunching the numbers to see just how long it would take Carlos to repay me.

Not that I really NEEDED the money, but it was the principle. Judging by my spreadsheet, if I garnished 50% of his wages it would take... a little under three years for him to pay me back. That sounded too much like indentured servitude. We'd have to discuss this.

And if Marisol decided to...

I told my inner asshole to shut the fuck up.

I went about the business of my day, answering e-mails, making a few phone calls, making Thomas's moving arrangements, going to the bank, and all that crap, ensuring I had everything prepared for this afternoon when I would meet Marisol's family.

Lunch finally rolled around, and I actually had a brandy right after. I don't normally drink so early in the day, but I was just so nervous. In the name of God, WHY? I've done business with hundreds of people, negotiated deals with a LOT of zeros, so why should THIS make my palms sweat and my heart race?

The answer came in a vision of a pair of dark, brown eyes.

Dammit!

Right at 1 o'clock, Marisol knocked on my study door and introduced her brother and sister.

Carlos was a short, stocky man who looked like he knew his way around a lot of different dirty jobs. We shook hands and I knew right away he was someone I could get along with. Sure, he made a mistake and got a loan with the wrong people, but after years of business, I knew who the assholes were... and Carlos was definitely not one. He smiled and was very gracious.

Maria was a shorter, teen-version of her sister. She had all the same lovely Latin features on a 5'2" frame and youthful vibrance that only a teenager could have. I'm sure she was the delight of her school, a pretty, popular girl who all the guys wanted to hang out with. She was friendly, and smiling, and spoke intelligently, with a fire in her eyes that only the young could truly radiate. Vibrance was the word, and it was contagious.

And, I'm sure the guys didn't only want to hang out with her. Her body was ever bit as good as her sister's. Yes, she would have guys eating out of her hand and following her with their tongues dragging on the ground, hoping for just a glance from those gorgeous, playful eyes. The thought made me laugh. I remembered being that age and falling over myself for a girl like Maria. If Marisol was a Guatemalan goddess, she was a goddess in the making.

I asked Carlos to step out for a moment while I interviewed Maria, asking Marisol to remain so she could hear our discussion. I drove those unprofessional thoughts out of my mind, asked Maria the standard interview questions, and posed some specific questions about her knowledge of business apps and social media. She answered directly and intelligently, and I knew immediately she would be a good fit. I described the responsibilities she would have, and she seemed very agreeable to the terms, her eyes lighting up at the prospect of a more professional job.

Yes, Maria did not have far to go to be a goddess, sitting there in her school uniform, her white blouse stretched across her ample chest with the barest hint of a dark blue demi-bra silhouetted behind the white material, suggesting that a matching set of panties hid under that pleated, knee-length, school-girl skirt. Her youthful, wide eyes watched me knowingly, as if she detected perfectly well the effect she was having on me. I'm sure she'd seen it on hundreds of guys.

I stood and shook her hand, wanting to get her out of the room quickly, but not before noting that her skin was as silky soft as her sister's. She smiled warmly as she walked out of the room. Like a typical male, my eyes dipped to watch the sway of her curves and the twist of her skirt as she walked away.

Marisol AND Maria? I am in a LOT of trouble.

I interviewed Carlos next, asking Marisol to step out since our business did not involve her... right? Right??? We discussed his experience, his business plan, and his desire to broaden his skills as a landscape architect. We talked about his work here, and the repayment plan, and he agreed to everything, which left him with some modest spending money. I handed him an envelope with the cash, and he took it with a firm handshake. The deal was closed. A man like Carlos didn't need a formal contract. I could tell he was a man of his word. After five minutes' conversation, I could tell he definitely WASN'T an asshole.

The interviews concluded, the three of us discussed living arrangements, and gave them keys to their rooms and coordinating them moving in next week, after Thomas moved out, of course. All in all, it was a pleasant business conversation, and by the end, we were all smiling and chatting. They drew me in with their familial banter and included me in their jokes. Apparently, they ALL decided that I would be "Mister Mike," so the name stuck, and we all got a good laugh over it. They were a laid-back family and easy to talk to. I could only imagine evenings with them around a small dining table in a tiny apartment, joking and laughing like a loving family.

Love. That's what it was. They LOVED each other. After watching them interact for even these few minutes, it was clear they LOVED each other. I couldn't help but smile as I listened to their inside jokes and sarcastic comments, in Spanish, of course, so I couldn't understand them. But the way they laughed invited me in, and by the time they left, I felt... included. Even if it was only for those few minutes... I was one of their family.

Maybe offering them space in my home wasn't just generosity--it was a selfish kind of yearning. A chance to feel less alone.

After the family left, I sat in my study... and cried, the feelings of warm acceptance flooding over me. The asshole was beginning to crack. Fitting metaphor, if not exactly poetic.

Once the family left, I went and discussed the new situation with Nero, letting him know there would be an additional person to feed,. and told him to adjust the shopping list however he saw fit. I also learned that Marisol had already given Nero a list of her family's favorite meals and they had agreed to prepare meals on weekends.

A family living under one roof, cooking meals, living and laughing. My house, once a shrine to solitude and efficiency, was starting to sound like laughter. It started to feel... like a home.

That night, however, I ate my dinner alone, drank my wine alone, went for a swim alone, soaked in the jacuzzi alone, and went to bed alone. Wine pooled in my glass, untouched. The pool rippled in the night breeze. And still, it was quiet--too quiet.

I didn't masturbate to visions of Marisol that night. I didn't jerk off at all. I just lay there envisioning a little family, sitting around my dining room table, laughing and joking and loving.

And that night, for the first time in my life, I didn't dream of sex, or business deals, or silence--I dreamed of warmth. And I woke up missing something I'd never had.