Boot Rolls Out the Red Carpet

[tortolis]

Here's a new installment in the Chris and Boot series. Midway through the story, the point of view switches from Boot's to Chris's. (Italics denote Chris's narrative voice.) In the next installment, Chris and Boot will visit Boot's father for Thanksgiving and there will be a little more action.


Boot Rolls Out the Red Carpet

I hooked up with Chela at the dorm suite last week to invite her and her daughter to my father's for Thanksgiving. How can I describe them? Chela left Colombia in a hurry a few years ago — the country, not the school. She was a grad student in psychology (though when someone leaves Colombia in a hurry you don't always want to know the particulars). I'd say she's 34 or so and her daughter, Vitti, is 14. I'll put her through college when the time comes, but for now she's in parochial school with a pleated skirt and a blazer, sweet as can be.

My first week at U of Wisconsin I found Chela's card on the bulletin board at a gourmet shop in Madison where she was advertising for housekeeping work. Hers looked different from all the other cards — no references, smart typography. She's the only one I called. I deposit money directly to an account for her so it's easier to claim that it's a gift to a friend rather than employment compensation. She has the key to the suite, but sometimes I meet her there to fool around a little or to talk. When I described our arrangement to my father, he thought I was paying her an insane amount (of course). But trust me, I get the best part of the deal.

Chela is funny and surprising, but this time she gave me a bit of a jolt. "Take the boy," she said. That's what she calls Chris — the boy, or El Ni?o, or just Ni?o.

"Chris? Why would I take Chris? I thought it would be fun for you to have some luxury, get waited on for a change instead of waiting on me. And there's all that money in Oak Park. Who knows what might happen?"

"This isn't about me," she said. "It's about your father. You want to scandalize him. He'd think I'm your Colombian girlfriend with a past and a daughter, the immigrant single mother. You love this idea, but it's not for me."

She wasn't wrong, though in the back of my mind I'd also been thinking that she and my father might make each other very comfortable. My dad is pushing 70. Why shouldn't he have a pretty, energetic young wife or mistress to run his household? And why shouldn't she live in a mansion, free of financial worries? But then it could look as if I were pimping her out. "You're always right," I said. "But I don't always like it."

"What did you tell me, that you want to show your father you're a uniform college boy?"

"Traditional. A traditional, orthodox college student."

"Take Ni?o, he's your roommate. That's orthodox, you bring your roommate home for Thanksgiving. Football, muscles, everything. Be a guy. Drink beer with him and your father. Show Daddy you're a traditional college student." Ni?o had probably never held a football in his life, but that didn't matter. Of course, he picks that moment to walk into the suite. "El diablo," says Chela. "Mr. Football."

"I don't like football," said Chris.

"Doesn't matter," said Chela. "Mr. America."

"She's got you there, pal," I said. "Can't say you don't like America."

"Why not?" said Chris. "This is the University of Wisconsin. Everybody says it."

"Ha," said Chela. "My ESL teacher would say you are hoisted on your own petard, eh?"

"You take ESL?" Chris asked. "You speak better than most of my classmates. Better than him, for sure." Indicating me.

"It's for Vitti," said Chela. "Her mother should sound like the other mothers." Chela looked down, and only then did I register how she had been looking at Chris: right in the eyes. When anyone else talks to him, I can see their eyes roving over his body, his chest, his arms. It made me understand how girls feel about guys looking at their tits when they're making conversation.

"Chela thinks I should invite you to my dad's house for Thanksgiving," I said. "I wanted to take her, but she turned me down."

"Me? For Thanksgiving? That's kind of weird," said Chris.

"Not weird, traditional," said Chela. "You take your new college friend home to your family for the first holiday. Are you going home for Thanksgiving, Ni?o?"

"Me? My family's not big on commercial holidays."

"Not commercial," said Chela. "Everybody loves Thanksgiving."

"My parents don't," said Chris. "They say it's symbolic of overconsumption." He looked very abstracted. "I think it would be too weird."


---


The whole idea of going home for Thanksgiving, or going anywhere else for that matter — well, it just hadn't occurred to me. What did 'home' even mean? I was somebody else now. I looked at Boot and for some reason Shakes Janowski came to mind. Why? I hadn't thought of her in ages.

Shakes was the first girl, really the first person of either sex who noticed my body when I started my radical growth in tenth grade, and she chased me without shame like a bird-dog. There was a winning honesty about her — she could've been pathetic otherwise. For example, she got her nickname when our class was on a field trip and the bus was about to leave without her on West 65th Street, near Lincoln Center. When she came jouncing down the street it looked like she might come flying out of her blouse, and someone calls out "my God, the whole thing shakes!" and everyone laughs. But when she arrives, breathless, she just smiles and says "that's 'cause I'm fat!" Some of her friends tried to contradict her, but she wasn't embarrassed in the least. So first she was known as The-Whole-Thing-Shakes Janowski and then just Shakes.

Well, all through the spring of sophomore year Shakes pursues me like nobody's business, making propositions right in front of other people. I treated it as a joke, but then in our junior year I went home with her; I hadn't had sex yet, and thought it was time to get my first time over with. Getting big hadn't made me cool, but it did get rid of my apprehensiveness; nothing in the world could embarrass me. And with Shakes being so aggressive, I figured the major moves would be up to her.

Her house was empty and she went into the kitchen, calling out "want a beer?" I said "not for me" and when she came out I started to unbutton my shirt. "Here, let me do that," she said, and took charge. She opened it up slowly, sticking her nose in my chest with each button, and I immediately discovered that this was something I liked — when the other person takes charge. She kept saying "Oh my God," and where I had been worried about getting excited over Shakes, now it was like my dick was spring-loaded. She pushed me down onto the floor and started undoing my belt, rubbing her face on my chest and arms as if her nose was her most erogenous zone. "Oh my God," she moaned, "Oh my God." She pulled my pants down and her own panties and rubbed herself on my legs. "You're incredible," she said, "it's like they're mounded with steel ribbons, like mountains and valleys." She meant my thighs, they're like that. When she grabbed my dick, nothing ever felt so good. She put it and herself exactly where she wanted us, and suddenly I was in her. She certainly seemed to know what she was doing. Now, instead of slithering all over me, she was humping. It was great. And then, without warning, she stopped and pulled off of me.

"This was a mistake," she said.

I hadn't come yet and neither had she. I didn't want to be rude, but…"Did I do something wrong?" I asked. Which could have been a joke, because I hadn't really done anything at all.

"It's me," she said. Long silence. "Sex should be about being together, about connecting. Not about…some ridiculous obsession." Talk about a bummer — she must've seen me blanch. "Not your body," she said. "My getting my hands on it. That's all I could think about for a year. You never entered into it."

"Well, I kind of did," I said. "But we didn't finish." She didn't laugh, though.

It was the idea of being a 'traditional' boy that had made me think of Shakes, I guess. I've been getting a certain amount of sex, but not exactly traditional. Shakes was my first traditional lay, and that mission was aborted in mid-launch. When I decided on U of Wisconsin, I thought that a big, social campus would be good for what I'd been told were my 'social deficits' and lead to a wife and a job, but my relationships here are probably not what my guidance counselor had in mind. Hell, the most romantic kiss I've ever had is the one Boot gave me. On the other hand, one point about being big is that I can make my own rules and define my own self and feel good about whatever it might be.

Besides, it's only November. "Sure," I said, "I'm up for Thanksgiving at your father's. Why not? I've never been to Illinois."

[MuscleHintz]

Boot and Chris are back!

Awesome continuation. Hopefully in the next chapter we get to see more of Chris's muscles and strength as he impresses Boot's old man.

[Mass Driver]

You need a friendly editor. You aren't alone, I get these things goofed up a few times myself.
At the first paragraph where Chris is narrating,
I looked at Chris and for some reason Shakes Janowski came to mind.
Just change the name to Boot and it won't get confusing.
I have to say I am so glad you have continued this great gem of a story.
The change of POV has made me really look closer and enjoy it more.
And I can't wait either, to see what Boot's father thinks of Chris.
Please do...
Keep Writing.

MD

P.S. Is this Chris and Boot 6 a and b?

XOXOXOX;
MD

[tortolis]

thanks for catching (and noting) the error!

and for the praise (also the province of a 'friendly editor.'

[tortolis]

yes, it's 6 a and b.

I

[Mass Driver]

Glad to help.
We should all remember to..
Support your local writer.

MD