I Let the Bum from Downtown Into My House

I hadn’t worked up the courage to write anything in a long time, but what happened to me a few weeks ago still burns inside me and I need to tell it. I don’t expect anyone to understand. I just need to get it out. What follows really happened, one ordinary morning on my day off, in my own house.

In the downtown area, near the hospitals, there’s a homeless man everyone knows as the Soot Man. They call him that because he’s always covered in soot, as if he slept inside a chimney. Sometimes he wears only a bag tied around his waist, other times a pair of torn sneakers, but most of the time he walks around completely naked among people. No one is surprised anymore. He’s part of the scenery, like a pole or a traffic light.

Since they moved me from my office to a branch closer to home, I stopped seeing him every day. And, hard as it is to admit, I missed him. Not out of pity. For something else I didn’t know how to name. His body was nothing extraordinary, but the image of a man smeared head to toe, filthy and detached from everything, awakened in me a dark curiosity that never went beyond my own head.

Until that morning.

It was my day off. I went out to the store wearing white capri leggings, a light yellow blouse with nothing underneath, a string thong, and strappy sandals. I got into the truck and, a couple of streets later, saw him crossing the avenue. My heart gave a ridiculous jolt, like a teenager’s.

I did the shopping without paying attention to anything. I could only think about him, about how I’d never seen him in my neighborhood before and how maybe this was an opportunity that wouldn’t come again. Then I remembered my husband had set aside a bag of old clothes to give away. I already had an excuse. All that was left was to see if he’d accept.

On the way back I didn’t find him, and I felt a ridiculous disappointment. But one street before my gated community, there he was: crouched, naked, rummaging through a pile of trash on the sidewalk. I slowed to a stop and rolled down the window.

—Good morning —I said, smiling.

He looked up distrustfully, like an animal sniffing a trap. He said nothing.

—I have some clothes my husband doesn’t wear anymore. I don’t know if you want them, I’m giving them to you —I went on, pretending to be calmer than I was.

He kept looking at me from his crouch, silent.

—I live here, on the next street. If you want, come with me and choose what fits. I’d rather give them to you than throw them away.

He stood up very slowly, and when he did I realized how tall he was, almost a head taller than me. Thin, more bone than flesh, his brown skin scorched by the sun and covered in crusts of filth. He smelled strong, of sweat and the street. My eyes dropped on their own to his groin, to that resting cock darkened by soot, thick even soft, hanging heavy between a pair of big balls covered in matted black hair, and I clenched my thighs without being able to stop myself. I felt my thong dampen all at once, a stupid perversity that ran through me from head to toe.

He nodded.

—Come on, get in the truck. It’s a gated community, you can’t get through the gate without me —I told him. He hesitated—. Come on, I’m not going to do anything to you. I’ll give you the clothes and you can go.

He opened the passenger door awkwardly. I regretted it instantly: the clothes were light-colored and the seat was stained black right away. But I didn’t care anymore. I pressed the gate control and drove up to the garage. I asked him his name, what he was doing around there. He didn’t answer. He just looked out the window like none of it had anything to do with him.

We arrived and I invited him in. He got out warily. I walked ahead, opened the door, and asked him to wait by the table. I ran upstairs for the bag of clothes, my hands shaking. It wasn’t fear. It was a feeling I hadn’t had in years, one I was ashamed of and aroused by in equal measure.

I went down the stairs two at a time, my heart racing, and set the bag on the dining table.

—Pick whatever you want —I told him.

He came closer, leaving black footprints on my white floor. Each step he took was a stain, and for some reason I liked that. I offered him a glass of water and he nodded. I went to the kitchen, poured two glasses, took a long swallow from one to steady myself, and carried the other into the dining room. I set it in front of him on the glass table.

***

He was calmly going through the clothes, indifferent to my presence. He’d take out a shirt, look at it, put it down; pick up a pair of pants, hold them against his body. Every movement was slow, as if he had all the time in the world, as if walking into a stranger’s house were the most natural thing. And I couldn’t stop looking at him.

The contrast between my clean clothes and his body smeared with soot had my nipples hard under the blouse, so hard they showed like two little stones beneath the fabric. I wondered how long it had been since anyone touched him, how long since anyone sucked that blackened cock, how long since I’d wanted anyone in such an irrational way. My husband had been away for weeks and the house was silent. No one was coming. No one would know.

I moved up beside him and, without thinking, without saying a word, put my hand directly on his cock.

The soot stained my palm. He tensed at once, but didn’t pull away. I took the whole thing in my hand, weighing it, feeling the dead heaviness start to change under my fingers. I squeezed it in a closed fist, moving slowly up and down, and felt it grow, swell, harden against my palm until it filled my whole hand and more. It was huge. Thick, long, with the swollen veins standing out beneath the grime.

—It’s rock hard... —I whispered, more to myself than to him, biting my lip.

He turned suddenly and trapped me against the edge of the table. His enormous hands left two black marks on my shoulders. One of them slid down my back to my ass and pressed me against his body. I felt his erection, fully hard, hard as iron, crushing against my stomach through the yellow blouse. The pale fabric was invaded by a dark, viscous stain of soot mixed with the liquid already leaking from his tip. I didn’t even want to imagine what my white leggings would look like under his dirty hands.

I tore off the blouse myself, reduced to rags, and stood there with my breasts bare in front of him. He lowered his head without asking and caught one nipple between his lips, sucking it with delayed hunger, nibbling it with those yellow teeth that gave me a dirty thrill I didn’t recognize in myself. His rough tongue licked my other breast, leaving trails of saliva and soot. I grabbed his head and pressed it harder against me, forcing him to suck me more fiercely, moaning out loud for the first time.

His fingers hooked into the elastic of the leggings and began pulling them down along with the thong, baring my hips, marked by his handprints. The fabric slid to my knees and then fell on its own to my ankles. I lifted one foot and then the other, stepping out of it, until I was free from the waist down. His callused hand immediately sought between my legs and opened my pussy lips with two blackened fingers. I was drenched. Soaking. His fingers slid in with no resistance, all the way to the knuckles, and tore a long moan from me.

—Fuck... —I panted, pressing myself against his hand—. I’m so wet...

He dug inside me with those thick fingers, moving them in circles, pulling them out shining with my juices and shoving them back in. With his thumb he pressed my clit, in a rough, unskilled friction that made my legs tremble. I couldn’t take it anymore. I sank to my knees in front of him, on the cold floor, and grabbed his cock with both hands.

It was in all its glory, pointing at my face, black with grime, long, with the reddened glans peeking out from under the wrinkled foreskin. A thick bead of precome dangled from the tip. I ran my tongue from the base up the thickest vein, tasting the sweat, the dirt, the bitter, heavy flavor of a man who hadn’t washed in days. And I liked it. I liked it so much it made me ashamed.

I opened my mouth and took it all in, or tried to. The head hit the back of my throat and I arched my neck to take him deeper. He let out a rough growl and grabbed my hair with both hands, carelessly, closing his fists until my eyes watered. He started moving my head to his rhythm, fucking my mouth, the tip slapping against my uvula again and again. Saliva dripped from me in thick strings, mixed with soot, sliding down my chin and dripping between my breasts, smearing them black.

—Mmmpf... mmpf... —was all I could moan with my mouth full, sucking hard, really sucking him with hungry need.

He yanked it out of my mouth and forced me to stand by pulling my hair. He turned me against the table and pushed my head down until I was bent over, my breasts flattened against the cold glass and my ass sticking out toward him. He spread my cheeks with both hands, smearing grime all the way to my asshole, and spat on my open pussy.

Without warning, he grabbed my hips and sank into me in one brutal thrust. He entered with an ease that surprised even me: I was so wet it made an obscene sound as he opened me. The cry that escaped me was pure pleasure, not pain, though he was stretching me fully. I felt him driven all the way in, touching something deep inside me even my husband never reached. He settled into a heavy, animal rhythm, every thrust slapping my ass against his bony stomach with a wet smack, and the glass creaked beneath us, reflecting two tangled bodies, one clean and one black with soot.

—More... harder, please —I begged, cheek pressed to the table—. Break me...

He drove in all the way and pulled almost completely out, then slammed back into me harder. I slid one hand between my legs and touched my clit with two fingers, in quick circles, feeling his cock thrust through me from top to bottom every time. I came like that, squeezing him inside me in spasms I couldn’t control, biting my forearm so I wouldn’t scream too loudly. My vision blurred and my legs shook so much I almost fell.

He didn’t stop. He pulled his dripping cock out of me, turned me again, and with one movement sat me on the table, brushing the bag of clothes aside with a sweep of his hand. The glass was cold under my ass and it clashed with the suffocating heat he gave off. I spread my legs and wrapped them around his waist, not caring that the grime on his back smeared my skin. He shoved into me again, this time face to face, and started fucking me while looking me in the eyes for the first time.

I looped my arms around his neck and clung to him. In doing so, the soot covered me all the way to my elbows. I was marked from head to toe, merged into his darkness on the table’s shine. I felt him moving inside me, his heat filling me, his sweaty chest sliding against my tits, his cock touching my womb with every thrust. He snorted and panted by my ear without saying a single word, just rough sounds, his hot breath smashing against my nape. He breathed like a horse after a race.

—Inside... cum inside —I whispered in his ear, in a voice I almost didn’t believe myself—. Fill me up...

His thrusts turned urgent, unhinged, brutal. He gripped my hips with both hands, digging his fingers in, to drive deeper still. And then he went completely rigid. I felt his cock swell inside me a moment before, and then the hot jet exploded into me, stream after stream, so abundant it started running out over my ass and onto the glass before he’d even finished.

It was a savage, endless finish, in which the cold of the glass and the fire of him spilling inside me blurred into one sensation that left me breathless, eyes rolling back, heart pounding wildly. I came again, squeezing him from inside, milking him down to the last drop of semen. I stayed trembling, clinging to his neck, feeling his cock soften inside me without pulling out, and his cum running down my thighs, without fully understanding what I had just allowed.

***

We were left gasping in silence, still joined, our bodies sticky with the mix of sweat, semen, and that soot that now covered both of us equally. He rested his forehead on my shoulder. For the first time I felt his breathing searching for something more than simple physical relief.

I looked at my blackened arms, the ruined blouse thrown on the floor, the whitish puddle forming between my ass on the glass, the mess my dining room had become. I knew that couldn’t end with him walking out the door as if nothing had happened.

—You’re filthy... and now so am I —I murmured, stroking the weathered nape of his neck—. Come on, let’s go upstairs. We need a bath.

He lifted me off the table, holding me firmly. When I stood up, I felt him slip out of me, still half-hard, brushing against me as he set me on the floor beside his body. A thick stream of his semen ran down the inside of my thigh to my calf. I took his hand. I felt the roughness of his fingers entwined with mine. He didn’t say anything, but his gaze accepted the invitation.

We went up the stairs together, leaving a trail of dark footprints on the white floor and drops of cum between my steps, to my bedroom. We went straight into the shower, where hot water waited to wash the soot from our skin. Though by then I already knew some stains don’t come off with soap.

What happened under the water, and what came after, I still don’t dare tell. Maybe another day. For now it’s enough to confess that every time I pass downtown, I look among the people for the silhouette of a man covered in soot. And that if I find him again, I don’t know whether I’ll have the will to walk past him.