The Remains of AngeloThe Remains of Angelo


Angelo had to have known he was going to die. The fifty-seven-year-old line cook had given his soul to his restaurant. (Although calling it a restaurant was generous.) The corner pizza shop was, at best, a café, but in one of the most expensive cities in the world, that was still quite an accomplishment. The kitchen was small and constantly in a state of disarray, like a baby bird attempting to break out of its shell. That was the way things had always been; and the way Angelo liked it. (At least that’s what he’d tell anyone with the nerve to ask.) When he wasn’t cooking or cleaning, he’d be prepping for the next day. After so many years, his body was tight, tense; he was working himself to an early grave.

“Yo, Boss!” I shouted from the safety of the back exit. I’d located the man just in time to see him collapse, narrowly avoiding a head on collision with the industrial sink. I shook my head. “You still breathing?”

Angelo grunted in response.

I pulled out a cigarette, lighting up next to the dumpster. “Fuck, man, you need to go to bed.” I knew better than to rush to his side. He was too proud; that show of compassion would have gotten me nothing more than a punch to the face. Not that Angelo was a cruel man, he just couldn’t help his genetics. The blond Russian bear had been adopted as a child, rescued from a warzone by Catholic missionaries. An Italian-American couple named him Angelo. (Making him one of the few white men with that name, outside of Europe.) The family operated a pizza shop, in San Francisco, (acquired back during the days of rent control.) And instilled their only child with a superhuman work ethic.

“Angelo? Boss, you still there.” I knew he’d been on his feet for hours. The pain in his shoulders and back had to be throbbing. But since I did not actually hear his head collide with the metal, I opted to finish my smoke. (After all, these things were damn expensive.) “Holler if you’re still conscious.”

“Hey, Kid.” Angelo said from his seat on the floor.

I looked in, to see where he had landed. “Who you calling a kid?” (Yes, at twenty-eight I was technically young enough to be his child.) I looked around, until I spotted where he was. Leaning against the wall, with his left knee to his chest, the majority of his body was hidden behind a floor-level cabinet.

“Who am I calling a kid?” Angelo asked with a chuckle. “The fucker who convinced me to name my shop after a damn cartoon.”

I laughed, stomping out my cigarette before closing the door behind me. When I first came to work for Angelo, I called him the Viking. I even convinced him to change the name of the restaurant to ‘Stoick’s place,’ to cash in on the ‘How to train your dragon,’ movies. That was how the greatest grab-and-go pizza place in San Francisco’s North Beach came to be run by a legit Viking who cooked the pizzas with the help of his loyal pet dragon. “Yeah, it’s me, boss. Come on, you need to get some rest.”

“Nah man,” his voice was rough carrying the weight of a lifetime of physical, emotional pain. “I just need a little break.”

I walked closer, turning on the hallway lights, in case I would have to carry him through the kitchen, up the stairs to our second-floor apartment. By the light of the open window, I could see him in his full glory. Angelo had a scar on his mouth from when he had taken a bullet to the face, shattered his jaw in three places. That was from the night we first met, back when I was a paramedic. The way the moonlight caressed his unique profile, he looked like a warrior, a soldier on the battlefield. “Come to bed, please.”

Angelo simply laughed. His smile was wide, almost too wide. “As my Papa always said, ‘we rest when we die.’ Sounded better in Italian.” He rested his hand on the sink, pulling himself to his feet. He stretched his back, rolling his neck with a satisfying crack. “Share a drink with me?”

“Sure, but only if you come upstairs.”

Angelo nodded as he looked through the collection of unlabeled bottles. “Or do you just want to save it all for my funeral?”

“Not funny. We don’t joke about the C word.”


‘Cancer.’ The Didim Escort word did not need to be said. I was with him the day of the test results. I held his hand through six rounds of chemo. And I was with him when we, as a family, made the choice to end treatment. “All that I asked for was no jokes.”

Angelo nodded again, grabbing a tall drinking glass. “How’s Katie.”

“Katie’s good.” Katlyn Diaz was our third; the twenty-year-old with the caramel skin and plump little ass. She was a former drug addict with a thing for bi-sexual whiteboys. By day she worked as a delivery girl, and sometimes the only waitress in our tiny establishment. “She’s in bed waiting for her Russian teddy bear.”

As if on cue, I could hear her footsteps. “Do you need help with him, JJ?” she shouted down the stairs.

I groaned. My name was Jeff, not JJ or Jay or whatever pet name she came up with. She knew it annoyed me, but that was just part of her charm. (Insert eyeroll.)

Angelo laughed, taking the opportunity to answer for himself. “I can walk. Just a little tired is all.” He handed me a tall plastic cup of what smelled like cleaning fluid.

“Thanks?” I glanced at the bottom, just waiting for the substance to eat through the disposable container. With a swift motion, I discreetly dumped it on the floor while he walked ahead of me. I watched as he disappeared into our humble bathroom, shutting the door behind him. There was no lock, and there never had been. (No one in this house had a thing for privacy.)

After effortlessly chugging his glass of high-proof liquor, Angelo started to get undressed, easily removing his apron, shirt and work pants. His boxers stuck to his skin with sweat, nearly causing him to trip on his own feet as he kicked them to the corner of the room.

“I got you.” I quickly placed my hand on his shoulder, keeping him balanced.

“Thanks, kid.” Angelo focused on his feet, preparing to take the large step needed to enter the bathtub.

“Be careful, take your time.” With my free hand, I turned on the water, flipping the lever to start the shower. I’d often wished we could have taken out the tub, leaving just a shower. But such a task would have taken more time than Angelo or I would have liked. And I could only imagine the nightmare of attempting to get the tacky ancient relic down the stairs, into the dumpster.

“You always do.” Angelo leaned forward, letting the lukewarm water flow down his back to his hips. His body was strong; tight tense muscles over a slender frame.

“Always what?”

Angelo didn’t answer. He spread his legs, steadying his stance, before washing the front part of his body with the old, decrepit bar of soap. He washed his chest, down his stomach. His hand found its way to his cock, but instead of putting on a show for me, he turned facing the tile wall. “Could you get my back?”

“Sure.” I started to undress, stripping down to my old boxers. I got into the shower, standing behind him. Taking a moment to admire the beautiful man; his body, his smell, the way his skin shivered at my touch. I wanted so badly to remember it all.

“Jeff, kiddo,” Angelo said with a laugh. “Do you still have your underwear on?”

I softly bit his earlobe, releasing a breath of air. “Not for long.” I slipped off my boxers, letting them fall to the floor of the shower. They would be soaking wet, but I’d probably just leave them there for the rest of the night.

I stroked my fingers down his chest, coming to rest on his slender hips. I couldn’t help but notice Angelo biting his lower lip. He had to know what was coming next.

“You know what you got to do.” I slid two fingers into his mouth, letting him suckle while I rubbed my throbbing cock against his ass crack. I wanted him to feel how hard I was; how badly I craved him. “You’re so damn filthy.”

Angelo chuckled, in a way that only a Russian Viking could.

I spread him open, letting the water washaway some of the residue from his hairy crack. Some of it was dried fecal matter, but the majority was my cum. I could practically feel all the times he let me fuck him on our lunchbreak.

Some Didim Escort Bayan people took smoke breaks, but Angelo needed more. The first few times I only sucked him off, offering a release from his stress. For a brief moment (in the alleyway, hidden in the shadows of our six-foot tall industrial dumpster) I was able to bring him true inner peace. It was not long after he allowed me to fuck his filthy ass, pounding his prostate while he held on to the brick wall. I cherished those moments, but none were as special as fucking my boss in the shower.

” Who’s my good little bitch?” With my fingers still in his mouth, I rammed my thick Irish cock into his gaping hole. “You’re so tight. It’s like fucking a virgin pussy.” I began thrusting inside him filling his ass over and over. I had to admit, I was holding back. I wanted to hold him more then I wanted to hurt him. I removed my fingers from his mouth, taking a moment to stroke his bottom lip.

“Come on,” he said in a deep sexy growl. “I can take it.”

‘I know.’ “Believe me I know.” There was something so sexy about his voice. “I promised Katie, I get you nice and clean.” I gripped his cock. gently pulling up his foreskin to wash his shaft until I felt precum.

His body was quivering. I could feel his muscles tense. Angelo leaned back, reaching for my hand. “I fucking love you, man.”

“I love you too.” I could feel his orgasm; an electric warmth that rippled through his body, clenching my cock. “I love you with all that I am, all that I’ll ever be.” The words fell from my lips like drool.

Angelo turned his head just enough to speak. “Jeff?”


“Would you eat my ass, while I took a shit on your chest?”

I placed my hand on the back of his neck, holding his face against the tile wall. I fucked him harder, faster, like a dog in heat. “You’re such a nasty old slut.” I pressed my lips to his ear. “Then again, it takes one to know one.”

My hand moved from his neck to his shoulder, massaging his tense body with deep pressure. When my hand found his, I gave his fingers a squeeze. ‘God, I love you.’ I blew my load, releasing the contents of my balls over and over. I could feel Angelo bending his knees; his legs were becoming weak and I needed to finish up.

I pulled out slowly, letting my seed trickle down his quivering inner thighs. “Hey, you feeling okay?” I knew he wasn’t. “Do you need to lie down?”

Angelo turned, brushing his lips against my cheek. He looked at me with pleading eyes. “I just need my meds.”

“I need you to be in bed before I give you your meds.” His ‘meds’ were street-grade morphine. I suspected it was oxy cut with drain cleaner (and maybe even a little heroin.) Sometimes he’d swallow them other times he’d snort them. Either way he’d need to get out of the shower and make the short walk to the bedroom. I carefully helped him out of the bath, offering him a towel. That proved unnecessary.

Angelo walked out the door of the bathroom, dropping the towel in the hallway. Then, without even a greeting to Katie, he flopped down like a drunk fish, his erect cock proudly on display. “First come first serve.”

Kate rolled over, looking into his eyes. With her usual slutty charm, she smiled, kissing him down his nose to his lips. “Don’t mind if I do.” With Angelo’s body laid out like a buffet, she took her time, worshiping him the way he deserved to be cherished and loved.

Standing over the bed, I gripped her hair, as she kissed Angelo’s stomach down to his navel, taking a moment to lick the trail of dark blond pubic hair. But before taking Angelo in her mouth, she turned her attention to me. Always one to play fair, Katie gripped my limp cock, jerking me off using only her sweat as lube. “You’re not hard, JJ?”

“I had him earlier,” I said, gently releasing her hair. “He’s all yours.”

That seemed to make her happy. “Will you at least stay and watch?”

“Of course.” Still naked and wet, I took a seat on the white plastic outdoor chair next to the bed. This was the recycled chair’s main purpose; to act as a front row seat for potential Escort Didim voyeurs. It wasn’t a comfortable seat. Wet skin stuck like sweat. This encouraged the viewer to eventually join the ‘performers’ in the bed.

Katie always wore an oversize t-shirt to bed and nothing else. (It was what Angelo liked.) She straddled his hips, moving his hand to her tight stomach. She made a show of lowering herself slowly, letting her pussy devour him inch by inch while gasping, and struggling with the sheer mass of our sugar daddy’s dick. Don’t get me wrong. Angelo had a decent cock, but the way Katie acted you’d think he was hung like a light post. But I couldn’t deny it, the girl knew how to put on a good show.

I leaned back, spreading my legs. I’d gone soft, but that could change fairly quickly. Licking my palms, I could feel my breath in my lungs. My body wanted to be in that bed, taking in the smell of their raw passionate lovemaking.

Katie gripped the headboard, moaning like a porn actress. “Angel, baby?” That was her nickname for Angelo. “Do you remember the first day we met?”

I did. The memory was like yesterday. It was a dark rainy night. Kate had walked in off the streets looking for a free slice of end-of-the-night pizza. She immediately took a liking to the boss; his blue eyes, and wicked smile.

The same smile he was offering up now. “I remember you offered to suck my cock for a hot meal.”

Katie rocked her hips, as she leaned in for a kiss. “If you had been wearing a wedding ring, I would have sucked it off your finger.”

Angelo laughed; his eyes an expression of true happiness and pure love. He was always kind to the poor, especially homeless women and children. But there was something different about Kate. The way she smiled at him, laughed at his jokes, or maybe the fact that she had no where else to go. Something made her worthy of being part of our family. (The past two years had been amazing, truly a blessing from God.)

Our bed creaked with a rhythmic pattern. I used this as inspiration to begin masturbating, working my shaft to the beat of their sound. I reached for the drawer on the nightstand. We had a shared collection of sex toys.

“Jeff,” Katie shouted, “If you put my favorite dildo in your ass again, you’re buying me a new bottle of sanitizer.”

“Why, because it only goes in your ass?”

Abandoning that plan, I instead went for what I actually wanted. I walked around the bed, coaxing Katie to switch positions. “Scoot over.’

There was plenty of room for both of us. out of the nightstand I selected a bottle of lube and Angelo’s special pills. “Open your mouth baby bird.” I put a single pill in my mouth, feeding it to Angelo.

Katie leaned in for a kiss. “Me too, JJ?”

I shook my head. “You know our rule.” As a family, we kept strict rules about personal drugs. “You gotta ask Angelo.”

Katie looked at Angelo with her big dol-like eyes. “Angel baby?”

“Sure, why not.” He kissed Katie on the lips, slipping the vibrant white pill into her mouth. “I can’t take it with me.”

The pill was nothing more than pressed powder (as opposed to coated gelcaps,) so I was sure he had already ingested a partial dosage. Then again, so had I. I placed another pill on my tongue. Leaning over his face I was about to go in for another kiss when the pill slipped from my mouth landing on his bottom lip.

Angelo laughed. His tongue easily retrieved the pill, quickly swallowing it. The lump disappeared down his throat. “That is so good.”

He had been sick for so long. I forgot about my own wants and desires; all I wanted was to stay by his side, to watch his orgasm face. I could tell when he was about to climax. His breathing would become faster. His lips would open, nostrils flaring like someone who was desperate for air.

Katie gripped his hand, placing it under her sleep shirt. I was unable to see what he was doing, only that she was having a great time. She rode him harder, burying her face in his shoulder. “I’ll miss you, Angel baby.” Her legs locked around Angelo’s hips, claiming him as her own.

Maybe she already knew. After hundreds of sexual encounters, this would be the one time she became pregnant.

Still, Angelo died not knowing.

That just feels unfair.

I hate that you will never know your father. He was truly one of a kind.

I’m writing this for you; our baby.

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