Angel Wings by Donald Ammer

He stepped onto the elevator on the seventeenth floor, young and handsome – no, cute was the word. Short – about 5’6” – and with thick, wavy blue-black hair buzzed short on the sides; a bit longer on top.

I’d seen him in the building a few times, the guy that all the women in my office referred to as “that cute little Latino guy with the face of an angel and the body of a stripper.” And it was true. He was maybe Mexican – well, my guess was Dominican – a cute, 18-year-old (a girl in my office had checked by asking a coworker of his – he was legal) with big, dark eyes and a round, clean-shaven face with a perfect little smile.

His body was incredible; today, a beefed-up chest outlined and stretched at the white polo shirt he wore, with the logo of the messenger service he worked for over one well-defined pectoral. His nipples, small and dark, poked out brown and hard against the white cotton. He had a 28-inch waist and short, strong legs with beefy calves from bicycling that were wrapped in tight black jeans that hugged his incredibly small, round and firm ass like they were never gonna let go. The snug jeans also showed off a bulging triangle between his legs in front that was hard not to stare at. Black and green running shoes on tiny, tiny feet emphasized his youth, but between the legs he was enough man to make every ounce of spit in my mouth go dry on sight as he smiled at me now in the elevator. I smiled back, serenely, and my eyes traveled downward as if drawn by a magnet, away from those beautiful, dark Latin eyes to peek at that beautiful tent in his pants before he turned to face the front of the elevator. The silver doors closed and he was pressed into me by the other people inside, so that the back of my hand accidentally brushed his ass – causing my cock to wake up and nod hello right in the middle of the crowded elevator.

I moved my hand away, resisting temptation as the elevator descended. Standing so near, my eyes finally traveled back up his trim, well-defined body, over his small back and broad shoulders to where the collar of his white shirt glared brilliantly against that dark brown neck. I stood three inches taller than him, and while looking at that smooth, dark-honey-colored throat I could suddenly picture myself tonguing the back of his neck as my eight inches entered those two little round spheres of ass …

I pressed my leather case to my groin, hiding the complete and total hard-on there.

His face, complexion … so clear and smooth, free of blemishes, moles – even so much as a nick with a razor. Shiny black sideburns trickled down his cheeks – no, not sideburns, but tiny little black hairs that he combed down from his temples to give him that masculine, Latino look. He resembled a young bullfighter, that’s what it was – a young, round-faced trainee, a budding matador come all the way from Spain, so innocent-looking and outright beautiful eh could have charmed the bulls instead of having to fight them.

We stopped again on the sixth floor, and two ladies on the already-crowded elevator. The kid’s body was pressed further into mine in the crunch, the bright overhead light glinting on his coffee-colored eyes as he looked up at me in silent apology, smiling a little pink smile. I could smell his cologne, like sweet sex mixed with his own dark and musky scent, and my cock became alive with excitement, oozing pre-cum onto the shorts underneath my slacks.

I suddenly felt I was not going to make it off the elevator without passing out. Or having an orgasm.

At the third floor, the warmth from his body overtaking me, I could stand it no longer. “Excuse me,” I said.

He turned, eyes as innocent as a deer’s. “Yes?”

God, if only I’d had any spit left in my mouth! “Well, I, uh, well … you know,” I said, chuckling – yes, chuckling! – “You know, I was just thinking, I keep seeing you in the building but we’ve never really even said hello.” I shifted my briefcase, still careful to hide the hard-on in my slacks, and held out my right hand in the crowded car. “I’m Eddie. Hello.”

He smiled, giving me his small hand. It was dry and smooth, the grip strong. “Angel.”

Figures. Angel. Christ, did the name fit. Even his voice was boyishly low in volume, yet masculine – husky, in tone. His hand, resting in my big palm a moment, was indeed small – fingers short and thick and rounded. Just touching him, feeling his dark dry skin as he touched me, sent more electricity through my body than they used to revive Frankenstein.

“Nice to meet you,” I managed to say, so aroused I thought I would shoot right there.

He nodded – “Thanks, you too.” – then went back to facing front in the elevator, his body still pressed to mine.

Finally, the lobby! We crowded out like rats leaving a doomed ship, and Angel disappeared into the throng of people, too short for me to keep an eye on him.


From that day on, we seemed to run across each other a lot in the building – each time with my cock straining to wave hello faster than my hand could. It got to the point where I tried to avoid close contact with him – especially in places like the elevator, where I could smell his young, sweet scent – but even that didn’t work; on the first morning I tried it, seeing Angel standing in the lobby waiting for the elevator, I decided when he got on that I would take one of the other two when they came along. Wrong! Calvin, the security guy in the lobby, came to inform us that one of the other elevators was out of service, and the third was being used to empty some deliveries in the basement.

Not a surprise – these elevators were always having trouble. So I rode up with Angel that morning, the two of us alone, and when he smiled and said, “Good mornin’ Eddie,” it was all I could do not to shove my face between his legs on the spot.

But I’m supposed to be the very proper, conservative, 26-year-old paralegal … so behaved myself.

My background is mostly Italian – I’ve got light blue eyes and very short, dark curly hair. But my skin is pale and I have my mother’s Irish face: very expressive and young looking, with a broad, bright smile. I’m 5’10”, weight about 155 – lean and with a fairly hairy chest, and hair legs. I’m all man, but my face is boyish; clean cut. For some reason, after seeing Angel so much, I began to fantasize us making a porn flick together; every night for the last seven days or more, I had beat my meat off every night to this fantasy, unable to get his perfect face and that flawless body out of my mind.

It was also getting tiring, hearing all the younger women in my firm speculate on what this hot little Latino would be like in bed. As if I didn’t think about him enough already … or ponder his probable heterosexuality with a soul-wrenching sadness usually reserved for funerals and George Bush re-elections.

In fact, it got to the point where I dreaded getting on the elevator – and each time I did I’d be filled with anxiety as the lighted numbers overhead counted down, biting my lip to see if we’d stop on the seventeenth floor.

Which was exactly how I was feeling about a month later, on a steamy day in August in that stuffy office building in downtown Chicago, when the elevator did stop on seventeen, the doors did open … and my life changed.

It was a Thursday, just after four in the afternoon. I’d skipped lunch in favor of getting off early for a dentist appointment I’d been putting off. I hate going to the dentist and was wishing like hell I could find a reason to miss this appointment, even though it was just a cleaning.

Well, you know what they say – be careful what you wish for, because you just might get it.

All three elevators were working that day, so I managed getting one to myself. Sure enough, the bell went ting and the doors opened at seventeen and I looked down from that hated number overhead to see Angel enter the elevator, smiling and nodding a hello to me, not even realizing the utter charm and sensuality he possessed.

This time, however, he wasn’t alone. Trailing behind him into the elevator, tall and dark and walking with that I-don’t-give-a-shit attitude, wearing a white wife beater shirt and oversized hip-hop hugging low-riders under a black Chicago Bulls jacket, was a young and thin Puerto Rican maybe only a few years old than Angel but light years away in attitude and look. His stare was intense, eyes burning into mine with a truckload of smug thuggishness as he strode onto the car and I retreated to the elevator’s far corner. His long, bristly moustache curled up on one end in a cocky, lazy smile as he leaned against the wall opposite me, taking a good look … sizing me up like prey before Angel joined him on that side of the elevator, standing between us.

He had a raw, sexual, almost dangerous energy that seemed to fill the enclosed space of the elevator car. I found myself glancing at the two of them – what got me about the older guy was his hair: buzzed at the side but very long on top, pulled back with a rubber band into a short, sleek-looking, dark brown ponytail that trailed halfway down the back of his head.

The elevator doors closed and we headed down, the three of us. I tried not to look at them, almost intimidated by this gang-banger Angel had with him, who couldn’t have been more than 22 or 23 looked and acted right out of the barrios of New York City. At about 6’1” he towered over Angel by maybe six or seven inches, and the two of them together were polar opposites of each other: innocence and corruption, gentleness and aggression …

Good and evil. As the numbered lights of the elevator hit “12” the tall Puerto Rican cocked his chin in my direction and asked Angel, “Dat him?”

The kid blushed, staring straight ahead, blushed; suddenly looked like he wanted to disappear. “Don’t, Pito,” he whispered, looking away from me.

Pito eyed me up and down with a cold, snake-like stare. “Hey, you,’ he said sharply – loudly – and I turned to look. “My kid brother say you been lookin’ at him, man. Lookin’ at him like maybe you wan' fuck him.” He folded his arms, head leaning back against the metallic gray wall of the car as he looked at me through big, half-closed eyes. “Dat true?”

My breath caught, heart leaping into my neck as the elevator slid slowly past eight.

Pito grabbed at the front of the baggy jeans that were already half-off his ass, reaching under the extra-long wife beater to grab his crotch roughly. “Man, don’ mess wit’ no eighteen-year-old brother of mine, mothafucka.” He squeezed his dick, a huge hunk of beef I could see now outlined through the denim as Pito fondled himself to the beginnings of an erection. “Dis is some real Latin pinga, man, if you wanna have it so bad. You don’t got to mess wit’ no boy.”

Suddenly, the elevator jolted to a stop, the cables groaning above our head. It took just a second for all of us to realize were stuck – I glanced up – between the sixth and seventh floors.

A dim alarm sounded, faint and far off.

“Fuck!” Pito hissed.

“Oh God, we’ll be here forever,” Angel moaned, looking up. “This thing’s always breaking!”

I closed my eyes, praying and waiting for the elevator to start up again, holding my breath a few moments, heartbeat in my ears.


Pito smiled wickedly, straightening up and hunching his shoulders as he reached between his legs now with both big, brown hands, scanning the elevator’s interior with his eyes to make sure no cameras were there. I could see a tiny, dull-blue tattoo in the shape of a sickle in the fleshy part of his left hand, between the thumb and index finger. “Lemme show you how lucky my girl is, man.”

He unzipped the jeans, and then from under the edge of that white wife beater shirt Pito pulled out the biggest, darkest cock I have ever seen; impossibly fat and red-brown, already hard and dripping pre-cum from its slightly darker, pointy, foreskin-covered head. He stroked it savagely, grabbing the extra-wide shaft in his thick, blunt fingers, licking his big lips as another long line of pre-jizz oozed from the spreading foreskin onto the clean gray carpeting of the elevator floor, staining it dark.

He kept his head down, staring at that big, juicy dick as he stroked – but then suddenly his eyes jerked up at me. ‘Now, ain’t dis a prime Latino cock, man?” he growled softly, his accent nearly as thick as his horse-dick.

“Oh shit, Pito,” Angel gasped, turning his back to his brother, the dark blue jeans he wore today outlining his perfectly round little bubble-ass. Pito grabbed his brother by the back of the neck turning the kid around again to face him. Slowly, he place one big, calloused hand on the should of Angel’s white shirt, forcing the young Puerto Rican down to his knees before him.

“Now, Angel can please a real man,” Pito grunted, staring down at his brother. When Angel knelt before him, his eyes closed, Pito rubbed the juice-covered head of his cock all over the boy’s mouth, staining Angel’s wide pink lips with sticky pre-cum. He slapped his huge dick a couple of time against his brother’s closed mouth, and Angel parted his lips obediently, taking his brother’s huge cock deeply into his throat without a fight.

My mouth fell open, as well, disbelief at what I was seeing filling me.

Pito watched Angel sucking him for a moment before his gaze again fixed on my astonished one. “Angel good, man. We been playing since we was kids. Angel’s the best.” He looked down again, licking his big lips as he began to lightly fuck his brother’s mouth. “Suck it, bro. Come on, baby, I know how much you like it. Suck meeeee …”

Angel took the shaft repeatedly down his throat, matching the rhythm of Pito’s hips, building up speed, his smooth, honey-colored cheeks sucking in greedily with each strokes as his eyes squeezed tightly shut and he managed to deep-throat Pito, taking the older Puerto Rican’s long fat prick all the way in and out again, lips peeling back the foreskin to tongue the fat mushroom head beneath as Pito moaned and pumped his own ass, forcing Angel to swallow his dark Latin meat to the balls.

“Oh fuck, Angel …”

It was obvious, as Pito had said, that they’d done this before – many times – Angel completely submissive to his older brother, swallowing that fat brown sword over and over again as Pito rammed the living hell out of his small, young mouth, spit oozing out the corners of Angel’s wide lips. My briefcase fell to the floor with a thud as I just stood there, entranced by what I saw, intellectually disgusted but sexually aroused beyond belief. My dark blue suit felt tight in the crotch as my erection tried to press forward through the slacks.

Pito was rock-hard now, cock popping straight out and up whenever it slipped from Angel’s wet, sticky lips now at least ten inches in length and making Angel’s eyes wince each time he took it back in his mouth, his brows squeezing together, eyes watering with each slam he took down his young, tight throat.

I couldn’t help but watch, a captive audience – Pito the ultimate exhibitionist. “Now, man,” he said to me, glancing up as he held onto the back of his brother’s head, pressing Angel’s face to his crotch to fuck the boy even harder. “Angel is gay, but tha’s cool, ya know? He know how to suck dick better than any female I ever been wit’ so far. He been practicing on me awhile.” He chuckled, looking up again at me. “Whoa, les see yo dick, man,” he ordered.

I hesitated, but finally unzipped (looking around for cameras myself), and pulled out my own cut pink cock, fat head drooling, as Pito smiled. The only sounds in the quiet elevator were of Angel’s wet slurping and sucking of his brother’s pole as, with one hand, Pito gestured for me to go over to them.

“You like his dick, Angel?” Pito asked his brother.

Angel look sideways and up at me, then down at my big, vein-covered eight inches – Pito’s fat cock still stuffing his mouth, which was shiny with spit and pre-cum. He looked back up at his older brother, and slowly nodded.

“Stand up,” Pito told the kid, who did. Pito’s dark hard-on smacked loud and wet against his flat belly, sliming the love trail that led down from his navel in spit as Angel let it spring from his mouth to rise. Pito pointed at Angel’s pants, and the younger Puerto Rican immediately unbuckled his belt, undressing. I held my breath, speechless as my long-standing fantasy of seeing Angel’s hard, young body – of maybe even touching him – seemed to be coming true before my eyes.

He was compact and golden-brown. When he pulled off his white shirt and was completely nude before me, lips still glistening with spit and sticky pre-cum, I realized just how beautiful he really was; body smooth, hairless except for a couple of sprouts of blackness under the arms and – of course – his thick bush of tangled black pubic hair. His stomach was rock hard and smooth as the proverbial washing board, pecs well defined with nipples a tiny and hard darker brown against his already-dark skin. His ass – indeed two perfect, round, honey-colored globes – was lined along the crack with fine black hairs that crisscrossed and led like a trail of breadcrumbs down to what had to be a tiny, tight little virginal asshole, quivering as his little cheeks were in the chilly air conditioning of the elevator. His cock, hard as concrete and curving to the left, pointed outward at an angle, about seven uncut inches in length and covered in dark brown foreskin that loosely surrounded its fat bulbous head. Jesus Christ, he was perfect naked, down to his clean little brown toes – which had the same pale, chocolate-milk-colored nails as his small hands.

Pito gestured for me to get on my knees next to his little brother, as he pushed his hard-on down again from its rigid, upright position against his belly. “Fight for it,” he said simply.

Still in my suit, cock bobbing up and down on its own from my open fly, I knelt down and took Pito’s fat cockhead into my mouth, sucking in deeply as Angel tongued the incredibly-long shaft. Then I almost nutted as I found myself suddenly kissing Angel, licking and eating Pito’s pre-cum off his young lips as we made out – Pito’s dick brushing my cheek, cockhead still pushing out of his jeans and forcing our lips apart, as we fought it in favor of slurping at each other’s lips, tongues going crazy in each other’s mouths and flicking over Pito’s cock as it was really each other we couldn’t get enough of.

I reached out and stroked Angel’s fat, blunt cock as his small hand wrapped in a fist around my own pink shaft. My pre-cum covered his small brown hand as Angel stroked me, getting me so excited just by his touch and sheer physical beauty, I found myself catapulting toward orgasm.

As if reading my mind, Pito suddenly called out, “Oh fuck man, I’m gettin’ close!” and pulled his dick away from all that oral attention. He motioned for Angel to lie down on the floor, on his back; the kid did so without comment, used to taking orders from his brother.

“Hold his feet up,” Pito ordered as eh dropped, still dressed, to his knees and pushed Angel’s short legs into the air. I did so, grabbing Angel’s tiny ankles as I knelt straddling the kid’s head. Pito deep-throated one big finger and, as I watched in utter disbelief, shoved that fat digit forcibly up Angel’s tiny pink-brown butthole, his finger burying itself up to the second knuckle as the kid gasped and whimpered in pain, clenching his teeth even as he reached up to again stroke my cock, which now stood at a ninety-degree angle directly over his face.

“Suck him, Angel,” Pito ordered, and I felt Angel’s sweaty little hand stroking my cock once more as he pulled it into his mouth, sucking like a man dying of hunger as Pito shifted on his knees – and pivoted his hips to bring his bull-like ten inches right up against Angel’s puckery, hairy asshole.

“What the hell are you doing?” I asked, all my senses on fire with what Angel was doing to my cock with his hot mouth. “That’s your brother!”

“Tell you right now,” Pito said, as the slurping sounds of Angel’s lips and tongue below told me he was enjoying feasting on my prick. “Angel can suck anyone he like, but no one fuck Angel … but me.”

And as if to emphasize the point, Pito grabbed his big Puerto Rican cock by its base – and, pushing forward with his hips, slowly forced the knobby head of his fat Latin prick into Angel’s tiny, dark asshole.

“Mmmmph!” I saw Angel’s body go rigid, felt his teeth for a moment on my dick as Pito pushed in further right away, forcing himself in as he violated Angel’s small, round butt without mercy, his dark shaft plunging full-length into Angel’s ass as I watched. When in, he fucked like an alley dog with its bitch-in-heat, ramming into his little brother as Angel’s erection went limp immediately, lying like a dark brown piece of meat on his stomach as Pito pounded into his ass, ramming all ten inches up his kid brother as I pulled Angel’s feet higher and began sucking on his small toes, taking the entire top of his size-eight right foot into my mouth as Angel continued his own relentless assault on my dick, doing his best to suck his dry.

The slap-slap of Pito’s crotch banging against his baby brother’s ass as he fucked the life out of Angel brought me to climax and I pulled my pink eight inches from deep inside Angel’s throat in time to shoot all over his smooth chest – wad after wad of my heavy white Italian jizz streaming in spurts across the boy’s hairless body, jets of my milk flying up and all over him … one long, thin line of liquid sugar landing on his flaccid brown cock.

“Ohhhh, yeaaaahhhhhh! Oh, pleeeeeeease …” Angel licked and slurped at my balls, face bobbing under the onslaught of his brother’s savage fucking, draining my cock dry as Pito raised off his knees onto the toes of his high-tops, doing push-ups as he fucked his horse-dick into Angel even faster, ramming the poor kid with an incredible force, an unbelievable lack of compassion as I let go of Angel’s slim ankles and sat back … watching as the kid gripped his own legs, holding them high into the air in a “V” to give his older brother full access, as every bit of those fat ten inches stretched Angel’s abused asshole even more.

“Ohhh … ahhh … shiiiiiiit man, I – fuck … I’m comin’!” Slamming into Angel with blinding speed, still fully dressed except for that fat Latino cock poking through the fly of his baggy jeans, Pito rammed into his brother one last time, throwing his whole, lean body into that last shove even as Angel slid a little on the floor from the impact. He rammed Angel one final, vicious time … and stayed in, arching his head back and howling like a wolf, his load shooting deep inside Angel’s inner core, sweet cum filling up the young Puerto Rican beefcake, Pito pumping liquid protein into his own little brother’s ass as I watched him try again to slam into Angel even harder – just once – letting Angel’s tiny, hairy hole suck every drop of semen from his big Puerto Rican dick.

“Awww … fuuuuuuck.” One last, weak jab as Angel grunted beneath him, then Pito patted his brother’s smooth cheek in a “good doggie” gesture and yanked his dick roughly from Angel’s stretched hole – ignoring the younger man’s grunt of pain as Pito’s fat doorknob of a cockhead slipped from his violated glory hole.

Pito and I zipped up as Angel lowered his muscular legs at last and rolled over groggily, exhausted from his ordeal and trying to reach for his clothes. I bent to help him but Pito said, “Don’ fuckin’ touch my brother, man,” so I simply watched instead. As Angel bent to retrieve his pants, mopping my sticky cum off his body with his small tighty-whities, I noticed a trail of Pito’s thick, white cream dribbling down the back of his well-muscled left leg. The site of it both turned me on and pissed me off at the same time. When dressed, Angel stuffed the wet briefs into his back pants pocket.

The elevator didn’t move for another twenty minutes, during which time none of us spoke. When it finally started up again to make its way down to the lobby, reaching the ground floor, I bolted out first as the doors opened, practically running for the building exit. I could hear Pito’s wicked little chuckle behind me as I hurried out.


I called off work the next day, Friday, and stayed in bed all weekend, thinking. My mind couldn’t stop working, I couldn’t stop thinking about him and that sonofabitch brother of his.

Monday afternoon I stepped into the elevator just before 12:30, purposefully punching the button marked “17.”

The On-Target Messenger Service was a tiny office, with about six people manning the phones and fielding deliveries. I walked without hesitation into the chaos, right up to the frantic-looking blonde at the front desk.

“Yes, can I help you?” she asked, never looking up from the three yellow forms she was filling out all at once.

“Is Angel here?” I replied.

She looked up, glancing behind her to scan the office, her big round owl glasses falling down the bridge of her nose about halfway. “No, I don’t see –” She turned back toward me, and her brow cleared as she gestured over my shoulder with the point of her Bic. “Right there.”

I turned, and he stood in the open doorway of the office, hand still on the handle of the glass door, the shock in his face at seeing me very obvious and not exactly flattering.

I gestured for him to step back into the hall. The office door closed softly behind us, Blondie having gone back to her forms.

“What are you doing here?” he asked in a hoarse whisper, eyes nervous and downcast.

“I came to buy you lunch,” I said simply. “We need to talk.”

“No, thanks.” He brushed past me but I grabbed his upper arm, fingers feeling the strength in his hard bicep.

“What is wrong with you?” I asked, angry. “Letting your brother treat you like that – like you’re his fucking dog, for Christ’s sake –”

“Man, you fucking drop it about Pito!” Angel hissed back, jerking his right arm free. “He’s good to me, man! He give me everything man, done more for me than either our fuckin’ parents!” He poked a short golden finger into my chest, boyish face twisted in rage as he emphasized each word: “And-don’-you-say-nothin’-bad-‘bout-him, neither!” His eyes were slits, squinted together in fierce anger. “Ever!”

I sighed. “Angel, your brother is an animal –”

“FUCK you, man!” he yelled through gritted teeth. The blonde in the office looked up from her desk as us through the glass door. “No one but Pito ever give two shits about me!”

He turned, stalking back toward the door – where he hesitated a moment before looking back at me. “’Sides,” he said, sneering, “I din’t notice no one forcing your dick down my throat.”

He raised an eyebrow at me, then jerked opened the door and was gone.


We avoided each other for over three weeks after that. At least, he avoided me. Whenever the elevator stopped on the seventeenth floor and there he stood, Angel would check to see it I was on it … then stand back and wait for the next one whenever he saw me.

I sent him a dozen roses with a discreet note – “Can we please just talk? I’m sorry about what I said.” – and the next time I ran into him, he made no mention of the flowers, or my apology.

On the last Wednesday in September I sat in a restaurant on Clark Street, a diner called The Golden Cup. It was around ten at night and I was alone, sipping coffee and feeling a little depressed. On the shelf above the counter where I sat, a portable color TV was playing the news, when Joel Daly of WLS-TV reported a drive-by shooting on the south side of Chicago, the “gunning down of a young Puerto Rican man” names Pito Gonzales, who was pronounced dead on arrival at an area hospital.

“The 22-year-old Gonzales’s death was reported to be the result of a drug deal gone bad,” the news anchor finished, before returning to the night’s top story.

It could have been anyone, another “Pito” certainly; Chicago’s Hispanic/Latino population was enormous.

But I knew it wasn’t. Deep down, somehow … I just knew.

I bowed my head, the rich smell of fresh coffee providing no real warmth, and thought of Angel, wondering if he was okay and wishing I could be with him.


Steely gray clouds filled the sky, threatening rain but so far holding off. I stood by the wrought iron gates to the left of the gathering, watching in silence, partially hidden by an oak tree whose leaves were just beginning to turn color.

Five people turned out for the ceremony on this windy September morning, not including the pastor. An older Latina with a small but heavyset frame and bent back wept occasionally into a crumpled tissue without making a sound, her long black cotton coat whipping in the wind as an old gentleman – also Latin – gently patted her soft, round shoulder. A couple of young Puerto Rican guys in baggy jeans and windbreakers stood nearby, thumbs in their pockets, heads down.

And, of course, Angel was there – wearing a stiff black suit so crisp in its creases it was obviously brand new, along with a pale blue shirt and dark tie. He stood alone on the opposite side of the closed, simple wooden casket, head bowed and eyes shut, hands folded gently over his stomach.

I waited patiently until the ceremony ended and everyone began to walk away, down the hill of the big cemetery toward the front gate and their waiting cars. Angel remained, staring at the coffin, and I gave him a few moments alone before approaching him from behind.

He heard my feet crunching in the dry leaves that had already begun to fall, and turned his bowed shoulders to me.

“Hi,” I said, as I reached him.

Surprisingly, he smiled a little. “Hi, Eddie.”

“I – I’m really sorry, Angel.” I couldn’t think of anything else to say.

He glanced back toward the casket, hands still lying over his stomach, before turning back to me. “Thanks.”

I took a few steps until we were standing face to face. I looked down into his depthless brown eyes. “I apologize for what I said about your brother.”

His eyes closed. A single tear rolled silently, slowly, down one smooth and golden cheek. “I know. It’s okay,” he sniffled, and his eyes opened again. They were as moist as the clouds above that promised to drop their rain. “Pito was a jerk. And stupid. He did drugs, and stole, and could be so mean. I tole him to stop, but he wouldn’t. And … and I … I just loved him a lot.”

He bowed his head again and his face twisted up in a sneer as the tears began streaming from his eyes and down his face. Sobs wracked his little body and we both reached out at the same time to embrace, Angel’s arms wrapping around my waist like he never wanted to let go, squeezing me as his tears melted into the scratchy wool of my own black suit.

I held him as his body jolted against mine, rubbing his back and letting him release years of pain as he sobbed and sobbed, his face pressed into my chest. We stood that way for some time, next to Pito’s coffin, and when his tears had finally dropped down to sniffles Angels turned his head to lie his cheek against my silk tie. “I’m sorry I was so mean to you,” he whispered as the wind ruffled the top of his short black hair.

“It’s okay.” He smelled of soap and a sweet cologne I didn’t recognize.

“Thank you for caring ‘bout me,” he added, his arms tightening about my waist.

“No problem,” I replied. “And I do.”

We parted, and I handed him the handkerchief from the breast pocket of my suit. As he wiped his tears away and blew his nose, I asked, “Do you want me to take you home?”

He sniffled a couple more times, shaking his head. “No.” Looking up at me again, his eyes searching, he asked, “C-can we go somewhere an’ talk?”

Without thinking, I saw my right hand reach out to caress his cheek, wiping one last tear away. “I’d like that.”

“Thank you, Eddie.” He wrapped one arm around my waist as my own right arm went about his shoulders. We walked into the chilly wind, down the embankment to my car, sprinkles of rain just beginning to spot our clothing. I held the door open for him to get into the passenger side of my black Mustang, and he looked up at me and smiled – some comfort at last in those soft, angelic eyes.

When I was behind the wheel I asked him, “Where do you want to go, Angel?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. Can we go sit somewhere by the lake?”

“Sure.” I started the car, resting my hand on the vinyl seat between us as I concentrated on revving the engine; my Mustang’s an older model, sometimes she has trouble warming up.

Angel laid his hand on top of mine on the car seat, gently squeezing my fingers in his. I looked over at him and he was smiling a little again; a good sign.

He sighed and let go again, resting his head on the back of the seat as he looked out the passenger side window. I turned the old Mustang east, heading out through the cemetery gates and toward Lake Shore Drive, as a light rain began to fall. the end


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