My Characters are Real: Tito as Marcos

I told you about my real life buddy Tito. In “The Czar of Wilton Drive,” my novel available on, he is reborn as Marcos. “Czar” is the story of Jonathan Antonucci, a 21 year old, barely out-the-closet gay man from suburban New York who overnight finds himself a multi-millionaire, thanks to a bequest by his late gay great uncle. Uncle Charlie has unexpectedly died of a heart attack, leaving him the sole owner of several of the most successful bars in Wilton Manors, Fort Lauderdale’s gay ghetto. Flying down to Lauderdale to claim his bequest, Jon visits his late uncle’s attorney who gives him the keys to Uncle Charlie’s beachfront condo, now his. It is there where he meets Marcos, one of his uncle’s fuck buddies, who becomes the first man in his life …

Jon’s mind was numb the whole twenty minutes it took the cab to bring him to the Excalibur. But before he went up to the condo, he stopped in the basement garage and jogged over to space 101 and Uncle Charlie’s pride and joy.

Now his.

Fondling the top of the tan roof, Jon began to cry, first quietly, then almost uncontrollably as if he were two all over again and heard Mom and Dad were gone. He was thankful no one was around to see him.

Here, Uncle Charlie had loved him, loved him enough to leave just about all he had to him and Jon had barely thought of the man all those years, even after, at thirteen, he realized he was gay too. He felt guilty and grateful all in the same moment, and pulled up his T-shirt to wipe his face before hitting the elevator button for the fifteenth floor.

With sliding glass doors stretching across its entire length and opening up to a huge terrace that overlooked the water, Unit 1512, furnished in some kind of high end Ikea look, seemed more like an ornate pier jutting out into the sky than an apartment.

Drained by the plane ride and all that had happened since, Jon tore off his sneaks, jeans and T-shirt, and realizing he was so high up no one could see in, threw his boxers over the tan and orange sofa and ran out to the terrace to let the sun bathe his naked body.

Just then, something that looked like a mirror underneath the sofa caught the sun and glistened back at him. He reached under and pulled it out.

It was a phone.

Jon tried to turn it on but the battery was gone. Glancing around, he eyed the charger cord on the top of the kitchen counter and plugged it in. Instantly the screen came alive and the chirp of a text message echoed through the room.

He pressed the retrieve icon.

“We still on for 10?” read the text apparently from the other party. There was no reply, Jon guessed, from Uncle Charlie. The message was dated 1:21 p.m. last Thursday, the same day Applebee had told Jon he had died.

He went to the message log, pulled up the number and pressed dial.

“Who’s this?” answered a deep male voice with a Spanish lilt.

“Who are you?”

“Are you calling from Charlie Antonucci’s cell phone?”

“Yes. I found it in his condo.”

“What are you doing there?”

“I’m his nephew, I mean his grand-nephew Jonathan Antonucci. Uncle Charlie’s lawyer had me fly down from New York.
I’m here because Uncle Charlie—he—he left me everything.”

Just saying the words out loud put Jon in a momentary trance of disbelief.

“Jonathan? Now I understand. Well, that’s great, I mean, Charlie and I were good friends, real close friends, and his heart attack, that was tough on all of us who knew him. He was such a good guy…”

“Thanks. I’m still in a state of shock. It’s all so overwhelming.”

“May I ask Jonathan how old you are?”

“Just turned twenty-one last July.”

“Listen, I’m Marcos, I got my own barber shop on Wilton Drive. If you like, I can close up early and come over and help you fill in the blanks, that is, if you think that might help you…”

“Yea, that would be great, please, yea, come over. It would be great to meet somebody who knew Uncle Charlie. You see, he was the black sheep of the family, Gramps, his brother, who raised me and my sister, could never accept that he—that he was gay. You say you were a close friend of his so I guess you must have known…”

“Jonathan, I’m gay too. Does that bother you?”

“No, not at all.” Jon stopped for a moment and took a deep breath. He had never told anyone about himself except for Ernie. But what it matter now?

“I’m in the same boat you might say. I guess it runs in the family.”

“There are a lot worse things in life, believe me. Well, I can be over in about twenty minutes. I’ll call you from the lobby. You need to buzz me in.”

“You know where I’m at?”

“I know the place real well.”

Jon quickly scanned the foyer and saw the intercom.

“I know this sounds like an off-the-wall question,” asked Marcos, “but you haven’t showered yet, have you?”

“No,” answered Jon, a bit confused.

“Then don’t. Let’s just say I’m allergic to the smell of Dial soap.”

The sun was warm on the terrace, and Jon lay on the green striped lounge, taking it all in. It didn’t take long for him to start to smell as the sweat from his hairy chest dripped down to his abs. Hearing the intercom buzzer, he grabbed his boxers off the sofa, slipped them on, and waited by the door.

On the phone, Marcos sounded like he’d be a big guy, the defense tackle type, but what arrived at Jon’s door was a short, compact man, no more than five-seven, with a boyish face and one of those pencil beards, hair buzzed on the sides and thick down the middle like a modified Mohawk.

Marcos smiled broadly with a glimmer of surprise in his smile.

“I sure as hell see the family resemblance,” said Marcos shaking Jon’s hand like a man. “Though you’re uncle was a short guy like me.”

“I think the height I owe to my father,” said Jon.

“And the fur?” laughed Marcos.

Jon rubbed his palm across his chest. “Dad, too, I guess.”

Marcos glanced around.

“So Pete still with Herbie?”

“Yea, I plan to pick him up later.”

“Your uncle loved that dog. Said even though he was a small little fucker, Pete had a bigger dick on him than most of his tricks.”

Jon grinned. “Wanna Coke?”

Marcos nodded.

“And watch out for Herbie. He likes to use dog collars on more than just his two babies, Hildy and Helen.”


“His two mini-doxies.”

They walked out to the terrace, Marcos stripped off his tank—he was tanned and hairless with the tight body of a gymnast—as Jon got the diet Coke from the frig. In the bright, naked sun, Jon’s visitor looked somewhere in his thirties. By now, Marcos had slipped off his floppies and cargo shorts and was down to his black bikini underwear. Jon could feel his cock stirring but went into the small talk, not knowing where this was headed or even where he wanted it to go. Right now, all he wanted was not to have his cock pop out of his boxer fly.

“So how long did you know my great uncle?” Jon asked staring out to the water in an attempt to cool his erection as he handed Marcos his drink.

“Since I came down from Tampa—I’m a transplanted New York Rican. Charlie had been down here awhile by then. We met at the local baths one Saturday night and just hit it off.”

“Baths? Aren’t they those seedy places where dirty old gay men go to have sex?” asked Jon curiously.
Marcos grinned.

“Yea, and they’re getting older and more tired looking every time I go there which hasn’t been much lately. And when I do go, it’s the same guys I saw there ten years ago when I’d go down to Lauderdale for an occasional long weekend. Christ, they should have bought time shares in the place instead of renting a room every week. It would have been cheaper. They used to ask for their social security card to get in. Soon it’ll be their pre-burial arrangements.”

“So when you guys met there, Uncle Charlie was already…”

“Fifty nine and I was forty. I’ve always liked ‘em older, at least used to, but as you get older—I’m forty-five now—you start looking at the younger men a whole lot more.”

Suddenly Marcos’s face went beet red. Jon figured that he had realized what he had just said.

“You don’t look forty-five,” said Jon. “I’d take you for ten years younger.”

“Keep talkin’ dirty to me,” said Marcos. “Down here, when you’re half naked half of the time, you have to look good, or sure as hell try. And for those of us on the prowl, it’s a pre-requisite.”

“You and Uncle Charlie,” Jon replied.

Marcos smirked.

“You don’t sound like the usual airhead twenty-one year old I run into in the bars or on the web who were born with a smartphone up their butthole.”

“So you say you knew my uncle well?”

Marcos sighed. “Yea, he was a great guy. Him and I, neither of us were social butterflies, actually we were more homebodies, and it’s not that we got together a lot but when we did…”

“Like the day he died.”

“Yea, we were supposed to get together that night for a nice man-to-man, down and dirty, long slow sweat session.
That’s my thing, you know, sweat and man scent. Just call me kinky. And Charlie enjoyed it too, told me when he was driving to my place, he’d turn up the windows on his Beemer and turn on the heat, in 80 degree weather mind you, just so he’d be nice and smelly for me.”

“So—so he had the heart attack here?”

“Yep, the doorman who’s on during the day down in the lobby was delivering a package that had come that morning, some kinky underwear I think from International Male Charlie told me he had ordered where your ass cheeks hang out. He knew Charlie was in since he remembered seeing his car in the lot when he came on duty, so when he got no response at Charlie’s door, he used the master key and found him sprawled on the bed, cold. He was long gone, it must have hit him as soon as he got in the night before.”

“I wish I had stayed in touch all those years,” said Jon. “I think he would have been a good teacher for all this. I’m not like you guys who have seen it all. I’m a virgin to this life. All I’ve known is Manhunt and Growl’r and Scruff…”

“But you’ve met guys on them haven’t you, I mean you’re handsome and hot, with all that fur,” said Marcos leaning over to give a playful rub to Jon’s hairy abs.

“No,” corrected Jon, “when I said I was a virgin I meant it.”

Marcos laughed, “Well, I had my first girl when I was thirteen back in Brooklyn and ended up fucking her boyfriend a week later.”

“Me and my j-o buddy, well, we were always afraid to do it for real with all the shit gonna on out there …”

“You mean like HIV?” said Marcos.

Jon nodded.

“What if I told you I was HIV positive?”

“You—you don’t look sick.”

“Well, my meds keep the big bad boogey man at bay, but yea, I’m a poz boy like half the guys down here. Guess the sun and fun attracts us.”

“Was my uncle—was Charlie…”

“No, he always played top, you know, he was the one who did the fucking. Seems they say it’s pretty hard for a top to catch it. Or maybe Charlie was just lucky. Me? All it took was one bad cock.”

Jon looked Marcos straight in the face. He had beautiful brown eyes.

“I’ve been wanting to see what it would be like to be with a guy, but living at home and working a shit job with a buddy who only wanted to shoot our loads over pics, well…”

“And you want me to be your first?” laughed Marcos, getting up. “I feel honored.”

“You’re making fun of me…” cowered Jon.

Marcos stopped laughing and got all serious.

“I would never make fun of you, Jon.”

“Sorry for sounding so pushy. I’m usually a wallflower. Forget I brought the whole thing up.”
Marcos grabbed Jon’s wrist.

“You’re not afraid of me?”

“No, don’t ask me why, but I know you wouldn’t do anything to hurt me.”

Marcos raised Jon’s hand and stuck his nose in his sweaty armpit.

“This is what I meant when I said no shower. Fuck, you even smell like Charlie.”

Marcos led him by the hand to the bedroom. Jon followed his cue, left his boxer shorts on the living room tile and threw himself on the bed.

“Come here, Jon, lay on me.”

Jon began to shake nervously as he gently lowered his six foot two frame over Marcos. They were both sweaty from the terrace sun and the film of mutual perspiration formed an invisible seal between their bodies.

“I always enjoyed doing this with Charlie, just laying on top of one another like this, sweaty and smelly, stroking the fur on his butt, mating down all that fur on his chest and abs, just like yours…”

With that, Marcos’s tongue got reacquainted with Jon’s armpit and Jon instinctively raised Marcos’s hand to smell, then taste his.

“Something your never gonna get over a phone app, right, buddy?” whispered Marcos.

Jon’s cock was aching, his PA pressed against Marcos’ drum tight abs, and he could feel Marcos’s wet, uncut cock nestled against his inner thigh.

“Let me show you what it means for one guy to give pleasure to another,” said Marcos as he flipped Jon on his back and buried himself in his crotch. Jon closed his eyes, but there was no need imagining like he had so many times before what it was like to have a man next to him. Now he had one for real.

Starting with the big toe on Jon’s right foot, Marcos used his tongue and mouth to explore every square inch of his body, licking up his sweat and deeply inhaling his stench like only a lover of the moment could, leaving Jon’s aching cock as his last frontier, yanking on his PA with his teeth, then swallowing him whole. It never took long for Jon to cum but now, just a few deep sucks by Marcos and he was there, spurting down Marcos’s throat uncontrollably.

Marcos wiped the cum off his beard and glided his finger over Jon’s lips as he roughly jerked his own cock and shot his load a good foot all over Jon’s hairy chest, the splatter even hitting his nose ring.

“Now, wasn’t I better than Growl’r?” laughed Marcos as he fell back on the bed, alongside Jon, the sheet beneath them drenched, then lay on his belly, all still.

Jon moved closer and, leaning over, ran his hands ever so slowly back and forth over Marcos’ hard back and smooth butt. If Marcos had been hairy, he would have rubbed his fur off.

“Do I have permission to take that shower now, Teach?” asked Jon softly.

“I have a better idea,” replied Marcos and he suddenly sprang up, walked over to the living room and slipped his cargo shorts and floppies back on. “We’re hitting Sebastian.”


“The gay beach, it’s two minutes down the road.”

Jon rummaged through his bag for his levi cutoffs, stuck on his Nikes and followed Marcos to the door.

Just then he remembered Uncle Charlie’s pride and joy.

“Wait,” grabbing the keys from the kitchen counter where he had tossed them. “I’d like to take the Beemer out for a ride.”

“You mean The Emerald Stud,” said Marcos. “That’s what Charlie called it.” He walked over to what looked like a linen closet off the living room and grabbed a few bed sheets. “We wouldn’t want to ruin all that leather with our sweaty bodies, now would we?”

Learning about man-to-man sex wasn’t the only lesson Jon got that afternoon. Marcos also showed him how to pop the roof as the two of them sped down Sunrise Boulevard to A1A and the beach. They passed hotel after hotel, the streets filled with tourists, but Jon kept glancing out at the ocean. The waves were rough, just as he remembered as a kid when Gramps and Grannie took him and Sally to Seaside Heights. He had cried when he saw what Sandy had done to the town but now he was back there all over again.

Marcos gestured to a side street and some empty meters.

“I always come prepared,” said Marcos, reaching into his pocket for quarters.

It was another sunny breezy June day in November, and Sebastian was littered with men. The best looking ones made sure to instinctively stand up like erect dicks and swagger and stroke their abs or lather lotion over their chests as they chatted with their buddies, or on their smartphones or bobbed in the waves, all just to be desperately noticed among the sea of attractive clones, desired, lusted after, even ridiculed.

Anything but be ignored.

Three huge cargo ships dominated the horizon, but their white container sections resembled large sails, and as Marcos and Jon found an open spot away from the crowd, Jon imagined them Columbus’ Nina, Pinta and Santa Maria from Miss Fine’s fourth grade class, ready to explore a new world.

Just like Jon.

“So now that you’re a rich bar owner,” joked Marcos, “what are you gonna do with the rest of your life?”
“Well right now, all I want to do is get all this sweat off me,” and with that he jumped up and ran into the water.

Marcos was right behind.

Splashing around, Jon grabbed Marcos and tried to kiss him but Marcos turned away just as a huge wave carried them back to shore.

After that they said little to one another until Marcos mentioned that he had to get back to the shop. He had some evening customers coming over.

“Sure, Teach, sure.”

“I’ll see you at Eddie’s memorial for Charlie tomorrow,” said Marcos as they parted ways back at the condo. “Hope you learned something today, Sexy.”

“Yea,” replied Jon forcing a smile.

Maybe Ernie, his jerk-off buddy back home on Staten Island whom he had spent many hours mutually getting off on all those pretty men on their smartphones, was right.

Just stick to the apps.

Next: My Characters Are Real: George