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Hombre Trade: The Mexican DILF at the Mall

Gavin Rockhard

Copyright 2017

All characters depicted in sexual situations in this publication are eighteen years of age or older.

These stories are about fictional consenting adults engaging in taboo and controversial sexual acts. Nobody involved in the creation of this ebook, including authors, editors and models, support immoral or illegal acts in real life. Cover models are not intended to illustrate specific people and the content does not refer to models' actual acts, identity, history, beliefs or behavior. No characters depicted in this ebook are intended to represent real people.

It had been the slowest day that Hernan could remember since he started at The We Sell Cells Well, the mall kiosk shaped like a well. Hernan hated wearing the bright pink polo shirt that came with the job.

Not that it was emasculating for him. He was gay, so pink was an entirely "reasonable" color for him to wear. It just didn't look good on him. And this mall was dying anyway. A third of the storefronts were empty, or at least, unrented -- some still had merchandise and cash registers laying around, unclaimed, unwanted, unsellable. Working here felt like selling ice-cream cones to the survivors of a battle. The whole place was like an crude parody of an apocalyptic mall-based culture. It was a mall, just full of destruction and abandoned crap instead of actual functioning stores.

Hernan's kiosk was in the good part of the mall though, near the drug store, baseball cap store and comic book store, all of which did a pretty good trade. There was also a Latino grocery on the other side of the comic book store.

And that was really the main reason Hernan kept the job -- it had given him access to all the straight Latin men who came by the grocery store, the hat store and the rest. This mall was in a neighborhood that was now mainly Mexican, so the clientele here were mostly from south of the border. Hernan loved straight Latin men, and he found that if he asked right, he could nearly always suck them off on request.

So this job put him right in the thick of it. Most days dozens of hot hombres came through the mall. They swaggered and strode, all thick and hairy and caramely. Hernan got horny just thinking about it.

But virtually nobody came in today, not to go to the Latin grocery nor anywhere else. He hadn't had a single customer. A few people had walked by, but no one came to The We Sell Cells Well kiosk. The drug store had made a few sales, to elderly people who had presumably been getting prescriptions filled here for years and didn't want to change their schedules now.

At last, someone sexy!

A man in a sleeveless tee-shirt came in from outside. He had a thick tousle of black hair, and a lean, ropy-muscled body. He had deep-set eyes and dimples.

Ah... Hernan was disappointed. He had a babyface. He was clearly adult enough, he had a tattoo, and he was well over six feet tall. But he was trying to act hard yet had the face of a twelve-year old lesbian with a wispy mustache. Hernan was disappointed. For a moment there, before he saw his face or that the sleeveless tee-shirt just revealed how flabby his arms were, he had thought this particular hombre was hot.

Hernan sighed. He wasn't bad. Babyface or no, he was cute. Hernan really wanted to run his fingers through that gorgeous head of hair. Hair like that, he thought, was wasted on a straight boy.

But then there was a loud shout. Another man was there, a much older one. He was husky and broad-shouldered. He wore a work shirt, splattered with paint, and dark green pants that matched. "Pablo! ¡Ven acá!" He had a mustache that quivered when he shouted, and a scruffy beard covering his chin and cheeks, though that looked like an accident, like he had cultivated the mustache but then never really got in the habit of shaving the rest of it. "Pablo! What are you doing here?"

"Fuck off-!"

"You had better show me un poco de respeto, you shit-faced punk! I swear I'll kick the bitch outta you!"

"I told you I needed it! I gots to have the hat, pendejo-"

"What did you call me? I ain't some shit-ass punk like the boys you hang out with-"

"Bullshit, you don't know me, you cabron! I want that hat-"

"Then pay for it your goddamn self, don't steal my wallet like a fuckin' drogadicto!"

A loud argument erupted. They both shouted at once in florid Spanglish. Hernan gathered that they were brothers, but the older one seemed to be an authority -- he had, perhaps, raised the younger one, who had not gone to work today (to work for or with the older one) for some reason that was belied by him being found at the mall. It apparently had something to do with a hat (the younger one had been heading towards that hat store when he first walked in).

That older one was sexy as hell. Hernan wanted him. The younger one was cute and Hernan might have given him a handjob just to pass the time. But his older hermano was Hernan's ideal man. He watched them argue and even exchange a few shoves. They knocked over a calendar display and then stopped because it was obvious someone would call the police soon.

"Lay off me, man!"

"I raised you better than this!"

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