Sal The Super, The Nookie King Of The BronxChapter 20 free porn video

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It was one of those days that Sal thought for sure would go down in the books as uneventful. His Aunt Gina was all caught up in some asinine Bingo game scam up in Yonkers that he viewed as a big waste of time. A lot of the residents were away at the shore making up for lost time because of the last two rainy weekends.

He had an appointment to do Mrs. O' Brian's pipes right after lunch but she came down into the basement early in the morning catching him putting some Irish in his coffee and told him,

"I got to go to my brother-in-laws' funeral today, Sal, he passed over the Holiday real sudden-like. My sister Ronnie is all torn up. You remember, Ronnie, she came to my birthday party last Christmas. She's the one got all lit up like Luna park and tried to put a lip-lock on you!"

Sal did remember the inebriated ball of fire. He was sad she had lost her husband because in his memory the guy was only in his fifties and could really put away a line of boilermakers. He was certain Mrs. O' Brian was going to share a shower with him again like she did the last time. She was up there in years, but her moneymaker was still operating on all eight cylinders. She must have been a real hell-raiser when she was younger. The mature woman had some real staying power. A lot of the Irish girls had that trait and they could handle a lot of loving without getting tired or turned off. It was one of the things that attracted him to the Conte girls next door who were only half Irish but it must have been the half below the waist.

He still had to watch his act around the union-boss father who was understandably pissed-off when Sal had accidently impregnated not just one, but two of his pretty daughters in quick succession. The three remaining sisters were put "off limits" to him but each one of them managed to bypass that with ease after the father cooled off. He was taking care of his two small daughters financially through their grandmother and the girl's grandfather kept his cool because of his monetary support and the fact his "Uncle Vinnie" sort of ran the entire Bronx East of the Grand Concourse.

Sal's parents were traditional Italian immigrants and they brought Sal up to be a good boy but they looked the other way when it came to his girl-chasing ways. His Uncle Vinnie was his mama's brother and he acted sort of like a substitute father since his "father" was well-advanced in years and disturbingly hard of hearing.

He had explored the soft curves of Mrs. O' Brian's ass pretty good even when she cautioned him,

"Don't muss me up, you bad boy. Save it for tomorrow when you fix the pipes."

He had his fingers buried in her sweet pussy pie when he heard the sounds of teenagers coming into the basement to get their bicycles. They broke it off and he promised to be at her front door the next day promptly at noon.

The rest of the day was pretty quiet except for the two teenage girls he caught smooching in the storage area. He was certain pretty 18 year old Maisy from 505 was trying to get the tall and sultry Mrs. Miller from 404 to open up her shirt and let her play with her pretty boobs. Sal always felt a little out of place in the presence of female to female love-making but he found it never failed to arouse his cock when he came in contact with the sport. In a sense, he was glad he discovered them together because he had been trying to find some sort of lever to get Mrs. Miller to serve him up a small slice of pussy pie for an afternoon snack when her husband was busy at work downtown. This might be just the thing he was looking for. He had already hammered the young Maisy on the roof when she went up to sunbathe in the nude last month. She was really a bum lay and he figured it was probably because she swung for the other side when it came to pussy tingling time.

His aunt Gina surprised him by coming home early from the Bingo expedition.

She moved around the apartment finding some vanilla wafers and making a before bed cup of tea. He could tell from her body language that she had something buried deep inside that was just busting her not to expose to everyone around her. He knew it would bubble over soon, so he just patiently waited and tried to be surprised when she announced,

"Sal, I got something to tell you!"

He sipped his tea while it was still hot and waited for Gina to fill him in on all the juicy details.

"Sal, honey, I don't want to upset you, but I got to tell you without any bullshit or beating around the bush. Your mama and your dad are not really your biological parents. They are only "fosters" who got to keep you when your mom wound up MIA in the Army overseas."

Sal was truly shocked. This was not what he had expected. It was something he kind of always felt a distinct possibility in the back of his head but figured it was just his overactive imagination. Now that he heard the dreaded words in the flesh, it made a lot of sense to him. If Gina was "not really" his aunt, it was entirely possible that his parents were not really his flesh and blood parents. Not that it made any difference, they were like real parents to him and that would never change.

Gina took a slug of tea and continued,

"I met Irma Shultz who used to live on Tremont and she told me she knew your mama. I was really shocked because I didn't think she knew your parents.

Sal, I hate to tell you this, but you ain't even Italian like everyone thinks. You are Irish. I can't see it myself, but I saw the papers myself and you have an Irish mom and dad and are 100% Irish. I can't even take you home to Sicily now to meet my grandparents because I can't lie to them."

In all honesty, Sal didn't give a shit if he was Irish or Italian or even Polish. He loved his Italian parents and didn't want any more details from Gina. She ignored his disinterest and told him the rest of the story.

"Your mama was a Cavanaugh. She was one of the rich Cavanaugh's from down in Chelsea. Her father owned that big funeral parlor where all the Irish go to get buried."

Sal smiled at that because it was true that the Italians went to the Italian funeral parlor and the Irish went to the Irish funeral parlor. It seemed so strange that the prejudices lasted even unto death.

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