Date: Thu, 01 Mar 2001 21:26:59
From: Ganymede
Subject: First Boy Part 3

First Boy, Part 3 by Ganymede


WARNING:


This story contains a graphic description of sexual acts
between a man and a MINOR boy. I do not condone child abuse,
however boy-love as described in this story is an entirely
different matter.

If the subject of man/boy sex offends you, if this material
is illegal in your place of residence, or if you are under the
legal age for such material, do not read further! You have been
warned! Read at your own risk!

The story is copyrighted under the pseudonym, Ganymede. A
single copy has been placed in the Nifty archives. Feel free to
post it to appropriate newsgroups or send it to your friends. If
distributing my story for monetary gain, please contribute funds
to a charitable organization providing services for boys.

The story is fiction. Any resemblance to any individual,
alive or dead, is unfortunate.


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FINAL WARNING:

If you are under the age of 18, if this material is illegal
in your place of residence, or if man-boy relationships aren't
your thing, then exit now and save yourself from a life of sin!


First Boy. Part 3, By Ganymede

Chapter Fourteen.

Shelley did not say anything, not for a long while. Perhaps the
serious tone of my voice had alerted him that something was
wrong. Very wrong. I breathed out slowly, emptying my lungs the
same way I did whenever I had to start afresh. Then, a deep long
breath. His eyes were focused on me, his thoughts now a great
distance from where they had just been. This was not about sex.
This was about him.

"What's wrong?"

I winced. His voice was soft, nearly a whisper, unable to
conceal his anxiety.

"Shel, I'm sorry," I began.

My voice sounded all wrong. It was not the end of the world.
In a way, it was a new beginning for both of us.

"Rick?"

Now or never. He would forgive me. I knew he would. He was
like that. He had to know sooner or later. The only question I
had was how to tell him. I started with what had happened while
he was asleep.

"Shel, last night, when I brought into the room, you were
sound asleep." I paused. "There were two people staying here,
both very close friends. They left after I undressed you and put
you in bed. I gave them our clothes. One is a boy who's about
your size. He's your age as well. Right about now, they're either
in Texas, or just crossing the border into Mexico."

"They're wearing our clothes,... so they're supposed to look
like us, aren't they?" Shelley asked thoughtfully.

I nodded. "That's the plan. The people who put the bomb on
the plane will find out quickly that we went to Mexico. With any
luck, the search for us should stop then."

"What are we going to wear?"

"Their clothes," I answered simply. "You going to become a
ranch brat for a while."

Shelley grinned cheerfully. However, the change in his
appearance that I needed to create was more than just merely
changing his clothes.

"The boy whose place you're taking originally came from
Mexico," I added.

Again, I paused. I waited for a few moments to see if
Shelley would grasp the meaning of what I had just said. He
nodded his head slowly, taking in the idea.

"I don't look very Mexican," he said light-heartedly.

"No you don't. For my plan to work,... for us to disappear,
we'll have to change your appearance."

"How?"

"Well, for one thing, your skin is way too pale. There's a
fairly simple way to stain it darker. Also, most Mexicans don't
blue eyes like yours. I have some special contact lenses. They'll
feel a bit strange, but you won't have to wear them for very
long."

Shelley inclined his head and glanced at his reflection in
the mirror.

"They don't have blond hair either, do they Rick?" he asked
slowly.

He had an almost girlish affectation concerning his hair. It
was always neatly brushed, long enough that it nearly reached to
his shoulders. It was glistening and golden-blond. Aaron Carter
hair. It was hard to think of him without it.

"No they don't," I admitted. "The boy whose place you're
taking,... he had short dark hair."

"Oh! Oh, Rick! You mean?"

I sighed, hearing the distress in his voice. He had been
through so much over the last week. Now this.

"It's much shorter than yours," I added. "It's the reason
why I bought that cap in the airport. He's wearing the cap now.
The stain on your skin will wear off after a while, maybe in a
week or two, but your hair,... The dye is permanent, Shel,...
It'll take months before your hair color is back to normal. It
takes that long to grow out," I added sadly.

"Okay," Shelley answered. "I guess it'll be kind of fun
looking different for a while."

I smiled. "I think you're going to be a spy when you grow
up."

"Why?"

"Because you're a lot like me. You'll do whatever it takes
to make the mission succeed."

Shelley thought for a moment. "Do I have a Mexican name as
well?"

"Juan," I replied.

Over the next few days I would brief him on his new
identity. He had a lot to learn. We would have to practice, just
as we had practiced before he met the President. If everything
went according to plan, I would have a few weeks to teach him
some Spanish. I expected that Shelley, soon to become Juan, knew
some Spanish already from growing up in a racially mixed
neighborhood. However, in all likelihood, the words he would have
learned would not be appropriate in decent conversation.

"Juan," Shelley repeated. "Okay. What's your name? Are you
going to be a Mexican too?"

"No. I'm the man who brought you back from Mexico and
adopted you about four years ago. We had better get started," I
added abruptly.

The memory was not a happy one. It was like the vanquished
returning from a battlefield. Manuel was dead and buried next to
the stone wall that ran behind the house. It was a beautiful
place, looking out over the ochre-colored hills. I could think of
him, remembering how carefree he had been riding his pinto
bareback down to the village. He had been lean bodied and sun
bronzed, and on the very cusp of puberty. His very first milky
emission had occurred just two days before he was murdered. Two
droplets, like tiny pearls. He was so proud, but despite his
vigorous attempts to produce more the next day, he was dry. We
had planned to try again that night.

It was a long hot summer but it was slightly cooler under
the shade of the gnarled pinyon pine that grew next to Manuel's
grave. I sat there for most of the next day while I tried to
decide what to do. I was sure I knew who was responsible. They
had killed Manuel for no other reason than to get at me. They
thought they were untouchable. They had friends in Washington,
important friends. I remembered thinking that Manuel's grave that
did not even come close to being worthy of him. He deserved the
world and instead he ended up buried without a coffin. My mind
was made up. My career would be ruined, but I no longer cared.
All I cared about was getting revenge.

"What's wrong, Rick?"

I looked up quickly. Shelley regarded me with concern. He
did not smile. Instead, his eyes blinked rapidly. He was almost
ready to cry.

"Nothing," I answered softly. "I'm sorry." I smiled weakly.
"I love you, Shelley."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Shelley sang as he pretended to be
cheerful. "All you want is my ass."

"That's not true. I want all of you."

I growled at him and he giggled at my poor attempt to sound
like a wild animal ready to devour him. He didn't move away when
I leaned down and planted a wet, slobbering kiss on his shoulder
prior to a playful bite. He enjoyed being 'smooched'. I slapped
his firm little butt with my hand. It made a louder sound than I
expected. He still laughed and danced away out of reach.

"See, all you want is my butt," he challenged.

I grinned at him, stepped over to the vanity and opened the
brown paper bag that had been left there for me. A quick glance
confirmed that everything I had asked for was inside. While
Shelley looked on, I removed the covering from the painter's drop
cloth and began to spread the plastic sheet out over the bathroom
floor.

"Why do we need this for?" Shelley asked when he finished
tucking the plastic film over the edge of the bath tub.

"So we don't make a mess on the floor," I explained. "Once
the stain we're going to use on your skin dries it's nearly
impossible to get off. Okay, I want you to get in the middle."

I pulled on a pair of latex gloves and removed the cap from
the bottle of stain. It was 'Walnut', a little darker than I
needed, but there was no way of diluting it. There were also a
couple of small sponges in the paper bag. I had done this once
before and I knew the technique that could produce the best
results. Even coloring was essential. I began by soaking the
sponge in the dark liquid. I regretted doing it even as I reached
to the top of his head. His hair was so blond and beautiful that
it almost hurt me to do it. The dark spot spread as the stain
began to spread outward.

"Get it over with," Shelley muttered.

He was looking at my reflection in the mirror, observing my
hesitation, seeing the anguish I felt. His 'movie-star' looks
were about to disappear.

"Close your eyes," I said firmly. "And don't open them until
I tell you."

He obeyed. I added more stain to the sponge, brought the
dark line lower, to his forehead, added more stain, moved to the
back of his head, and then around to the sides and down to his
ears. A trickle of stain ran down his cheek. I shook my head,
denying the feelings inside him. Once started, I could not stop.
His head was the hardest part. Eyelids, inside his ears, his
lips, even his nostrils, all had to covered with the dark brown
stain. I reached his neck.

Already he looked different. No longer blond, but dark
headed. Strange, almost like a different person. I slopped more
of the stain onto the sponge and started making longer strokes.
Down his slender arms, covering his pale skin with dark skin. He
lifted his arms up when I asked him, barely giggling when I did
his arm pits. I guided him to turn around and with a soaking
sponge, began to work on his back. Dribbles ran down his
buttocks, one all the way down his legs.

"Turn around again," I instructed.

I took one last look at his perfect chest and belly. I had
kissed him there so often. Long wet kisses, dragging my tongue
across his navel, nibbling on his tiny nipples, leaving wet
trails of saliva across him. Now a slowly descending line of
stain, lower and lower until I reached his waist. More stain was
needed on the sponge. I knelt down, getting a close look at his
sex organs. Like the rest of his body, they made me thing that he
had been sculpted by Divine will. His scrotum was shrivelled,
more than it had been when I started. His penis hung loosely,
limp and nearly sexless. He waited patiently as I wiped the stain
over his pubis, bringing the stain ever closer to that small pale
appendage. Without a foreskin, that part of him would not be
completely right, but no one else would know it. I lifted his
penis up to dab the sponge against his wrinkled scrotum. Despite
the contraction of the skin, the shape of what should have been
his testicles was clearly visible. Beneath the flattened dark
brown pouch, there was a thin pale line, a tiny scar that
followed nature's joining line. It had definitely become more
visible, but even then, it would only be dsicovered after a close
inspection.

It did not take more than a few seconds to apply the stain
to his penis and scrotum. I paused and surveyed my handiwork.
>From his genitals upwards, his body was brown. Brown like Manuel
had been, brown like Juan was. Mexican brown. His precious
paleness was gone. I moved to his buttocks, making sure that the
stain was all the way inside his crack before I began to work on
his thighs. His legs were the easiest part, which was fortunate
because I was getting tired of kneeling and bending over. He was
brown right down to his toes and the soles of his feet.

"Okay," I said. "Now it has to dry."

"Can I open my eyes?"

"In a few minutes. It has to dry on your eyelids."

The next task was to cut his hair. I was not much of a
barber, but fortunately Juan preferred a hair style that
emphasized efficiency over aesthetics. Close cropped. Not a
'buzz' but evenly short so that it bristled upward. I figured
that the best way to do it was to run my fingers through
Shelley's hair and to use the scissors next to my fingers to
maintain the constant length. I began to cut, cautiously at first
until I got the technique down and the results were excatly what
I wanted. I let the long sticky strands of hair fall to the
floor. Cutting his hair took almost as long as applying the stain
to his body. He was beginning to look increasingly like a ten-
year-old Mexican boy.

"How do I look?" Shelley asked when he sensed that I was
taking a 'breather'.

"Good. You can open your eyes now," I answered nervously.
"The stain is close to being dry by now."

"Man!" Shelley gasped.

"Well!"

"It's awesome. I don't look like me any more. I don't, do
I?"

"No."

Both his face and body were unfamiliar to the two people to
whom it was best known. He might not stand up to a close
inspection, but the change in appearance was good enough for what
we wanted. With luck, he would not be seen from a distance closer
than ten feet.

"Hey, my dick's brown too," Shelley observed. "It looks
really weird, Rick."

"It's just like a Mexican boy's," I grinned.

His penis was noticeably smaller than Juan's. What he lacked
in length, he made up for in the size of his scrotum, even if the
increased size was artificially caused.

There was another bottle of coloring in the bag. This one
was smaller. Applying hair dye is particularly difficult.
Fortunately, I had experience doing it on several occasions in
the field. I used toilet paper for his head, coiling it around
and around until the hair line was precisely marked and there was
no way that the dye could tint his face skin. Using another
sponge, I began to apply the dye. I had to be very careful and it
seemed to take forever. It had to be close to but not quite
black, more like the color of very dark mahogany. I finished by
carefully applying the dye to his eyebrows and eye lashes.
Finally, I unwound the toilet paper and peeled off my gloves. The
stain had dried to a even tone.

The naked boy who stood before me was no longer Caucasian.
His heritage was that of mixed races, part Spanish conquistador,
part Indian, perhaps other races. Except for the sky-blue eyes
that was. I grinned at my new lover, a hot blooded Mexican boy.

"What do you think?" I asked nervously.

Shelley thought for a moment as he studied himself in the
mirror.

"Do I look like him? The boy whose clothes I'm going to
wear?"

I nodded silently. Juan was beautiful, a smaller version of
Manuel, but Shelley was very beautiful. Had his hair been longer,
he could easily have passed for a girl.

Shelley smiled shyly. He inspected his arms with deliberate
interest in the transformation. The change was more than a mere
change of color. He had become someone else.

"How long before it wears off?" he asked quietly.

"It'd be noticeably lighter in a week, if you showered every
day that is. Only where were going to, there aren't any showers,"
I said with amusement. "Just cold baths down in the creek."

"Yuk."

"It won't be that bad. I know exactly how to warm you up
afterwards," I laughed.

Shelley grinned at me, a Mexican boy's grin with brilliant
white teeth and a pink mouth that contrasted with the dark brown
skin of his face. His lips had taken on a distinctly purple hue.
The color was close to being perfect.

I completed the metamorphosis by showing Shelley how to use
the contact lenses. There was no optical effect, yet he still had
some difficulty getting used to the feeling of something foreign
in his eyes. He blinked again and again. When he stopped, his
innocent blue eyes were gone. Instead, his dark eyes were
brooding and sensuous. At least on the surface he had become a
different boy. The change in character and identity would take
longer to effect.

I sent Shelley out to get dressed while I cleaned up the
bathroom. Using a plastic sheet was immediately justified. I
bundled it into the paper bag together with the two bottles and
the used sponges. I would discard the evidence in a trash can
when we were well away from the motel. .

I walked out of the bathroom and came to an abrupt halt.
Shelley was nearly dressed. He sat on the lounge seat next to the
window, putting on boots that were scuffed and grime-smeared. I
could have been looking at Juan. He wore Juan's well-worn jeans,
complete with a hole in one knee and faded areas on the thighs
and seat from where he was used to sitting in a saddle. The plaid
shirt was open to the third button revealing a 'v' of bronze-
colored skin.

"I look like a cowboy, don't I?" Shelley grinned.

"Sure do. And a very sexy cowboy at that."

"You're gonna have to put a halt to that kind of talk," he
rebuked. "Us Mexican boys ain't like that."

'If only you knew,' I thought to myself. I grinned back at
him. He stood up and put his hands defiantly on his hips as if
challenging me to argue the sexual proclivities of our southern
neighbors. His hands slowly moved behind him. Even without
seeing, I realized what he was doing. It was a distinctly sexual
gesture. His hands cupped his buttocks as if he was getting ready
to part his cheeks and reveal his crevice. Then, without warning,
Shelley's expression darkened. His hands clutched at his jeans
and then he looked at me frantically. His mouth was grim.

"What's wrong?" I asked quickly.

"Nothing!"

"Shel," I tried.

He shook his head urgently. "'s nuthin'. Okay!"

The last word was angry and so unlike him. He glared at me,
blinking rapidly as tears began to build in his eyes.

"Shel," I tried again.

"It's not there!" he said softly. He trembled.

"What's not there?"

"MY PHOTO!" he screamed.

"What photo?" I asked. I tried to keep my voice calm.

"MY PHOTO!" He shook violently. "It's gone," he added
emptily.

"Shelley, calm down a moment. Please," I implored.

He glared at me with more anger than I had ever thought he
was capable of.

"NO!" he shouted. "IT'S ALL I HAD! 'N NOW ITS GONE!"

"Shel, please. Tell me."

He sobbed with a sudden exhale from his chest. "My
parents,... and me,... from when I was a baby,... before they
died. She took it so I wouldn't tell."

"Who took it?" I asked gently. With sudden insight I added.
"Julia?"

Shelley nodded. His hand smeared a wet trail of tears across
his cheek. "Mrs. Harmon took it."

"Why did she take it?"

"So I wouldn't tell."

"On Robbie?" I prompted. "About what he was doing to you?"

He nodded again. He swallowed, clenching his fists
impotently. "If I told, she said she was going to burn it up."

"How did you get it back?"

"I found it. She kept it in the back of her Bible, but I
found it. By then,..." His voiced died as he choked on tears that
would not come. "I didn't want to stop,... I couldn't tell."

"God, you poor kid," I said glumly. "Look, Shel, it's
probably safe. Juan will find it. He won't throw it away. He'll
figure it's something important to you. I know he will."

"Rick, it's all I've got," Shelley intoned distantly. "I
don't have anything else."

He shook his head in despair, again and again as tears
finally began to run down from his eyes. I wanted to cry with
him, but I had other things I had to do.


Chapter Fifteen.

Other things consisted of carrying the bags from the room
and packing them into the limited space inside the Jeep Wrangler.
Each time that I re-entered the room, I tried to talk to Shelley.
He ignored my efforts to establish communication. There was blame
in his reddened eyes. I was responsible and I felt like 'shit'.
Had it been possible, I would have immediately driven all the way
to Mexico to get the photograph back. However, there was no point
in trying. As soon as they crossed the border, Michael would
disappear. There was no way of reaching them until they arrived
at the Rodriguez farm. By then, there was a high probability that
Juan had discarded the photograph.

When the Jeep was loaded I went back into the room to get
Shelley. I took one last look around the room, checked the
bathroom, looked under the beds, and led Shelley outside. He was
morose, giving me the proverbial 'cold shoulder' that was every
bit as frigid as the cold look he gave me.

I started the engine and backed out of the parking space. I
had one more thing to do before we were on our way. I stopped in
front of the motel office. 'Check out' was the first step in
officially establishing our new existence. It would also be
Shelley's first test. I let the engine idle while I talked.

"Okay, Shel. Pay attention. Your name is,..."

"Juan," Shelley said abruptly. "I know, okay! Just leave me
alone, Rick."

I sighed. This was going to be more difficult than I
expected. I lost my temper. The stress of the last few days
finally got to me. I was not in the mood for childish sulking and
temper tantrums

"Listen to me you little shit!" Had I really said that? It
was my voice. I had to get his attention. "This is important.
We're going into that office in a few seconds and you're going to
pretend to be a Mexican kid. Not some spoiled little brat!"

"Fuck you!" he said under his breath.

"No!" I answered.

He was trying be be tough. He had spent most of his life
trying to be tough. He had to be tough to survive, and he was a
survivor.

"Now get your ass out of the car and come with me."

He did. He followed me into the office. He was not happy. He
slouched against the wall, glaring at everything and everyone
around him. I walked up to the counter and stood there waiting
for the black-haired Indian woman to show some interest in her
job. She ignored me. After nearly a minute, she looked up.

"Yeah? Can I help you?"

"I'd like to check out,... today,... sometime."

"What room number?"

"One-forty-something."

"Eight," Shelley said from the wall. His accent was a long
way from being perfect but it was quite good.

I concealed my smile. Perfect cue. "You want something to
eat, Juan, you better get it now. I'm not stoppin'."

"How about Dunkins?"

"Nope. Get yourself some of them muffins over there." I
turned back to the woman who was casually inspecting a book.
"It's included in the price of the room, ain't it?" I asked.

She shrugged. "That and the towels," she replied
sarcastically.

I glanced back over my shoulder. "Get me some too," I said
with my 'command' voice.

Shelley gave me a cold stare. He was still very angry. His
tongue licked over his upper lip. "Chingate," he said cruelly.

The woman snorted although there was a slight smile at the
corner of her mouth. Clearly, she approved of the Mexican boy
telling me 'fuck you'. She would not forget us easily.

"Your son?"

I shook my head. "My wife's. First marriage. She's from El
Paso."

The woman accepted that. "Bill's been paid. There ain't no
phone calls or extra charges. You want it on your card still?"

"Yeah."

I turned and walked over to the table where Shelley was now
standing. He looked forlorn, standing there. Lonely. Frightened.
Fragile. He had nothing left. I leaned down, aware that the woman
was staring at me. No doubt she was watching to see if I would
strike him.

Instead, I whispered in his ear. "I love you."

He stood perfectly still, tensed and still angry. "Same," he
said under his breath.

"Good. Now let's get the hell out of here."

Carrying a paper plate with half a dozen medium-sized but
stale looking muffins in one hand and a plastic cup of milk,
hopefully not stale, Shelley followed me outside. I held the cup
and plate while he climbed in and closed the door. I handed the
food to him, winked, and walked to the other side. By the time I
got in, he was smiling again.

"How was I?"

"'Chingate' indeed."

"I didn't think you'd know what it meant."

"I do. So what other words do you know?"

Shelley grinned. "Chupame la polla."

I laughed. "I'll suck your dick when I'm good and ready. How
about 'chupar es mi pinga?"

Now Shelley laughed. "Whenever you say."

We laughed as I started the car. We were still laughing as I
pulled out of the motel parking area and onto the road that would
take us to a new life three hundred miles away.

"So how do you know Spanish?" I asked as I settled into my
driving mood.

"From school, of course. Half the kids there spoke Spanish.
You'd have to be deaf and dumb not to pick it up, Rick. They were
always talking about 'chocho' and stuff like that." He smiled
shyly. "The guys I hung out with called me 'Chilito', and not
because of that Taco Smell thing, either."

I ignored the crude reference to the female sex organ.
Mexicans had as many words for it as they had for different kinds
of food. I laughed and made the assumption that Taco Bell had an
item on the menu with the name 'Chilito'.

"Well, you have a small dick, don't you? That can be your
nickname from now on if you want?" I asked teasingly. Shelley
shook his head vigorously. "Okay. But take it easy on the
vulgarities," I warned. "You're supposed to be a ranch rat, not
some street kid."

I turned on the radio. It was already tuned to 101.3 so we
listened to 'Country Classics' until we left I-25 at Sante Fe. I
would like to have stopped there and shown the old town to
Shelley, even to divert from my planned route in order to visit
Taos, which despite the hordes of tourists and retirees, is still
worth seeing. According to Wilderstein, there was even a doctor
in a private clinic who had been instructed to remove the
transmitters from Shelley's scrotum. The thought of subjecting
him to that operation sickened me, despite the fact that sooner
or later it would have to be performed.

We took Route 84 and headed towards Los Alamos. Shelley
recognized the name as soon as he saw it on a road sign. He spent
the next hour craning his neck in a more or less fruitless
endeavor to see 'where the bombs were made'. We stopped for a
break at Abiquiu Reservoir, bought a couple of luke-warm sodas
from a drink machine, and got back into the car. It was beginning
to get hot. Route 17 from Chama took us across the border into
Colorado. We had the occassional glimpse of the Cumbres and
Toltec Scenic Railroad, and even a distant view of the steam
train as it climbed slowly up the hill outside Chama. We turned
off the black-top after 28 miles and began to head north, just
before we reached Cumbres Pass. For the next few hours we drove
on unpaved roads into forested mountains that became increasingly
rugged. There was a reason why most of the vehicles in the region
had four wheel drive. Without it, you were not going to go very
far. During the winter, the trails were accessible only by snow
mobile.

Apart from a brief nap around noon, Shelley stayed awake.
Over the last few hours he seemed to have mostly forgotten the
loss of his photograph. A few times when I glanced in his
direction, I caught him staring out the window. He did so with
such concentration that I was unsettled. He had 'lost
everything'. I wished that I had a better understanding of what
his life had been like before I came along. It might have helped
me to get through to him. I made a mental note to read his case-
file as soon as he was out of the way.

Shelley's dark moods were temporary. It usually only took a
few minutes before he turned back and resumed singing along with
the static-interrupted radio or talking about what he had just
seen. He was interested in everything he saw. I fielded a stream
of constant questions about the heights of mountains, different
kinds of trees, the speed of running deer, what it was like to
ride a horse, why the air became thinner with higher
altitude,.... Then, just as we were both about to fall asleep, I
saw the most welcome sight in the world. We were still many miles
from our final destination, but for the moment I felt an
overwhelming sense of relief. The rusted iron roof of Keneally's
old barn never looked so welcoming.

I looked around carefully before I turned off the engine. No
one was there. The place was deserted. Deserted except for the
three horses in the corral.

"Okay," I said as I at last unfastened my seat belt.

"You're worried, aren't you Rick?" Shelley said quietly.

I nodded. "Shel, I always get nervous when things go too
good," I answered. "I guess I was expecting a welcoming
committee. Although I don't know how they could even begin to
find us now."

"Say what?"

"Nothing," I answered.

I did not want to explain why there might have been a
welcoming committee for the simple reason that I did not
understand myself. For the life of me, I could not think why
Wilderstein would want us dead. The mission had been successful.
Even the death of Harry Grey was believable. There were no untidy
details. Even though I did not Wilderstein, he knew me well
enough to know that I would not talk.

I opened the door and climbed out. I was grateful for the
chance to stretch my cramped legs. Shelley leaped out and bounded
across the dusty yard. He climbed the fence rails and perched on
the top to look at the horses. Growing up in a Washington ghetto
meant that this was probably the first time in his life he had
ever seen a horse up close. What ten-year-old boy did not like
horses? And then I smiled. After a few hours on horseback, he'd
probably be wishing he never saw a horse again. He could only
blame himself. After all, he had told me that he wanted to live
on a farm. How was he to know I had grown up on a ranch?

There was a lot we needed to take from the Jeep. The rifle,
of course. The boxes of cartridges. There were clothes in one of
the bags. The other bag held a variety of items we would need in
the forseeable future. There was food for the trail, blankets,
and cooking utensils. I carried the bags over to the fence and
left them next to the gate. Without thinking about it, I stopped
to load three bullets into the Browning's magazine. In my
experience, it usually paid to be prepared. Sometime soon, I
would have to teach Shelley how to shoot a gun. I had a feeling
about him. Unless I was greatly mistaken, he would be a great
shot.

There were saddles and bridles lying on a bench in the barn.
I stood still, aware that I was very tired and how much I still
had to do. Memories of my childhood came back to me. Everything
was familiar, even if I saw it through a haze of time. I looked
around me, remembering, inhaling the scents of animals and fresh
hay.

There were still a few hours until dark. I would have liked
more time, half a day at least, to get some distance between us
and this place. We would make slow progress at first. Not only
would I would have to teach Shelley how to ride, but he would
need time to become confident on his horse before we started on
the mountain trail. For a moment I considered delaying our
departure until the next morning. There was plenty of hay in the
barn loft. We would be comfortable up there. I imagined sharing a
blanket with Shelley, sleeping in the straw, naked side by side,
just as I used to sleep with Sam Keneally all those years ago.
Shelley and I would have sex, of course. More than likely it
would happen as soon as we lay down, and then again when we woke
up, perhaps even during the night. Afterwards, when we were still
joined with the stickiness that had seeped out of Shelley's body,
I would smell that wonderful earthy smell. It was the aphrodisiac
that brought men and boys together. We would have to be careful
that we did not overdo it otherwise he would soon be walking bow-
legged. I smiled at the thought. I carried the saddles outside
one at a time. He would still be walking bow-legged, but from a
different cause.

"So, are we gonna ride 'em horses, pardner?" Shelley asked
with a poor imitation of a cowboy.

He was sitting on the top rail with his denim-clad legs
dangling one each side over the fence. he had his right hand on
the fence-post, pretending it was a saddle pommel. He certainly
looked the part of a young rancher, even if he did not sound
quite right. His close-cropped hair added a roguish quality that
seemed to suit him even more than the 'Aaron Carter' appearance
that I was accustomed to. His plaid shirt was open one button
short of his waist, revealing his lean belly and chest. Although
I had been attracted to his soft paleness, I found myself
admiring the new dark-skinned boy, the unruly, sensuous boy, who
grinned at me from a height that was awfully close to eight feet.

"Hey, Rick?"

I lowered the saddle and bridle I was carrying to the
ground. I reached out and grasped his ankle so there was no
chance of him falling of the fence. "Oye ese! Que hay de nuevo?"
I answered. ("Hey there, homeboy, what's up?")

Shelley grinned, appreciating the affection. "Chupar es mi
pinga?"

"Ay joven!"

"Huh?" Shelley queried immediately.

"Roughly translated, it means 'Oh yeah, the small one'."

He smirked after a fleeting glance at his crotch. We both
knew that there was not much of lump. "Very funny?"

I pointed to the horses. "Caballo."

"Like in caballero for cowboy?"

I nodded. "It actually means 'horseman'," I explained. I
pointed to the saddle and bridle. "Montura y frenillo."

Shelley nodded and repeated the words. "How do I say 'I am
going to ride a horse'?"

"Voy a montar un caballo," I replied.

"Wow, you're great. Okay, let me try. Voy a montra um,...
caballo?"

"Okay, only it's montar, not montra. It means 'to mount'."

Shelley giggled. "That's what you do to me. Mount me!"

I laughed even as I wondered how he had learned the
expression. Was it something I had said to him in the past? It
did not sound like something Robbie would have said to him.

"Sometimes. Where did you hear that? About being mounted?"

Shelley shrugged, tilted his head, narrowed his eyes.
Suddenly, his expression changed. His effervescence had vanished.

"Mrs. Harmon," he answered bitterly. "That's what she used
to call it. What Robbie did to me."

"Oh. Shel, listen to me. It's okay. That's a part of your
life. I don't want you to feel bad about it. You can't change it
no matter how much you want to."

"Rick, I hate them so much. It was horrible living there."

"I know."

"No you don't. You can't even begin to understand," Shelley
said angrily.

"I'm sorry."

"Sometimes it was every night. I know I told you it didn't
happen all that often. But it did. At first,..." He shook his
head , denying his memories.

"At first, what? What happened?" I asked gently. "I want you
to be able to talk about anything and everything, Shel."

"I can't, okay? I want you to love me. I don't want to hurt
you," he said. He was on the verge of crying.

"Shel, I love you. I want to know. You won't hurt me. That's
what loving someone means."

"Rick,... I can't," he choked. "Rick, she used to take me
in,... to his room,.... and take my clothes off." His hands
clenched impotently. "She did it because I couldn't get any
modelling work. She said it was my fault. I wasn't trying hard
enough. She said the only thing I was good for was 'for being
mounted'. That's what she called it. She used to make me,..."

I nodded understandingly. His first exposure to sex was
punishment. I hated to think what had happened with Robbie.
Clumsy, ugly, retarded Robbie.

"I hated it so much. He smelled terrible. He was fat and
hairy all over."

He sobbed, trembling as long repressed memories poured out
of his mind. "Rick,... I don't want to,..."

"It's okay," I said reassuringly. "It's okay. I love you."

"Rick, I had to suck his thing first to get it hard,"
Shelley snivelled. "It wasn't like sucking yours. It stank 'cause
he never washed it, even after,... even after he took it out. I
had to lick it clean."

"Oh God!" I groaned.

Suddenly everything became a little bit clearer.

Shelley closed his eyes. I wondered how much worse it could
get.

"Sometimes,... I can still taste it in my mouth. The blood
and stuff, and my shit,... She made me lick his thing clean
before I got to go back to my own bed. For a while, every time I
pooped there was blood in the toilet. I hated him so much,....
then,...."

I wanted to scream. I held his ankle tightly, so tightly
that I could have broken his bones if I had squeezed any harder.
His leg was thin, just bone and sinew, so fragile. How had he
managed to survive? He had given in eventually, no longer able or
wanting to fight a battle that he could not hope to win. Some
part of him had begun to enjoy it. He began accepting what he
was.

"Then,... I got really sick and I couldn't stop throwing up.
It hurt inside so bad. I was so scared. I thought I had Aids or
something."

I groaned from deep in my chest. I could hear the
desperation in his voice, a plaintive whimper that I would never
forget.

"Rick, I didn't want to die," he said sadly as he shook his
head. "Then you came along,.... and,...." He slumped down. The
next few words were barely loud enough to hear. "You showed me
what love was."

I reached up and held him, felt his thin chest fluttering as
he broke down and cried, eased him away from his perch on the top
rail, gathered him into my arms and cradled him. I cradled him
like he was a still a baby, rocking him gently until he started
to quieten down.

"Te amo," I whispered. "I love you."

"I love you too," Shelley returned between sobs.

It took a long while before he finally calmed down.
Gradually his tears stopped and his endless crying became wet-
nosed sniffs. At some point I had taken to leaning back against
the fence. He wiped his hand over his nose, then realizing that
his face was wet, used the sleeve of my shirt to dry himself. All
of a sudden he smiled as he realized what he had done. It
provided the first comic relief in a long while. I could sense
the change in him. He seemed a lot younger. Together, we had
released the pain that had dwelled inside him for more than a
year. We had passed the test together.

"Can we ride today? Even if it is for only a little while?"
Shelley asked hesitantly.

"Yes. It'll take a few minutes to get your horse ready, but
you can ride him while I get the others saddled. "

"Caballo," Shelley corrected.

"Yes, caballo. With?" I prompted.

He thought for a few seconds, forming the words in his mind
before he said them. "Montura y frenillo?"

I eased him down so he stood before me. Lovingly, I ruffled
my hand through his bristle-like hair. I was beginning to enjoy
the new Shelley. He looked like a ranch boy, the same kind of boy
that I had been at ten years old.

He watched with avid interest as I fastened the bridle and
placed the saddle in position. Needless to say there was a
constant stream of questions and by the time I was finished I was
certain that he knew the name of every strap and buckle. I was
also beginning to enjoy the role of teacher.

With the stirrups adjusted to what I thought was the right
length, I boosted him up and he dropped neatly into the saddle.
He grinned down at me from a height of 16 hands and half a boy.

"Cool!"

"Okay, you look great cowboy. Now you're a cabellero, that's
the last time I lift you up," I joked.

"How do I get up then?"

"Go figure. I used to climb the fence and get on from there
when I was your age."

"You used to ride when you were a kid?" Shelley asked in
disbelief.

"Don't be so surprised. There's a lot you don't know about
me."

I gave him basic instruction, nothing more than stop, start,
left, right, and left him to it. He was nervous and the last
thing he needed was me looking over his shoulder and watching his
every move. I did not hurry to saddle the other horses. I glanced
at him frequently, furtive brief glimpses to make sure he was all
right. He was. In fact, he looked at home. Eighty pounds of boy
was doing an absolutely fantastic job of controlling 1,000 pounds
of unruly horse.

"It's easy, Rick," Shelley said gleefully as he walked the
animal over to where I was standing.

"Keep the reins a bit looser," I said. "Let him move his
head around but not too much. That way he knows you're in
control. And when you pull, give it a slow steady pull. Don't
jerk because it can hurt his mouth," I added as I bent down again
to refasten the stirrup straps.

"Your's is bigger than mine."

I looked up. "That's why they called you 'Chilito',
Chilito."

Shelley groaned. "You're not going to call me that, are
you?"

"Only when you deserve it," I chortled. "Go ride some more
while I finish up here."

"I can help?"

"No. I want you to practice. Try nudging him a bit harder
and he'll trot for you," I suggested.

By the time all of the bags were tied down on the third
horse, the sun was nearing the horizon. There were still a few
hours of good light left. At that time of the year it was light
until eight o'clock. As I swung up into the saddle, I figured we
would be able to reach the Conejos River before we had to stop. I
opened the corral fence and led the way out into the yard.

"Hey, this is truly awesome," Shelley gushed. "Voy a montar
un caballo."

"Yeah, it sure looks to me like you're riding a horse,
Chillito," I laughed.

He babbled non-stop as we started up the trail behind the
barn. Effusive, that was Shelley. I kept the pace slow with a
constant eye out for anything that would upset the horses. The
last thing I wanted was for Shelley's horse to bolt when it
disturbed a rattlesnake basking in the late afternoon sun. Going
north left then sun over our left shoulders. It was pleasantly
warm except when we rode through thick stands of pine trees.
Every so often rabbits dashed ahead of us. I took the opportunity
to add more words to Shelley's Spanish vocabulary. He was a
surprisingly fast learner.

When a deer bolted out of the brush, his horse spun away and
reared up. I glimpsed Shelley's fleeting panic, a look of shock
that was unsettling until I saw both of his hands clutching the
saddle horn. He stayed on, even used the reins to bring the horse
back around, reached over the side and patted its flank
reassuringly. There are things that some boys do naturally. He
grinned at me as we continued on our way.

"Hey Rick, if he does that for a deer, what happens when
there's a bear?"

"Very funny," I laughed. "You did real good, Caballero-boy."

"Hey, you didn't call me 'Chilito this time?" Shelley shot
back with a grin.

Despite his attempt at humor, he trembled from the surge of
adrenaline, gripping the reinds until his knuckles were white.
The sudden rearing of his horse had scared him, but he was
calming down quickly. It was a good sign.

"Maybe because it ain't so small?" I laughed to take the
pressure off.

"Yeah, it is,... You don't have to pretend, Rick." Shelley
nudged his horse so that it closed the distance between us. He
gave me a teasing smile. "But you like small dicks, don't you?"

"Uh huh. That's one of the reasons why I like boys. You
ready to learn some more Spanish?" I asked.

He sighed, pretending disinterest. His mind was like a
vacuum cleaner. Anything in its was, was promptly sucked up and
stored for future reference. The horses lunged as we crossed a
dried out creek and clambered up the dusty bank. I wondered if he
was getting tired.

"You said we were going to practice our new identity stuff.
All I know so far is my name is supposed to be Juan," he
reprimanded me.

There was really no need to do it right at that moment. It
had waited one day. Still, there was no time like the present.

"Okay, Juan. Let me tell you about yourself," I began as we
started up a long rise.

"You were born in Mexico on September 14. You're ten now. I
brought you to the U.S...."

I began to relax as the horses walked on, swaying back and
forth and lulling me into a sense of security. Perhaps this was
not as great an idea as I had firsh thought. However, time had a
way of healing the mind. Shelley's 'new identity' was very
familiar to me, because it belonged to another boy.

"How long ago?"

I turned in the saddle and looked back over my shoulder,
long and hard, back towards the golden glow of the setting sun.
No one was following us, not yet. It had to be for some other
reason that I could feel a cold chill.

"Four years,..." I answered absently.

Four years. Had it really been that long? There were times
when it seemend much longer then four years. Those were the times
that I could not avoid thinking about Manuel. If I started to
forget there was always Juan to remind me. He was so much like
his brother that it pained me to look at him.

"What happened, Rick?" Shelley asked softly.

I glanced at him. His eyes were downcast, his expression
doleful. He sensed my sudden change of mood. He realized I was
brooding. I shook my head, trying to obliterate the memory. It
still seemed impossible that there had been so much blood. I
swallowed, tasting my bile. The memory was never far away. No
matter how much I tried to forget, the memory had never left my
mind. It would always be there. The silence was interminable.

"I told you,... about my life,..." Shelley said.

He stopped his horse, regarding me with a forlorn
expression. I pulled back on the reins and let out a long groan.
He was beautiful. Everything about him was beautiful. Despite
what he had been through when he lived in Washington, despite
what had happened to him when Julia Harmon was supposed to be his
foster mother, he was trying to help me. It made me love him even
more.

"There was a boy,... Juan's older brother,... he was
twelve,..." I began soulfully. "I loved him, Shelley."

"The same way you love me?" he asked. I nodded awkwardly,
worrying that he would be angry. "'s okay. I don't mind, Rick,"
he added.

His words took my by surprise. He nudged his horse's flanks
and continued. I watched his back for a few moments before I
followed suit, a little harder so that I caught up to him.

"You're a great kid," I said.

Shelley shrugged dismissively. "You can tell me about him
too, if you want."

I sighed. What was there to tell? I loved him? I loved him
and I had sex with him? No, it was more than that. I had been
hopelessly in love with him. I had known him for only a few weeks
and he had become the center of my existence. I felt about him
the same way that I felt about Shelley now. That was love, real
love.

"He was killed, wasn't he, Rick?"

I shuddered. That cold chill again. How could Shelley
possibly know?

"Sometimes you say his name when you're dreaming. Manuel?
His name was Manuel, wasn't it?"

I nodded slightly.

"How did he die?"

"Shel,.... he was murdered."

The world around me was like an enormous void. Stones
clattered as the horses climbed around some large boulders.
Hollow sounds as pebbles skittered behind his. There were just
the two us, and my memory of Manuel. Suddenly I became aware that
my fists were tightly clenched. Even now, I did not understand.
His death was unnecessary. No one gained, only I lost. I lost
everything. I lost Manuel. My throat was parched. Our shadows
reached a hundred paces. We would have to stop soon. Had Shelley
asked 'how'? He had a right to know.

"Do you remember when I told you about when I was a D-O-2?
It was back at the house."

Shelley nodded. "D-O-2 means district officer-distance
operations. You said it was a fancy word for a spy."

"I was in Mexico on an operation to stop the drug trade.
Manuel's family was living at the place where I was staying."

"And you fell in love with him?" Shelley asked mercilessly.

"Yes. One day he rode his pony down to the village to buy
something. Candy, I think. They brought him to me in the back of
a truck,...." I said emptily. "They made his father drive it
before they shot him in the head."

"In the back of a truck?" Shelley repeated.

"Yes,..."

"How?"

he did not have to finish the sentence. I closed my eyes,
trying to block out the sight I could not forget. There was blood
all over the back of the truck.

"They cut off,..." I broke off, choking back bile. "I don't
think you need to hear how," I said savagely.

"His penis?" Shelley asked. "That's what you say sometimes,
when you're asleep." He regarded me quizzically. "Is that how he
died?"

I nodded. There was no point in denying it. I had no idea
that I had been having nightmares about it. I wodnered what else
I had said while I was asleep.

"He bled to death, Shel. They tied him up before,...
probably even made his father watch,... there was blood
everywhere,.... Fucking bastards!"

"Who did it?"

Who did it? At the time, it seemed like the work of another
drug cartel in an effort to force me to stop. The drug business
had nearly ended in the region. There was one group left. We had
been getting very close to understanding how the shipments were
made, but not close enough. It was only after we had buried him,
that I began to think otherwise. The entire thing reeked of
inside information. With my cover blown, there was nothing left
to do but wind up the mission. I headed back to the U.S., taking
six-year-old Juan and his grandmother with me.

"I don't know, Shel," I replied vaguely. After four years I
was still uncertain. "There were two CIA agents involved, that
much I do know. They're dead. I took Manuel's little brother and
grandmother with me. When we crossed the border, they were
waiting for us,... Me, actually. A friend of mine, a man called
Michael, was shot in the leg."

Shelley's expression suggested that he was as mystified as I
continued to be, although he could hardly be expected to
understand the complex intricacies of a CIA screw-up. Because
that was exactly what it was, a screw-up of the highest order. Or
was it? Was it how it was supposed to turn out? With me dead?

"Rick? His little brother's name is Juan isn't it?" Sheley
asked after a while.

"Yes. He's with Michael right now."

"In Mexico?"

I hoped so. There was no way to be certain. Michael would be
very careful when he crossed the border this time, if not overly
cautious because Juan was with him. Shelley was silent for more
than a minute. For a boy who had talked non-stop for most of the
afternoon, the silence was unsettling. Again, I felt the cold
chill on my spine.

"Shel?"

"Yeah, Rick."

"What's up?"

"Nothing,... I was just thinking about something,..."

There was a wild rose bush growing beside an overhanging
ochre-colored boulder. It was where it was out of the wind, but
still able to get some sun. It was stunted and gnarled, and it
looked very old. Despite everything, it still managed to bloom.
There were a couple of roses that protuded out on a long thin
branch, in total no more than a dozen. They were dark red, like
the color of dried blood. Shelley leaned from his saddle,
reaching out for that single stalk. As his horse passed, he
suddenly grabbed at the nearest flower. The thin stalk snapped
off neatly in his hand and he straightened up in his saddle
again.

He tugged on the left rein and handed me the flower as our
horses closed. He smiled shyly, then licked at the trickle of
blood that appeared on the back of his wrist.

"Did you get stuck by a thorn?" I asked

"Yeah, it's bleeding, but it's okay, Rick. That's for him by
the way."

"Manuel?"

Shelley nodded slightly. He licked at his thin wrist again,
then put it to his mouth. He sucked for a while, swallowing.

"It's terrible, Rick, what they did to him."

"Yes."

"Why would someone do something like that?"

I shrugged sadly. At times, it was impossible to fathom
people's reasons. There were even some times when there were no
reasons. I put Manuel's mutilation and murder in the category of
mindless cruelty. In a way, it was no different to what Julia
Harmon and her son, Robbie, had done to Shelley.

"Your last name is Navarro, Juan," I said, deliberately
changing the subject. "You've been living on my ranch for the
last four years."

"You have a ranch?" Shelley exclaimed. "Is that where we're
going now?"

"Not right away," I answered. "You'll see it soon enough." I
wondered what he would say when he did see it. "Your
grandmother's name is Maria."

"Maria?" Shelley asked in surprise. "You mean,... Maria?
That's who you mean, isn't it?"

"She's been at the ranch for a few days now," I explained.
"I spoke to her yesterday."

"You did? When?" he asked excitedly.

"When we stopped to have something to eat."

"Oh? You should have let me speak to her," Shelley
reprimanded. "I really miss her, Rick."

"You like her, don't you?"

"She's nice to me. She's cool." He smiled shyly. "She knows
we do stuff, you know?"

I inclined my head, not asking, waiting for him to tell me.

"I guess I left some wet marks on the couch one time.
Anyway, I guess she saw them because she told me that maybe I
ought to at least wear underpants around the house. I kind of got
embarassed so she asked me whether I wanted to talk about it."

"And?" I prompted.

Shelley grinned. "So we did. Actually it was kind of funny.
She told me there were some men who liked boys."

"Which, of course, you already knew," I laughed.

"And she asked if I was the type of boy who liked men."

"To which you said?...."

"Uh huh," Shelley smirked. "So she said it was okay if you
weren't forcing me to do something I didn't want to do."

"Which, of course, I wasn't."

"Then she asked how long we, uh,... you know, been having
sex back there. It had been about a month or so by then I think.
I was really embarrassed. Anyway, I think she pretty much knew
what you were doing to me."

I laughed. She had suggested as much to me. In her view, it
was always a man's doing. She would have been appalled if she had
known that Manuel had seduced me.

"How was that?"

"She asked if I was sore after you'd finished."

"I don't want to know what your answer to that was," I
chuckled. I guided my horse around a fallen log and ducked to
avoid a low branch.

Shelley smirked. "She warned me not to wear it out."

Maria had said the same thing to Manuel. Without a doubt,
she was the most open-minded woman I had ever known. It was
surprising given her age, but particularly so when one realized
her staunch Catholicism.

"She knew about Manuel and me all along," I admitted.

"She didn't mind?" Shelley asked curiously.

"Nope. Not really. In fact she told me a couple of times I
was good for him. However, she made one thing very clear. If I
ever hurt him, she'd cut my balls off and feed them to the pigs."

"Ouch," Shelley squealed. "That'd hurt!"

"Ouch indeed. Actually, she said the same thing about you,"
I added.

"Then you'd better not hurt me," Shelley chirped.

He rocked back in his saddle and stretched his back. We had
been riding for the best part of two hours.

"Getting sore?" I asked.

"A bit. Rick, if a guy's balls were cut off, what would
happen to him?"

I glanced at him quickly, wondering if he had finally
figured out what had been done to him. Of course, he knew he had
been injured 'down there' when he supposedly fell off his bike,
but no more than that.

"It would depend," I ventured uncertainly, "On when it was
done."

I rubbed my chin and made a mental note to shave before I
went to sleep. Two-day-old stubble would scratch Shelley until he
was raw.

"A man like you."

"Not a whole lot. He couldn't make babies, of course. He'd
be less interested in having sex."

"You call that not a lot?" Shelley said sarcastically. "What
if he was still a kid, like my age?"

I winced. "It's your balls that make you grow into a man," I
said vaguely.

"So I wouldn't become a man?"

"Something like that, I guess."

"What else would happen?"

"Boy, you're full of questions, aren't you? What brought
this on?" I asked.

"Nothing. I was just thinking about something, that's all,"
Shelley replied vaguely.

"Like?"

He shrugged. "About what it would be like. You know, if I
lost mine because of the bike accident. Would I really stay a
boy?"

"Part of you would. Of course, there are drugs they can give
you so you'd grow up normally," I added quickly.

"But what if I didn't want to grow up? What if I didn't take
the drugs?"

I froze. What was he trying to tell me? It was impossible.
He was simply curious, as all young boys are curious about that
part of their bodies. What disturbed me was that he had
personalized the discussion. We were talking about his body, his
testicles, his life.

"I don't know. I guess you wouldn't get hair on your body.
You'd probably stay small down there. Your voice wouldn't
break.... And of course you couldn't be a father because you'd
never make any semen,... Hell, I don't know. I'm not a doctor.
What are you worried about?" I asked nervously.

Shelley ignored me for a while. "Julia said you wouldn't
want me once I started to grow up."

"I'll always love you," I interjected. "I fell in love with
a boy, but boys grow up to become men." It was time for honesty.
"I don't want to have sex with a man, Shelley. That's just the
way things are."

He looked at me seriously. "I wish the accident had been
worse, Rick."

Just how much worse, he did not need to elaborate. I was
glum. Sooner or later I would have to tell him, but not now, and
not like this. I was getting to be very good at procrastination.

At the top of the ridge we had entered a ponderosa pine
forest. For the last few minutes our horses had been picking
their way through fallen branches, their hooves almost silent on
the thick carpet of pine needles. There trail was buried, but I
knew where to go by heart. The heady scent was refreshing,
lifting my spirit just as the trees soared overhead. Then,
through the dark outines of trees a hundred yards ahead, I saw
the panorma unfold. How many times had I ridden through the
forest and been lost for words when I finally emerged and looked
beyond the sage that grew thickly along the cliff? Closer.
Holding my excitement down, barely breathing and not because of
the high elevation.

"Oh wow!" Shelley murmurred.

We reined our horses in. The view was spectacular. All the
way back to Conejos Peak its granite peak shimmering in the last
rays of the sun. The dark green undulations of the Rio Grande
National Forest, the nearly black coils of a distant river before
it disappeared from sight. This was the country I had grown up
in. For the most part, it was wild and rugged.

"Wow?"

"It's beautiful, Rick."

"Yeah, it is, isn't it?" I answered. "Very beautiful."

I was looking at Shelley as I spoke. He was no longer the
little boy from the city. He was still too beautiful, but in a
different way. In a few weeks he would be as rugged and untamed
as the wilderness that stretched before him, not unlike the boy I
had once been.

"Come on. I know you're getting sore, Shel', but we still
have a ways to go before we stop."

Shelley smiled. "Not Juan?" he asked, reminding me that I
once chided him to use his new identity all the time.

"Thank you, Juan," I laughed.

I nudged my horse and began to lead the way down the zig-zag
path. We needed to be careful now. The trail was narrow and
treacherous, and the rocks could slide at the slightest touch.
For a moment, I thought about taking Shelley's reinds but thought
better of it. If pack horse got in the way of his horse at a bad
time, it was likely that panic would ensue.

The descent went easier than I expect, especially given the
quickly disappearing light. The sky had darkened by the time we
reached the creek at the bottom. We had descended nearly two
thousand feet. I was tired, and I expected Shelley to be
exhausted. I was surprised when he nimbly eased his leg up over
the saddle horn and slid down to the ground. He stretched his
legs, looking none the worse for spending nearly four hours on
horseback.

"You're ready to play by the look of you," I remarked as I
dismounted.

"Nearly!" Shelley smirked. "There's just one thing I've got
to do first."

He stopped stretching, opened his zipper, extracted his
finger-sized brown penis, placed his hands on his hips and began
to urinate against a boulder that very well might have concealed
a rattlesnake. I was about to comment on the fact when Shelley
flipped the last drips from his penis and grinned at me.

"More than two times and you're playing with it," I said.

"So, that's what it's there for, isn't it?"

"A boy's favorite toy?"

"Is his dick," Shelley giggled. "I'll make it hard, if you
want?" he offered gleefully as he pointed his little penis in my
direction..

"First we make camp and get some dinner. Then I'll take care
of my little friend, Chilito," I laughed.

Having grown up in this part of the country, it seemed
impossible that a ten-year-old boy like Shelley had never been
camping before. However, it was true. He had no idea at all of
where to start. I assigned him what I thought was the most menial
of all tasks, colecting firewood. I unsaddled the horses, placed
halters on them, and strung a rope between two of the most
deformed junipers I had ever seen, all before Shelley had managed
to collect an armful of wood. At that pace it would be midnight
before we had a fire going. There was time like the present to
begin his instruction as a ranch kid.

So I helped him, and together we dragged half-dozen large
branches into the area where I intended to make a fire. I set him
to breaking off the smaller twigs as kindling while I unpacked
the food and cooking utensils. He looked at me constantly, with
an expression that communicated his ineptitude. However, he was
willing to try and that was all that counted. When he had enough
I came over. It was time for camping lesson 'number two'.

I squatted down and held out the box of matches.

"You're allowed one match," I explained.

Shelley looked at me questioningly. "Okay?"

"You have to get the fire going," I explained.

"I don't know how."

"Haven't you ever made a fire before?" I asked. He shook his
head. I had expected as much. "Okay. Start with some dry leaves
or grass," I began.

Shelley took a couple of steps away and knelt down next to
the same boulder where he had urinated. His hands scopped up some
of the long grey grass, his hands coming very close to the gaping
crevice.

"Be careful when you do that," I said loudly.

He looked up quickly. "Why?" he demanded impatiently.

"This is rattlesnake country. Rocks like that one are a
favorite hiding place." I smiled as he jumped back a few feet.
"You're safe now, because it's getting cool. Around eleven
tomorrow morning I wouldn't do what you just did for a million
bucks."

"But, well how do you know there's a snake under there?" he
asked warily.

"The marks in the dirt," I said. "You can barely see them
because it's dark. Whenever you see them, Chilito, it's a good
bet there's a snake nearby."

"Oh!"

He shivered coldly and cautiously came towards me, his eyes
never leaving the boulder where he had just been. It was a lesson
that he would not forget quickly.

"Okay, now what?" he said as he squatted down next to me.

"Put the grass in a pile. Scrunch it up a bit. Okay, now put
some of those sticks around it like you're building a teepee."

"A what? Oh! Like what the Indians lived in? How?"

When my answer was not forthcoming, Shelley thought for a
moment and then carefully began to arrange the sticks into a
cone. He did a good job, even placing some of the larger ones on
the outside so that they would catch fire once he had a blaze
going. I handed him the box of matches again. There was no need
to remind him of the one-match rule. He had every intention of
doing it properly the first time. He struck the box, watched the
match light, immediately cupping his other hand to protect it. He
held it to the grass, intent on success. One blade caught and
flared, then another, then all of the grass ignited. Flames
leaped upward and within a half a minute, his fire was burning
brightly. I was proud of him.

"Now keep an eye on it," I said. "Don't let it go out and
don't make it too big either."

Shelley nodded. With practice he would make a good
outdoorsman, but for the moment I was pleased. I went about my
work, humming as I finished unpacking the bag, retrieved my rifle
from the saddle, and spread the sleeping bags on the ground.

"What's for dinner? I'm starving," Shelley announced when I
returned with my arms full of two metal pots and an assortment of
tin cans.

"Not much! I was thinking about getting you to pull that
rattler out from under that rock. They make a nice meal, if you
don't get bit doing it," I teased.

"Very funny," Shelley responded. "How about we cut your nuts
off and have meat balls."

"'Albondigas'," I chuckled. "That's what the Mexicans call
them."

"I thought they were called 'cojones'," Shelley quipped.

"They are. But when you call them 'meat balls' they're
albondigas. And they're 'aquacates' when you're referring to
avocados."

"Those would have to be really big balls," Shelley grinned.
"Hey Rick?"

"Yeah?"

"I bet you don't know what 'dar candela por el culo' means?"

Shelley smirked, a clear indication that he knew what it
meant. Without doubt it was another of the expressions he had
learned from the boys at his school, or their older brothers.

"Is that what you want after dinner?" I taunted. "You want
to be fucked in the ass?"

Shelley continued to smirk. "Maybe! First I want you to suck
my dick, Rick. You owe me one from yesterday."

"I owe you?" I smiled, remembering. "Oh, from the airport?

"Uh huh?"

I used the can opened to open the lids of three cans of beef
and potato stew. I knew I could finish two cans just by myself.
It would not be the most nutritious meal, but I was so hungry I
did not care. We watched the food heat anxiously. By the time we
had cleaned our plates off, and I had placed the tick ends of the
branches in the fire, Shelley was yawning continuously and his
eyelids were drooping. He was ready to sleep. It was well and
truly dark by then, and beyond the light from the fire, we were
surrounded by a black wall. I leaned back against my saddle,
dozing. The fire light illuminated his face and made his dark
hair shine. Sitting there, reluctant to admit that he was so
tired he could barely move, he was a lot like Manuel, but he was
different in ways that counted to me. He lacked Manuel's macho
aggressiveness, the constant need to prove manhood and
superiority. When we had sex, it seemed that there was always a
competition and a vaguely dressing awareness that he would soon
grow out of it. Shelley was a little boy who was in love with a
man.

"What are we doing tomorrow?" Shelley asked sleepily.

I glanced at him, then back to the fire. "Tomorrow we're
crossing the Conejos River," I said. "We'll stay about this
altitude most of the time. Is it bothering you?"

"A bit."

"Like I said on the way up, sometimes it's hard to breath if
you have to expend a lot of effort," I explained. "Try not to
take deep breaths, but breath all the way out instead."

"I like being up here with you. Just the two of us."

"Same here."

"I love you."

We said it at the same time and we both smiled.

"Are we going to stay here for a long while?"

"You mean in the mountains?" I asked.

Shelley nodded slightly. He yawned again. Brushing his teeth
would have to wait until the morning. He blinked, trying hard to
stay awake now that his belly was full and he was warm and
comfortable in front of the fire.

"For a few weeks," I answered. "Maybe longer. We're going to
a cabin about twenty miles away."

"Rick?"

"Yeah?"

"The other boy? Juan? If I'm taking his place, and he's
taking mine, won't he be in danger?"

"Not really! By now he's taken off your clothes so he looks
like any one of three million other Mexican boys his age."

"Oh!" Shelley pondered my answer for a moment. "It's not
fair," he said simply.

"What's not fair?"

"Making him go away so I could become him."

"Huh? Oh! It isn't like that," I said absently.

"Yes it is. You said you adopted him?"

"I did."

"Then it's even worse. When you adopt someone, like the way
you adopted me, the boy's supposed to be just like your son,
isn't he?"

I nodded. There were things I needed to tell Shelley, things
that he needed to udnerstand. Not now. Now I was too tired to
think.

"In the morning," I said abruptly.

I clambered to me feet, reached down and offered a hand to
Shelley. It was good to feel his small warm hand slip into mine.
More than ever before, it felt like it belonged there. I eased
him up to his feet and he stumbled after me to where I had placed
the sleeping bags. I had already taken the liberty of zipping
them together. I slowly moved to my knees, lifting away the front
of the sleeping bag so that he could get inside. I removed his
boots while he balanced himself with both hands on ym back. He
sighed and came to his knees, wriggling as he stretched out. I
followed him in, closing the zipper. He promptly yawned and his
head nodded against my chest.

"'m so sweepy," he murmurred. "'love you, 'ick"

"I love you too," I whispered in his ear.

"You goin' to?"

"You're too tired," I replied gently. "In the morning,
okay?"

"wan you in me,...."

I smiled. It did not matter that we were both fully dressed.
Just the thought of being next to Shelley, let alone doing what
he had suggested, was enough to make my body respond. My penis
became hard. My hand closed on his shoulder. I kissed the top of
his head. The last time I had done that, his hair had been long
and silky soft. Now, I nuzzled bristles, inhaled a scent that was
foreign. I closed my eyes, thinking of how much I loved him.

Chapter Sixteen.

"Hiya."

"Oh, it's you. Good morning, beautiful."

Shelley giggled. "Your dick is really, really hard, Rick."

"So?"

"It keeps jumping every time I touch it."

"I have to pee something awful."

"So do I. It's cold out."

"How did my dick get out of my pants?"

"How do you think?"

"You?"

"Uh huh. I was going to suck him."

"I thought I owed you a blow job from yesterday,... I mean
two days ago,...."

"You do." Shelley giggled. "You owe me big time. I almost
drowned in it."

"Whose fault is that?"

"Yours. Hey, what are you doing?"

"Taking your jeans off. What does it feel like?"

"What are you going to do?"

"I plan to make it up to you right now," I grinned.

"I've really got to pee."

"So hold it," I said. "And whatever you do, don't let go in
my mouth."

"Pee doesn't taste that bad."

"How do you know?"

"'cause I tasted mine once." Shelley smirked. "Just a little
bit, but. It was kind of sour."

"I imagine."

"Cal did that once to Robbie, you know. Drank his pee. A
whole lot of it too. At least he said he did. I didn't see him do
it."

"Gross. My, but you're stiff, aren't you, Chilito?"

"Don't scrunch him. Yeah, that's better."

Shelley's penis felt like a metal spike that had been left
out in the sun. It was hot, hard, and very smooth. But unlike
metal, it had a velvet-soft surface of flexible skin that
transmitted every sensation between us. I felt the tiny coils of
juvenile veins, the ripples of erectile tissue, the unyielding
hardness of the inflated stalk, the resilient tube of his thin
urethra on the underside. My fingers stroked gently, using that
time-honored up and down motion, going full length from the base
to the swollen little head. He quivered with every touch on that
most senstive part of his body. Usually, he relished the
heightened stimulation almost as much as I enjoyed doing it to
him.

"Don't do it on the end," Shelley warned. "Or I'll pee all
over you."

"I know what I'm having for breakfast."

"A sausage and two eggs?" he giggled. It had been a long
standing joke between us.

"Can you say it in Spanish?"

"No way. I know huevos means eggs, 'cause the kids sometimes
calls their balls eggs."

"Una salchicha y dos huevos."

"Salchicha is sausage? What's the word for apple juice?"

"As in boy-pee? The real word for apple juice is, uh, let me
think,.. 'zumo de manzana'."

"How do you say, I have to take a leak really badly?"
Shelley said.

"The Cubans say, 'ir a botar el agua al canario'," I
replied.

It was an expression that Manuel's father had taught me. It
was what Manuel said every time he needed to use the bathroom.

"What?"

"Literally it means throwing water at the canary," I
replied.

"Well, that's what I need to do."

"Oh yeah, me too. I'm dying."

There was no point in postponing the inevitable. Hurriedly,
I opened the zipper and we jumped out of our warm coccoon, out
into the chilled morning air. We clutched the opened fronts of
our jeans, aware that our erections were leading the way to a
rendevous with bladder relief. We ran just far enough that we
would not be able to smell it. We stood there, side by side and
watched our streams intermingling, steam rising, urine
splattering against the boulder that might be sheltering a
rattlesnake or two. Then running back again, partially stiff
penises still bouncing up and down, back into the secure warmth
of the down-filled sleeping bag.

Into each other's arms, writhing our sex organs together,
embracing, my tongue finding his, exploring into familiar
softness. We kissed urgently until the heat returned. I could
feel his erection jabbing into mine as he wriggled and humped
against me. Then, slow kissing, gentle kissing, lips alone.
Nibbling on his lips, wetting his cheeks, his nose, licking his
forehead like an overly affectionate dog. He lifted up, his arms
stretched out, felt between us, positioned our penises side by
side, or as close to being side by side as possible. He pushed
his shirt up, exposing his belly and chest and pressed back down
again. My penis reached above his waist, into the concavity below
his sternum, enclosed by ribs and the softest flesh imaginable.
He started to move, instinctively pleasuring, offering delight in
return for seeing happiness in my eyes.

"I'm going to cum on you," I groaned after less than a
minute.

He did not answer. I could feel his chest, rising and
falling, expanding against me, increasing the stimulation that
was more than enough to send me over the edge. My penis throbbed.
I pulled him hard against me, brought his soft moist lips back to
mine. Kissed and sucked, realized his tongue was in my mouth at
the same time that mine was probing behind his teeth. One hand
slid under his jeans, melting my fingers against the warm
roundness of his buttocks, seeking and even hotter place inside
his crevice.

"No butt play, okay," Shelley ordered. "I don't want to get
my undies dirty."

"Okay," I answered meekly.

I felt cheated, but not for long. His mouth came back to
mine. He kissed me, moving his head around so that his kiss
became a wet smooch and covered nearly half of my face, the half
without day-old whiskers. He began to move faster, instinctively
realizing that I was close. Each thrust was made precisely
despite what might have appeared to an observer to be frenzied
humping. Somehow his penis had managed to dig in between my
thighs. Now, it pumped mercilessly back and forth into my
testicles, while my penis was tormented by his smooth warm belly.
I peaked, wrapping my arm around his back while my other hand
grasped his cheek to stop him from moving. I had waited too long.
I could hear the gasps coming from my throat, my testicles
clamping as the ejaculation began.

"Oh God, Shel'. I can't hold it. Cumming, honey. God, I'm
cumming," I groaned.

Remotely, I was aware that he was giggling, but it was no
laughing matter. My semen spurted out, erupting over his bare
belly, squirting to his chest, perhaps higher. All I knew was
that I loved him. I wanted to bathe him in my semen. Surely, this
baptism would make him mine forever. I struggled to breath, to
find the words to thank him for his wonderful gift.

"You were incredible," I gushed.

"I could tell you liked it."

"That was the best ever."

He grinned proudly. "You did it all over me, Rick."

"Sorry."

"I don't care. But you're going to have stains on your
shirt," he admonished.

"Do you want me to clean it up?"

"Nah. I kind of like having it on me. It makes me feel like
I'm yours."

"You are, Chilito. You are mine," I answered. "Are you
ready?"

"Huh?"

"My turn, remember?"

Shelley grinned and I flipped him over onto his back. I slid
down into the sleeping bag, down to where my legs had been, down
until my knees were next to Shelley's toes. There was just enough
light coming through that I could see the milky smears over his
front. He seemed to be covered in my semen. Wetness stretched
from his neck all the way down to his very hard dark-skinned
penis. It even looked as if some had managed to leak onto his
scrotum.

I brought my face closer, drawing my legs up under me and I
worked my way into a comfortable position in the sleeping bag. I
lay my head on his thigh, studied his sex organs from only a few
inches away. Despite the small size of his penis the skin was
still stretched tightly. His helmet-shaped glans was purple-
colored, far darker than it had ever been as a result of the
stain. His scrotum, which had been relaxed before our rush to
urinate, was now fully contracted. It was no larger that half a
walnut shell and just as wrinkled. I inhaled the smell of him. It
was boy's smell. There was a faint trace of sweat and urine, but
mostly the smell was warm and sweet, like something delectable
and well worth savoring.

Sometimes I made Shelley wait for the first touch. At other
times, I engulfed his penis right from the start. This time I
settled for licking, coating his stubby hardness with saliva. He
giggled and complained that it tickled, but he did not tell me to
stop. Slowly, I moved along the short rigid member. Sucking right
on the very end was intended to get his undivided attention, and
it did. After just a few seconds, he arched his back in the hope
of getting his penis deeper into my mouth. My teeth bit down
behind his glans, not hard enough to break the skin, but hard
enough to let him know that I was going to torment him until he
begged for mercy.

He gasped and dropped back, remaining tense. I resumed
sucking on the sensitive swollen knob that crowned his shaft. I
felt his pelvis pushing up again, and I sank down to take more of
his penis into the enticing, all embracing mouth that held his
most precious part. I backed away almost as quickly as I had gone
down on him. He quivered, resisting the natural instinct of any
boy to push harder, further, deeper into the hot wet softness
that had momentarily enclosed him. Again I kised his glans,
bathing it in saliva, letting it trickle down his twitching
erection as I began to suck.

It was noisy inside the sleeping bag. Shelley groaned as my
lips sucked and smacked against his rigid flesh. My nose pushed
into his scrotum when I finally engulfed all of his penis. I
stayed there, lips pressed into his soft pubis, marvelling at the
wonderful smoothness of skin where there was not a trace of hair
to be found. Each time I lifted off his hard little sex organ I
gulped air before I gulped him. It was more than enough to drive
him wild within a few minutes, but I had only just begun. I had
sucked his penis before often enough, some people might even say
too often, but for some reason I wanted this time to be a time
that he would never forget. When he was my age, he would reflect
on his first camping trip in the Colorado mountains and remember
the wonderful pleasure that I had given him one cold grey
morning.

So I began to alternate between kissing, sucking, and
licking. I worked my way down to his scrotum and nibbled
playfully on his tender skin until he giggled and pushed
energetically at my head. From there I proceeded back to his
glans, then to take his penis back into my mouth. Just when his
hands and feet started to shake, I resumed sucking on his
scrotum. Knowing that the two small egg-shaped things within were
no longer human gave me a strange if disconcerting satisfaction.
I say it was a strange satisfaction, because it suddenly struck
me that while he was male, in some ways he was not male. He was a
boy who could not become a man, at least not until drugs had been
injected into his system. For some reason, Wilderstein's earlier
taunts no longer plagued me. If anything, remembering what he had
said, helped me accept the inherent futility of what I was--a man
who loved boys.

I pushed Shelley's artifical testicles forward with my
fingers, opened my mouth, used suction to draw them into my mouth
until the skin grew tight. My tongue massaged them, trying to
give pleasure even while I was aware that he would feel nothing,
nothing except the movement of my tongue against his skin. I
popped them in and out, moving them back and forth while using my
lips like a rubbery band that the marble-sized objects had to
pass through. Shelley writhed underneath me. His legs pulled up
to cradle my head. At any other time, one of my fingers would
have entered his anus to increase the stimulation until he
achieved a mind-shattering orgasm, but not yet. I returned to
sucking his penis.

My rhythm was automatic, a pumping motion achieved by
bobbing my head and shoulders up and down. It was hard work,
sucking a boy's penis, especially if the goal was to keep him at
the very edge for as long as possible, just a moment or two away
climxing. I could feel my neck becoming stiff, using muscles that
had not been used since the last time I had given him this
special treatment. Sometimes, when he whimpered in ecstasy, or
bucked frantically in the throes of approaching orgasm, I found
myself smiling around his penis. While his genitals, indeed his
entire body looked very different with the walnut-colored stain,
he certainly tasted the same, responded the same, groaned the
same. Yet, I had the distinct feeling that it was different, that
he was different to the boy I had known just one day earlier.
Between gasps, I could hear his muted voice, begging for more,
pleading for me to go faster. However, going faster meant
finishing sooner, and I was not about to let him escape so
easily.

When he became frantic and tried hard to thrust his penis
into my mouth. This was the sudden frenzied effort that preceded
his orgasm. I lifted away, hearing him grunt in frustration. Each
time I took to kissing his heaving belly, or pinching and rubbing
at his scrotum until the immediacy passed. It did not take long
before he settled down again. Finally, it was me who gave up. I
was tired. It was all that I could do to move my head. I plunged
my saliva-slicked finger deeply into his anus, stabbing towards
if not actually against his immature prostate. He had been so
close for so long that he squealed loudly. His climax started
like a vise around my finger as he fought against the powerful
sensations. The contractions in his sphincter were powerful
enough to make his body lurch. His legs trembled, his hands
reached down and grasped my head as he pounded into my mouth with
all his strength. His penis jerked relentlessly, then rapid fire
pulses, ejaculating nothing but nonetheless triumphant. He
quivered for nearly a minute after I laid back down next to him.

He always came down gradually. I cuddled him, content to let
him bask, eyes closed to mere slits as he rested in post-orgasmic
bliss. My fingers trailed up and down his warm front, circling
around his navel, caressing his soft nipples until they became
hard nubs, massaging the remants of my semen until it became
tacky to touch. His penis stayed erect for a long while, but
eventually even his hardness faded to an exhausted limpness.
However, even as his sex organs attained near-dormancy, the rest
of his body began to wake up. We resumed kissing, both accepting
pleasure in compensation for the unpleasant taste and smell of
unbrushed teeth. We parted only when the first feeble sun rays
finally peaked through the trees and began to warm the sleeping
bag.

We scrambled out of our warm abode and I rummaged through
the bag of clothes to find a warm jacket for Shelley to wear.
What I pulled out was the faded denim jacket I had purchased for
Juan when I had last visited him. It had a fleece lining, and the
outer covering had been patched on both sleeves. He put it on
while I continued to search for something for myself.

"Sure is cold," Shelley remarked.

His breath steamed, his personal vapor trail. There was mist
rising off the creek in a few places where the current eddyed and
slowed to a crawl.

"Much colder and there'd be frost on the ground," I returned
as I stamped my feet. "It'll start getting warmer as soon as the
sun's a bit higher."

Every other morning was my 'exercise morning'. I had missed
two in a row, but the last thing I wanted to do that morning was
my warm-up routine.

"What's for breakfast?"

"What do you want?"

Shelley grinned. "No sausage and eggs. I mean 'salchicha y
huevos'. I wouldn't mind an omlette. With some bacon, and tomato.
Some hot chocolate would be nice too."

"Okay. I'll have Maria whip up something right away."

"Very funny. What is there to eat?" he asked as he scrunched
his shoulders and pulled the jacket tightly around his slender
chest.

"I can give you oatmeal," I offered. "No milk, well not
fresh milk, but we do have some powdered stuff."

"That's it?" Shelley complained.

"Take it or leave it. I think we can do the hot chocolate,
but only with the powdered milk."

He nodded vaguely, stayed where he was while I squatted down
where the fire had been the night before. I scraped a stick
through the embers, found a hot patch under a half-burn branch,
added some twigs and grass. I hoped he was watching closely. The
next morning would be his turn. By the time I had a good blaze
going, he was beginning to adjust to the lifestyle. He helped by
jumping up and down in order to break some of the sticks before
handing them to me. Seeing his energy, I sent him down to the
creek to get some water.

Breakfast of cream-colored lumpy oatmeal and equally lumpy
milk was unappetizing, but it was filling. We both had two
helpings and a couple of cups of coffee for me, and hot chocolate
for Shelley. We used the last of the hot water to rinse the
plates and cups. While I saddled the horses, Shelley busied
himself by folding the sleeping bags and repacking the bags. We
were ready to leave by eight o'clock.

The first order of business was to cross the creek. That
should have been a relatively easy matter, but I also wanted to
go well upstream before we reached the other side. I had an
uneasy feeling, the same cold chill that I had the previous day.
It was highly unlikely that we were being followed, but I was not
about to discount the possibility. With the bags tied securely on
the pack horse, I swung up and into the saddle of my horse and
waited to see what Shelley would do.

He led his horse over the the boulder. The boulder! He
looked first, which was a good thing because it was probably warm
enough that any snake might begin to think about coming out of
its hiding place to warm up in the morning sunshine. He clambered
onto the top of the boulder, lifted his foot as high as he could
and managed to slip it into the stirrup. With that, and one hand
barely reaching the saddle horn, he boosted himself up and
dropped neatly into the saddle. He grinned proudly.

"Did you forget about the snake, Chilito?" I enquired as we
started down towards the creek.

"Nope. I wasn't worried. See I figured your pee probably
killed it," Shelley smirked.

"What about yours? You peed there twice."

"Mine? It tastes just like apple juice. Hey Rick?"

"Yeah?"

"What's 'Big Dick' in Spanish?"

"Huh?"

"That's what I'm going to call you from now on," Shelley
chortled. "Because you keep calling me 'little dick'."

"Well, one word is 'nabo'," I laughed. My horse skittered to
the side when it entered the cold water. "It means turnip."

"Turnip?" Shelley chortled. "Hey that's you, Rick. Turnip
dick!"

"Just watch it," I grinned. "Keep a tight grip on the reins.
I'm not sure I want to be called a 'turnip'."

"Okay. Give me another name."

"Hm,... How about 'el grosso cipote'?"

"Too long. I think I'll just call you 'Cipote', but if you
don't behave yourself, it's going to be 'Nabo'."

Shelley and I allowed our horses to drink. I took the
opportunity to scan the area. Years of experience made me wary.
There was nothing unusual. Yet, I retained a distinct
apprehension that something was wrong. It was possible that
someone was out there, hiding among the rocks and sage.

"Not too much," I said.

I pulled on the reins to lift the horse's head up. Shelley
followed me along the creek, taking care to stay away from any
sandy areas.

"Hey, Cipote? In Spanish, I'm a 'maricon', aren't I?"

I turned back to look at Shelley. He smiled shamelessly.
"Yeah, I guess. That or a 'ninfo'."

"Like in 'nino'? For a boy, only he's gay?" Shelley asked.

"I guess. I don't know for sure. Hell, I don't even know for
sure that you are gay. A lot of boys go through a stage where
they like guys. It doesn't mean they're gay."

"I am. I know I am, but I think I know what you mean. Cal
was like that. He did stuff with me and Robbie for a while and
then he stopped and started doing it with Linette. He made out
like it was a big thing."

"What happened betwen you and Linette?" I asked cautiously.

It was something that he had mentioned one time. He had told
me that Julia Harmon made him have sex with Linette, but beyond
that, nothing.

Shelley scowled. "Julia made me do it to her once, that's
all."

I laughed. "It can't have been that bad?"

"It was gross, Rick. I hated it."

"You didn't like pussy?" I teased. "It's just like fucking
boy-butt only with built-in slime."

Shelley grumped. "I couldn't even get it stiff enough, Rick.
Julia had to rub it forever to get it ready, and then almost as
soon as I got it in, it went soft again. I'm not like Cal at all.
He gets a hard-on whenever Linette's near him."

"Well, it's not the end of the world. You certainly don't a
problem getting stiff when you're around me, that's for certain."

Shelley was quiet for a minute.

"What I don't understand is you said once that you're not
gay?" Shelley asked uncertainly. "But you don't like women
either, do you?"

"No."

"Just boys?"

"Uh huh."

"But you're not gay?"

"I don't like men," I answered.

"But I do, so I'm gay?"

"Maybe. It's too soon to know."

"I don't understand."

"You will in time," I said gently.

"Do you think I'll like boys like you?"

"It's too soon to tell," I answered. "Besides Cal, have
you,... with a boy?"

"No!" Shelley retorted adamantly.

I laughed. "You're embarassed."

"I'm not!"

"Yes you are."

I swivelled around and looked back at him. His face was red.

"So?"

"So tell me about it," I teased. "What happened?"

"Nothing!"

"Nothing?"

He smirked and raised both eyebrows in a childish parody of
'who's got a secret?'

"You can tell me, Chilito," I said in my most-pleading
voice.

"Ha-Ha! No way!" he replied doggedly. "It's none of your
beeswax. 'sides, you never told me what happened between you and
Juan's brother. Did you fuck him in the butt?"

He regretted the words as soon as he had uttered them. He
shrugged at me, yet his downcast eyes said he was sorry. I slowed
my horse until he came up beside me.

"You're jealous, aren't you?" I asked.

"No! What if I am?"

"You shouldn't be, Shel. I love you. That's all that really
counts from now on."

"Only because he's dead!" Shelley interjected. "You wouldn't
want me otherwise."

"Do you really believe that?" I asked immediately. "Is that
what you think I'm like?"

"No! I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. I didn't mean it
like that!"

"It's okay. I shouldn't have been talking about,..."

"Rick? It's,... just,.... I want to be your son so much. I
don't want to share you, not with Juan, not with anyone!"

"Same here. I'm very possessive too. I don't plan on sharing
you with another man, but I also don't mind that you had sex
before you met me. That's what loving someone is all about.
Accepting them for who they are."

"You don't care about Robbie?"

"Sure I care, Shel'. I care that he hurt you. It makes me
angry just thinking about it."

Shelley thought about that for a moment. He studied his
saddle-horn, his slender fingers wrapped around the brown leather
reins. He sighed deeply.

"I didn't want to like it, Rick."

"But you did like it, didn't you, once the pain went away?"

"I tried not to. I tried so hard to hate it. She was so
mean. She kept calling me a faggot, Rick. She said it was all I
was good for."

"She was,..." I nearly swore. Instead I smiled at Shelley.
"You'll never see her again. She's stuck in that smelly little
house."

Shelley smiled slightly. "I'm stuck with a smelly horse,...
and you're out here with me. And I love you."

"So tell me about your boy friend," I teased mercilessly.

"He's cool."

"Cool?" I chuckled. "Just cool?"

"He's cute," Shelley volunteered.

"That helps," I grinned. "What did you do with him?"

"We played around, you know jerking off and that kind of
thing. I guess we sixty-nined a few times, but that's all."

"Ah hah! So what did you think? Did you enjoy sucking
another boy's dick?"

"It was okay. I like your's better."

I grinned and rounded my horse up, heading towards a sunny
rock shelf. It sloped obliquely out of the the water and ran a
dozen or more paces up from the creek. Any sign that we had left
the creek would soon be gone, dry within an hour at the most.
However, experience took over. Leaving the creek at that point
would be expected. It would not take more that a few minutes for
someone to locate our tracks. I wheeled my horse back into the
middle of the creek again and we continued plodding through knee
deep water.

"How old were you the first time?" Shelley asked curiously.

"I forget. I guess I was about your age."

"Did you do it with a boy?"

"Not the first time. In fact, he was a man about my age. I
was about fifteen or sixteen before I did anything with a boy."

"But you liked the boy more?"

"By then I did," I said honestly.

"I want to be like you."

"How so?" Iasked.

"I want to do it with you until I'm older, and then I want
to do it with boys."

"Sounds good to me," I laughed. "You know, I'll still love
you when you're older, Shel," I added truthfully. "I'll never
stop loving you even if we stop having sex."

"I know that. When I'm older I know you won't want to have
sex with me. So we can go find boys together." He grinned,
showing perfect white teeth. "I already know what you like. Dark-
skinned Mexican boys."

"Uh huh. But what about blonds?"

"Like me?"

"Uh huh."

"Rick?" he intoned. There was a serious note in his voice
that immediately had me attention.

"Yes?"

"Remember yesterday, when we were talking about Juan?"

"Yes?"

"Why did you send him away to Mexico?" he asked simply.

"Because it's safer there," I answered pointedly.

I brought my horse to a halt, listening. On the surface,
everything sounded normal. The sounds of the mountain birds,
distant raucous calls, the whisper of the morning breeze through
the pine trees. Yet, I shivered. I could smell danger even if it
was a long way away. Instinctively, my hand settled on the stock
of my rifle.

"But why, Rick? I've been trying to figure out why you sent
him away."

"That's what's been bothering you?" I asked. "Don't worry
about it, Chilito. He's okay."

Shelley considered my answer. "Rick?" he said persistently.

"Okay. Here's what I know."

It was time for the truth, or at least what I had surmised
to be highly probable. I began with what I accepted as fact. It
was usually dangerous to construct a position based on
assumptions and conjecture.

"Just over two days ago we exposed a Russian operation,
perhaps the most successful mission they have ever had in this
country. Short of recruiting all of the Joint Chiefs of Staff,
they could not do better." I paused. "Now, from what we
discovered, their contact person was the man who came into the
room while you were with the President,..."

"His name was Clay, or Grey, I think,... Something like
that."

"Harry Grey," I confirmed. "By the way, he's dead, Shel. At
least according to a newspaper headline I saw at Amarillo. It
said he died from natural causes, which might mean a heart attack
or a stroke,... but more than likely it was brought on by some
kind of drug," I added. "The question is whether our side
murdered him, or someone else."

"Like who? The Russians?" Shelley suggested proudly.

I smiled. Even the Russians were not that Machiaevellian as
to kill one of their own. However,...

"Perhaps. But far more likely is the Agency did it. They
could hardly risk having a trial."

"Do you think it was the Russians who put the bomb on the
plane?"

I nodded. "If there was one, they're the obvious
candidates."

"But you aren't sure there was a bomb?"

"Let me put it this way. It was more than likely."

"By why would they want to kill us?" Shelley asked. He
thought for a moment. "Because I,..."

He stopped mid sentence as if someone had touched him. I
turned in my saddle, studying the ground we had just covered. My
intuition was sending a strong message. It seemed that Shelley's
was working overtime as well. We were 'sitting ducks' in the
creek. It was time to find cover. A hundred paces upstream I was
what I was looking for. Shelley nudged his horse and followed me
up the creek until we reached a rock ledge. It was not as large
as the first one and I had to watch carefully where we were
going. There were no tracks, at least not until we were well away
from the creek.

"I'm pretty sure we're being followed," I explained to
Shelley.

"Russians?"

"Maybe. They have a good reason to be pissed at us.
Yesterday was a real disaster in their minds. They've just lost
their primary source of information. Of course, there's no
guarantee it is them. Maybe the Agency is simply keeping tabs on
us."

Shelley shuddered, swallowing.

"How can you tell someone's behind us?"

I could not explain the feeling. It was just there, an
awareness that something was wrong. With the nearest civilization
forty 'crow' miles away, the only explanation was someone was
following us.

I leaned over and patted his thigh. "Trust me, Shel."

"You knew something was going to happen, didn't you?" He
watched me intently. "That's why you sent Juan away."

"Okay, I suspected. Wilderstein, the man on the airplane,
insisted that we disappear after the operation was completed.
That was a good sign, right there."

"What about Juan? Will he be safe there?"

"He'll be safe where he's going in Mexico. He's with his
uncle right now. I trust him to look after Juan. After a couple
of years in this business you learn to trust no one. Except the
people who love you, of course," I added gratuitously.

He knew that I trusted him implicitly, but my comment still
prompted a shy smile. I gave him my 'you had better behave
yourself' look and his smile widened. It had been a while since
Shelley had shown any sign of amusement. We rode on silently,
absorbed by the pristine nature around us. We were back into the
forest. For the next few hours we would be safely hidden from
sight. It would take an expert to follow our tracks for that
long, particularly since I planned to take a roundabout route to
our final destination.

Chapter Seventeen.

We rode until lunchtime. By noon, we were famished. Oatmeal
that looked and tasted like epoxy glue, was filling but it did
not last forever. It was time for a break and something to eat.
We stopped in a wooded glade, not far from an old abandoned gold
mine I had visited many years earlier. I left the horses saddled,
but loosened the cinch straps and allowed them to graze.

"So, what's for lunch, Cipote?" Shelley smirked.

"Your dick, if you don't be nicer, Chilito," I grinned back
at him.

"Man, my butt is sore," he said, stretching his arms above
his head and arching his back.

"I guess that means you aren't going to ask me to fuck you
after we've had some lunch," I chuckled.

Shelley glowered at me. "That's exactly what it means.
'sides, I don't plan on wearing it out. You're going to have to
wait until I'm good and ready."

"Remind me to thank Maria for giving you advice," I joked.
"How hungry are you?"

"Very. How about hamburgers?"

"Fraid not! For one thing I don't want to make a fire, but
even if we could, we don't have the hamburger."

"Oh! How about a pastrami on rye? Or a B-L-T?"

"Sorry, I don't see any Subways around," I laughed. "Do you
want to try some beef jerky?"

"What's that?"

"Dried beef."

"What's it taste like?"

"Salty. It's pretty good once you're used to it."

"What else is there?"

"I saw some peanut butter in the bag. There ought to be some
salted crackers somewhere."

"Okay."

I dug through the jumbled contents of the bag and fished out
a large plastic jar of creamy smooth peanut butter. No crackers.
Perhaps the crackers were in one of the other bags. However, I
did find a couple of apples. We would not go hungry. I ripped off
the plastic seal from the jar and handed it to Shelley.

"Can't find the crackers," I explained

"What do I put it on?" he asked.

I shrugged. "When I was a kid, we used our fingers to get it
out."

"Gross!" Shelley said scornfully.

"Really?" I chuckled. "You've sucked my dick after it's been
you-know-where, haven't you?"

Shelley simpered. "That's different! You know it is."

"Would it be any different if I put peanut butter on my dick
and you licked it off?"

Shelley caught my drift and smirked lasciviously. "I dare
you," he said quietly.

"It's a deal," I said. "But you had better not try chewing."

He gave way to loud peals of mirth, laughter that was nearly
enough to have him rolling in the grass. Finally, brushing the
dust and grass from his clothes he came to a squatting position,
resting on his haunches.

"Well, I'm waiting Chipote. Can't you see I'm starving?"

"I know what you're hungry for," I leered. "You'll have to
be patient, Cilito."

My hands moved swiftly to my jeans, dragging the zipper down
hurriedly. My penis was swelling even as I pushed my briefs down
and out of the way. Shelley's eyes were locked on my crotch, wide
open with anticipation. No matter how often he had seen it, he
was always enthusiastic. It made me feel wanted. I fumbled as I
withdrew my quickly grwoing penis. It was already firm, still
lengthening and getting harder. It drooped towards the ground at
an oblique angle, but even as it rested in the crook of my open
zipper, it began to left higher.

Shelley's hands twisted at the jar of peanut butter. He was
nervous, excited, eager. He grinned and dipped a small dark
finger tip into the jar, circled slowly, withdrew his finger and
deliberately met my eyes as he placed it in his mouth. It was
innocent yet erotic. He sucked the end, casually licking along
the length of his finger to get all of the peanut butter taste.
Watching him do that, his eyes sparkling with unrestrained
merriment, heralded what was obviously going to be a new
experience for both of us.

I stepped closer, drawing slowly nearer to him, until my
legs were inches from his knees. He beamed up at me, his lips
apart as he breathed.

"You have to put it on," he said shyly.

I took the jar from his outstretched hand, holding upside
down so that my penis could reach without being levered down into
an uncomfortable position. The thickness resisted at first, then
as I rotated the jar, it yielded and allowed the head of my penis
to burrow into the surface. It felt strange, unlike anything I
had experienced. My heart pounded with excitment. Perhaps it was
the prevailing smell, the rich nutty aroma, the sheer naughtiness
of what we were going to do, or Shelley's shameless grin as he
watched. He was a co-conspirator and he was just as thrilled by
what I was doing as I was.

With a large lump smeared over my penis, I waggled it
temptingly in front of Shelley's face. He giggled and tried to
grab it, but I jumped back out of reach.

"Not so fast. Did you wash your hands first?" I mocked.

"No, but I don't plan on using my hands to eat," he
guffawed.

"Okay, but no hands," I laughed. "Just your tongue."

"Maybe I'll bite," Shelley said defiantly.

However, his gleeful smile said that the last thing he was
going to dow as inflict pain. What he had in mind was something
quite different. I flexed my penis, making it jerk sporadically,
anticipating what he was about to do. I could see the hunger in
his eyes. He licked his lips. He leaned forward. I stepped back
into position. His tongue extended. His eyes closed. He closed
the distance, closer and closer until the tip of his tongue
touched the tip of my penis. His tongue disappeared back inside
his mouth.

"It tastes salty," he chortled.

"I don't know why. It's supposed to have low salt," I said,
glancing at the label. "Twenty percent less salt and fewer
calories," I read.

"I know why," Shelley commented. "You're dick is leaking."

"Hm,... maybe that's it."

He leaned forward again, this time with his lips apart,
inviting my penis to enter his open mouth. He took the entire
head of my penis before he stopped. His teeth nudged behind the
corona. Immediately, his tongue went to work. Circling, probing,
swiping back and forth. It was wriggling and alive, and as
pleasurable sensation as I had ever felt when my penis was being
sucked. Yet, it was a different feeling, his motions being less
about sexual stimulation than about oral gratification. He made
no secret of the fact that he was savoring the taste of peanut
butter. Every few seconds he would smack his lips loudly and
swallow. After a minute he drew back and looked up at me with a
big 'cheesy' grin.

"How was it?" I asked.

"Good. More please."

My penis was certainly no less stiff than it had been when
he started, even though he had only been licking and sucking in
order to get the peanut butter. I held out the jar again, pushed
my penis deeper into the creamy browness as I rotated the jar.
This time I went deeper. When I withdrew, peanut butter clung to
my penis and coated the skin, even filling in the ridge behind my
glans so that it looked,... Well, it looked like a penis covered
in peanut butter. Shelley giggled and leaned forward again, this
time with his mouth wide open.

There was intimacy in sharing food. It was not quite the
same as feeding him chicken soup with a spoon when he had first
woken up in my bed the morning after the operation, but it was
close.

He started by nibbling up and down the length of my penis.
He made little noises, not unlike a baby sucking on a teat. His
jaws were certainly busy because I could see his cheeks moving in
and out. Every few seconds his tongue would swirl out and lick
quickly over my tender swollen penis, smooching his lips against
the newly wetted skin in a playful tasty kiss. Being eaten was
beginning to feel very nice indeed.

"You ready for some more?" I teased.

Shelley lifted off in order to grin at me. His tongue stuck
out, now yellowish in color rather than pink.

"Yeah. Put a lot on this time. I'm glad it's not crunchy,"
he winked.

"Why?"

"You'll see," he answered secretively.

He watched intently as I smeared on more peanut butter than
the previous times combined. This time it was thick with large
gobs adhering to my penis where it had been inside the jar. There
was now a large hole in the middle of the jar. What I had
displaced was going to make it difficult to get the lid back on
again. For good measure, I pushed the top of the jar back and
forth. There was no point in wasting good peanut-butter, and the
extra calories would not do Shelley any harm either.

"That's better," Shelley giggled. "Are you ready?"

"Ah, ready for what?"

"You'll have to wait and see," Shelley giggled again. "It's
a big surprise."

The way he said it suggested that what he had in mind was
something that I was truly going to enjoy. I glanced around me as
his head lowered and his mouth returned, supplicant like as if
receiving Holy sacrament. I knew what he had in mind. We had
never had sex out in the open before. And this place, this
verdant glade with moss-covered logs and rocks, and graceful dark
pine trees was perfect.

He licked and sucked back and forth, slurping noisily with
his tongue and smacking his lips as he gobbled up the peanut
butter. However, this time he seemed to be interested in putting
saliva out rather than taking peanut butter into his mouth. It
was amusing just watching him getting my penis ready for his 'big
surprise'.

With lots of saliva, peanut butter becomes quite slimy. It
did not offer the same slickness as a lubricant like K-Y, but it
was at least as slippery as Vaseline. When all that was left was
a yellowish creamy foam, Shelley sat back on his haunches, slowly
rose to his feet, and smirked knowingly at me.

"What are you going to do now?" I demanded.

Shelley giggled. His hands dropped to his waist, rapidly
unfastening his brown leather belt, button, and zipper. He shoved
his jeans downward, pushing them to beyond his knees. We stood
there in the silence of the enclosing forest, face to face and
aware only of each other. The urge to couple was insistent.
Demanding. All powerful. Unavoidable. His penis made a finger-
sized bulge in his underpants, boldly sticking out into the white
cotton fabric. Without answering, he turned around so that his
back was to me. His briefs had wedged slightly into the crevice
between his buttocks, emphasizing the pinched halves of each
cheek. I gazed relentlessly, tormented by what had become a
throbbing erection.

I tried to control my urge. It would have been easy to push
him down, force his face into the earthy moss, spread his legs
wide apart so I had access. I could take him like that, and he
would not resist other than a brief cry when my penis penetrated
his tight ring. Or there was the log. It was as big around as a
44 gallon drum, its rough bark flecked with moss and grey-green
lichen, fungus clumped in brilliantly colored patches. I could
place him over it, his head and legs draped down with his hips
lifted up and exposed, his movement restrained by a log that
could not move. I could take him hard and fast, grunting my need
in his ear. Or, I could make him stand and bend over. He could
brace himself against a tree, holding himself up while I
plundered his rear. Or I could take his weight in my arms and
lower his slender now dark brown body onto my penis like some
ancient Indian warrior and his catamite. In my perverted mind,
the opportunities were limitless.

However, it was Shelley's choice. With infinite slowness,
his small hands peeled the white cloth away from his hips. He
inserted both thumbs under the elastic waist band, tugging
downward a fraction of an inch, exposing his smooth darkened skin
to my lust. Did I prefer pink buttocks or brown buttocks? There
were merits to each. One pale and seemingly civilized, the other
dark and primitive. Yet both were sexually arousing in that
hidden place in the woods. Powerfully sexual, the setting as much
as the beautiful boy arousing desire beyond my normal proclivity.
I wanted him. I hungered for him. My penis lurched, dripping a
droplet of crystal fluid from the gaping slit in the tip.

He wriggled his rump like a hooker. A moment later, he
glanced teasingly over his shoulder.

"What are you waiting for, Chipote," he tittered. "Do I have
to tell you what to do?"

I started to move forward, to get in a position to enter
him. My penis bobbed up and down, oozing the pre-seminal fluid
that was crucial to what would happen next. It was nature's
lubricant, appropriate in this place of abundant nature. It would
not take long. A minute at most to get past his sphincter,
another minute to get his muscle loosened until he no longer
whimpered when I thrust forward into his inner chamber. Then, how
long? Would I last another minute before I spewed my semen into
his rectum? Two if I was lucky. I could not remember being so
excited. Around us, the grove had grown silent as if respecting
the sacred act being performed.

Shelley's hands moved instinctively. His fingers pressed
into his small cheeks, pulling at the flesh, opening his crack
wide. There it was. Some men refer to that part of a young boy as
a flower, the little puckered bud of a boy's anus. Others make
reference to a mouth, and the lips that are ready to kiss. Me? It
was an ass hole, a beautiful orrifice that had no equal. It was,
Shelley!

I pushed against it without any preparation. There was no
foreplay. Perhaps there should have been. He gasped.

"Oh Rick!"

"You don't mind if I make a mess on your underpants?" I
teased.

"Oh,... God, push him in. I want you in me so bad."

The single shot came from behind me, but to the left side.

END PART 3.