Date: Mon, 17 Mar 2003 13:46:02 +0000
From: Ganymede
Subject: Paradise Part 2

Paradise. Part 2 By Ganymede

WARNING:

This story contains descriptions of sexual acts involving men and MINOR
boys. Such descriptions are an integral part of the story.  While the story
may appeal to prurient interests, it is intended to have serious literary
value. 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!

As a friend recently said: "Everyone has the right to fantasy. No one has
the right to censor an imagination, or dreams." With that in mind, know
that this story is not true! Further, it is not intended to promote illegal
acts against minors, but to demonstrate that men and boys can love each
other despite the prevalent attitudes of western society. It is my goal to
help readers appreciate that love. The sexual acts described in the story
are the result of my imagination. I have not performed these acts, and I do
not encourage others to perform them with minors. If the subject of man/boy
love 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!

By downloading this story:

"... you implicitly declare and affirm under penalties of perjury that you
are not a minor or in the company of a minor and are entitled to have
access to material intended for mature, responsible members of society
capable of making decisions about the content of documents they wish to
read...."

The story is copyrighted under my pseudonym, Ganymede. A copy has been
placed in the Nifty archives for your enjoyment. The story cannot be used
to derive monetary gain. The story cannot be placed in archives that
require payment for access, or printed and distributed in any form that
requires payment either directly or indirectly. Any similarity to
individuals, living or dead, is entirely accidental. My sincere
appreciation to two friends whose comments have been very helpful.

And one more thing, a special thank you to Susan. You know who you are and
what you mean to me. Thank you for the dedication.



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Paradise. Part 2 By Ganymede



Chapter 2.



>From day to day, little changed at St. Angelique Cay. Time passed, but it
seemed endless, stretching into the distance like the pastelled
horizon. Our lives became a habit interrupted only by moments of unexpected
passion. I was imprisoned by Joey's vibrant laugh when he bounded across
the sand, a naked brown-skinned brazen island-boy, or sidled up to me and
gave me that 'let's fuck' look that he seemed to practice on a hourly
basis.



However, some things did change in the daily rhythm of our lives. The
colors of the water changed constantly from sunrise to sunset.  Its color
changed again when the sun shone brightly, or when clouds rolled in,
gathering until the sky became leaden and an infrequent afternoon storm
threatened our little piece of tropical paradise. And when the rain
thundered down on the boat, like shotgun pellets hitting steel, and the
lagoon water was somber gray instead of its usual brilliant blue, Joey and
I would sit on the deck under the white canvas awning in our self-assigned
chairs, picking off scabs of peeling vinyl.  We would watch the clouds race
purposely overhead and talk about where they had come from and where they
were going to. Never did we mention Chicago as a likely venue for that
would have raised the specter of what had happened to him there. It was as
if nothing had occurred. Our lives were ordinary, but we relished the time
we spent together.

The luke-warm deluge seldom lasted for very long, and while it interrupted
what we had planned to do on the beach, we welcomed the disruption
nonetheless. It gave us time to simply sit and relax, time to enjoy life by
ourselves. The rain washed away the dust and renewed whatever it touched,
leaving a dew of crystal droplets on the verdant leaves of the hibiscus
that grew beside the dock. That rickety dock, which I always intended to
repair, but never quite got around to doing, was almost as much our home as
Conundrum. The rain brought with it a thousand refreshing smells that
enlivened the senses, overcame the fetid heat that wafted from the usually
pristine beach. It took away the slight odor of rotting fish or whatever
the marine smell was that always hung in the air after a long hot
spell. Even the lagoon seemed brighter, livelier after rain, with a host of
multi-colored reef fish close inshore and the silver flashes of deep-water
fish everywhere. I often thought that the rain made our already perfect
lives worth living once again.

After a while, and despite my caution to the contrary, for there was often
lightening in those storms, my boy's impetuous nature would triumph over
lethargy. With nothing more than an infectious grin, he would leave me
sitting on the deck by myself and he would run back and forth along the
beach, despite the rain or perhaps because of the rain.  In the dry Exumas,
it was refreshing when it rained. He would go down to the water's edge and
splash and kick, while the rain streamed down his lean bare body. More
often than not, he went naked whenever we were alone. He wasn't the only
one. It was no different , at least for him, if we were with Fernando and
his boy. However, at other times when clothes were in order, he would
usually wear a pair of loose cotton shorts.  Nothing more, not socks or
briefs, seldom shoes beyond rubber-soled sandals. His feet were loose in
size six sneakers, the only pair that he owned. Given the cost, it made
sense to buy them big. For Joey, formal attire added a tee-shirt, hopefully
clean.  I much preferred to see him out of clothes.



Joey lived for the sun, worshipping daily until it turned his skin dark
brown. His back was like the color of mahogany, and just a shade lighter
elsewhere. At nearly twelve years old, he was unabashed in the ecstasy of
boyhood. Even during a storm, he grinned and laughed and played in the
rain, and when the gusts of wind lashed our paradise I amused myself as
thinking of it as flagellation for the sin of too much happiness.
Afterwards, when the rain had cooled down everything and he was fresh and
clean, and I had dried him with a vigorous toweling, we had sex down in the
cabin. Hard sex, sex that quickly became sweaty without the benefit of
air-conditioning, sex that made us both cry out in the sheer fearfulness of
unbridled passion. Fucking wildly, like rutting animals, that unleashed,
unrestrained sex that made the cabin smell and left him sore where my cock
had been, and me too tired to do little more than hold him tight against
me, still inside. It was so loose inside that succulent cavity. It was not
a void because my cock which more than filled him when it was hard, became
comfortable like a well-worn glove afterwards. We stayed like that for an
hour sometimes, locked in our shared nightmare of unspoken memories from
Chicago and the dreamy bliss that pursued orgasm. We were happy, yet
neither of us talked about the life we led, at least not the horror of
Chicago and his mother's death.  There was nothing to be gained by renewing
his grief. If he cried, I would stroke his smooth soft cheek or flank, and
whisper that I loved him, calming him until with arms around each other, we
stumbled down to the water's edge and cleaned away the mess we made. Each
day we shared was perfectly predictable, even when it rained, a
near-perfect duplicate of the day before. For us, the evening that the boy
called Vincente died was no different to any other evening when it happened
to rain in the Dry Exumas.



It began with a late afternoon thunderstorm that was unusual in the Exumas
at that time of year. It seldom rained out of season. The storm came barely
a few moments after Joey had tied the boat up to the dock cleats, although
the bolts were so loose and rusted that they could do little more than hold
against the tide. It had been growing steadily darker since we had left the
Farley Street wharf and I had made a judicious use of the throttle to cross
the channel before the storm arrived. Joey hurried back from the bow as the
first raindrops splattered on the windscreen. A trickle ran down his nose
and he grinned and wiped his forehead.

"Looks like we just made it in time, old man." he announced with a laugh as
he came up behind me and hugged me.

Lightning crackled and flashed in the west, beyond the headland, and a few
seconds later thunder boomed. With luck, the worst of it would pass close
to Georgetown. The farmers who eked out a living even less fruitful than
fishermen like me, needed the rain badly.

I shut the diesels down and switched off the battery power just in case
lightning came our way. I turned around, barely glancing over my shoulder
but appreciative nonetheless. He was undressing.  Usually, he was naked as
soon as we were out of sight of the town.  However, the approaching storm
and the hurry to put away the fishing gear and cross the channel before it
broke, had kept him dressed. Already he had his shirt off. He tossed it,
balled-up, at me, his favorite target. I ducked and his rain-splattered,
oil-spotted tee-shirt whacked against the new VHF radio overhead. Joey
laughed. I loved his laugh. It was infectious, always full of glee and
irresistible to me. It was a musical laugh that danced in my head and made
me love him even more. A moment later, his faded cotton shorts were sailing
through the air, not aimed specifically at me, but coming in my general
direction. I caught them easily and threw them down the stairway where he
could find them later if he needed to. With the storm it was unlikely that
we would have any visitors for the rest of day.

I laughed too, and leaned back against the wheel, watching the strip show
with unsuppressed enjoyment. Joey was all but naked. Even his shoes were
off. He had not worn socks in two years in the Exumas. His over-stretched
and sagging briefs, the briefs with a two-inch hole in the seat right where
his anus was, promptly slid down his thin bronze legs before being kicked
into the air. No doubt it disappeared among the towels. The butt-naked boy
grinned boldly. His game had reached the point when things became
interesting. Only the leather cord and tiger shark's tooth amulet adorned
his body like a precious jewel. It was the only man- eating shark I had
killed, and then it was in fear. Worse had been my aim, almost missing in
my panic as the shark closed in and rolled, ready to attack Joey if he so
much as moved. The shark had no right to be in the lagoon. I dragged the
carcass out to see after taking great pleasure in cutting out its jaws. The
$50 we received from the fish market for the set minus the tooth I kept for
Joey was hardly worth the effort. Some tourist probably bought it for a
couple of hundred dollars.



Joey stood with his feet apart, his hands on his hips in a daring stance,
the curved tooth pointing down to his crotch. It wasn't much smaller than
his dick when it was limp. Usually, shark- tooth and boy-dick were aimed at
each other. He looked as if he was challenging me to take him right there
and then, without any preliminaries. I had to smile. So much for foreplay
with my son. It was a thought that made mockery of fatherhood. It would not
have the been the first time that he did his homework late at night, and
sitting on a towel at that.  Fortunately, for him and me, his suntanned
penis was still limp. It was a pitiful, seemingly dead worm than dangled
between his slim thighs instead of the proud young erection that normally
adorned his groin when he was in the mood for sex. He smiled, rather
smirked, for it was an 'I know what you're looking at' smile. He raised his
eyebrows enticingly.  Seduction 101, we called it when he did that. It was
also his 'let's fuck' look. He was learning quickly, learning how to
express his desires and get what he wanted. It was all that I could do not
to walk forward, to take him in my arms and ravish his naked bronzed body
while the rain came down in blinding sheets.

"You got homework, lover boy?" I asked hopefully, and with a grin to let
him know that I was thinking what he was thinking.

Joey nodded slowly, not eagerly. He detested doing homework.  It was second
on his list of least-favorite things, right after going to school. He
argued that he learned far more from being around me, and I had to agree
with him having met his sixth grade teacher, a black lady who could barely
keep ahead of the class. Still, I tried to do the right thing. Sometimes it
worked out for the best, sometimes we both gave in without ever raising the
issue of priorities.

"Too bad, babe. You'd better do it first, I s'pose."

His eyes flickered. He realized as well as I did that there had to be some
rules, and that his job was to obey both them and me. I had the
responsibility of father and lover, as a consequence of being older and
providing for him. It was difficult enough as it was to be both his father
and his lover. I often found myself wondering whether I was doing the right
thing by raising him even if he was my son, but Joey appeared to handle our
unusual relationship much better than I did. He said I was his best friend
in the whole world, and that was enough for me. The alternative was
something I didn't want to think about.

"You want a beer first, Dad?"

His mood for sex was gone. When he wanted sex, he called me old man,
probably to equalize the score. He wasn't passive by nature and he took it
in the butt because I was the man and he was the boy. Dad was reserved for
other times.

"Sure."

I watched him as he squatted down before the bar refrigerator that I used
for charters. Most tourists preferred name-brand American beers or fancy
foreign lagers, but there were usually a coupe of local brews hiding in the
back. Joey scavenged around until he found what he was looking
for. Meanwhile I feasted my eyes on his rump, that cleft from spine to
balls. Had he ever been pale and scrawny? There was a time, but it was long
ago, when he was virgin, but it was next to impossible to remember what he
had been like then. Despite the heat and the toll it took, living in the
tropics appeared to agree with him most of the time.  He was still slender,
but his body had filled out with lean muscles where previously there was
almost nothing. He had become lithe and agile over the last two
years. There was muscle where a boy was supposed to have muscle. He was
supple, and when the headaches gave him some respite, he was full of
life. Indeed, the amount of energy he possessed was somewhat surprising for
a boy whose life had come so close to expiring. His head still bore the
mark to show where the wooden baseball bat had impacted bone, but it could
be seen only by parting his hair. Just once, it had hit him. Motive? It was
something to do with his mother being a high- class hooker was the best
that I could come up with. Whoever had killed her, had also taken his anger
out on Joey.



His haunches flexed when he bounced back up. He tossed, and the can of beer
fell right into my hand.

I ambled across to my seat, popping the top and taking a long draught
before I sat down. Joey came over, desire revealed in his eyes. I smiled
and nodded. In an instant he was sitting on my thighs, facing me with his
legs outstretched and spread like a whore flaunting the merchandise. With
his legs on either side of mine, his sex organs were displayed for me to
admire. It was a familiar position, but usually we were much closer. He
grinned and reached as I lifted the can up to take another drink. A few
mouthfuls of beer would not hurt him. I turned it around to him. He gulped
greedily, sucking to get as much out as possible before I pulled the can
away. When I did, he noisily smacked his lips and winked. His eyes slowly
dropped down between us and then he met my eyes with a look that said, 'I'm
ready to fuck if you are'.

"You sure?"

"It's gonna cost you another drink first," he said teasingly. His lips
formed the words 'old man' but nothing came out.

"Is it now?"

Joey grinned and nodded. Desire was back with a vengeance.  His
less-than-three-inch dick was well on the way to being hard. He licked his
lips and leaned closer. His lips pecked my lips, paused and then descended
once again. This time our kiss lingered. I tasted beer. I smelled boy, like
an aphrodisiac on my senses. I wanted him. He wanted me. Nothing had
changed during the ten hours since he had left for school. In some ways,
nothing had changed in the two years since we left Chicago.

"You want me dry, old man?"

"Love to, but not this time."

"Spit?" My, but he was eager.

I shook my head. There were a few times when I was more than happy to avail
myself of either option. It made sense to use lubrication when the
difference in our sizes was so great. The last thing I wanted to do was
hurt him.

"My turn to get the oil huh?" he said huskily.  The tone of his voice
always changed when he was in the mood for sex.  Someone who didn't know
him might have been misled into thinking that his voice was breaking. It
wasn't. It was simply how excitement affected his speech. I liked how he
spoke when he was in the frame of mind where all he thought about was
sex. I liked that tone. It was a barometer of lust.  The deeper the tone
and the more shaky his voice became, the more excited he was, the more he
wanted to couple with me. When he was excited like this he could not be
diverted. We had even done it in the back room of Fernando's bar with Joey
bent over a couple of cases of beer, the bottles clanking as I buffeted him
back and forth. He had needed lubrication then too, but we did it anyway.

He smiled, putting effort in the 'look' once more. He needed to be
fucked. When he breathed, his nostrils flared, his chest rose and fell. All
I had to do was say the word. Spit would work if we didn't do it for too
long. I considered trying, I was so eager for his smooth lithe
body. Finally, common sense prevailed and I nodded once.

He was off my lap and headed towards the port-side storage rack before I
could change my mind. He bounded back, his eager boy-dick already more than
half erect and beginning to bow upward. It was the mirror image of his
father's, only smaller. This time, he knelt down before me. His eyes met
mine, traveling to my crotch, a giggle to show that he had something other
than a simple kiss in mind. Neither of us spoke. His movement was hurried,
urgent. His fingers deftly unfastened the metal clasp of my shorts. With
more difficulty, he tugged open the copper zipper, jamming every inch or so
because of the encrustation of salt and oxidation that formed on anything
of metal.

"Stand up, old man."

The sound of anxious lust in his playful order was unmistakable now. I
obeyed. His voice was almost a ragged croak. He breathed out, his small
brown hands grasping the frayed legs of my shorts, pulling downward
rapidly. He licked his lips. My briefs, without a hole in the seat but
otherwise as tattered and worn as Joey's, came down at the same time as my
shorts. My cock, banana-shaped, pointed right at his face. For a moment his
lips stirred over it, barely touching skin to skin before he closed and
began kissing me on the blunt crimson-purple tip. His tantalizing lips, the
puff of his breath, the delicate touch of his tongue on the exposed
head. Licking me. Sucking off the slimy juice that always seemed to be
there whenever he was near. He swallowed, looking up to meet my eyes with
crude joy at what he had done. His eyes were shamelessly delighted, as if
he had tasted the nectar of the gods or achieved some task of great
importance. He had reason to be proud. My cock belonged to him. His head
descended again, supplicant again, like a boy receiving the Holy
Sacrament. He was Catholic like his mother, but his last confession was
ancient history. His next confession would probably give the priest a
stroke. There was a gold chain and a cross somewhere on the boat.

This time, he took my helmet-head deeper, until his lips settled behind the
coronal ridge. He held me here with his teeth teasing, lightly scraping,
his tongue tantalizing with playful sweeps back and forth. His hands went
to work, one stroking the thick curve of my cock while the other hand
massaged my balls, pulling down gently, firmly, stroking with his fingers,
grasping each pendulous egg.  He sucked expertly. If I didn't stop him I
knew that he would soon deep-throat me.

"You keep doing that lover boy and someone's going to have his face fucked
instead of something else," I murmured.

There were two reasons why Joey sucked my cock. It was no secret that he
liked the taste of semen. Sometimes, he didn't stop after it had become
erect. Then, he took it deeper, until it touched his larynx, then used his
fingers on what was left outside his mouth.  Occasionally, he bobbed his
head, but usually my role in our mutual pleasuring was to provide the back
and forth motion. He was experienced at sucking cock, far better than any
woman, all but climaxing himself when he ingested my fluid. However,
usually sucking my cock was the foreplay until his urge became so
overpowering that he needed something else. Then, grinning, he quickly
provided another way for my penis to be inside his body. Simply by turning
around and spreading his buttocks wide apart, he let me know. It was nice
either way.

This time, as the rain cascaded down in sheets and pounded on the metal
decks and canvas awning, he did what I wanted as well. Anal sex was a
difficult habit to break especially when I was in the mood for boy-
ass. Suddenly, his mouth lifted off, slurping wetly in saliva.  While I
moved back and weakly sat down again, he repositioned himself again. He
giggled, for no other reason than he was happy kneeling before me with my
engorged cock dancing a few inches from his face. He uncapped the dark-
green plastic squeeze bottle that once held Palmolive kitchen detergent.

It had not taken me more than a few weeks to discover that coconut oil was
cheaper by the gallon milk-jug. Decanting it when the squeeze bottle was
close to empty was Joey's job. He squeezed some oil out into the cupped
palm of his hand, and carefully conducted it to my groin. He was a careful
kid when he played with his favorite toy, meticulous at times, but greasy
splotches on my shorts and the upholstered seats in the cabin were a very
common sight. I had all but given up washing the sheets on our
bed. Grinning like the proverbial Cheshire cat, Joey slowly slid his
oil-slicked hand up and down my now- very erect penis. He enjoyed the
sensation of slipperiness, squeezing his fingers in to meet his thumb. It
was a tight but enjoyable fit. He began pumping rhythmically, up and down
until the entire shaft glistened. For a moment, his thumb caressed the
rounded head, puddling in the excretion that had formed at the slit. He
smiled sensuously, leaned forward and touched the tip of his tongue to the
bead of crystal juice. I watched his tongue disappear into his mouth again,
his cheeks pulling in as he savored the taste of oil and pre-cum. He
glanced up, his eyes flashing with excitement.

"He's ready," he said gleefully.

He gave my erection a final loving squeeze. He held it lovingly in his
grasp, considering my male power, his eyes revealing just how much he
wanted to be fucked.

"Yeah, I see."

He stood and then with a playful smirk, the oil that had not been
transferred to my penis, quickly ended up smeared across his bottom.  He
was less than fastidious about getting his anus ready, but experience had
taught us that a lubricated cock was really all that was required now that
he was used to it. The fact was that putting more oil inside his rectum
merely acted as an enema. It was much more effective than my ejaculations
and it could be embarrassing at times.

Still smirking, he resumed his previous position above my thighs, this time
straddling me instead of sitting down. He felt behind him, beneath him,
aligning my cock and placing the bulbous tip where it needed to be. It
burrowed between his cheeks, held in place by his hand and firm
boy-flesh. His legs quivered and he lowered himself just enough to bring my
penis into contact with his anus. That first touch of slippery cock-head
and equally slippery boy-hole caused both of us to groan. My hands moved
beneath his buttocks to take his weight, to open his crack up and expose
the opening into his bowels. His small brown- rubber cheeks were spread
wide apart, his little dimpled anus stretched, pushing down onto the oily
heat between us.

My cock penetrated easily, but it hadn't always been easy.  That afternoon,
Joey was willing and his ass was relaxed and waiting for my hard cock. We
both knew that my cock, while huge compared to his tiny orifice, was going
to go inside him and there was nothing he could do to stop it, even if he
wanted to. Putting a man's throbbing cock into an equally throbbing boy's
rectum was like that time-honored analogy of a hot knife going into
softened butter. We had two years of practice yet it did not matter how
often we did it. We still groaned loudly when it slid into its tight hot
home.

Despite being the brunt of Joey's frequent jokes, the fact was that my cock
curved like a banana. It was just as long and thick, but I was of the
opinion that it was ideally shaped for a young boy's rectum.  I teased Joey
back. 'Banana cocks' ran in the family, and while Joey physically looked
much more like his Hispanic mother than me, his dick had the same
pronounced outward curve as mine. It was smaller, of course, a fraction
under three inches long, a thin tiny boy-dick that was often harder than
seemed humanly possible.

I eased Joey down carefully, feeling his tight muscle creeping along the
length of my engorged cock. Eight thick inches of man- cock was a lot for a
boy of Joey's size. He took it all, bravely, barely flinching yet
constantly trembling. His pelvis undulated back and forth, working against
my penis, forcing his bowels to open up. His eyes closed tightly. He pushed
himself onto the huge hard shaft until it could go no further. His erection
diminished with every added inch I managed to cram inside his slender body.

"He's so fucking big," he breathed out in a rush. "But oh, man it sure is
good."

We inhaled together. The sensations were enough to make Joey shudder
abruptly. He was full of cock, full to overflowing, stretched to the limit
of his body. We were lucky, as lucky as any man and boy could be. It was
the perfect fit desired by nature. Tight? God, it was vise- tight. However,
he took it all, until my pubic hair was crushed against his buttocks. If
there was any more to go inside him, he would split open. We rested,
waited, knowing that the slightest movement would be enough to set one or
both of us off without warning. That would happen soon enough, but first we
needed to fuck for a while. It was hardly worth the mess otherwise.

"How's the boy-pussy feeling, lover boy?" I teased after a while. He felt a
bit looser to me, but only Joey could really tell when he was ready to
start moving in earnest.

"Okay, old man. I'm getting used to him,..."

He winced when his sphincter gave a feeble squeeze.  Absently, his hand
wiped the tiny beads of sweat from his brow. I brought my lips to his face
and began to kiss away his distress. I tasted the tanginess of salt. Unless
he had just showered with me, Joey's body always tasted salty. It came from
sweat and spending most of his free time playing in the lagoon. His lips
came onto mine, seeking to be kissed. From the very start, he had always
been a passionate kisser, even before he learned to use his tongue. He was
like his mother in that respect. Full mouth kissing was a skill that came
from his Hispanic genes, but he had perfected the art. Joey took the lead,
using his lips and tongue to ravish my mouth. And while we kissed, I could
feel his body loosening, the muscle slackening to allow my cock to move
inside him.

Sex usually went the same way once my cock was all the way inside him. I
told him that his ass was made for fucking, and Joey shamelessly told me to
stop wasting time and get to work. As soon as we started moving, his body
jerked and twitched erratically. We called it the 'fuck jumps'. When that
happened he was on sensory overload, so stimulated that he could have a
couple of his dry boy-orgasms to my one.  I let Joey take the lead. I
usually did that when we were sitting down.  It was good for his
self-esteem.

At least for the first minute or so, Joey's rectum had two different parts,
one tight, one loose. His sphincter grasped the bottom half of my cock like
a clamp. The upper half floated in a sleeve of quivering mush, surrounded
by the bulges and bumps of his vital organs and a hard ridge that was
probably his spine. While Joey pretended to have reservations about where
it felt the best, it was no secret that there was simply nothing better
than a man's cock grinding against a boy's prostate. My penis needed to be
about halfway inside him to do that, just four inches to provide
euphoria. The sounds he made were ample proof of when my cock was deep
enough.  It was somewhere between a moan and a whimper that was strangled
in his throat. I was uncertain of which part of his rectum I preferred,
except at the end. Then, his insides had loosened up and become such a
sloppy mess that it really didn't make any difference. All that mattered to
either of us was that my cock kept sliding back and forth and rubbing
against his tiny prostate gland. With some six inches of movement back and
forth inside his bowels, sometimes my penis could travel a long way in a
day.


That afternoon he lasted about thirty seconds, a baker's dozen of awkward
'sit-down' thrusts, before he shuddered and went very still except the
persistent trembling of his legs. So smooth, so utterly beautiful in their
golden tan, his slender thighs spread so far apart that he was in the
'splits' position. By then his sex had become a tiny, shriveled thing that
hung straight down. His erections never lasted very long, and were
nonexistent once my cock was inside him. It was almost as if making love
desexed him in that way. My cock possessed not only his body, but denied
his boyhood.

"That was quick, lover boy," I jeered as the pulses peaked and died away.

For a few seconds Joey's face had revealed a fleeting expression that
suggested he was in pain. What was it? The agony of the ecstasy? It felt
the same to me, a deliciously hot, oozing, grasping tube inside him that
reached nearly to his belly. Sometimes I imagined I could a bulge just
below his belly button. If it hurt him at all, it was gone before his
clutching spasms faded.

"I wanted that so bad all day," he sighed longingly. He shifted slightly,
tightening his anus to hold my penis captive.

"Yeah, me too."

"He feels so good. You want to know something? You're really not bad for an
old man, even if your dick doesn't get all that stiff."

"Ha! Very funny."

To show me that he wanted more, he squeezed again, clamping his sphincter,
compressing his buttock muscles. I felt his insides quiver, grasping, alive
and heated with desire. His eyes closed and he strained, pulling my penis
inward. I heard a gurgle as my cock surged through his bowels.

"Now that he's all the way in there I want to keep him there forever," he
purred, his face showing a wistful smile.

I held the beer can to his lips. He sipped instead of gulping. He licked
his lips, then kissed me, his tongue putting beer in my mouth.

"You wanna get fucked some more, pussy-boy?" I teased. "Or have you had
enough banana for today?"

I stuck my tongue in his ear and swirled it around to make sure that he got
the point. He nodded vapidly. Orgasm did that to him for a while, took away
his energy and left him weakened and malleable, but still craving more. He
always wanted more. I envied him that way. His orgasm was still dry so he
could do it all day if he wanted. According to Fernando, young boys were
like that, insatiable when it came to getting fucked. Unfortunately, my
urge vanished within seconds of achieving climax. For Joey, more often than
not it was physical exhaustion that stopped him from wanting sex.

"You want my big hairy man-cock to fuck your cute little boy- ass?"  I
persisted, flexing it inside him.

Again Joey nodded, still meekly. He was under my power, completely
abandoned to what he was feeling deep inside. Each little jerk of my dick
against his prostate made him quiver. His sphincter relaxed, then
tightened, undulating but loosening even further. His narrow pelvis lifted,
rotating, pushing down until my balls were pressed tightly into his cheeks.

"Fuck me, old man," he muttered shamelessly. "Give it to me hard this time,
okay."

Like me, he enjoyed talking dirty during sex. Not that he ever needed much
encouragement to use words that I would never allow him to use at any other
time. Sex had its own language and we spoke it together.

"Tell me what you want, lover boy."

"I want your cock all the way inside me 'n I want you to fuck me deep, and
fast. Real fast, okay? And hard too, as hard as you can do it. I want your
cum inside me, old man, so don't take him out until I tell you," he
murmured.

He smiled slightly as he spoke, his sultry eyes teasing, alluring,
revealing more than his fair share of need. Already the urge was coming
back. It seldom took him more than a few minutes to recover, even from an
orgasm that would have drained me and left my balls aching.  However, if
Joey climaxed quickly again it was usually because I had taken his boy-dick
in my hand. I seldom brought him off like that. There was simply no need to
when my cock had the same result. He breathed with deliberate effort,
trying to regain control, to ready himself to repeat what he had just
done. We kissed, swapping spit and beer, tongue kissing, bruising our lips
together. His fingers raked my back, pushing my white tee-shirt higher,
bringing his slender hairless chest to nestle against me. He was hot, moist
with a sheen of sweat. My hands caressed his sleek back and sides. He was
strong, wiry strong, and soft like a baby. So smooth. My hands glided up
and around and around, all over his muscular back, cupped his rounded
buttocks and lifted him higher, high enough that he sighed and pulled his
anus inward to keep my cock embedded. He sighed again when I grasped his
shoulders and levered him down until my balls were once again squeezed into
his crack. He was seated in such a way that the tips of his toes barely
touched the deck. It was all that he could do to lift his body up. Yet
somehow we managed to achieve a rhythm, not slow or fast, but unpredictable
the way we both liked it. I propelled him up and down, using my cock like a
piston, simultaneously bucking and fucking until our faces were flushed and
sweat flecked our bodies. Two years of practice went into every fuck. We
were good at it.

Behind us, all around us, the rain came down in torrents, thundering onto
the steel, splashing across the back of the boat until it found its way to
the scuppers and drained away. And we sat there, totally involved in each
other, savoring the sheer overwhelming joy that came from joining our
bodies together, from a man and boy fucking for no other reason than it
felt good. No wonder man-boy sex was against the law, I thought
ruefully. If it wasn't, the human race would soon die out.

For once, we climaxed before the brief rain-storm abruptly finished. At the
end it was hard and fast, and deep, every thrust all the way in and nearly
all the way out. It was the way that Joey liked it, needed it after he had
an orgasm at the start and another halfway through. Joey grew hotter, but
did not want to slow down, let alone stop.  His face grew red, sweat
trickling down his neck and chest. He trembled and writhed around above me,
sometimes jumping up and down as if he was riding a wild bronco. He was
always looser when he was like that. He was loose enough that my cock could
pop right out and then slide back in through his dilated anus without
slowing down. This was anal sex at its very best. It was how men were
supposed to fuck young boys.

I bounced him up and down above my thighs, using his flexibility, his lean
young muscles, his light weight, to achieve the motion we both
desired. Only his anus and the first inch inside him clasped my cock with
any semblance of pressure. The rest of his rectum seethed like molten metal
around my cock. I strung it out for as long as possible, delaying my
release again and again, but climax was inevitable.  The slurping, pumping
sound grew louder, our gasping, our frantic lunges, increasingly out of
control. That was usual, being overwhelmed, being totally oblivious to
everything else except Joey's succulent heat, his urgent exhortations to do
it faster and harder and deeper. He was close, so close that he could not
stop whimpering as waves of ecstasy surged through him.

Like this, Joey reminded me of the reef, but unlike the resolute coral that
was pounded by the rolling breakers, he flowed with me. He plunged against
me, increasingly desperate for relief until he could no longer stand it and
his hand grabbed my hand and planted it on his limp boy-cock. That
insignificant part of him became hard as steel and slippery as an eel
within a few seconds of me touching it. My hand pumped up and down, his
tiny boy-balls slapping and sliding against his oily thighs. I felt my
balls tightening, my cock expanding, getting ready to disgorge inside him.

When it happened, I rammed him down onto me, hard. Joey lifted up his feet
at the same time so that it seemed as if his entire weight was borne by my
cock. Together we groaned and writhed, me flexing my throbbing cock into
his grasping bowels, Joey squeezing with all his strength to get every bit
out. Most times, Joey could feel my ejaculation, at least he said he
could. No doubt he felt the heat and the half-dozen spasms that jerked my
cock inside him, but it seemed difficult to believe that he could actually
feel the spurts when my semen emptied into him. He said he felt it as
splattering bursts, like something hot was being squirted deep inside
him. Not that it mattered. We both knew what had happened as soon as I
stopped thrusting quickly, and the jerking and erratic shudders began.

Both of us quivered, sharing the intensity of the moment. My love juice was
inside him, and he had proven that he was my lover boy once again. We
hugged, panting, feeling the rush begin to dissipate as my hardness slowly
diminished. I rubbed my hands over his bare bony back again, cradling him
as I whispered the magic 'I love you' in his ear.

Poor Joey. He couldn't talk. His mouth was open, his head rocked to and fro
as if still feeling my cock lunging back and forth inside him. It was a
pity that he had not climaxed for a third time. His anus continued to pull
on my cock, contracting, squeezing, still trying to achieve release. Yet as
my maleness softened and shortened, it began to withdraw of its own
accord. There was a slurping wet burble when it finally disengaged. Joey
grinned obscenely, fully aware of whatever was inside him would soon be
dripping down onto me. Sex was messy. What came out usually wasn't milky
white, but especially when he hadn't been to the bathroom in a while.

"Was that a good fuck or what?" I mused.

He rolled his eyes, shifting his hips from side to side, trying to restore
his innards to what had to feel like a huge void inside him, to bring the
churning sensations to an end, to close his anus up, to return to some
semblance of normalcy. I lifted the can of beer. He took a brief sip.

"You're dribbling jizz, lover boy." I observed as I felt the first trickle
on my thigh.

"Yeah, well whose fault is that, old man?" Joey rebuked heartlessly.

"It wouldn't be a problem if your ass was tighter."

He smirked as a wet gurgle came from below him. A large blob of yellow gunk
splashed onto my leg as he awkwardly lifted up then eased back into a more
comfortable position. His legs were still spread, sitting astride my
thighs, looking down at my glistening wet cock and the splatters across my
groin and thighs. He smirked again, recovering from his lethargy, becoming
a different boy in the radiant sunshine that just appeared through the
clouds. Beyond that receding line, the sky was clear all the way to the
horizon.

"Next time you'd better use a towel, old man," he taunted.

It was a standing joke and stemmed from the very first time when we had had
anal sex. I had not expected it to be so unpleasant to clean up afterwards,
but boys were like that. Sex loosened their bowels and turned turds to
slush. I had to wash the sheets twice that time. That time, we learned that
sex and a teaspoon or two of semen could be a powerful enema. It was almost
as good as a half cup of warm oil. I grinned back at him and reaching
behind him, gave his small greasy buttocks a loving squeeze. There was a
large amount of slime that had escaped from between his cheeks. I trailed
my fingers through it, rubbing into the dimpled cleft that marked the start
of his crack, then sliding three fingers into his crevice, levering the
firm flesh apart. His anus was huge, soft, gaping, slowly releasing juice
that was mostly mine. All three fingers fitted comfortably, belonging there
almost as much as my cock. It was always that way after my cock had been in
him for a while.  Had that part of his body ever been tight, I wondered? Of
course it had, but it was two years ago. I could not help but smile.

It was even easier to put one finger from each hand into him, in to the
second joint, like wedges to feel around. It was as loose as it had ever
been. I massaged his opening, stretching him further, feeling his weakened
sphincter making feeble efforts to compress.

"Pretty gooey, huh Dad?"

"Yeah. Loose too."

"What did you expect? I think you like playing with my ass afterwards. You
do, don't you?"

"There's nothing quite like sticking your fingers in a boy- pussy," I
chortled, pushing my fingers in deeper.

He relaxed before the onslaught, giving way with a sigh from deep
inside. It almost sounded as if it started from where my fingers were.

"Except a well-fucked boy-pussy," Joey replied on cue. "Man, you sure
screwed me good."

"That was the plan, lover boy. Nothing like having a well stretched
ass-hole to finish off your day, is there? You want me to bring you off
again?"

"Nah, I'm okay. I don't need it."

"Then stop complaining. Man, I can't believe it's opened up like this."

"It's just loose because your dumb-dick cock's so big."

"Yeah, and you're big enough to take it. Besides, it's not a dumb-dick
cock. I figure ole George's the smartest boy fucker in the island," I
retorted, then promptly winked.

"Now there you go thinking with your dick, Dad. How do you figure that?"

"It gets up your hiney every chance it gets," I guffawed.  "Hey, cum-bum,
you feel like cleaning up or are you going to sit there drooling jizz until
dark?"

Cum-bum was one of the many endearing names I called him, but usually only
when it was appropriate.  This was one of those times.

Joey grinned back at me, leaned forward, gave me a wet loving kiss and
stood up cautiously, ready to staunch the flow if necessary. It always
amused me to see him walk after we had sex. He walked purposefully if
unsteadily, noticeably bowlegged across the deck, cupping his right hand
behind him just in case. There were matching trickles on the insides of
both of his lean brown thighs, trickles that could become a splattering
gush if his bowels exhausted as they sometimes did. Not that it bothered me
if he dripped on the deck. It was better there than leaving spots on the
carpet in the cabin. Carpet cleaner cost five dollars a bottle and wasn't
much better than hot water except it killed the smell.

He gave me a fond smile over his shoulder when he reached the stern. He had
to use a hand to pull himself up to the dock instead of springing up from
the side of the boat in the graceful leap that he usually performed when it
was low tide. I picked up a towel and followed close behind him.  When we
were both on the dock, I rested my hand on his bony shoulder while we
walked down to the tiny beach that was ours alone.  Like Joey, I was a
creature of habit when it came to washing off after sex. Cleanliness was
not high on either of our priorities, but cooling down certainly was.  I
splashed water over us as soon as we were knee deep. We both kept smiling,
knowingly, consumed with joy as much as from still feeling the lingering
urge as the intense closeness that came from having sex. There was no
hiding the signs of our recent intimacy, yet this place, like our love, was
a secret from all but a few people.  We were safe there, safe to express
who and what we were.

"Wash that ass out good, lover boy. I might be eating from it before long."

Joey shrugged, returning one of his nonchalant looks that said that he
wouldn't mind if I ate him out right there and then, mess or no mess. He
squatted in the tepid water, submerging his legs and buttocks. His hand
moved behind him, rinsing away the remnants of mutual pleasure. However,
without an enema to flush his bowels whatever was inside him would remain
for later. An hour perhaps, or until we went to bed. Our sex was never
scheduled in advance. It happened when it happened. In truth, there was not
much of a justification in washing afterwards. Without soap, a lot of the
oily film on his thighs and buttocks would last until he bathed
properly. To my mind it did not matter if he washed with soap. The oil
would not hurt him. Joey had spent two years covered in coconut oil from
head to toe. Not that a boy needed protection from the sun when his skin
was only a shade lighter than one of the local boys. I put it on Joey as
much to enjoy the sensation of applying it as to keep his skin soft. He
ended up with a sheen that all but glowed in the dark.

"What are you going to do when I start getting hair, Dad?" he asked
curiously, standing up but looking down to examine the little thing that
dangled between his legs.

It was his way of teasing me, because he asked the same question almost
every day, but it was also a question that was frequently on my
mind. Perhaps that was why he delighted in taunting me with what might or
might not lay around the corner. It wasn't that there was anything to see
beyond the silvery sun-bleached fuzz that had always been there faintly on
his arms and legs, but he was getting older.

Recently, I began to think that his balls had dropped lower, but close
inspection showed there was almost an inch to go when his pouch was fully
relaxed. If it had happened, it was sometime during the last month or two.
I could only hope so. The only thing I could be certain of was that his
balls were slightly larger than they had been two years ago.  That was a
bad sign, according to what I had been told by Joey's doctor.  At nearly
twelve, testicle growth was supposed be pronounced. I watched carefully,
hoping, because there was still time. Another year could make all the
difference, or no change at all. At that age a boy was entirely at nature's
mercy, but sooner rather than later puberty would either start to show its
face, or not . I kept hoping. The alternative was too depressing to think
about.

"I'll probably make you shave it off, lover boy. I love you just the way
you are," I answered with what I hoped would be taken as amusement. Because
it was amusing in its own way, a boy's longing for the inevitable march
toward manhood that necessarily would make him less desirable to men like
me.

"Maybe I'll have a big hairy one like him," he said, pointing at his friend
and constant companion, my dick.

"In your dreams, Joey. There ain't no way I'm putting up with it."

He grinned at me. "Fernando said that girls like guys with hairy dicks."

Yet, there was a tone in his still unbroken voice that was hopeful. We both
knew that girls were the last thing in his mind.

"Like he'd know what girls like," I snorted derisively. "Do you want to eat
dinner ever again?"

He shrugged, smiling, but not answering. He liked to tease me that one day
in the near future he would have a girl friend, if only because it was
never going to happen. There was no doubt that the girls thought he was
good looking. They flirted with him, or tired to. He was good-looking with
a body to match his handsome face. Sometimes, a lot more often than I was
willing to admit, I found myself thinking that he was too good looking for
his own good.

"Don't sweat it, Dad." He grinned. "I'm planning on shaving if off as soon
as I get some hair you can see."

He dabbed the towel around his groin, drying off the water.

"I think my balls are starting to get bigger," he added seriously

"In your dreams. You know, Joey, there ain't no way I'm fucking a boy with
big hairy nuts. I'm cutting them off and using them for fish bait when I
see them start getting bigger. You'd better hope they stop growing."

We both laughed.

"What's for dinner, Dad?"

"Other than boy-balls?" Joey grimaced and shook his head to show it wasn't
on the menu as far as he was concerned. "I got some nice tuna steaks
today," I answered. We practically lived on tuna during the fishing
season. "Figured I'd scorch 'em on the grill with some lime."

Joey sniffed the air with another exaggerated roll of his eyes. "So that's
the smell. The limes don't help you know, Dad. Tuna still tastes like
crap."

"You want some more of this, Joey-boy," I jeered.

I held my penis between my hands and wobbled it to and fro.  Joey smirked
and promptly bent over, obscenely splitting his buttocks wide apart with a
dark brown hand on each sun-tanned cheek. Even inside his crack was tanned,
although how the sun ever penetrated into that narrow crevice I had no
idea. His anus was still very dilated, surrounded by a ruddy ellipse
extending onto his cheeks. I always felt a little ashamed when I saw the
evidence of where my penis had been rubbing for the last fifteen minutes.

"Aren't you sore?" I asked concernedly.

"Not much," he answered, standing straight again. He smirked. "I'm used to
your over-sized dick. What's the matter? Don't you have the energy to get
it up again, old man?"

"I'm hungry. And not for boy-ass either."

"Can we eat at Fernie's tomorrow night then? It's Friday," he added
hopefully.

"Hey, my jerk-chicken is almost as good as his. You said so the last time I
made it," I laughed.

"In your dreams. I only said that because anything's better than smelly old
fish," Joey giggled. He thought for a few seconds and then winked. "Hey,
Dad, I came twice, you know."

"Yeah, I know kid. You nearly tore my cock off the way you were jerking
your little chicken-ass around today. I'm surprised you didn't end up
shooting something outta that boy-dick of yours, carrying on like that."

"Dad?"

The tone of his voice had changed and I regarded him, all four-foot
ten-inches. His eyes wavered, not greeting mine. He always did that when he
was nervous or afraid.

"What's wrong, lover boy?"

"When am I seeing Doctor Lamar again?"

"I forget exactly. In a few more weeks I think. I've got it written down
somewhere on the boat."

"What if,... well,... you know,... if it's what he said,...?" Joey asked
anxiously. "Will we have to go back?"

"If we do, it'll only be to Miami, Joey." I sighed. "I promised,
remember. And even if you have to have an operation, it still won't be for
another year or so."

"I don't want another operation," he said dismally.

"I know."

How could I tell him that in all probability, the damage that had been done
was irreversible? 'I'm sorry son, you're going to have to spend the rest of
your life gettignhormone injections because some fucking ass-hole smashed
in the ack of your head with a baseball bat?' It made me sick to even think
about it.

I don't want to ever leave here, Dad."

"Neither do I."

He shuffled his feet, still gazing down. The sand was already so dry that
it flowed between his toes. Against his bronzed feet, the sand was
white. His feet were petite, somewhere between size five and six. According
to Doctor Lamar, the growth of a boy's feet was one of the first obvious
signs of approaching puberty. It followed a noticeable increase in the size
of his testicles that dropped them lower in the scrotum. It was a sign that
was far less obvious unless a boy went around naked. There was no doubt
that Joey's balls had grown slightly over the last six months, but they
were still tiny and clung beneath his penis. If an increase in size and the
drop-thing was going to happen, it should be soon, at least according to
Joey's endocrinologist. He was supposed to be a specialist in pediatric
pituitary problems. By the time Joey turned twelve there ought to be a
noticeable difference, was the way he put it.  Would a few more weeks,
enough to make two months, make that much difference? It seemed impossible.

Perhaps Joey needed to see Doctor Lamar sooner than his scheduled
appointment. The headaches hadn't gotten any worse, although his ability to
adjust to sudden changes in temperature had worstened with the heat. The
lack of testicular developemnt might mean the operation should be moved
up. I shuddered at the thought. Dr. Lamar was Joey's best hope, and he went
as far as saying that the risk might not be justified by the results. He
wasn't conservative, just brutally honest.

"What if I don't want the operation?" Joey asked softly. It was a worry
that was often on his mind.

"Hm,... why not?" I knew the answer, or rather I thought I did. We had not
really talked about it even though it was our central worry

He shrugged, trying to appear unconcerned. He was like that.  Carefree and
undecided about the most important things. Little things bothered him. The
big things he found difficult to talk about.

"I don't mind being like this," he said in a blasé voice.

"Joey,..." I began.

There was no point in fighting with him. I wasn't happy about him having
the operation. Neurosurgery was very dangerous, even with a highly skilled
surgeon like Doctor Lamar. It would take him weeks to recover and the
benefit might be so slight that it was hardly worth the risk. The
alternative was very depressing to me, if not to Joey.

"We can't afford it anyway," he blurted out.

"That's not something you need to worry about," I replied brusquely. He did
not have to remind me that money was scarce.

He frowned at me. It was supposed to be a partnership. I had promised him
that.  I told him that I would always value his opinion when we left
Chicago, when we started a new life together. It was a very different kind
of partnership to what I had envisioned, but it was still based on trust
and respect. That it was based on a lot more love than most marriages
helped us get through the difficult times.

"I'm sorry, Joey," I said humbly.

"I'm hungry, Dad. Let's go eat," he mumbled.

He shivered suddenly and wrapped his arms around his chest.  His arms
erupted in gooseflesh. He shivered although the temperature was close to
eighty degrees after the storm. I nearly cried when he stomped his feet and
tried to get his body warm again. In came in bursts, hot then cold, always
without warning. He said he was getting used to it, that his body was
adjusting faster, that it was never as bad as it looked, but between
shaking with the chills and sweating with fevers, it was very distressing.

"We could go over to Fernardo's tonight?" I suggested, hoping to get his
mind off his condition. "Some of his jerk-chicken sounds pretty good to me
right now."

Joey shrugged. Gooseflesh had suddenly formed along his legs. I wanted to
hug him tight, keep him warm until the chills were gone.

"Are you fishing again tomorrow?" he asked pointedly. He had me figured
out.

"Yeah. I've got a charter with some smart fuckers from New York, Joey," I
replied without much interest.

I knew what Joey was after. The fish markets preferred fish that were
caught by net, not on a hook, so it was often difficult to get rid of the
fish my customers insisted on keeping, but seldom wanted to take with them
once they reached the dock. Like Joey, I was tired of fish as well, but
there would be even more fish to get rid of the next day.

"Well? So it's fish for dinner yet again."

"Don't worry. I promise I'll sell whatever we get tomorrow, even if it's
ten cents a pound. Besides, from what I saw of the dude who made the
booking, we probably won't catch anything. They'll probably get seasick as
soon as we clear the harbor," I laughed.

"Probably." Joey smiled. His body was slowly adjusting to the change in
temperature.

"Hell! I'll have to do everything except drink their beer for them."

Joey laughed. "I can come help," he suggested eagerly.  "You're going to
need someone at the helm if they're that bad."

"I wish you could, but I seem to remember that you have school, babe. I
think tomorrow is going to be a repeat of today, kid.  I'll expect to meet
you at the dock at four."

I was met by a wry face. It was no secret that Joey was little different to
the typical pre-teen island boy. He hated going to school with a passion
that was equal to my dislike of entertaining tourists from New York. Both
of us persisted because that was what we had to do. The things we really
enjoyed, we didn't have to do. Perhaps that was the reason why we enjoyed
them.

"That dude at the dock?" Joey began uncertainly. His voice had lowered as
if he was about to confide a secret..

"Yeah, what about him?"

"He pays Vincente two-fifty a day," he announced suddenly.  "That's so
he'll do sex stuff."

"Probably," I ventured, without giving it much thought.

I wondered how Joey had been able to find that out. It was somewhat more
than I expected for a dark-skinned boy whore. According to my good friend,
fellow boy-lover, and frequent drinking companion, Fernando; renting a boy
for a night could cost as much as chartering my boat for an all-day fishing
expedition. Vaguely, I wondered what the boy charged for a fuck.  It was
probably not as much as a young hooker would get in Miami, but boys who had
sex for money were, according to Fernando, becoming increasingly rare.

"He fucks Vincente," Joey added with a strangely disconcerting giggle. "He
told me."

"I expect so. What did you tell him about us?"

"Nothing. You aren't surprised?"

"I guess I'm not. If you want anything bad enough, you'll pay whatever it
costs, Joey. It's a matter of what's called demand and supply."

""Like buying stuff at Grendal's?" Joey chortled. "Two- fifty! At least
that's what Vincente said he got. It sure is a hell of a lot of money for
some boy-ass."

Grendal's was the supermarket on Garrison Street, the next road up from
Farley Street. Their prices were out of line, but we still shopped
there. Without a car, there was not a lot of choice for the day- to-day
things and the extra it cost to shop there wasn't worth getting a taxi for.

"Yeah, I guess. It's the same as I make doing a half-day charter," I
agreed.

"You could make a lot more money selling my ass, Dad," he joked
crudely. "I'd only have to work a couple of weeks and we could buy that new
air-conditioner."

"You know, that's what Fernie was saying a few weeks ago. He was joking,
but the way he put it, you're sitting on a gold mine, kid."  Joey
shrugged. I grinned, loving him so much that it hurt inside. "But you know
something, lover boy? There ain't no one fucking this boy-pussy but me," I
rebuked, making a half-hearted grab for Joey's buttocks.

He jumped, slapping his behind with glee and pushing my hand away at the
same time. He had reflexes like a cat. "So what do you think it's worth?"

"Your ass?" I laughed. He grinned back at me and nodded.  "Hm,... well
you're much cuter than Vincente, that's for sure. Looks are very important
in the flesh trade. And you're nicely tanned all over, and you're built
right, but especially where it counts. That's got to account for
something. Plus most men prefer white kids, even if you aren't all that
white. You have a body to die for. If Vincente gets two-fifty for opening
the back door, hell, you ought to get five hundred for going all the
way. Assuming you were into going all the way, that is. Which you aren't!"

"He's got jizz too," Joey pointed out as if maturity had a positive effect
on value, instead of diminishing returns with every month once hair
appeared. He considered what I had said. "Five hundred for a fuck, huh?
Geez, Dad. That sure is a lot of money. I could make a good living just
putting some guy's cock up my ass a couple of times a day."

"Maybe, but Vincente won't see more than a hundred of it, if he's lucky," I
commented dryly.

"Why?"

"He's a whore, Joey. That means he has a pimp. There's someone who lines up
his customers, takes care of him,.... That sort of thing."

"A hundred bucks isn't all that much. I could get that if I bagged
groceries at Grendals for a few days. Mr. Grendal said he'll pay me three
bucks an hour."

"That's right, or if you cleaned a couple of tourist boats.  You could make
a hundred bucks a day doing that if you worked hard. The sex thing
is,... well it's a very dangerous game for a boy your age to be playing," I
pointed out.

"Like because of AIDS and stuff?"

"Yeah. And in other ways too. Vincente'll probably get hurt sooner or
later, if he hasn't already."

"Hurt how? You mean because a guy's cock is too big." It was no secret that
Joey had a thing for big cocks. I teased him all the time about it.

"Yes," I answered.

Steve Adams was well-hung from what I could see behind his shorts. He was
more than big enough to do permanent injury to a boy, especially if he
didn't take his time.

"That and other ways. Some men like to hurt boys."

"Why?"

I shrugged, not surprised that he was asking. I had never hurt him
intentionally. "I guess people like that are mean as sharks, Joey. They
resent paying for sex. Maybe they feel guilty and take it out on the
boy. There are some men who get their kicks from hurting kids."

Joey seemed very quiet at that. He fidgeted with boyish awkwardness, not
scared but certainly reluctant to pursue the subject further. I rubbed his
shoulders. Finally, he moved away.

"Dad?"

"Yeah."

"Today, at the wharf,... there was a really weird guy up there where the
trucks are supposed to park."

"Yes?"

"He said something to Vincente when we came past him."

"Which was?"

"I didn't hear it all, because we were laughing and carrying.  I'm sure he
said it to Vincente, only I don't think he understood. I mean Vincente
seemed to know him, but he kept on walking. He said something about living
righteously in the eyes of the Lord or being evil and dying."

I stroked my chin. "Maybe he was trying to be funny. Or maybe he was one of
those religious freaks. Fernando told me a while back that there's a group
of Bible bashers hanging around Georgetown. IT's probably some sort of
religious commune."

"Yeah, maybe. He sure looked strange."

"Strange? Do you mean he was dressed strangely?"

I had in mind a man dressed like Quaker, complete with hat and beard. A
person like that would stand out like a sore thumb in Georgetown.

Joey shrugged. "I don't know, Dad. He just looked at us like we were,... I
don't know,... like we were doing something bad, I suppose.  Except we
weren't. We were just fooling around kicking a coconut shell.  It probably
wasn't anything. Only,..."

"Only what?"

"I don't know, Dad. I just got a feeling,... like I'd seen him before
somewhere,.... but I couldn't remember where. Just forget it.  I don't know
about you, but I'm starving."





Chapter 3



By the time we had dinner cooked, eaten, and cleaned away, it was
dark. Joey sat under the stars with me, talking for a while about nothing
in particular as we usually did after dinner, until I finally told him to
get his books and go to work. He had math and social studies homework for
the next day, and he was making slow progress on an essay on the history of
the Caribbean that was due the following week. Joey was like me-he hated
any kind of schedule. Life was intended to be lived for the moment, not
according to a plan that extended days, weeks, months, even years into the
future.

Even with the looming threat of being permanently grounded or until Hell
froze over, whatever came first, he still made a feeble attempt to get me
aroused. He brought me another beer, spending a few minutes of sitting in
my lap kissing and hugging and getting a drink in when he could. It was
romantic, looking up at the vast night sky and the stars spread across it
from end to end. He wriggled, getting comfortable, pressing his cheek to
mine, reaching for my groin. I was excited and he could feel my erection
with the palm of his hand as he kneaded it relentlessly. However, I was
resolute. He had priorities just as I did.

With a grimace he gave up and started doing his homework, not an easy task
given the miserable light that came from the boat's 12 volt electrical
system. I sat in my chair, drinking beer, looking at Joey's tousled
head. Inside that head was a bright boy, but he hated anything to do with
school. When he wrote with a pencil with a much-chewed end, it was with
deft thin fingers making precise movements. His effort would not last very
long. Perhaps a page or two. Joey was only like that until his
concentration lagged. His attention span for school-related things could be
measured in minutes at the best of times.

In mute admiration I studied him.  His wiry arms, his square shoulders, his
compact chest. He looked as dark as a native boy, at least when he was by
himself. Put beside his friends, Joey was a very different
color-gold-bronze rather than coffee-brown. His hair was also lighter,
bleached by the sun and salt, from dark at the roots to golden-yellow at
the tips. There was just a slight curl where it grew longer on his neck.
Most of the local boys had very dark, tightly curled hair.

When Joey was home from school, there were always other boys hanging
around. He was a natural magnet for them. I enjoyed their company, often
going with them down to our beach where they would play and show off their
naked skinny bodies. I liked to watch, and I considered it my private
'show'. They were sexy too, but not like Joey.  He was the master of
them. They flaunted their occasional if very noticeable erections at me
with boyish bravado, always making certain that I looked long and
hard. They seemed to know that Joey and I had a special relationship that
somehow excluded them. Just being a man necessitated their efforts to
seduce me. It was a game that boys played when there was no fear of
punishment. I treated it with amusement, although Joey smirked and knew
what effect it had beneath my clothes. The lewd show never lasted more than
a few minutes, before they darted off, giggling among themselves, always
disappearing behind the palms at the southern end of the beach. Often when
he returned, Joey told me that some of the boys had fucked each other while
they lay on the warm white sand, but not him, at least not yet. Instead he
sucked his best friend, Fernando's boy, his nephew, who everyone called
Roddy-short for Rodriquez, but equally descriptive of the constantly erect
pubescent cock that was proudly displayed whenever his loose cotton shorts
came down.



Joey was bright, but he was slow to act when his interest waned. When he
did not care to try, he was as lazy as any boy could be.  He looked up at
me and smiled temptingly to show that he was nearly finished. I nodded that
he could work on the essay at another time. For the next few minutes he
grumbled over his math problems, then took to gnawing on the end of his
pencil. It was his way of asking me to help. I wandered over. Behind the
table was a very naked boy. His legs were apart and his left hand was
wrapped his very erect boy-cock. On a good day it was just on three inches
long, enough to be a handful for him. For me it was a job for two fingers
and a thumb. Less if he didn't want me to touch the sensitive head.

"You playing with your dick again, lover boy?" I observed.  "You're s'posed
to be doing math."

Joey shrugged. His mother had wanted him circumcised to look like
me. Although I had experience with only one boy at the time, me, I was
perfectly happy with the way his cock was. Indeed, I had not thought much
about it at the time he was born, yet his mother prevailed. I had to admit
that when his little hand squeezed and the tiny helmeted bulb bulged out
between the thumb and first finger of his fist, it was very cute. Fernando
told me that for a long while, a year or so, the skin on the end of Roddy's
rod had to be eased back carefully if it was not to hurt. It was supposed
to be more sensitive when the skin was left on. It sounded more like an
inconvenience than an advantage, although all of Joey's friends were that
way. It was the Caribbean fashion. They all had bigger dicks than Joey too,
even Rodriguez who was still a few months shy of turning twelve.

He was a few inches taller than Joey, but for boys as well as men, height
was not as important as cock-size. Being smaller in the dick- department
was no disadvantage in my mind, although in all likelihood it relegated
Joey to the bottom if he every let another boy mount him.

There was a pecking order among the island boys that was mostly based upon
athletic skill, but that changed when it came to sex.  Then, the importance
of penis size was never more apparent. I smiled to myself, wondering
whether that explained Joey's popularity with other boys, unlikely as the
possibility seemed. Perhaps they liked him because of what he did with them
behind the palms. Joey was adamant that he was a 'one man boy', but he had
lied about other things. All boys lie and I knew better than to pry into
what he did behind the palms.

It was private there, where the boys went after swimming. And pretty too,
postcard pretty with a superb view looking along the curve of beach, arcing
palms, and a lagoon that looked as if it had come from paradise.

Fernando and I joked about what the boys did there, much to Joey and
Roddy's consternation when we came too close to the truth.  Sometimes I sat
on deck and trained my 10 x 50 binoculars into the tangled undergrowth
behind the palms. If I was lucky I caught a glimpse of chocolate-colored
bodies doing things that boys did when adults weren't around to stop them.
Masturbating each other, sucking cocks without restraint, and a few times,
confirming Joey's claim, I had even watched a couple of them fucking, doggy
style or straddling a fallen palm tree. They took turns, but not for both
roles. The lucky ones were the boys who were sexually mature, even lining
up behind one of the younger lads. There was no reticence when it came to
boys coupling.  Once, I observed an older very-dark teen with a smaller,
pale-skinned boy who could not have been more than nine or ten. The kid
shucked his expensive designer-label vacation clothes and lay face up in
the sand with his knees lodged beside his ears. He was there for no more
than five minutes.  The teen hunched over him, driving hard and fast to get
it finished before they were disturbed. The young boy looked as if he
should have been playing on the beach outside one of the expensive hotels,
not there getting his butt hammered into the white-hot sand. I didn't
care. I was glad only that it wasn't Joey. That day at least, I could be
confident for I could see that he was playing with Roddy and another native
boy further down the beach. According to Fernando when I told him later
that night, that boy had not been the first white kid who had lost his
virginity on that beach. Apparently, it happened quite often.



"I nearly got it all done," Joey said moodily.

"What's the problem this time?" I said, looking down at the erection that
persisted between his legs. He was perpetually hard, or at least he was
whenever I was around.

"Fucking math. I don't know why I have to do this crap! You don't need math
to run charters, least nothing more than adding up what people owe you and
the cost of gas and stuff."

I shrugged. "I wasn't always a charter captain," I remarked soberly.

Joey didn't answer. Instead, he pushed his textbook towards me and stabbed
his finger at a problem he could not answer. He needed help and it was my
responsibility to make the effort to help him. I rubbed my chin. Math was
never my strong suit.

"Hm,... If three apples and five pears cost $2.60, and five apples and
three pears cost $2.20, how much would five apples and five pears cost?" I
read aloud. "It doesn't sound that hard."

"Then you do it!" He almost shouted in frustration.

"What do I get if I get it right?"

Unless we were in bed together, usually, the person who brought up the idea
of having sex did it as part of a game. It was a reward for winning or
'punishment' for losing, part of the eternal competition between a man and
a growing boy. More often than not, I won and Joey 'lost', but that was how
he wanted it. He liked being on the 'bottom'. He won his share of the other
battles. He usually got what he wanted.

Joey smirked. "Hm,..." He pretended to think about it.  "Whatever you want,
Daddo."

"Anything?"

Joey nodded shamelessly.

"Even keeping it in all night?"

"Yeah, whatever,... If it turns you on. I suppose it's okay."

He tried to sound reluctant, yet he smirked. He always pretended he didn't
like doing that, but he did. It made for an uncomfortable night for me, and
his anus loose the next day, but that couldn't be helped.

"Okay. You've got a deal, butt-boy."

I doodled on the paper he handed me, drawing a crude imitation of apples
and pears, except that the apples looked like butts and the pears like
cocks and they fitted together like we did, a man inside a boy. Joey
realized what I was doing before I was halfway through and erupted into a
fit of giggles.

"You forgot the jizz, Dad" he said gleefully.

"Nah, see they're boys like you and Roddy. None of 'em have jizz yet."

"Dad, just do the problem," he remonstrated. Still he smirked crudely. He
was into sex as much as I was. Perhaps more.

"Okay, okay. I guess you could do it by trial and error?" I suggested.

"You're s'posed to use equations. Like three As plus five Ps equals 260,"
he said, pointing where he had written something.

"Ah. I guess you could do it that way. Trial and error is probably faster,"
I suggested hopefully, trying hard to remember how equations like that were
solved.

Joey laughed. "If you want a piece of my ass tonight, you'd better use
equations, otherwise I get it wrong."

"Who said I wanted another fuck? You said anything I wanted," I reminded
him.

'You said you were going to leave him in all night."

"No I didn't. I just suggested that as one possibility."

"Just do the equations, Dad!"

I scrawled out the first one again because I had trouble reading Joey's
scrawl, then the second one beneath it. How were two equations solved? It
had been thirty years since I had learned how it was done. It was not the
sort of thing that you remembered for that long. A year was my
limit. Anything else went into the file, or was forgotten.

"Anything, right? Anything at all?" I taunted, stalling for time.

Joey shrugged, braced his elbows on the table and rested his suntanned,
handsome head in his hands. He regarded me affectionately.  Like me, he was
prepared to forget the homework and go do something else, something that we
both found more enjoyable.

"I thought you wanted to leave him in me all night?" he suggested again.

It was proof positive of what he wanted. He glanced away uncertainly,
hearing the low rumbling noise of diesel engines. That boat was probably
outside the reef, but the air was still so the sound traveled almost
uninterrupted across the lagoon.

"Hm, I still might have me some boy-pussy. I haven't decided yet."

"How much do you reckon my teacher makes?" he asked. Like most boys his
age, he changed the topic whenever his interest waned.

"No idea. Probably thirty or forty thousand U.S. a year.  Something like
that I expect. Teachers generally don't make all that much. Maybe they make
more back home. I expect they get about the same as a cop."

"So like about seven or eight hundred a week here?"

I nodded vaguely, barely realizing that Joey had done the math in his
head. He was like that. Sometimes he took me by surprise. He also had my
insight, and an innate ability to reduce a complex situation to a few
simple facts that made a lot sense. He had the making of a very good
detective once he had developed the ability to focus his thoughts.

"So I could make like in less than two days what she makes in a week? If I
did what Vincente does?"

"I guess. If you let some dirty old man who had lots of money fuck your
ass. Which you aren't going to do. Least not while I'm around, Joey," I
said bluntly.

Joey smirked, enjoying his game. "I wasn't planning to, Dad.  But I don't
see why you say no. You're a dirty old man, and you fuck me all the time,
only you don't have the money to pay what I'm worth."

I laughed. "We've got enough money to be happy and that's what counts,
lover boy."

"But if you had to, would you sell your ass to get some cash?"

"No." I was adamant about that.

"Even if it was a matter of life and death?"

"Hm,... Still no. I don't know why you'd even ask. I would be so pissed if
you did that, Joey. I'll never let you do it willingly, that's for sure."

"But,... well,... what if I only did it a couple of times,...  We could get
the boat fixed up, and other stuff we can't afford."

"No! Stop talking about it. It isn't going to happen Joey."

"Just a couple of times and we could make a thousand bucks, Dad. That's
more than enough to get the air-conditioning fixed." Was he serious? He
sounded like he was.

"No one with half a brain needs money that badly."

Joey glared at me. I wasn't sure whether he was serious or not.

"Well, can you fucking do it or not?"

"Do what? Oh, the problem? Yeah, I think you just switch things around."

"Wow!" he exclaimed sarcastically. "So do it, Dad."

"Anything I want right?" I teased.

Joey giggled and nodded. His moods never lasted very long. I started to
write out the first equation again, swapping the terms before substituting
in the second equation. Finally, I created a third equation with five of
each fruit and recalculated.

"Three bucks!" I announced proudly. "You see how I did it?"

Joey nodded. He was bored. I had known all along that he had not even tried
to do it. He could have done it if he tried. He yawned.

"Time for bed, lover boy," I announced.

"I'm not sleepy. You wanna go for a walk on the beach for a while, Dad?"

"Yeah."