Date: Mon, 31 Dec 2001 09:52:07 -0500 From: Tom Cup <tom_cup@hotmail.com> Subject: The Innocents by Richard Dean - Part 1 Chapter 1 Gay - A/Y The Innocents by Richard Dean Copyright 2001 by the Paratwa Partnership: A Colorado Corporation. All rights reserved. No part of this work may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic or mechanical, except in the case of reviews, without written permission from the Paratwa Partnership, Inc, 354 Plateau Drive, Florissant, CO 80816 This is a fictional story involving youth/youth or adult/youth sexual relationships. If this type of material offends you, please do not read any further. This material is intended for mature adult audiences. Names, characters, locations and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. ************************************************************************ This story is part of the Tom Cup Library and may be accessed at http://tomcup.iscool.net or at http://www.eroscities.com ************************************************************************ The Innocents By Richard Dean Part 1 Chapter 1 The meeting I spent much of the afternoon sitting at an outdoor cafe, nursing a few cold delicious beers while jotting notes in my journal and, of course, people watching. My concentration is often broken, when I tune in to specific conversations which intrude or of which I find of interest. During these broken times, my gaze skips to the hordes of young, bronzed beauties of Brazilians as they swim, sun or play and cavort on the beach across Avenida Atlantica. Their perfection of beauty in form and figure is accentuated by their beach attire, most notably, in the thong-like swimwear they proudly display. These wisps of cloth and string are called "dental floss" by the locals, which cover only the genitalia, but display their swollen assets in a lively manner of sexual innuendo and blatancy. Nearing the hour of 5 pm, my "moco" arrived at my table bearing his serving tray with my evening repast. He efficiently set my meal on the table with practiced grace and attention to detail. "Good appetite, Sir," he said. "Thank you, Paulo, I'm certain it will be as pleasing as all of the other meals I've opportuned here." I set into the casual task of eating and savoring the aromas wafting to my olfactory senses. Suddenly from behind me a pitiful voice beseiged me, "Por favor, Senhor Yanqui, um reais o mais por meu?" Before me, stood one of the innumerable street children poorly dressed in stained shorts and shirt, hair overgrown with smudged face and dirty hands and in need of a wash. My waiter rushed up to the table and implored to the child, "Shoo, shoo, do not disturb the gentleman, go away or I shall call the police!" "Moco," I said, "do I look to be dull-witted and incompetent to you?" "Indeed not, Sir," he replied, while pushing the child away from my table. "I do appreciate your concern for my welfare, but my concern is for this child. He is hungry. I want you to take him to the restroom so he can wash his face and hands and bring him back to this table. I'll share my meal with him or order him something that he would like to eat. He will be my guest, and therefore, accorded polite and prompt consideration as you have done for me. Is that clear?" "Yes Sir", he responded with a reserved bow of his head. Nodding to the boy, he said, "Follow me, boy!" Wordlessly following the waiter into the bowels of the building, the boy looked back at me, with what I discerned as tears in his eyes. My heart, at that moment, dropped with a thud filled with an ache for the difficult time and situation the lad must be in. I patiently awaited the return of both, waiter and child. Shortly they both arrived at the outdoor tables. "Your guest, Master Antonio Carpazetti d' Souza, has arrived, Sir," the waiter declared. He pulled out a chair and indicated the boy seat himself. "Thank you, Moco, well done," I said with a slight wink and a smile. "Would the young gentleman prefer a menu or would he like to have what you have been served?" "Perhaps, you should address our guest to his preference, eh?" "Yes Sir. Master Antonio, would you like to see a menu, or would you like to eat what the Senhor is having?" Antonio was silent, uncomfortable in his surroundings, and clearly disturbed by other customers staring and taking in the scene which had presented itself. In a small voice, quivering, shaken, he managed to evoke, "I'll have what the Senhor is," swallowing noisily, "having." "I'll bring your order as soon as possible, young Sir." the waiter declared and left us, but not before adjusting the plate and table service in front of the young man. "The moco informs me your name is Antonio. Is that how you like to be called or do you have a familiar name?" "Toninho (ton-EEN-yo), Sir." "Very well, Toninho. You are a welcome guest at my table. I notice that you clean up very well. Perhaps you were playing on the beach earlier and had been unable to wash up properly, eh?" I said with a wink. "Not really," he replied whispering sotto voce, "but thank you, Sir." "Please call me Ricardo, Toninho. I do appreciate your good manners and civility. It shows good breeding. How old are you, son? Do you live in one of the favelas (ghettos) in Rio?" "I am from the favelas, Sir. I have 14 years." "Ahh, I see. You live with your parents and family there?" I asked trying to determine if he was one of the children, unschooled, leaving the favelas for the street to play, or earn money or if he were of the streets; indicating he was summarily abandoned by his family, to make his own way. "I lived with them for a time, but they have moved away and I can no longer find them. I'm living with friends," he easily lied, rather than admit his present circumstances. "Excellent, it's always good to be with your friends. Are they reliable?" My question went unanswered, as the waiter arrived at our table and placed Toninho's food, bread, and a bottle of Guarana (a carbonated fruit drink) in front of him. "Enjoy your meal, Sirs", he said and left us to our repast. I watched Toninho ravage all that was in front of him, as I picked lightly at my meal. "Would you like more, Toninho? I've eaten only half on my plate. You are welcome to it, if you wish." At that point we exchanged plates and he went to work to finish off my plate. After eating we sat at the table which had been cleared of all except our drinks, while I lit a cigarette and we each enjoyed a "cafezinho". During this time he asked a series of questions about the reason I was in Rio de Janeiro, about my work, where I lived, and how I managed to maintain a little apartment, when I was gone to work for 2 months and able to return on the 3rd month to enjoy it. Using my knowledge of Portuguese: for the words I did not remember or know, I would use Spanish with a few words of English intermingled. Toninho could only speak Portuguese, a few words or phrases of English, but if I spoke Spanish to him slowly and enunciated distinctly, he could ultimately understand the gist of our conversation in full comprehension. "Toninho, I must leave in a few moments, as I have an appointment with several friends of mine. Will you be alright?" "Sim Senhor Ricardo, muito obrigado por tudo." "Your most welcome, anytime, Toninho. Should you need to get in touch with me, you need only contact Mr. Oliveira, our moco. He will direct you to my apartment, OK?" Toninho arose from the chair and came around to my side of the table with an outstretched hand. Before I shook his hand, I pulled two 10 Real notes from my pocket and palmed it to him, as we shook hands. He looked at the money, smiled, and thanked me again. I watched him stroll purposefully away, with no backward glance. The image of him became etched within my memory. His height of approximately 5'5" or `6" contained a sturdy body proportionate to his height. His skin coloring reflected that of his mixed Italian heritage, brown eyes with flecks of gold twinkling as they sparkled. I noted that he was in the throes of puberty as his legs were touched by dark hair, as were his arms. His smile was genuine and given freely, showing strong white teeth that brought out more of his charm. I thought that would be the last I ever saw Toninho. I was mistaken! *********************************************************************** Send comments to: richard@boystories.zzn.com To support this and other stories by Richard Dean, visit http://www.eroscities.com ***********************************************************************