Date: Thu, 13 Apr 2017 22:36:51 +0200
From: Nick Brady <y2kslacker@mail.com>
Subject: Mexico - Chapter 2.

MEXICO – Chapter 2.

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Copyright 2017 by Nick Brady, all rights reserved.

-------------------------------------------------------

Juan proved to be both an excellent gardener and a pleasant companion. He
came faithfully almost every day as soon as his school was out to check the
progress of his project. The little seeds began to sprout in a few weeks,
and he kept everything watered and tended. There were no weeds.

He managed to find enough to do to provide an excuse to come every day, and
left with Maria after the meal was prepared. After I insisted that he be
allowed to join me for supper, she cleaned up the cooking utensils, then
left as soon as the meal was on the table, leaving it for us to wash the
dishes. Once the dishes were done, Juan left for her house not long
afterwards, leaving me alone.

When I first made arrangements with Maria, we set a price for her weekly
services which I assumed included Juan's work in my garden and as general
errand boy. I supposed that what he got out of the deal came from her. At
least, I didn't pay him anything directly. On Saturdays, he came again to
check on things, and I enjoyed his company. This became our regular
routine.

By the middle of May, the weather had grown much warmer. The plants he had
started from seed were beginning to look promising. With the help of my
simple Spanish to English dictionary, he informed me that he had planted
Zinnias, Marigolds and Lantana in the flower beds near the house. In the
little garden plot he had built in the center of the courtyard, were
tomatoes, peppers and squash. He assured me that these all liked hot
weather, and would survive when the temperature grew warmer. The flowers
would look pretty, and I looked forward to having some fresh
tomatoes. Gardening was not in my skill set, and it was nice having the boy
around.

A few afternoons, Juan and I found the time to visit the beach and even
ventured out to swim a bit. I slipped back down alone a few afternoons to
try my hand at fishing, but was not successful. I would need some
instruction to know how to fish in the ocean. My experiences in Oklahoma
had not prepared me for such things.

The last Saturday in May, I woke up with a terrific erection. In a
half-sleep, I was imagining what Juan would look like erect. I saw him
dancing in the surf with the light reflecting from his naked body. I
pressed my hard cock into the mattress and rocked back and forth. I heard a
little noise behind me and lifted my head with a start to see the boy
standing in the bedroom doorway holding a steaming cup of coffee.

"Damn boy! What are you doing here?"

Looking a little hurt he said, "I make you coffee sir."

"Why aren't you in school?"

"Today is Saturday sir," he explained, "No school today."

My irritation had more to do with my embarrassment than with his
presence. Taking a deep breath I let it out slowly, turned around with the
covers wadded in my lap and took the proffered cup. I took a couple of sips
and looked back at him.

"Sorry, but you kind of startled me. Good coffee, thanks," I said
apologetically.

Juan walked over to the bed with a roll left over from the day before, a
fat slice of cheese and a bunch of grapes on one of the plates we found at
the junk shop.

"You hungry Sir?"

"Sure, thank you. Here sit down," I motioned to the side of the bed.

How could I possibly be angry with such a sweet kid? He perched on the edge
of the bed while I broke off half the roll and cheese and offered it to
him. We ate in silence for several minutes. He was dressed in his usual
khakis and over-sized white shirt. I wondered if these were the only
clothes he had. Inside the baggy clothes he was clean and fresh.

A few more sips of coffee and my bladder was demanding attention. I flipped
the covers back and slipped out of bed to the toilet. Juan said nothing,
but his eyes followed me as I walked naked and half hard to take a
whiz. Turning away I walked back to the bed and slid under the covers. He
had caught me humping and seen me naked. There wasn't much else to worry
about. I fluffed up the pillow, pulled the covers up to my waist and leaned
back. Juan set the dish and empty cup on the dresser, then kicked off his
shoes and flopped down on the covers next to me with the remainder of the
grapes in his hand.

Crossing his legs at the ankle, he began to feed the grapes to me. First he
took one for himself, then he held out his hand to feed me a grape from his
fingers, all the time grinning with delight. After a few grapes I pretended
to bite his fingers when he offered the grape and he jerked back and
attempted to stick the grape up my nose. This resulted in a wrestling match
during which the grapes suffered somewhat from rough handling.

He was very strong for his size. He grabbed my wrists and it was hard to
get my arms loose. We rolled around in the bed with me under the blanket
and him mostly on top of me, giggling and straining for advantage. The
sensation of his hard quick body against mine was wonderful. When I finally
pinned his arms under him, we were both breathless.

"Give up?"

"Si, si!" he gasped, laughing still.

I let him go and collapsed panting back on the pillow.

He was sweating from the effort and he pulled the shirt off over his head
and flopped down next to me, his head resting on my outstretched arm. I
could smell his sweat, not a bad smell, just healthy boy sweat. He was
quiet now and seemed completely relaxed.

Leaning back on the pillow, I was curious about this boy. "So you live with
your aunt Maria? Who else lives with you?"

"Just Maria and sometimes Victor, but now Victor is no there. I no see
Victor long time," he explained as best he could.

"I haven't paid you anything yet. What should I pay you?"

"Little money, little money. You pay Maria. Maria will keep the money. Too
much money is not so good."

"I chuckled, "How can you have too much money?"

"Too much money, maybe Victor take it."

I sensed a problem there, but didn't pursue the subject. Looking at his
baggy pants I asked, "How are you fixed for clothes?  If I can't give you
money, maybe I could buy you some things. Is that all you've got?"

"No sir, I have other," he said. "I have other for school. This is for
work."

"Do you need some more clothes?"

He looked at his tattered pants then pulled the top of his boxers out for
me to see. "I need this. And maybe for foot."

"OK then. You need some clothes - socks, underwear and shoes. Maybe we can
go shopping. Is it OK with Maria for you to go with me?"

"Maria? She not here. Maybe tomorrow she come back. I can do anything, is
OK.

We lay together for a few more minutes as my mind went to places that made
me uncomfortable. I decided that we should not linger in the bed too
long. I shooed him into the kitchen while I dressed.

"Let's go find you some clothes," I said. "Where is a good place to go?"

Juan pointed back up to the road, "Store have clothes."

I didn't remember that the little place in El Valle where we bought
groceries had much more than a few jeans and work shirts. "Where is a big
store?"

"Too much money," Juan frowned a little.

I looked down at his tattered canvas shoes. "Are those the only shoes you
have?"

He looked at his sneakers and wiggled his toes through the thin fabric. "I
have this ones."

"How many socks do you have? How many pairs of underwear?"

"Underwear?"

I reached over and tugged at the waistband of his boxers. "Underwear."
Looking again at his shoes I could see that he wasn't wearing any socks.

"Ah, underwear. I have," he said. "Three!"

My guess was that all of Juan's wardrobe would fit in a small cardboard
box.  "Where is a big store where we can buy some clothes?"

Juan hesitated for a moment. "Jalisco has mall, but too far," he said.

Making a mental note to buy a more detailed map of the local area, I asked,
"You know how to get there?"

"Yes sir. I know," his face brightened and he sat up in the straight-backed
chair as if to say he was ready to go.

I checked my pockets to be sure I had my wallet and some pesos, then stood
and nodded to the door. Juan grinned and out we went.

We drove out to the main road, then northwest towards Jalisco, Juan
pointing the way. After an hour or so, we came into a decent sized city
with a fairly modern looking mall. I recognized some American franchises as
Juan directed me to a Costco store.

It was a big store with a clothing section for boys and men. We began to
look at shirts, pants, whatever. There were brightly colored shirts with
fancy trim, a selection of those embroidered Mexican shirts worn with the
tail out, lots of T-shirts with colorful stencils on them, jeans, khakis,
dress pants and shirts with neckties. Everything.

Juan looked at me, and then at all the clothes. I nodded to the racks and
told him to get what he wanted. He seemed unsure as he started to look
through all the things, not sure of what I really wanted him to do. He
fingered through a stack of Wrangler jeans, looking at the sizes. I held a
couple of pair up to his waist and found one that looked right. He found a
pair of khakis, and I sent him to the changing room with them both. He
disappeared inside, then emerged wearing the jeans which fit him well if a
bit loosely. Growing room.

Back in the booth, and then out with the khakis. They fit him to his
obvious satisfaction. He looked down at the khakis, then at the folded
jeans in his hand as if for me to choose one.

"Get them both," I said. "You need more than one decent pair of pants."

His face lit up with a wide smile, and he darted back in the booth to
emerge wearing his old pants with the new ones neatly folded. Next we
looked for shirts and he picked a couple of cool T-shirts, one black with
an elaborate eagle on the front, the other a replica of a Mexican soccer
team shirt.

Thinking of the basics, I steered him to a heavy black leather belt, a
6-pack of white cotton crew socks, and a display of underwear. He went for
boxers, an assortment of 3 dark colored prints, and I added a second
package. He looked around a little more and then spotted something. I
followed his eye and saw an assortment of thongs.

"You like those?" I asked.

His face flushed, but he smiled. "I just look," hesitating a moment he
asked softly, "You like?"

When I nodded, he shook his head. "I cannot, I think." We passed them up
and started looking for shoes.

Juan looked closely at the selection of flashy American athletic shoes. He
tried on several until he found his size, then put them aside. Finally he
picked up a pair of heavier brown leather boots with thick soles. Not
Doctor Martin's, but close, and a lot less expensive. He tried on a pair,
walked around in them and looked at me for approval.

"What about the Nikes?" I asked, nodding in that direction.

He scowled a little and shook his head. "I make dirty." He was practical
enough to realize that he could never keep those flashy shoes looking
decent on his dirt roads. What he had chosen was strong and durable and
suited him better. I smiled my approval, and they went in the cart.

Looking almost apologetic, he picked up a pair of leather sandals and held
them up for my inspection. "Do you like?" After trying them on to make sure
of the size, they too went into the cart.

Smiling, he led me over to an area where there was a display of work
gloves.

"I need for garden," he explained and pulled on a cheap pair of canvas
gloves.

I noted the size and found another pair with leather palms and a canvas
back.  "These are better," I said and handed them to him to try on.

He pulled them on, tightened the strap and flexed his hands inside them. He
seemed a little subdued as he handed them back to me for the cart. I added
a pair for myself.

We had pretty well outfitted him. I found an area map of Western Mexico in
the stationary section, and we started out towards the checkout area. I
motioned to the rest of the store and asked if there was anything else he
wanted to look at, but he shook his head. I paid with a Visa card then he
darted back to the changing booth and came out dressed in new jeans, shirt,
sandals and a broad smile. We walked out into the mall with an armload of
bags.

We walked around a little, looking at the various shops, some very Mexican,
some much like back in the States. We ended up at the food court and looked
around to decide what appealed to us. I saw Juan stiffen and followed his
eye to see several Mexican boys about his age wearing some name brand
American clothes that I recognized as expensive. They spotted him, and gave
him a look of recognition.

"Friends of yours?" I asked.

"No!" he said, looking away quickly.

We got hamburgers, fries and large sodas, and ate without a lot of
conversation.  When we finished, Juan picked up the wrappers, stacked the
trays and took them to the trash container. When he came back he looked
ready to go.

We walked out of the mall to the truck and stacked the bags behind the
seat. Juan Carlos was quiet as we drove west, and seemed to be lost in his
own thoughts. I enjoyed the mountainous terrain and let the silence float
along with us. When we reached the area of my house, I continued on to the
beach area that Juan had showed me. We found a place to pull off, locked
the truck and walked down toward the beach.

There was a stiff breeze coming up from the water and other than the usual
noisy seagulls, we had the place to ourselves. The sound of the wind and
the moving waves surrounded us and gave a feeling of isolation. We walked
along the beach together not speaking, but each occupied with our own
thoughts.

I was thinking back to when I was a boy. I knew I was attracted to boys
from the time I was 11 or 12, and had been intimate with a number of guys
my age both at that time, in high school and early college. It had felt
right and natural. There was no great guilt about it, we were just having
getting off together. It wasn't love, it was just sex, and it was fun. I
had done a lot of things with other guys, but strangely enough, had never
kissed another guy in my life.

I wondered what my life would have been like had I chosen to live it as a
gay man rather than easing into the straight world. The problem was that I
didn't like the gay world. I liked doing sexual things with other guys, but
I never really thought of myself as gay. I liked sports, baseball in
particular, even had a baseball scholarship to the University of
Tulsa. Once in college, I made a conscious decision that I was going to
live in the straight world as a straight man. Being gay separated me too
much from the world I felt comfortable with. Maybe I took the easy way out
by getting married and slipping into the expected role of the conventional
male.

After the loss of my wife, I began to think of where I would go from
there. I really was not attracted to men my own age. I thought about the
young guys I had played with when I was young myself. I knew a few gay men
and sought their counsel. They were either disapproving, thought I was not
really gay, or suggested that I had simply not found the right partner. I
couldn't decide how to categorize myself. How could I come out at the age
of sixty to those who had known me as a straight man all my life?

By default, I did nothing. I worked and tried to make a life by myself for
the next few years. Reviewing my options I decided that when I retired, I
wanted to make a new start which had resulted in my coming to Mexico.

I looked at Juan Carlos walking just ahead of me with his shoes in his hand
and his pant legs rolled up, kicking at shells and crabs with his bare
brown feet. It had not occurred to me that I would find this lovely boy. He
seemed so sweet and innocent but I suspected that he might not be exactly
what he seemed. The sweetness was genuine, but he clearly had gone through
some rough experiences. As I gazed at him, he turned towards me and caught
my eye.

"Como se llama?" he asked, "What is your name?"

"I'm sorry, I thought you knew my name. I introduced myself to everyone
else. It's Thompson," I said. "Robert Thompson."

Juan looked ahead as we walked down the shore. "Mr. Thompson," he said
softly. Then he looked back at me and his eyes were serious, "I think you
are my Papa."

He spoke so quietly that it took me a minute before it dawned on me what he
was trying to say. Not knowing quite how to respond, I put my hand on his
shoulder and walked next to him.

"Where is your father, Juan?"

We walked another 20 yards, looking at our feet making tracks in the
sand. Finally he spoke. "My Father, Mother. I don't know."

I asked, "Doesn't Maria know? She is your aunt."

"Maria no mi Tia," he said quietly. "Not my aunt."

"How is it that you live with her?"

"Maria find me in Guadalajara. I am four years, I think. Maria find me,"
Juan walked along slowly with my hand on his shoulder. "Maria need boy to
work for her, show me how to make garden. I make for other man, she take
money. I am little, but work hard, and can do more when I am bigger. I
sleep, eat OK. Is good I think. Maria tell you how much money for you
garden, I don't know."

We walked a little more in silence as I digested this information. Juan
slowed and stopped, turned towards me with his hands in his pockets and
looked first to one side, and then at me with wet eyes. Looking down, he
leaned forward slightly until the top of his burr head touched my
stomach. He said so quietly I could scarcely hear him over the wind, "I
think you my Father, my Papa."

I wrapped my arms around him tightly and pulled him close to me. We were
both chilled from the wind and I could feel his breath warm and wet through
my shirt. I held him tighter and cradled his head in my hands, rocking him
gently from side to side.

I kissed his stubbly head and let him cry. He pulled his hands from his
pockets and wrapped his arms around my waist. After several minutes he
began to clear his throat and take deep breaths. I loosened my grip around
him and rubbed my hands over his back. I sniffed loudly and pulled my
handkerchief from my hip pocket.

Letting him go, I wiped my face and blew my nose, then handed the slightly
damp handkerchief to him. Looking up me, he laughed through his tears. He
finished off the handkerchief and handed it back to me, holding it gingerly
by one corner as if it were contaminated. I rolled it up into a ball and
shoved it back into my pocket. Turning around we started walking back
toward the truck.

After a few minutes I told him, "I have no children."

He looked at me with mild surprise. "No? You have wife?"

"Yes, but we never had any kids."

"You want?"

"Yes, I did want kids. We tried, but it just never happened. To tell the
truth, I especially wanted to have a son. Really, I wanted to have a couple
of sons so they would have brothers, you know? I never had a brother and I
always wished I did. It must be tough not to have a father or mother, or at
least not to know who they are. I knew my mom and dad real well. They were
great, really."

Juan walked on, looking down at the sand. "You want son?"

I thought for a moment, "Yeah, I did. I guess I still do."

Glancing back at me he shoved his hands back in his pockets and said again,
"I think you my Father."

I slid my hand under his elbow and lifted his hand from his pocket. Holding
hands, we walked silently back to the truck for the ride home.

We drove away from the beach with Juan curled up next to me, his feet on
the seat and his head against my shoulder. I kept my hands on the wheel
most of the time but patted his knee a few times. We had bonded big time,
and sooner than was comfortable. I had been here less than two months and
here was this boy calling me his Papa. I remembered that things that seemed
too good to be true often were. Still, he sure looked like an
angel. Unaware of my concerns, Juan slept peacefully.

When we slowed down outside our town, he roused and looked around.

"Hungry?" I asked.

"Si!" he replied with enthusiasm.

"Where is a good place for some real Mexican food?"

"There," he pointed to a cafe on one end of the two block long stretch that
made up most of the little town.

We walked in and drew the looks of several inside. This was a small town
and while Juan was obviously recognized by nods and smiles, I was a
stranger.

"Quienes es su amigo?" one of the men asked Juan, nodding at me in a
friendly way.

"Mi jefe." Juan answered with a big smile, and those who were listening
laughed and nodded. Then he turned to me and translated. "They ask who are
you and I say you my boss man."

I laughed, we took our seat, and were accepted with indifference. Juan was
known here and probably had worked for a lot of people doing odd jobs. I
began to feel more comfortable.

"What you want?" Juan asked.

"I'm hungry, what's good?" I responded. "I want some good Mexican food. Can
you order for me?"

Juan smiled and looked over the menu with renewed interest.

He attempted to translate the choices but I waved him off, indicating that
I would eat whatever he ordered. The girl came over with chips and salsa,
took the order from the boy and returned in a minute with two glasses of
what looked like thin milk. I sniffed it and smelled cinnamon.

"What is it?" I asked.

Juan scowled and said, "English I don't know, is horchata."

I tasted it and found it to be cold and sweet with a smooth cinnamon
flavor.  A little different, but nice.

"Good for pepper," Juan explained.

I tried the salsa which had a bite to it and found that the horchata cooled
it off nicely. After a few minutes the girl brought a large stemmed bowl
filled with cold boiled shrimp in a spicy tomato sauce.

"Camarones," Juan said.

"Shrimp," I translated. We were both learning.

The shrimp was delicious, a little spicy but full of flavor. Next came a
platter of chicken breast, cut in chunks and cooked with fresh tomatoes,
onion, and peppers. The sauce had a wonderful fragrance. On the side were
rice and beans - arroz y frijoles,

"Pollo guisado," He told me, pointing to the chicken. A covered clay dish
contained a stack of hot tortillas to complete the meal.

We ate with dedication. I would never again consider Tex-Mex to be
authentic Mexican food. It was delicious. I said so, and Juan beamed with
pride.

"You like?"

"Very much," I smiled. "Good job."

When we had eaten all we could, the girl took it away and brought us each a
flan, a lovely egg custard covered in caramelized sugar syrup. It was the
perfect end to a savory spicy dinner. I leaned back in the wooden chair and
moaned with satisfaction while Juan pretended to faint. I paid the bill and
was pleasantly surprised to see how inexpensive it was.

Back at the house we flopped in front of the TV to digest our dinner while
Juan found a soccer game for us to watch. I noted that both teams played
very aggressively and then I dozed off to sleep.

It was dark when I woke up to a Mexican variety show. Juan Carlos was in
the chair wearing his new clothes. He was looking at me, not at the TV, and
when I opened my eyes and stretched, he smiled.

"Hi kid."

"You sleep, Papa."

I wasn't sure I was ready to be his papa but I nodded and stretched again,
yawning loudly. "You look good in your new clothes."

He stood and turned around. "You like?"

"You look great Juan. Very handsome. You're a very handsome boy."

He scrambled over to the sofa and dived on me, wrapping his arms around my
neck and hugging me tightly, kissing me on the cheek, then hugging me
again. There was nothing I could do but hug him back, rubbing the palm of
my hand over his burr head and stroking the tight muscles in his back and
shoulders. I held him like this for a minute or so and felt myself getting
aroused. I dropped my hands down to his sides and dug into his ribs,
producing a peal of laughter and a lot of wriggling. He attempted to tickle
me back but instead fell off the sofa and immediately jumped up and brushed
himself off. It wouldn't do to get the new clothes dirty.

Looking at my watch I saw it was almost 10:00. "Don't you need to get
home?" I asked.

Juan shrugged and smiled. "Maria not home. Maybe she come back tomorrow. I
can sleep here," he said, glancing at the sofa.

I couldn't bring myself to send him off to an empty house when I was
enjoying his company. I stood and said, "I need a bath."

The kitchen sink used a pump from the well. The toilet flushed by virtue of
a pump which filled a tank on the wall. This meant that you could only
flush the toilet when the electricity was on, which fortunately was most of
the time. The old footed tub had no faucets and was filled by buckets from
the kitchen pump. Hot water was supplied by heating a kettle on the propane
stove, a ritual that I went through several nights a week.

Juan went to the kitchen, filled the kettle with water and set it on the
stove, then filled a bucket and started filling the tub. When there were
about 3 or 4 inches of cool water in the tub he turned to me.

"Hot water make good. I can make for you."

I went in the bedroom and undressed. Grabbing a clean pair of boxers and a
towel, I walked into the bathroom where Juan had added the kettle of hot
water to the tub. It was a treat to let him do this for me. Stepping in, I
sat down into water that was pleasantly warm, if not hot. I slid down until
my back was covered with the warm water and relaxed. After a few minutes
Juan appeared with a bar of soap and a washcloth.

I held out my hand for the soap, but Juan stepped next to the tub. He wet
the washcloth and rubbed it on the soap, then on my chest. As he did, soapy
water splashed on his new shirt.

He stepped back, wiped it with the towel, then said, "I take off, OK?"

I nodded and he began to undress. First he pulled the T-shirt over his
head, revealing his smooth brown chest and round shoulders. He hung the
shirt on the doorknob and began to smile as he saw me watching him
closely. He sat down on the toilet lid and took off his new sandals,
slipping them off and setting them neatly side-by-side next to the
door. The socks he rolled together and placed on top of the
sandals. Standing up, he loosened the new leather belt and opened the top
of his jeans, unzipping them to show a pair of red plaid boxers. Dropping
the pants he shook them straight and folded them neatly, laying them on top
of the shoes.

Standing bare and brown except for the new boxers, he looked at me, rose up
on his toes and smiled as I smiled back. Laughing, he wiggled his butt in a
little dance as he slid off the boxers. He rocked his hips a little and
made his dick wave from side to side, standing straight out, not rock hard
and flat against his belly, but not limp either.

Grinning, he stepped over to the tub and knelt down, taking the washcloth
again and soaped it with the bar, wet my hair with his cupped hands, and
began to wash me. Enjoying this luxury, I sat up and docilely let him wash
my hair, scrubbing my scalp with his fingers, soaping my ears and face then
rinsing me off with his hands. I lifted each arm as he scrubbed them
carefully, and then sat up to let him wash first my chest then my
back. Lifting my foot, he motioned for me to lie back down as he raised
each leg and gently ran the soapy cloth over thigh, shin, and calf,
sticking the corner of the cloth between each toe. Having washed both ends
of me, he dipped the cloth in water again and proceeded to very carefully
wash my privates, cupping my loose scrotum and washing between it and the
inside of my thighs. Setting the cloth on my belly, he pulled back my
foreskin and washed my now erect penis with his smooth fingers, smiling as
he examined it carefully and stroked it more times than was necessarily. I
should have stopped him, but found myself enjoying this service.

He stood up, trotted to the kitchen and brought back a plastic bowl. He had
me get up on my knees so he could run the cloth up the crack of my ass,
leaving nothing unwashed. I sat back down while he used the bowl to dip and
pour water all over me, rinsing off the soap and making me feel very
relaxed. When he was finished, he stood up and handed me the towel. He was
wet, and probably a little chilled.

I stood, stepped out of the tub, dried off and said, "Your turn Juan, you
look like you're cold."

He ran back to the kitchen and returned with another kettle of hot water,
poured it into the tub then stepped in himself, lying back in the warmed
water. I wrapped the towel around my waist and knelt down by the tub.

"No Papa, is OK. I can."

"Of course you can, but I want to. I could have washed myself too."

In response he poured a bowlful of water over his head and sat up. Closing
his eyes, he waited for me to wash him. I took the washcloth and soaped him
all over just as he had done me, although I did not dwell as long on his
privates. When he was clean I used the bowl to rinse him, wiping the soap
from his body with my bare hands. I felt his smooth young skin, slick with
soapy residue flowing under the palms of my hands. I could feel every
muscle, every bone of his slender young body pass under my hands. His skin
was flawless and looked like dark porcelain. Juan kept his eyes closed
during the whole time, not speaking, but exuding a glow of relaxed
contentment. He was indeed a beautiful boy.

When I finished, I stood and looked at him. After a moment he opened his
eyes with a smile. I took the towel from around my waist and handed it to
him. I watched him stand and dry himself as I picked up my boxers and
walked to the bedroom. Juan had indicated that he would sleep on the
sofa. I decided to let him make that decision.

I sat down on the edge of the bed and considered my boxers. Although I
usually slept nude, I had intended to wear them to bed in a gesture of
modesty for Juan Carlos. After the bath, that seemed unnecessary, so I
dropped them to the floor and slipped under the covers. In a few minutes
Juan came in with the towel around his slender waist and the stack of
neatly folded new clothes in his hands. He set them on the chair, glanced
at the sofa in the other room, then sat on the edge of the bed. Looking at
my shorts on the floor, he lifted the covers to peek at what I was
wearing. Having established the proper dress code, he dropped the towel,
flipped off the lights and snuggled in beside me.

I turned towards him and he wrapped his arms around my waist, pressing his
face against my chest. His knees slid between mine and interlocked us so
that our bellies were tight together. I could feel his soft cock pressed
against me just above my pubic hair. I held him tightly and kissed the top
of his head, brushing my lips across his short black hair. He took a deep
breath and sighed, blowing his warm breath across me. I had begun to
stiffen but felt him relax, so held very still. There was no motion except
for my hand slowly stroking the back of his shoulder and the gentle steady
rise and fall of his breathing.

We lay wrapped together for a time, his breath warming my chest. My face
was against his cropped hair and he smelled like soap. There was no tension
in his young body as he fell into a deep quiet sleep. There was no question
that I found him sexually attractive. Yet as he lay in my arms quiet and
trusting, I felt a deep affection for him, and a desire to protect him from
the harshness of his world.

Just as I began to drift off myself, he stirred slightly and in that
movement I felt him press himself against me, now erect in the way that
boys rise in sleep. I smiled to myself and wished him pleasant dreams as I
breathed out and slept. Once during the night I woke lying on my back. Juan
was curled up next to me with his knees drawn up to his chest. His arm
however, was outstretched and his hand lay across my privates. He was sound
asleep but had connected himself to me. I smiled and turned away on my side
with my back to him. He snuggled a bit closer and draped his arm around my
waist, still asleep and still connected.


...to be continued.

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