Date: Wed, 8 Oct 2008 18:57:04 -0700 (PDT) From: d ap <dap_cl@yahoo.com> Subject: Four Friends (03) Chapter Three: Next day at the "Little House on the Prairie" This is the continuation of the story of Marcelo and Camilo. And here's the warning once more: this is a story about homosexual relationships between young teenagers -- this chapter will see Marcelo and Camilo taking a horse ride off into the middle of nowhere. So, if you're under age, now is the time to leave, and if this sort of story is illegal where you live, again, you should go no further. You won't find any mention of condoms in this story, but please remember that it is just a story: in real life their use is very much to be recommended, especially if you're indulging in casual sex or don't know much about your partner. You'll also see the characters in this story using drugs, and I would strongly recommend moderation if you're going to do likewise, and never try driving if you're taking drugs. Okay, it's common sense, but I just thought I should mention it. Of course, these characters are entirely fictional, and any coincidental similarity to anyone real is just that -- coincidental. I guess this could be the last chapter translated from Chilean Spanish into English by David Clarke, albeit he said to work on the Fourth chapter, but I thing it could an abuse. I want submit to the readers a completely different story (but involving boys too) in "my English", please check "Marichiweu" in this same section. So, the readers can tell me if my damn skill in this language can reach acceptable standards of comprhension, otherwise... well... it was a great dream. Okay, let's go: I many thanks Donald, Thomas and Paul their kind comments. *** The boy was in the same emotional state as I was as he drew close to me, hugging me and cuddling up close. I returned his hug, holding him, getting the sheets and blankets out of the way... there were going to me a few stains on those sheets as a result of what we'd been up to, but that was a problem for later. I kissed him gently, and he did likewise, covering my whole face with little kisses, even my eyelids, and then began to give tiny kisses to my lips. I looked at him, and we smiled at each other. Our lust had now receded, just leaving the tender feelings of two little puppies that hadn't finished growing yet. Gradually we dropped off to sleep, first me and then (I suppose) him. At about eleven the cold woke me up, so I woke him up too and suggested we should go to the bathroom to clean ourselves up a bit: there were dried love-juice stains on both of us. We ran to the bathroom and had a quick shower, drying ourselves with clean towels (I had no idea how I was going to explain away using three different towels... I supposed we would have to put them through the washer-dryer). Camilo didn't have any pyjamas, of course, so I grabbed a couple of pairs from the cupboard (one for him and one for me, both dark-coloured and conventional). They fitted him perfectly: we were almost exactly the same size -- all parts of us, in fact... I nipped back into the bathroom to brush my teeth. Camilo didn't have a toothbrush, either, so I lent him mine. We ran back to my room and got into bed. I turned the TV on and zapped through some channels, but there was nothing cool on. We were both feeling sleepy, and after a bit he rolled onto his side facing away from me and seemed to settle down, so I cuddled up behind him, spoons-fashion, my genitals against his cute buttocks. Sleep was dragging us down into its depths... Sunday September 16th 2007, 0830. I opened my eyes. Camilo was sleeping curled up like a little animal on the other side of the bed, almost completely hidden in the sheets. His pyjamas had slipped down a little, and a got a heavenly glimpse of his crack. And suddenly I felt horny as hell. I wanted to let him sleep, so I tiptoed to the bathroom needing to pee -- and to shit, too, and I was glad Camilo wasn't there watching me: it was, as far as I was concerned, a completely private activity. Mum trained me thoroughly, reinforcing the training with little pinches and pushes, to wash my ass after using the toilet. I'm still just about young enough to go along with that, though I'm reaching the time when my dad is still adorable, but when it seems to me that he is beginning to crumble away like an old building; and the urge to youthful rebellion is getting ever stronger. I went back to the bedroom and found Camilo stirring, twitching like a worm and uttering a huge yawn: "Yaaaaaoounnnnn!!!, ending with an all-over shiver. He stared at me and smiled. "How did you sleep?" I asked. "Cool! Your bed is awesome -- it's nice and hard. Mine's like a hammock with a great big droop in the middle." I laughed. "You hungry, Cami? I'm starving!" "Fuck, yes! I could eat a horse!" "Yeah? Do you know how to ride?" "Yep. Last night I rode on you -- heheheh!" "Asshole!" I jumped on him, taking him by surprise and completely unprepared. I squashed him against the bed, flipping him over onto his stomach, trapping his arms and starting to tickle him. He yelled at me, "That's not fair! You took me by surprise!" "So, you rode me, huh? And what did I do to you, then? Come on -- what did I do to you?" I was stronger than him and quickly had him under my control. I pulled his pyjama bottoms down, leaving his butt exposed. I pinched his ass, making his cheeks redden, and I even touched his hole, pushing my finger slightly into it. "So what did I do to you, huh?" He howled with laughter, begging me to stop, before breaking out into hysterical laughter once more. "What did I do to you, eh?" "Yes! Yes, okay, I give up! You rode me, too, okay?" "No, I did more than that," I said, still tickling him mercilessly. "I mean, I'm riding you now..." "Okay, okay, you fucked me, too," he admitted. I let go of him and flipped him over, lying down on top of him and kissing his face, then his lips and his neck. I stayed in that position, blowing gently on his neck and shoulder and making him laugh again. I loved his voice, which was high but clearly that of a young male. I got off him and sat on the bed, getting my breath back after our struggle, and suddenly I was attacked from the rear. He pulled me backwards, plonked himself down on top of me, 69-style, and began to drill his fingers into my ribs. "You like tickling people, do you?" he said, sinking his fingers yet further into my ribs and making me squirm. "Noooo!!! And... that's unfair, you submitted!" And it was my turn to laugh. I wriggled away from him, still laughing. We rested for a bit, our erections completely obvious, and the sight of them just made us laugh some more. Eventually I grabbed his hand and pulled him to the bathroom. "You've got a real cleanliness fetish, do you know that?" he asked. "Well, do you know how to ride a horse, yes or no?" "You're joking, right? I've never been near a horse in my entire fucking life!" "Okay, but would you like to try?" "Fuck, I don't know... I've never even thought about it... but I guess yes, I'd like that a lot. Have you really got a horse?" "Three mares, two geldings, a stallion and a foal," I replied. He stared at me, looking bewildered. "What??" "Three mares, two geldings, one stallion and a foal," I repeated, stripping off my pyjamas. He did the same, so that we were both naked. He stared at me in disbelief. "Really?" "Shit, yes! Why would I lie to you about something like that?" He was silent, staring at me in astonishment. I turned the shower on and got the water to the correct temperature. Despite the previous evening's quick shower, we still smelled like sex... well, I think that's what it was -- a sort of a mixture of tears and sweat, like the smell I noticed when I wanked off and my jizz stuck in my sparse pubes, like the hero of Fuguet's novel "Mala Onda". Soap and water takes care of it... I watched my own current hero as he took the shampoo and poured a little onto his head, rubbing the liquid carefully between his braids so as not to ruin them. I took over, rubbing his hair equally softly. He just stared at me, making sure the shampoo didn't get in his eyes. We held each other's gaze as if hypnotised. "If I run the spray over your head from the back, will it mess up your braids?" "I don't know," he said. "Let's find out." So I took the spray and ran the water over his hair, and it ran down across his face. He closed his eyes, opened his mouth so as to breathe without getting water up his nose. The vision of that beautiful face, eyes screwed shut, was overwhelming: I felt I loved him like nothing I had ever experienced before. In fact, I think maybe this was the first time I had ever actually felt real love: until now it had just been a sort of theoretical or book knowledge. I was in love. With a man. Okay, a boy. Once all the lather was out of his hair -- and one or two of his braids had come undone a little -- I hugged him, and he stared at me and held me tightly. "Marce, I love you," I heard him mumble, and the same sensation I had felt a little earlier flooded over me once again. "Cami, I love you... I really, really love you." Camilo trembled against me. We kissed: our tongues met in an intense French kiss. The feeling of his body against me was incredible, the passion was building again... and because we were young, healthy animals, in no time at all our cocks were erect and rubbing against each other. I managed to get hold of my dick and pushed it under his balls and between his legs, and he squeezed his legs together, trapping my dick between them. I started to rock back and forwards, intending to bring myself off like that, and he took hold of my ass, cupping my cheeks and squeezing them. He was clearly delighted by my butt, and I was delighted that he was delighted with it... "I love everything about you, Marce," he said. "Your face, your hair, your mouth, your cute little breasts, your hips, your ass... oh, God, yes, especially your girlish butt... In fact, I love you so fucking much..." "I do NOT have cute little breasts," I said, smiling. "Well, they're great, whatever they are. And what you're doing right now is making me so horny..." "Cami, do you want me to... well... get inside you?" "You want to fuck me?" he asked, and I blushed a little. "And can I do it to you afterwards?" he went on, and I nodded again. Camilo turned round to face away from me and bent forward. "Lube me up with some shampoo or something," he said. "I'm still a bit sore from last night." "Same here: it feels like I need a shit all the time." "And me. Take it slow." I took the bottle of liquid soap and poured a little into the top of his crack, and when I spread his legs for him it ran down as far as his hole. Suddenly I was overwhelmed with lust. I spread the liquid around his entrance and even pushed a finger inside him. There was a little resistance at first from his sphincter, but once I got past that I was able to sink my finger deeply into his innards. And it felt exquisite! "MMMMMMMmmmmhhhooooaaaa!" was his response. I pulled my finger out, and Camilo twitched a little, moaning softly, a mixture of pain and pleasure, I think. I grabbed hold of my dick and positioned it against his entrance, which seemed to open up eagerly to welcome it in. "Camilo, push back for me, then we can get started." I felt him tense up, and his sphincter tightened against me. It felt as if he was rejecting me, but in fact he was welcoming me in. Once I was past the threshold he pressed his body back against me, slowly impaling himself. The whole of my fourteen centimetres slipped into him, quite slowly but without stopping on the way. It was an incredible sensation, feeling my dick slipping past his tense sphincter and on deep inside my beloved Camilo. I gave a long, deep sigh, and at the same time Camilo breathed out, until my whole length was fully inside him. "Hold still for a moment, Marce," he said, and he began to squeeze and relax his tunnel rhythmically. "Oh, fuck, that's good!" he breathed, and I let him enjoy what he was doing -- and of course every contraction of his body squeezed my erection, and it felt absolutely incredible. Camilo was actually wanking me using his butt. "Pull it out a bit," he said, and I pulled about halfway back, or maybe a little more. Camilo bent his knees a little, and the pressure that caused increased my pleasure even further, but it was hard for him to maintain that position, and so he knelt down on the floor, taking me with him. This new position gave me an even better angle, so I pushed it deeper into him. And Camilo reacted immediately. "God, Marce, you're in me so deep... please pull back, just a little!" The sight of his anus surrounding the base of my cock was incredibly erotic, but nonetheless I pulled back slightly. "Camilo, push back as far as you want -- I'll let you decide how much you want to take," I said. He obeyed me, pushing back and starting to more or less fuck himself, using my dick to do it. Slowly he pushed back until I was all the way in, right back where I had been before, but this time he didn't complain or show any discomfort: on the contrary, he welcomed me in with sounds of pleasure: "Oooooooooooooooooooooooohhhhh... aaaagggghhh, Marce, Marce, it's so good, ooohhhh, ooooohh..." Eventually I took back control, taking hold of his hips and starting a very slow in-and-out motion. Every `in' made him cry out as he was impaled, and every out was greeted by a cry as well. I speeded up, and Camilo urged me onwards. My knees were hurting from kneeling on the hard floor of the shower, but that was a minor inconvenience compared to the wonderful throbbing in my cock as Camilo's beautiful body squeezed it. I reached round him and took hold of his quivering dick, which was rock-hard, the foreskin fully retracted, and I started to wank him in time with my own thrusts. Camilo reacted like a man possessed, spreading his legs yet wider, and I started to fuck him without mercy, jerking his cock at the same time. It took only a few seconds before we both started to cum, breathing heavily and making strange gasping noises as we did so. In the end Camilo collapsed, dragging me down with him, my dick still pulsing inside him, spurting out its semen into his rectum. I could feel his dick throbbing, and jizz from it dripping from my fingers, the water from the shower picking it up and carrying it away. For a long time we just lay there, panting and trying to recover, while warm water fell on my back and Camilo lay beneath me. Finally my dick slipped out of him, and I stood up and helped him to his feet. We kissed each other passionately, declaring our love for one another. I guessed (rightly) that Camilo wasn't ready for any more of that sort of action right now. We went and had some breakfast, joking with each other. I pointed out that he now owed me a good fucking, and he promised to see to it in due course. By eleven o'clock we were ready for our ride, so I put some food into a small back-pack: some meat, in case we felt like a barbecue, a couple of half-litre bottles of Grolsch beer, and of course a couple of big joints. "Hi, Don Ernesto? Hi, good morning... yes, it's Marcelo Walsh here... Yes, I'm fine, thanks... No, they went to the beach... Haha, yes, that's right! Look, I'm calling because I need a favour: can you get Pipo and Pipa ready, please?..... Yes, I'm with a friend -- he's no expert, in fact it'll be his first time... yes... Well, in about half an hour?..... Yes...Yes, okay, that's great. Thanks!" We got on the bike and took the back way away from the house, and after a while we reached Don Ernesto's yard. The horses were ready, and he also gave us a bag containing some hand-baked bread. The reddish-brown mare, Pipa, was huge, her back a good 1.68 metres above the ground. I never ever cut her hair, so she had a beautiful blond mane over eighty centimetres long, and her tail, which was the same colour, reached down to the ground. Pipo was a little smaller, but still beautiful, with a mane that was almost black and was perfectly groomed. Both animals were mine "little, unimportant" gifts from my parents. Camilo stared at the animals. "I want the big one!" he cried, but Don Ernesto stared at him and pointed out that actually Pipa was my horse, and that saved me from having to turn him down, which would have been really embarrassing. I got the stable-hand to help Camilo onto Pipa, and once he was up there it was enough to convince him that maybe the smaller horse would be a better idea after all. He dropped into Ernesto's arms, and Ernesto caught him as if he were as light as a feather, and then helped him onto Pipo's back. He winced as he sat on the saddle, and I realised that his hole was probably still quite sore. But once he got his feet properly into the stirrups and could take some of the weight from his butt he seemed to be okay. "Okay, now listen to me," Don Ernesto instructed him. "This is the bridle, and basically you steer by pulling on one side or the other: pull left, the horse goes left; pull right, and the horse goes right. That's simple enough. The brake is basically in the same place: pull back on the reins and the horse will slow down and stop -- but pull too far and the horse goes into reverse! And the accelerator is in your feet: kick and the horse goes faster. It's exactly like driving a car, you see? Ha, ha, ha!" And that was Don Ernesto's instant horse-riding instruction in basic Chilean country language. Ernesto handed me the whip but didn't give one to Camilo, and I could understand why: someone as inexperienced as Camilo could easily make a complete mess of things and send Pipo off into an unscheduled race if he started waving a whip about. I got onto Pipa and Don Ernesto handed me my helmet, asking if Camilo should have one, too. I nodded: okay, his braids might be ruined, but that was a whole lot better than the damage that his head would take if he fell off. He'd changed his trainers for boots that came up almost to the knee. They were my old ones, but they fitted him well enough, and he looked good in them -- in fact, he looked absolutely awesome and totally fucking desirable, especially with the peak of the helmet shading his eyes... God, he looked cute. We took it gently as we set off through the meadow, because I wanted to see how Camilo would handle Pipo. He wasn't perfect by a long way, but he was managing okay, and I was pretty confident that he wouldn't fall off -- or not right away, anyway. I kicked Pipa on a little, and she rode out proudly, her tail swishing and making me feel like a god on a mythological beast. A God?? Get a load of you, thinking like that, I reproved myself, and rode in a circle around Camilo and his mount, though I have to admit that even that was showing off a bit. Camilo looked at me enviously. "How can I get mine to speed up a bit?" he asked. "Jab him with your heels -- but not too hard, man! If you overdo it you'll really be in the shit, and the best thing you could do then would be to jump off -- and for God's sake don't get a foot stuck in the stirrup if you do that, because that really would be dangerous, okay?" "You're just trying to scare me. Nothing's going to go wrong -- you're doing okay, aren't you?" I could tell Camilo was going to fuck up. Ignorance is a fatal flaw in a 55 kilo rider on top of a 600 kilo horse. I rode alongside, took hold of Pipo's bridle and looked Camilo in the eyes. "Look," I said, as seriously as I could, "You know I love you, but you have to listen to me here. Pipo's a good horse, and usually quite gentle, but he's strong, too, and if you get him worked up you'll see what I'm talking about. If you ram your heels into him the way you're thinking about doing, he'll take off like a rocket, and if you try to stay aboard he'll throw you. Falling from a horse travelling at top speed is incredibly dangerous, and if you get a foot stuck in a stirrup he'll drag you until he's too tired to run any further. And he'll be scared, and he'll try kicking your ass, or your head. And the kick of a horse can kill you, Camilo, okay? Now please take some notice of me, Sweetest." Alright, I was laying it on a bit thick, but it needed to be said, and I was really happy when Camilo, looking a bit embarrassed, nodded his head as if I was giving him an order. So, wanting to ease down to a gentler form of communication, I leaned over and gave him a quick kiss on the lips. "Give him a little kick, then," I suggested, and Pipo responded to the jab in his flanks by trotting off happily. Camilo bounced in his back, going "Ah! Ah! Ah! Ah!", so I caught up with him and grabbed Pipo's bridle again. "What's the matter?" I asked, trying not to smile. "Well... errr... it hurts." "What, your butt?" Camilo nodded, shamefacedly. "Okay. In that case we'll forget about trotting or galloping, we'll just stick to a walk, okay?" Camilo nodded. "Perhaps that would be best, eh?" I said. Camilo nodded once more. "Fuck you! You're teasing me!" I said, because he just sat there nodding and not speaking. Camilo nodded again, and then laughed loudly, and I had to join in. I wouldn't claim that the landscapes of Central Chile are spectacularly beautiful, but they are quite pretty, and from every ridge we reached we could see parts of the city spreading out to the flanks, its buildings climbing high into the sky, like mushrooms after rain. We galloped the horses whenever we could, and apparently the excitement of galloping overrode the pain in Camilo's butt from our early morning activities. Before too long he seemed to have forgotten the pain completely, and he even let Pipo trot; and then came a short but high-speed gallop where Pipo simply flew along, and when I caught up with him his face was so alive with wonder and excitement that I couldn't help laughing. "Coooooooooooooolll!!!" he cried, a huge smile on his flushed face. "Hey, Camilo, pull back on the bridle! Go on, do it!" His horse's head sank and he stepped back a few paces. "Wow!!!" exclaimed Camilo, his face shining again. He looked blissfully happy. "Are you enjoying this, Cami?" I asked. "I mean, being up here, riding?" Camilo looked around at the scenery and then at me, and he nodded so forcefully that his helmet slipped over his eyes, making us both laugh. "Try tightening the chinstrap," I said. And again I thought how hot this boy was... We finally reached the place I had been heading for, a small property with a wooden fence all around it. In the midst of a forest of deciduous trees, right next to a stream was a small, two-storey house (it belonged to my mum). It had a fairly flat roof (my mum had had it built like that) and a chimney, and there was a padlock on the door and grilles across the windows. I went to one of the trees and from its hiding-place in the branches I got the key. We'd dismounted by now, and I have to say that Camilo was walking funny... I opened up and led him inside, and he seemed surprised by the interior. Okay, it wasn't exactly luxurious, but for a little pad 2,000 metres or more above sea level it was pretty comfortable. There were decent beds, wood for the stove, a supply of food and a satellite phone. There was no mains electricity, but we had a generator. There was also a stove and a supply of bottled gas. In fact Camilo found it absolutely charming. I took his hand and led him around the outside, showing him the stream and the hills and pointing out how well-hidden the house was from every direction. I also pointed out the `little' plants, `little' birds, and `little' every damned thing -- Chileans have a habit of using diminutives all over the place. It's a habit I generally try to avoid, but Camilo spoke like that all the time. Once we'd fed the horses they were fine (and Camilo did the job pretty well, considering), so we got our own food out and seasoned the meat I had brought with us. The next job was to get a barbecue set up. We messed around, jogging each other and laughing as we got things ready, and wasting an awful lot of newspaper before finally we got a decent fire going and the charcoal began to burn. I remembered that there was a secret corner, and in it I found a bottle of Chilean red wine (a Casillero del Diablo 2005, in case anyone's interested) and I opened it. To be honest, wine isn't my favourite drink, but it was there, so... And in any case we had our bottles of beer as well. "Listen, Camilo... aren't your folks going to want to know where you are?" I asked -- it was worrying me a bit. "Probably -- at least, if they call the house and I'm not there I guess they will start to worry a bit." So we took the phone and climbed the hill, and he called his folks. There didn't seem to be any great problem, other than explaining to them exactly where he was, and he gave some sort of vague answer to that question, and it seemed to keep his dad happy. "Hey, what's your surname?" he asked me, covering the mike. "Walsh," I told him, and he repeated it into the phone. He spoke to his father for a little longer and then cut the connection. "So, gringo, about that surname of yours," he said, grinning. "Where does it come from?" We walked back to what my mum calls "The Little House on the Prairie". "Yes, okay, it's a gringo name," I admitted. "It's from the United Kingdom - Wales, actually. What's your surname, anyway?" "Pino. Pino Martínez. But... what you said... where does it come from?" "From England. My dad's family -- the Walshes originally came from Wales. My dad was married before he met my mum, and I've got an older half-brother, and one time he called me a Latino idiot, so I called him a `mother-fucking son of an English whore'..." "Ah. Okay," said Camilo, which was probably a sensibly short answer. The charcoal was burning nicely, so we put the meat on, and all we had to do after that was to keep an eye on it. We ate about three hours later, and drank dad's wine, and it soon started to have an effect on us. We became more talkative. His dad was a manual worker for a large company, and his mother worked as a shop assistant in a store downtown. "I've go a younger brother," he told me. "He's exactly a year younger than me, to the day." "Huh?" "Three months after my mum gave birth to me she was pregnant again, and my brother Danilo was born on my first birthday." I stared at him. "You're Camilo, and your brother's Danilo? Your names are that similar?" "My Dad. He's Tanilo..." "Huh?? Your dad's Tanilo, you're Danilo and your brother's Camilo?" I was getting confused -- not to say befuddled by the wine. "No, Stupid -- my name's Camilo, my brother is Danilo and my father is Tanilo." "What? I don't think I'm getting it at all... maybe later it'll make sense..." "'C', `D' and `T' -- that's what my mum calls us when she's messing about." "Oh. Hey, I'm sleepy -- what say we go sleep for a bit?" I suggested. "Yeah, I'm fucking sleepy -- and a bit drunk, too..." We went back into the house: it was turning cold, just the way Ivan Torres, Chile's leading weather expert, had said it would on Friday morning. I thought it would be overdoing things a bit to light the main fire, so instead I turned on the heater in the 'big' bedroom upstairs. We took off our boots in the approved manner: one guy sits in a chair and sticks his leg between the other guy's legs, and the other guy takes hold of the heel of the boot, and the first guy pushes against the other guy's ass with his free foot and the boot slips off fairly easily. Of course, for teens like us this can be a very entertaining procedure... We emptied our pockets and then, demonstrating the trust we had in each other, we got into bed together, wearing only our tee-shirts, underwear and socks (we had to keep those on because it was quite cold at that altitude, and we needed some extra blankets on the bed as well). Camilo liked my wristwatch -- he said it looked good but had never heard of the brand 'Rolex' before. I played it down, making out that it was just something quite unimportant. Strangely, the bed, the peace and quiet, the gentle murmur of the stream just outside the house, the effects of the wine and the closeness to each other -- none of this was having quite the soporific effect we might have expected. On the contrary, my dick was getting hard again. I hugged Camilo and buried my face in his shoulder, and he kissed me and hugged me against him, which made my already very solid erection hit his hip. Camilo felt it. I put my hand on his chest and started to stroke it gently, and he responded by stroking my face and shoulder. He lifted my tee-shirt out of the way and stroked my arm... the shirt was bunched uncomfortably round my neck... "That thing is getting in the way," commented Camilo, so I quickly pulled it right off, and he did the same with his, and both garments flew out of the bed like released birds. It was obvious that we both had erections, and we made no attempt to hide them: instead we displayed them to each other proudly and eagerly. We returned to our previous position, with my face against Camilo's shoulder. I stroked his chest and he started to caress my shoulder, pausing to kiss my brow, a very tender, almost brotherly kiss. His hand wandered down from my shoulder to my elbow and then drifted back up again as far as my armpit, where it paused. I was expecting him to start a tickling fight... The first drops of September rain started to drum against the roof. He didn't start tickling me: instead he found the three hairs in my armpit and started to toy with them, while his thumb reached my nipple and started to rub it, making circular movements around it. It stiffened like a little wedge, and I acknowledged him by making a growling -- or maybe a moaning -- noise of "mmmhhhmmh!" and that encouraged him to bring both hands to my chest and to start stroking both my nipples, and his touch really got me going and raised my moans to a higher pitch. I decided it was time I took a more active part in this particular drama, so I slipped my hand down from his chest until it was just touching the elastic of his boxers. A few centimetres more would bring it into contact with his most important attribute... I slid my hand under the elastic and took hold of Camilo's beautiful hard-on, and now it wasn't me doing the groaning: "Oooouuuhh!!" he went. Okay, it was time to stop all this prudery of hiding behind clothes: I forced his boxers down to his knees and then used my foot to push them the rest of the way off, and then I did the same with my own, leaving us both naked except for our socks. I grabbed his cock once more and nuzzled against his shoulder, while Camilo started caressing my back and then starting to kiss my face: first my eyebrows, then my cheeks, my eyelids, my nose -- and then that bloody boy even licked the little hollow beneath my nose, making me laugh. "God, you're gross!" I exclaimed. "Fancy licking my snot!" "I"ll lick a damned sight more than just your snot, Marce, you beauty," he replied. "Is that a promise?" I asked, eagerly. "Nope. It's my solemn duty." "Mmmhh," I said. I gripped my prey firmly and rolled his foreskin down, making his reddish head appear. I wondered if it was really Camilo I was in love with or just his dick: this delicious piece of meat, hard and smooth... I started to suck at it, fantasising about it finally, firmly, entering my hole... He positioned me face down and I allowed him to do it -- in fact I was ready to allow him to do... anything he wanted. He knelt down behind me, and I closed my eyes and said, "There"s a jar of hand cream just over there..." "Not just yet, thanks," he replied, calmly. I felt him stroking my buttocks gently, each touch of his fingers making me feel horny as hell. I buried my face in my hands and just concentrated on the amazing sensation of Camilo's hands fondling my ass. "You've got such a cute ass," he said. "It's so smooth... can you open your legs a bit?" I didn't open them 'a bit', I spread them as wide as I could. "Wowee! What a beautiful ass! How come you've got such a pretty ass, huh?" I shrugged my shoulders: I didn't know. "It's all yours, Cami -- and I'm really happy that you like my butt." "Butt? Ass, stupid! Ass, crack, hole..." said Camilo, roughly. I laughed. "Well, okay, then -- I'm really happy that you love my crack," I said, since that was the harshest word I could think of. He took up a position between my legs and just barely touched my hole -- and a tremor ran through my body. It wasn't surprise, or pain, just a sort of sensuality running uncontrollably through me. He kept his finger there, and wowwwww!!!! it felt amazing. I tightened my ass to increase the sensation of his finger against me. "Put a pillow under your tummy, Marce," he suggested -- or maybe it was an instruction, rather than a suggestion. Either way, I grabbed a pillow, lifted my hips and stuck it under my stomach. My cock was left quivering in the air. Camilo took hold of both cheeks and opened my ass, holding me in that position as he began to give me lots of little pecks and kisses, which made me shiver. He teased me by kissing all the way down my crack from the top, and when he reached the place where I wanted him to be the little bastard kept going, kissing all the way down to where my balls joined my body, nibbling and licking at me there before going all the way back to the top of my crack again. The bloody little tease was just playing with me, trying to get me to ask him to work on my hole. I didn't oblige him: after all, as far as I was concerned I had already made myself entirely available to him, and had made it clear that my most secret place was his to use as he wanted. I didn't feel I needed to actually beg for it. I could feel my resolution slipping away: his teasing was so sensual and I knew I wouldn't be able to resist much longer. I gave him a signal with my ass, but Camilo had his game perfected, and he didn't bite. Shit! I reached behind me, took his head, feeling his braids like little ropes, and pulled his head against my crack, trying to guide his mouth against my hole. "You want to be rimmed, don't you?" "Aha!" I replied... and the fucking little tart gave me a very quick lick in exactly the right place, making me shiver... and then moved away. By now this whole game was starting to irritate me more and more -- far too much teasing and not enough action. I wanted him in my hole: I wanted him to open me up, lick me, and finally- for fuck's sake! - to just bloody FUCK me!!! I turned my head to look at him, staring at him impatiently and trying to convey that enough was enough. "What do you want me to do, 'Marcy'?" he asked, softly. "Lick my asshole, you asshole!" I said, clearly. "And then I want you to fuck me." "And what's the magic word, 'Marcy'?" he said in the same soft voice. That was enough: my patience was exhausted. I rolled over onto my back and glared at him angrily. Camilo looked at me in disbelief. He looked both funny and somehow pathetic, kneeling on the bed with a hard-on and an unhappy face. I stated my position as firmly as I possibly could. "Camilo, I will never beg for sex, under any circumstances," I said, loudly. "If all you want to do is to tease me, then forget it! I mean it, man -- we're through!" I didn't know if this explosion of anger was due to the wine I had drunk or not, though any alcoholic effect seemed to have vanished completely by now. All I knew was that my dignity was being fucked, and truthfully I wasn't up for that, now or any time. "If you think I'm going to beg for your dick, you're going to be right out of luck. I've offered you my crack; if you want to fuck me, help yourself -- I'm completely willing. But don't ask me to beg you to fuck me, because that is never, ever, going to happen!" I got off the bed, found my jeans, pulled them on and went downstairs. "You mother-fucking, rich, spoiled little asshole! You were the one cruising for boys in the park, looking for a fuck, there or in whatever spot you could find, and I was stupid enough to fall for it -- and then you brought me to this godforsaken fucking place!!" he shouted, sobbing and sounding almost hysterical. I turned and stared at him, in time to see him grab his trousers and pull them on at top speed. Then, tears rolling down his face, he grabbed the undies I had lent him and hurled them at me. "Take this shit!" he yelled. "If I could puke up the fucking meal you gave me, I would -- but I can shit it out, and then you can fucking well eat it -- FUCK YOU!!!" I managed to wipe the scowl from my face and looked at him. He pushed past me and ran down the stairs, yanked the door open and ran out, in bare feet and wearing only a pair of trousers. Ivan Torres, the meteorologist, was absolutely right: outside it was tipping it down with rain. "Very heavy rain in the higher parts of the city" was how he had put it in his professional TV way. I shook my head, grabbed some more clothes -- a shirt, a sweater and my parka, as well as my boots - and ran after him. I saw him running down the hill, slipping and sliding in the mud. I ran, slipping several times myself and getting plastered in mud in the process. Camilo didn't know the area at all, and he was running blindly, straight towards the Quebrada del Agua, a thirty-seven-metre cliff with rocks at the bottom. I hared after him, swearing I would give him such a slap when I caught up with him... "Camilo!!! Stop! STOP!!! Holy Christ!!!" He disappeared into some bushes and gave a scream of horror. I reached the edge of the canyon, still sliding about and falling over, swearing all the way. Camilo was dangling over the edge, hanging on like grim death to a root that was slowly coming out of the ground. He was trying to grab some branches, but every movement he made was making his situation worse. Vicious rocks were waiting for him forty metres below. "Camilo, keep still! Grab that root with both hands and try to get your feet against the cliff," I instructed him. He stared at me in terror. I looked around, but there was nothing that could help. What I needed was... well, if I really had a choice I'd have gone for a Doite elastic nylon rope attached to a Technika climbing axe... I pulled my trousers off, leaving me still wearing my boots but now bare assed in the pouring rain and stretched one leg of my trousers down to him, and he grabbed it as if it was a Doite elastic nylon rope attached to a Technika climbing axe, and not just a bloody trouser leg. Once he was gripping it firmly I pulled on the other leg until he was able to reach the lip of the cliff, and then I was able to grab his wrist and pull him back up over the edge. I sat on my bare butt in the mud, trying to get my breath back, while he lay, stark naked in the rain except for a pair of trousers, flat on his back in the mud where I had dragged him. I heard him yell, "Happy now, you fucking rich bastard? I fucking nearly died, you bastard! So, are you happy now?" He began to sob, his body shaking with the spasms of his sobs as the rain poured down on us. "Look at me, you stupid asshole!! Curse me all you want, but if you ever do something as fucking stupid as that again..." I took a deep breath. "I'll fucking beat the shit out of you, you stupid bastard!" Camilo went on crying. I looked at him for a few seconds, and now I was suffering overwhelming feelings of guilt. My exaggerated anger at the way our stupid game had got out of control was completely gone now, replaced by a feeling of fear, or regret, or a mixture of both. I don't like feeling regretful, or guilty, but right then I couldn't help it. I crawled over to him, covered in mud -- even the cheeks of my bare ass were coated in it. He was still sobbing helplessly. His face was an absolute picture of unhappiness, which feeling quickly overwhelmed me, too. I got my hands into his armpits and helped him to his feet. I was still capable of logical thought, and I knew that cold, wet clothes were like an invitation to hypothermia in these weather conditions, so I pulled his trousers down as far as his knees, before he pushed me away and pulled them up again. "What, you want to fuck me again? Haven't you done enough already?" he asked, starting to cry again. "Camilo, don't be stupid. Look at me!" I said. I threw off my parka, pullover and shirt, and even the useless boots, so that I was completely naked. He looked at me in surprise, but was obviously still angry. "Now, Camilo, get those trousers off. We're at least half a kilometre from the house, we're over two thousand metres above sea level, and it's fucking cold. We need to get there as fast as we can, or we're in deep shit. So please do as I say, or I'll do it for you, and I'll break your pretty nose for you, too." I don't know if it was the threat, or because he understood, or even because deep down he trusted me, but for whatever reason he took his trousers off. "Good. Now pick them up, try to stay under the trees as much as you can, and head back to the house. And take it carefully: the ground is very slippery." In bare feet, with the wind getting stronger, completely naked, we two teens struggled up the hill to reach a house that was also pretty cold. It took us between ten and fifteen minutes, shivering all the way -- and I was really quite scared by the time we got there. "Yeah, okay. Now let's get some fucking wood -- you light the fire in the main fireplace, and I'll go and find us some dry clothes... get a towel and..." I stopped when I saw Camilo staring at me in surprise and realised I'd been speaking English. "Sorry," I said in Spanish. "When I get nervous I talk shit. Look, in that box over there you'll find some wood you can use to get a fire going. Use a little kerosene to get it going. Get it burning, then put plenty of wood on it. I'll go upstairs and find us some dry clothes, you can get the kettle on to make us a coffee and I'll get the water heater going so that we can take a shower..." "Anything else, Milord? A whisky, perhaps?" said Camilo sarcastically, through chattering teeth. "No, that's the worst thing we could do..." I interrupted myself as I realised he was being sarcastic. "Look, Camilo," I said, sourly, "stop bullshitting about! We're in trouble here and we need to work together to sort it out, or we'll both come down with hypothermia, okay?" He stopped arguing, and we went to the woodshed and found some wood, bringing it inside and putting it in the fireplace. I left him shivering and trying to light the fire while I ran upstairs to my closet, where I found nothing but a few summer clothes, and no underwear. I grabbed what I thought might be useful and ran into the other bedroom. There was a box there with some of Christine's clothes in -- shit, just a load of female underwear, bras, and about ten thousand sweaters! I grabbed some underwear and a couple of sweaters, together with the blankets from my bed, and ran back downstairs. Camilo had got the fire started but was still shivering and looked deathly pale. There was a stench of kerosene in the air. I passed him some clothes, grabbing a pair of Christine's knickers and shoving his feet into them. I pulled them up to his hips, wrapped a sweater round his neck -- and Camilo reacted and put it on properly. I checked the thermometer: minus two Celsius! He pulled on a pair of pyjama trousers, and then I started to dress myself. My knickers were pink, and over them went pyjama trousers, a turtle-necked sweater and woollen socks. Once we were both dressed I felt we could relax a little. We wouldn't need a shower because the house was becoming warmer. I got behind Camilo and hugged him, sitting us both down in front of the fire. The hug was another good means of warming ourselves up. Twenty minutes later the mercury was up to plus twenty-one degrees Celsius. I kept hugging Camilo, who was still breathing more slowly than usual, but who was over the lethargic effects of severe heat loss. He just looked at me and shrugged. I left him there and went to the window to check on the animals, and found them fine, and indeed eating, as if the snow that was now falling was no more than a joke for them. Okay, no problems there, then. Now I felt able to relax completely. Camilo made us both a cup of coffee flavoured with cinnamon, steaming and aromatic; the cinnamon tasted great, and in fact reminded me that I was hungry. We made a couple of sandwiches using meat we had previously cooked on the barbecue. It was nine-thirty at night. Two or three hours had passed without us saying anything more than an occasional polite "please" and "you're welcome". There was still an almost palpable tension between us, and I was very much aware that I needed Camilo's forgiveness, and somehow I had to find a way to tell him that I was sorry; but pride and my bloody sense of dignity made it really hard for me... Nonetheless... "Camilo," I began, thrusting my bloody dignity away so that I could just say what needed to be said, "I'm so sorry! I'm really, really sorry... please, I'm begging you from my heart to forgive me... I love you!" I said it looking at the floor, ashamed not because I loved him but because I had hurt him in so many ways: his own pride, his dignity, his beliefs, his principles... I felt that telling him that was one of the bravest things I had ever done in my life, but then I started to sob like a child, my body shaking with each sob, my tears slowly washing away: the frustration, the rage, the fear, the absolute terror, the danger we had been through, and I realised with no room for doubt, or fear, or feelings of guilt, or remorse, or shame, or regret, that I loved him, and needed to tell him so, and to demonstrate it, And I didn't know how to say it: I could only sob... I raised my head and faced him, and saw his own eyes filled with tears, which were falling thick and fast down his cheeks, and at the same time his lips and chin were trembling with the effort of trying to handle emotions that were probably far beyond any he had ever experienced before. "MMM... Mmaa... Marcelo... I lo... love you... I love you more... than my life.... Please, I'm so sorry -- forgive me! Before.... wh.... when we were in bed.... I... I was only joking.... just teasing -- I never wanted to humiliate you -- and later, when I was so horrible to you.... please, I'm so sorry!" And his sobs and crying just swept over him like a flood. We hugged each other so hard, and pressed our cheeks together so that our tears mixed and mingled as if our lives were joining inextricably together. "Cami, you don't need forgiveness from me -- I don't even deserve to have you ask for it. Forgiveness is God's business. I'm so sorry I reacted so stupidly -- and as for everything else, forget it, it's okay, everything's okay, forget it, babe..." And we sealed those statements by bringing our lips together, opening them and allowing our tongues to meet. There was no lust in that kiss, just love. Our tension ebbed away as we cried together. I felt that he loved me, and that I loved him. *** This looks like a perfect place to end this tale -- or at least, this part of it. Actually I've already written some three hundred pages of the story, and whether or not it gets published depends entirely on you, the readers. If you want to let me know how you feel about it, please write to me at dap_cl@yahoo.com -- all comments, positive and negative, are welcome! I would like to thank David for his work in translating this into readable English -- without his help it would just be unreadable rubbish. [Actually, it's been great having something this good to work with -- and I can assure you that I have simply tidied up the narrative a little. The real thanks are due to Doc for writing this great story in the first place -- David]. Thanks are also due to Nifty for giving me the opportunity to believe I am actually a writer! I'd also particularly like to thank JJ, whose story 'Constantin' is absolutely awesome. He was my first contact - thanks, JJ! And thanks to each one of you for reading this story!