Date: Sat, 21 Aug 2010 15:04:04 -0600
From: michaelpete@hushmail.com
Subject: Career Choice Chapter 1

Please be advised that, in the following story and its subsequent chapters,
one will find depictions of graphic sexual activities between minors and
minors and adults. The story is fiction but based on real characters,
events, places and situations. There is no relationship between the names
used and that of any real person. Send comments to
michaelpete@hushmail.com.


CAREER CHOICE

by Michael Peterson

PART 1

	Brandon Brandenburg was the name his Filipino prostitute mother and
retired US Air Force father chose the day he was born in November of 1974.
They'd married and conceived for entirely different, actually competing
reasons. They liked each other but love was not part of the package.

      Pretty Layla Ladao was the halfbreed offspring of another American
soldier and her prostitute mother, Lili, though her father refused to
accept any responsibility for his daughter, returning stateside without
notice. Lili had been a refugee from a dysfunctional family who'd left her
Ilocos Norte mountain village with a friend at fifteen to be a prostitute
to servicemen from the huge American Clark Air Force Base north of Manila.
She died of a drug overdose when Layla was fourteen. Lili's friend took
Layla in but provided only a roof and food. Before her fifteenth birthday,
still just entering adolescence physically, Layla hit the streets as a call
girl where, due mostly to her small size and childlike figure, she found
immediate success. By the time she turned sixteen, Layla had her own rented
room where she entertained clients at half the cost to them of a hotel,
even selling sodas, chips and cold beer before or after sex.

      Observing the higher standard of living on the Air Force Base, Layla
dreamt of moving to the West with a naïve belief she could set up a
profitable prostitution operation in some large American city. When the
apparently well off Sgt. Jack Brandenburg came along, she saw him as the
culmination of her yearnings. For his part, the handsome Master Sergeant
had just retired and needed a Filipino wife to gain at least permanent
residence if not citizenship in the Philippines. Under investigation back
home for drug trafficking, returning to the states was not an option. He
didn't mention that to his new bride.

	Later, to calm her increasing agitation for a US visa, Jack bought
Layla the girly bar where they'd met and in which they'd held their civil
wedding ceremony.

      The town of Angeles provided a multitude of services and personnel to
the military base. Their bar, and most of the sex trade, was in a section
called Balibago, to the north of city center and bordering the base, It has
been said that there were, and still are, more girly bars, whore houses and
prostitutes per unit area in Balibago than anywhere else in the world. Many
a young American had his first taste of wet sex there.

      The Last Showdown Bar was on a street lined with similar
establishments. Just about any kind of sexual adventure was available there
for the asking though, in a few cases, prepubescent girls and boys in
particular, one had to be discreet. The brass at Clark Field didn't
approve.

      Layla Brandenburg, a small woman at only 5 feet 2 inches with
typically small breasts, had been a popular girl at a number of bars over
her seven year career before meeting Jack. She'd come to the Last Showdown
Bar a year before as an assistant manager in charge of the other dancers
and bar girls. Two weeks after Jack took her to a hotel for the first time,
he asked her to be strictly his and paid the bar owner a hefty fee for the
privilege. Though girls weren't owned or under any formal contract by their
employers, it was standard procedure for the customer to pay a `bar fine'
of around two hundred forty pesos, ten to twenty US dollars in those days,
to go off for an hour or two with a girl who'd otherwise be hustling
customers to buy them expensive drinks. Taking the girl off the market
completely, as did Jack, cost quite a bit more. The retired Master Sergeant
paid ten thousand pesos, about five hundred US dollars, for the privilege.

      Two weeks after purchasing her release, Jack gave Layla a diamond
ring. They married a week later sans Layla's relatives who either suspected
Jack's motives, and had warned her, or, not approving of her profession as
was the case with those back home in the mountains or living in Manila,
wanted nothing to do with her.

	Brandon arrived eight months later. Possibly from a combination of
his father's and maternal grandfather's blue eyes, his were a light grey
brown combination. Other than the eye color and strong chin, he looked more
like his mother, even her slightly slanted eyes. But what really convinced
Jack of his paternity, was the long penis between the baby's fat legs.
"That's when I knew he was mine!" he bragged to his barroom buddies.

	By the time Brandon was born, the couple had set up a comfortable
apartment in the rear of the second floor over the bar. Jack was still in
business moving heroin into the U.S. via contacts back on the base. It
required trips to Thailand and Vietnam, absences he attributed to the
seeking out and purchase of art and crafts goods he claimed to be shipping
to the states.

	Layla, then twenty-three, was an effective, hard working personnel
manager but awful as a business administrator. Still, thanks to Jack's
contacts and business acumen along with some of the prettiest girls on the
strip, the club became successful within a few weeks. Possibly more
important, there were a half dozen rooms with beds and wall and ceiling
mirrors on the second floor, an illegal arrangement since the bar wasn't
licensed as a hotel. However, monthly cash and occasional sexual favors to
the local police brass facilitated the arrangement. Layla had known the
precinct captain before meeting Jack.

	Baby Brandon was well cared for by a nanny, Ana Maria, and doted
over by several of the bar girls, all cooing over his light brown eyes.
Breast feeding had to wait each day until noon when his late night working
mother managed to drag herself out of bed. From then on it had to be
squeezed between her business duties including keeping track of receipts,
booze and food stocks, which girls went with customers, taking care of
greedy cops, and all the other odds and ends involved in running a bar and
whore house. There were breaks in the daily routine when her husband was
around and took over so she could care for their small child.

	Brandon grew up quadrilingual. His mother spoke to him in her
mother's native Ilocano, the language of northern Luzon. It allowed
mother-son privacy even in a crowded room or in front of Brandon's father,
a frustration Jack managed to keep to himself. Then there was the English
of his monolingual father. With six years of English in grade school, Layla
was able to follow most father-son communication, including the
considerable cussing. His nanny and the rest of the local kids and adults
spoke to him in Kapampangan, the language of the Pampanga region which
included Angeles and Balibago where they lived. Finally, there was Tagalog
or Filipino, spoken by everyone in central and southern Luzon including
Angeles and Manila as well as being the official language of the country.
Layla spoke it fluently. Jack could greet and cuss in Tagalog but that was
about it.

	During Brandon's first four years of life, his father was a fairly
regular presence. Some of their time together was spent in the bar with
Jack's American drinking buddies as well as multinational drug business
associates. At Jack's behest, the little boy used all four languages in
front of the other men and their girl friends, peppering his English with
the long list of curse words he'd picked up, greatly amusing the adults
around him.

	"Brandon," his father would ask night after night, "what's a
cocksucker?"

	Brandon would stick his finger in and out of his mouth to the
delight of Jack's mostly American friends.

	When asked about fucking, he'd pump his hips back and forth saying
in English, "Yeah baby!"

	Then there was that long cock. Jack had the grinning Brandon push
down the front of his shorts so everyone got a peek. "Chip off the old
block."

	Brandon's nanny, a woman with four children of her own in a rooming
house a block away, spoke no English but did know that `motherfucker' and
`cocksucker' were not socially acceptable expressions. Nonetheless,
figuring her kids had no idea what they meant, she sufficed with friendly
admonitions not to use them.

      As he grew, Layla tried to spend as much time as possible with her
son. Getting him breakfast and off to pre-school was unrealistic with her
late night schedule but she did try to be there for his midday meal. Rather
than have someone else do it, she made the daily trips to the market
herself, taking Brandon along. They'd buy ice cream or some other goodie
off one of the many mobile food carts that abounded in the streets of every
Filipino town and city then stop at a small playground with children's
swings, a teeter totter and a jungle gym made out of scrap metal from the
base.

      Seeing other kids with older relatives and playing with cousins
brought questions about his grandparents, uncles and aunts and cousins.
Layla explained they were in other parts of the country even going so far
as to show him a map that only confused matters. Eventually, with his
mother increasingly agitated by the subject, he gave up and took the issue
to his father. Though Jack could understand the map, he found himself
stonewalled much as his son had been.

      By the time Brandon turned five, his father was absent far more than
not, putting a greater work load and more responsibility on his mother,
responsibility that she wasn't truly up to. While she could manage the bar
girls reasonably well, minding the business end was beyond her. Control of
stock and, more importantly, cash slipped dramatically. Theft went up to a
point that a week came when she couldn't make payroll. Three times during
1979, her husband, flush with cash from his drug business, had to bail out
the bar. Each time he took gradually stronger steps toward improved
administration. That third time, he hired a Filipino manager who, for a
time at least, brought some order. Theft was all but eliminated by steps
that smacked of Mafia tactics. One bartender was beaten and terrified so
badly, his family moved him by ambulance back to a small hospital in
Calamba, about 50 km south of Manila. Two bar girls were fired and told to
leave town or have their pretty faces cut up. Others were merely dismissed.
The rest of the employees caught the drift of the new management and
behaved accordingly.

      Unfortunately, during the bad times, unable to vent on her girls or
other employees without making matters worse, Layla let loose on her
son. Brandon often sought the solace and security of his nanny's house down
the street, occasionally sleeping there. Probably because it relieved her
of a burden, Layla didn't complain or press her son as to where he'd
been. Although he missed the good times and the affection of his mother,
the correct but distant nanny was a safe if sad alternative.

      The situation did allow Brandon greater freedom of movement. When he
wasn't around, his mother assumed he was with his nanny and vice versa. He
began hanging with older boys on the block and nearby streets, many half
breeds like him.

      Finally, when the burden of management was taken off Layla's
shoulders, she tried for reconciliation with her son. Brandon only half
believed her promises. He did sleep in the apartment but was at the nanny's
house most of the day partly because, with his mother's late night schedule
unchanged, breakfast was still with Ana Maria.

      Being one very cute little boy, the bar girls fawned over Brandon.
There were the occasional gifts like toy cars or plastic figures, usually
military. When Layla wanted to take her son to the barber shop, the girls
entreated her to let it grow.

      "But he's starting to look like a girl!" Layla protested.

      "No, no. It's the style. We just gotta fix it up. We know how."

      Layla relented and Brandon gradually grew shoulder length locks
though brushed and styled daily by Brandon's adoring fans. Even his mother
learned to admire the look.

      At six, a year younger than most of his classmates, Brandon was
placed in a small private school, accepted early because of his obvious
intelligence, where half the students were the offspring of bar girls, only
two of whom had fathers living with them. Brandon, at times, was one of
that select group. It had been set up by a young Catholic priest in the
late sixties, then taken over by a local woman who'd herself been a
prostitute and felt for `mixed heritage' children. The fees charged were
low enough for the less successful mothers. The education was modest but a
tad better than government schools. Kids there also didn't have to worry
about the prejudice mixed blood kids encountered in public institutions.

      Brandon did fairly well as a student. He had his father's brains and
ingenuity, meaning he could get away with not doing his homework but was
smart enough to get by in his tests. Behavior was a minor problem as
Brandon always wanted to be the one to answer questions, lead games, or
have the last word. Most boys were put off by it but girls didn't seem to
mind. Nonetheless, he did have friends, or, at least, boys who put up with
his domineering attitude. Older boys generally allowed his presence as he
had quickly learned his place as a junior member of that group. To add to
his popularity among the latter group, Brandon brought along and shared
cookies and other expensive goodies that the new bar boss-man managed to
have in great abundance.

      It was during first grade that Brandon learned about masturbation.
Fondling himself had always provided some comfort but what he saw a group
of preteens doing inside a derelict truck near his school looked to be a
lot more fun. It took a while for one of the boys to notice Brandon's
presence.

      "Get outta here, Brandon!" he demanded.

      Brandon, standing beside the large box the boys were using as cover,
was far too engrossed to move.

      The others looked up. "And don't say nothin'!" ordered another.

      Brandon still didn't move.

      Another said derisively, "Go get your mother to give you a blow job."
All four were pure bloods.

      The four, only one of whom had actually stopped moving his operative
hand, laughed.

      Brandon's right hand was deep inside his pocket, holding onto a
growing cock. "I ain't gonna say nothin'."

      "Let him stay," suggested the second boy. "Maybe he'll give us a blow
job."

      From hearing his mother's bar girls discuss it, Brandon knew more or
less what that meant. "Unh uh. Anyway, I ain't gonna say nothin'."

      "Come on, Brandon, you know how to do it. Give us a blow job." The
boy stood up and flipped his hard on.

	"Shut up, Ferdie," growled another. "Okay, but you gotta keep your
mouth shut. Anyhow, you're too little to do this."

	"No I ain't." Brandon pushed his shorts down exposing three stiff
inches.

	"Brandon's got a big one," commented one boy, "Bigger'n yours,
Junior."

	Junior frowned but said nothing because it was true. Brandon's was
bigger than all of theirs.

      Ignoring the remarks about his long cock, Brandon pushed out his hips
and copied their actions, fingers extended back over his cock. "See, I can
do it."

	"Get inside!" blurted one. "People can see you there."

	Brandon stepped quickly around the box.

	The boy standing shuffled backward against the wall of the truck,
his shorts around his ankles. "You know what the feeling is?"

	"How's he gonna know that? He's only six, right, Brandon?"

	"I'm gonna be seven."

	"All right but you gotta be quiet." The speaker got back to what
he'd been doing, joining the others who'd never really stopped.

	Brandon watched. Each boy had his own style. One had his cock in a
tight fist, the tip appearing and disappearing as he rapidly ran his hand
back and forth. The boy who'd been the first in trying to get rid of the
six year old used his thumb and two fingers, going slower than the boy
standing beside him. That one used a similar three-finger approach but
pumped in time with his hips. Brandon noticed the tautness of the boy's
thigh muscles, tense face and tightly closed eyes. The last boy, stretched
out nearly flat, though his shoulders were off the truck's broken wood
floor, used the tips of the fingers and thumbs of both hands.

	Brandon tried the full fist method first but within seconds
switched to the thumb and forefinger because it allowed a longer, better
feeling stroke. It was considerably different and far more pleasurable than
the mere manipulation he'd practiced before.

	Fully absorbed in his own passion, he glanced only twice at the
others before a strange feeling welled up in his middle. Worried there was
something wrong or that he might be about to pee, he stopped for a
moment. Immediately missing the growing sensation in his groin, he got back
to work. The four older boys were deep into their own private
worlds. Brandon noticed that the boy on his back had dropped flat and
stopped. His eyes were closed. Sweat covered his face. He was breathing
deeply.

	The wonderful feeling was quick to return as Brandon worked his own
penis. As the wonderful sensation grew, he found himself unsteady and fell
backward against the box. Then the great rush of pleasure shot through him
like one huge injection of warm honey. He wasn't sure whether he should
continue, stop or just slow down. The rush dissipated. The head of his dick
became ultra sensitive. He yanked his hand away and stared down at his
reddened, still bouncing cock. A look around found that no one had
noticed. The boy standing still had his eyes closed. Two others continued
their masturbation. It was a couple of minutes before all were finished.

	As they stood, Brandon was again reminded to "keep your mouth shut
or we'll find you."

	Brandon went straight back to his room to try this new sensation
again. It worked.

	Though he did reduce the frequency after a couple of weeks, Brandon
was masturbating several times a day including in the not completely
private boys' room at school. He'd nearly achieved orgasm one day when two
second graders came in. Brandon, sitting on a toilet with his shorts over
his feet, tried to cover up but one was sure he'd seen something.

	"Brandon's playing with his worm! Look. We saw you Brandon."

	The other piped in, "And he don't know how to do it."

	"Yes I do!" replied Brandon angrily. Both the remark and being
stopped at the moment of fruition contributed to his anger.

	"Let's see you," insisted the first. "Do it."

	"You ruined it," replied Brandon pulling up his shorts as he stood.

	"See, I said. You don't know how."

	Brandon extended himself, shorts dropped to his thighs, penis
sticking straight out. "See!"

	"That ain't nothin'. Mine gets like that all the time, and bigger."

	"Show us how you do it," piped up another.

	Brandon put his fingers on the shaft, ran them up and down twice
then yanked his shorts up. "There." With that, he walked around them to the
door.

	"That ain't nothin'," they said behind him.

	Brandon worried all day that something would come up but there
weren't even looks, nothing to indicate the two second graders had said
anything to anyone.

	It was a long time before he beat off in school again.

	A few weeks after Brandon's seventh birthday, his generally absent
father unexpectedly stuck around for several months. His demeanor was more
tranquil, even fatherly, taking Brandon out to eat or, on two occasions,
fish. There were trips to Manila to see movies or visit shopping centers
where he bought his son new clothes and a set of toy cars Brandon became
excited about. The sometimes stormy relationship between his parents was
also more relaxed. They conversed amicably whenever both were in the
apartment. The man brought in to cover for Layla's incapacity to run the
business disappeared ostensibly to take on a better paying job. Jack took
over management. There was some drinking, even drunkenness, but not so
often that it became a problem. Most importantly, no violence accompanied
it. Under the influence, Brandon's father became more friendly until he
drifted off to sleep wherever he was at the time.

	Jack Brandenburg even apologized to his son for teaching him curse
words. "It's kinda okay when you're around me and my friends but you
shouldn't use `em around nobody else, especially your mother. It's not
respectful."

	It should be pointed out that the one thing Jack was never able or
willing to give his son was physical affection. At no time in Brandon's
memory had his father ever picked him up or given a hug. There was hair
ruffling and hand shakes, but that was it. Along with that was a lack of
substantive conversation. Discussions tended to be short and about what one
or the other wanted.

	Then, one day while Brandon was showering before breakfast, the
police came looking for his father. Naked and dripping, Brandon watched as
his father climbed out a rear window and dropped to the ground below,
seconds before a number of uniformed cops came charging through after
him. One of them pushed Brandon aside as he looked inside the bathroom.

	It was over quickly. The cops hauled his mother away in a
jeepney. Several began searching the house and club, breaking things,
tossing everything they touched on the floor. Brandon's room wasn't
exempt. They threw his clothes, books and bedding on the floor and cut open
his mattress. One of them stepped on one of his toy cars, destroying it.
Brandon, still naked but for a towel around his waist, was kept in the
bathroom. Finally, a policewoman came for him.

	"Where's your daddy hide things?" was the main point of her
questions though there were a few about guns.

	"I don't know," was all Brandon could come up with. The only guns
he'd ever seen were in the club and they were pistols, not the `big guns'
the woman wanted to hear about.

	As they arrived, the girls were questioned and sent away. Brandon,
who had no idea what was going on, wasn't allowed back into his room until
midday. None of the police seemed at all concerned that he hadn't anything
to eat. Worse, the girls who fixed him lunch weren't allowed in to take
care of him. His pleas for food were brushed off with, "Just wait, don't
worry, somebody will get some" or the like. Twice, he tried to leave but
was put into his room and something placed against his door so he couldn't
get out.

	Mid afternoon, a woman in street clothes came and told him to get
dressed. Saying only that he would need to stay for a few days where she
was taking him until his mother could come get him, she drove Brandon to a
children's home in the next town.

	It was a large house. Twenty or thirty boys and girls ages from
perhaps three to twelve or thirteen were inside, several mixed bloods like
him. A woman took him to her office and asked his name, age, and birthdate
which he didn't know, what grade he was in, and was he hungry. By this
time, Brandon was in tears. He'd held off the fear he'd had back at the
apartment and in the woman's car but by then it was all too much. Hunger
was forgotten.

	"I wanna go home. My mother gonna be there. Let me go home."

	He tried to rush out but the front door was locked. Two older boys
laughed at his escape attempt. Brandon sat on the floor in a corner and
sobbed. He finally ate two hours later.

	During the time he sat there, he witnessed two fights being broken
up by the women, both times, a bigger boy on a smaller one. Both times, the
smaller one went away crying. It terrified him.

	Then, as the children were being put to bed, there was a raucous
knocking at the door. It was the local police, Brandon's mother with
them. She charged in, demanding, "Where's my son, the one they brought here
this afternoon?"

	Half an hour later, Brandon was happily back home.

	"Some Americans are saying your father did some things he didn't
do," his mother told him. "Don't worry. We'll get this fixed up."

	The club re-opened the next day. Brandon's mother told him not talk
to anybody about his father and tell her if anyone asked. Over the next
couple of weeks she pointed out a pair of men on the street in front of the
bar. "Don't talk to those two. They work for the Americans, bad people."

	Over the next few months, Layla, again in charge of the bar
operation, became increasingly short tempered with everyone, particularly
her son. Brandon never forgot that first smack to the back of the
head. He'd dropped a plastic cup of soda while running up the stairs to
their apartment.

	"Boy," she blurted out in Ilocano, "You're always making a mess. Go
to your room!"

	The blow hadn't hurt very much but it had come as a complete
surprise. She'd never hit him before, even prevented his father from
spanking him a couple of times. Brandon cried.

	Later that evening, Layla sought out her son and apologized for
what she'd done. "It's just that we got a lotta problems in the bar and I
shouldn't have gone hitting you."

	Still, a few weeks later, it happened again, this time because he
didn't eat all his rice. "You think we're rich? You don't go putting
nothin' on your plate you ain't gonna eat. You understand?"

	Brandon, still not yet eight, was nonplussed, completely unsure
what he'd done wrong. He hadn't been hungry. His mother had put the rice on
his plate.

	There was no apology that time.

	When his eighth birthday came around, the bar girls threw him a
party. A few gave him little gifts like toy cars, a Batman figurine set
with accessories and a cowboy hat. His mother didn't attend.

	She'd been at a lawyer's office signing a contract with a just
retiring American serviceman. He was taking over the club. She was to get a
salary and be in charge of the girls. Staff Sergeant Brian Owings, a long
time customer, was paying off the bar's considerable debt. He also agreed
to guarantee Brandon's education through college should he have the grades
and desire to go that route. Layla made a point of telling Brandon about
that part of the deal.

	It was about that time that Layla started using drugs, pills at
first but, within a year, heroin, the source of her husband's wealth and
problems with the law.

	Brandon saw many of the comforts he'd grown up with gradually
disappear. New clothes, the occasional new toy, restaurant meals all became
things of the past. Meals were simpler with less variety. Cookies and chips
from the base became memories. The maid who washed his clothes quit when
she didn't get paid two months in a row. Two of the bar girls, who knew
what Brandon didn't about his mother's drug problem, took over washing his
dirty clothes, and, eventually, feeding him. They even bought him new shoes
for school when he outgrew the old ones.

      The new owner of the bar was completely absorbed in running and
growing his new business. If he'd have spoken better Tagalog, he probably
would have forgotten the boy existed. When his mother was too far gone to
help but Brandon was nearby, Owings would have him translate. That
generally netted the boy a peso or two.

      With no one to force the issue, Brandon stopped doing homework and
nearly failed fourth grade. Over the following three years, he went from
the low nineties to sixties. The school director sent notes for his mother
to come talk but she never showed up. One of the girls did stop by and
promised to help during fourth grade but she was gone when the new school
year began.

      Another factor in Brandon's three year fall from grace was his
gradual entry into gambling, a common habit among Filipinos. Nothing was
played without a wager. That included marbles, checkers, sipa (a roughly 1"
diameter metal washer with a piece of plastic paper stuffed in the middle
that was kicked continuously into the air until it fell, the most times
provided the winner his prize). Brandon funded his habit by filching small
amounts of money from the bar girls' purses in the dressing room. He'd
stolen a key from atop his mother's dresser the year before. At the time,
it was to hide and watch the girls undress. He observed his first blow job
there when one brought in a customer for a quickie.

      He'd also been stealing from the cash register but, apparently, he
hadn't been the only thief around. Owings put in a closed circuit camera
whose view included the entire back of the bar. Brandon was lucky he'd been
around to ask about it when the men installed the system.

      But Brandon at ten had lost his earlier inhibitions about stealing
and lying. One the verge or turning eleven, he considered himself a clever
gambler and thief. His attitude toward authority, including his junkie
mother and her boss, had slipped to a point of arrogant disregard. The day
of his eleventh birthday, his mother, her resources absorbed by her drug
habit, wasn't able to buy a cake much less a gift. The bar girls, less
enthusiastic about him than before due to his changed attitude and the fact
that more than one knew about his gambling and suspected involvement in
theft, bought the cake but sent it to Ana Maria, his former nanny, to do
the celebrating. Brandon showed up an hour late for the small, subdued
party.

      At school, his behavior was equally unsavory. He watched for
opportunities to steal other kids' marbles or money, getting away with it
most of the time. Twice, though, he was caught and sent home, the second
time with return permitted only in the company of his
mother. Unfortunately, she was too strung out that day to understand what
the problem was. For several days, Brandon would leave each morning with
his school back pack but then go off to play with others who weren't
attending.

      That led to a somewhat prophetic situation. The morning of his fifth
day of truancy, Brandon got into a card game with a group of twelve to
fourteen year olds and lost badly. The three pesos and twenty-five centavos
he'd wagered were gone and he was in debt. "You ain't got no money so you
gotta suck my dick and Jun's. Two pesos, two blow jobs."

      "I ain't gonna suck nobody's dick. I'll get the money and pay you
tomorrow."

      "Fuck that! You gotta pay up now. All right, give up your shoes."

      "They cost a lot more than two pesos," insisted Brandon.

      "Then suck dicks. Shoes or dicks. Which?"

      They were inside the back of the truck where Brandon had seen others
beat off years before. He'd have to go through four of them to escape. He
had another pair of shoes at home. He began unlacing then remembered the
shoes at the house were too small for him, but decided to put up with tight
shoes rather than be called a fag for the rest of his life.

      The boys all laughed when he left in his socks.

      One of his former nanny's sons saw him pass by shoeless and told his
mother. Ana Maria rushed out catching Brandon a half a block from his
house.

      "What happened to your shoes, and why aren't you in school?" It was
not yet eleven in the morning.

      "Some kids stole `em."

      "At school?"

      Brandon, anxious to get a way, answered, "Yeah, but the principal's
gonna, uh, she's gonna get `em. She told me to go home and get my other
shoes so I gotta go."

      What Brandon hadn't considered was that he was coming from the wrong
direction to have been at school. And, Anna Maria knew him well enough to
sense the lie.

      "Brandon, why weren't you in school today?"

      "I was at school. It's just that..."

      Ana Maria interrupted, "School's that way." She pointed off to her
right.

      Brandon knew he was caught. "I gotta go home."

      "No, Brandon, you gotta tell me why you aren't in school or I'll go
and ask myself."

      "It's just that I got in some trouble and my mother gots to go with
me but she's sick."

      "All right, I'll go with you. They know me. Let's go get your shoes."

      They were too small. Ana Maria sought out Layla and told her what she
knew. Brandon's mother was a few hours from getting high and
functional. She gave Ana Maria money to buy new shoes for her son.

      When she learned the truth about Brandon's suspension, Ana Maria
suggested to Layla and Owings and they agreed that Brandon stay with her
for a few days so she could help him with his homework. She'd heard from
her eldest son about Brandon's gambling and figured out what had really
happened.

      "Brandon," she said quietly back in her humble home, "You lost your
shoes gambling and you've been stealing too. Here you are just eleven and
look at you, a very intelligent boy who can be a lawyer or a doctor one day
ruining his life with gambling. It's just like your mother and her
heroin. You're addicted to this craziness. Now, you know I love you like a
son."

      As she spoke, Brandon was unsuccessfully trying to figure a way to
exploit his situation with his former nanny. She'd seen through his lie
about the shoes and school. Was she going to insist on him coming straight
home from school? There was no way he was going to do that. She couldn't
make him. And how could she compare his gambling with his mother's drug
addiction. He didn't gamble all that much. Today had been just bad luck
and, what the hell, he got a new pair of shoes out of it.

      What followed was a downward spiral in Brandon's behavior. He ignored
Ana Maria's rules to a point that she sent him back to his Showdown Bar
apartment. There, after hearing what Ana Maria had to say, Owings laid down
his own set of restrictions on what Brandon could and could not do
including a six o'clock curfew, Brandon bent his rules and evaded or
ignored punishments, Owings told his mother, "This is a business operation
here. Your kid's got to either straighten up or go, you with him if that's
the way it's gotta be."

      When Layla tried to rein in her son, he bridled at restrictions on
his freedom. "I go to school, okay, but that's all. After school I do what
I want and nobody can tell me I can't go be with my friends
after. Everybody else can go out so I can too."

      "After you do you your homework!"

      "Bullshit! I..."

      Layla slapped Brandon's face. "I'm your mother, boy! You gotta do
what I say!"

      "You're a junkie! You ain't got the right to tell me nothin'"

      Layla froze in anger. Brandon marched out to the street. Layla shot
up. Brandon gambled his last two pesos away and, along with two street
boys, spent the night in the truck where he'd lost his shoes.

      The next day, a month to the day before Christmas, 1985, Brandon's
mother overdosed and was hauled off in an ambulance. Though Brandon was
well aware of the drug dependence from observing his mother both high and
in need as well as from overhearing comments by the bar girls and staff, it
never dawned on him that drugs might cost Layla her life.

      When he heard whispers that his mother was probably already dead,
Brandon was crushed. The first thought in his head was that his harsh words
the day before were responsible for her taking too much heroin, that he was
responsible for his mother's death. No matter how she'd treated him over
the past few years, she'd been his mother, the only person who had ever
really cared for him. He loved her and felt certain she did really love
him. His father was gone. He didn't know any of his relatives, wasn't sure
he had any. Without his mother, he was completely and absolutely
alone. That brought up another specter: ending up in a home like the
terrible place the police had put him into when they came after his father
and arrested his mother. The experience had been brief, only a few hours,
but had left the profound impression on him of children's homes as cold,
uncaring, unhappy places, to Brandon, a virtual prison. The freedom to do
as he wished would end. He'd have no control over any aspect of is
life. Perhaps he should be allowed to die too.

      He went home, lay on his bed and cried himself to sleep.

      Then, early that evening, Brandon was awakened and told he was being
taken to the hospital to see his mother. "No!" he screamed and fell on the
floor crying again.

      "But she wants to see you. She..."

      "Huh?" Brandon sat up. "She's okay?"

      Both mother and son wailed in each others' arms when he arrived in
her room.

      "I'm sorry, son. Please forgive me. I never should have hit you. I'm
so sorry. I've been a bad mother but I promised to God if he let me live
I'm gonna get off the drugs and be a good mother to you."

      At first, Brandon was just happy to have his mother alive. He was
less concerned with her words than the idea that she was still there. The
nurse had to pull him off her.

      "Your mother needs to rest. You can come see her tomorrow."

      Visiting hours weren't until one in the afternoon. Owings suggested
he go to school. That was rejected out of hand. When there was no one to
take him to the hospital, he walked the mile or so there and sat in the
waiting room. Two of the girls showed up at noon and bought him lunch.

      When, at last, he was allowed in to see his mother, she immediately
began a long litany of apologies which Brandon begged her to stop. Certain
she'd be home soon, and feeling badly about his behavior, it wasn't
difficult to go to school the next day then go home and do all his
homework, putting off a visit to the following day when he could show his
mother all he'd done.

      When he did go that Thursday, it was to the same maudlin discourse on
what a terrible mother she'd been, how she was going to improve, stay off
drugs, not even drink, and so on. He found himself comparing her words to
those he'd heard from pathetic drunks swearing they were never going to
touch the stuff again but, of course, were drunk again the following day.

      A cold feeling seeped into him. He would have his mother back but,
other than keeping him out of a children's home, she wasn't going to be of
much use. His future was in his hands. He was going to have to care for
himself. Ana Maria's words came back to him, especially those comparing his
gambling to his mother's heroin addition. Another part of her admonitions
pointed out the difference in the future lives of the boys who didn't go to
school and those who applied themselves to their education, She was right,
absolutely right. If Brian Owings kept his word about covering his
educational needs, perhaps it would be a best to stay in school, improve
his grades, and go to college. He could eventually find part time work to
make extra money. Even at eleven, kids earned small amounts of cash
cleaning up in a couple of the bars or he could sell cigarettes or
something on the street.

      Then, another surprise. Brian Owings placed his mother in a drug
rehabilitation center for a three-month cure. When Owings was made aware of
Ana Maria, Brandon's former nanny, he made the telling decision not to use
her but the effectively free services of his bar girls. He assigned four to
take turns feeding Brandon and meeting his needs. He called the school to
assure them he would cover costs there.

      Right up to the Christmas holidays, Brandon made it to class on time
every day, did most of his homework and behaved reasonably well. His
teacher, who'd had him in third grade, commented to him, "This is the best
you've ever been. We're all very proud of you."

      That inspired several nights of completed homework.

      A number of the bar girls and his former nanny tried to make
Brandon's Christmas as happy as possible. The girls provided small gifts
and a new set of clothes including an expensive pair of shoes. Ana Maria
took him to midnight mass and kept him in her home overnight so he could
spend Christmas day with her children and enjoy the traditional roast ham
dinner. Although he accompanied two of the bar girls to visit his mother
the day after Christmas, he didn't go back to the apartment for two more
days and then only because the bar girls had a couple of gifts waiting for
him, one, a bicycle, his first.

      The week after Christmas, with nothing to do but watch television
with its constant flow of presidential electioneering by the Marcos and
Aquino camps and boring adult dramas, Brandon, with marbles he'd bought
with money given him by some of the bar girls, went looking for a game with
kids his age in hopes of a friendly game. He did well, winning two shooters
on top of eight other marbles.

      That led to daily games with up and down results but, more
importantly, with the camaraderie he found he'd missed. New Year's Eve,
after playing with a group of slightly older boys, he went to one of their
houses for promised fireworks. There was also spiked fruit juice. When
Brandon declined the offer, he was chastised. "Little faggot's afraid of a
little New Year's booze," cajoled one.

      "Faggot, faggot," joined in the others.

      Brandon, unwilling to allow anyone to call him that, drank, and
drank, becoming drunk enough to eventually fall asleep in the dirt at the
side of the road in front of the boy's house. When he awakened several
hours later after three in the morning, his first action was to vomit while
still on his hands and knees.

      It took a while for him to get his bearings and find his way home but
the door was locked. The key he usually wore around his neck wasn't
there. He felt terrible and desperately wanted to get into bed. He finally
fell asleep curled up on the concrete slab below the door.

      The cleanup women found him awake and miserable at nine when they
came to work. One of them made him some soup.

      The story of his condition made the rounds of the girls but
apparently never got to Owings. Strangely enough, the whole affair had a
positive affect on Brandon. The taste in his mouth had had the same smell
as that emanated by the alcoholics who regularly drank themselves into a
stupor then staggered off, not always making it back to where they came
from without falling asleep in some public place.

      With a determination to never be in such a state again, Brandon
brushed his teeth repeatedly in a fruitless attempt to get rid of the
embarrassing scent. It was a day before he was willing to breathe in the
presence of others, preferring to put up with the uninteresting television
fare of New Year's Day rather than leave the apartment.

      Though the rigid regimen he planned to live under from the first of
the year softened by the end of the holidays, he did remain committed to
doing well in school and keeping his play within bounds, bounds that
required to him leave any game where he was down to five marbles or two
pesos, a limit he raised and lowered daily but managed to honor as it was
at the time.

	Then, the day that classes resumed, Brandon was surprised to find
himself the object of attention of a cute eleven year old girl in fifth
grade. She was pure Filipina and found his eyes `pretty'. Her eyes weren't
bad either but it was the almost waist length hair and pouty lips that were
her most prominent features. Her full name was Millicent Papagayo but
everyone called her Millie. Her mother was a vendor of souvenirs and knick
knacks on the Field's Avenue strip, home of the Showdown and a dozen other
girlie bars. The woman had been a prostitute years before but had become
too fat for the men who frequented the bars. Due to a heroin addiction, the
fat was gone but she was pushing forty and had lost her looks. Millie's
father was probably a drunk older Filipino barfly who'd taken Alicia
Papagayo to her home then fallen asleep after impregnating her. When
confronted with the idea that he might again be a father, the man, a local
small time politician with two families, denied ever having been with
Millie's mother. A visit by two nasty policemen convinced her to drop the
matter.

      On Monday, Millie just greeted him with "Hi Brandon" but by midweek,
she was walking beside him, asking how he was doing in school or making
comments about other kids in his class. Then, Thursday, a block from
school, she upped the ante to, "Wanna come to my house?"

	For Brandon, like many eleven year old boys, girls were of only
minor interest, even a seductive eleven year old with tiny nipples popping
out of her chest. Brandon had a pocket full of marbles and coins he was
looking to augment. Four other boys were in a lot a block from his house
probably already shooting.

	"Not now. I gotta do somethin'."

	She sidled up alongside him and suggested, "There's nobody but me
in my house afternoons. We'll be alone, just you and me."

	Brandon was the son of a madam and lived in a whorehouse. He knew,
or thought he knew, exactly what she was suggesting. Marbles were
forgotten. This was potentially much better than masturbation. "Okay," was
all he could think to say.

	As they walked, Millie commented, "I like your eyes. All the girls
do."

	Again, Brandon found himself wordless. His imagination was occupied
with visions of him lying on top of her, poking his peter inside. He
figured he knew how to do it. There'd been plenty of examples in the
magazines his mother's girls had in their dressing room. And, of course,
there'd been vivid descriptions by boys who'd claimed to have seen the
actual act or even to have done so themselves. His dick stiffened. He
reached into his pocket to hold it against his body so it wouldn't be
obvious. As usual, he wasn't wearing anything under his shorts. It usually
didn't matter and made playing with himself so much easier.

	There was concern that this might be some kind of trick, but why?
Were some boys playing a joke on him? He knew this girl as a schoolmate,
nothing else.  What was happening here? Should he make an excuse and get
away?

	In the end, the draw of possible sexual adventure was much too
compelling. The erection in his pants was also in his brain.

	Millie's house was a fifteen minute jeepney ride away. She paid the
four pesos each fare. Brandon hoped she'd pay the way back too. Four pesos
was exactly what he had in his pocket.

	Her `house' was a shack in a compressed mass of corrugated sheet
metal roofed shanties bounded on the North by a narrow deep stream several
feet below ground level, the main drag they'd come in on and a parking lot
for jeepneys and tricycle taxies. Hers was the third in against the stream,
down a dirt path between shacks barely wide enough for two people to pass
sideways. The door had a hasp and staple with a padlock she opened with a
key she carried on a string around her neck, the same way Brandon carried
his, though his was to a more formal latch on a strong metal door in a
concrete block wall. The boards on both sides of the plank door moved when
she pulled it open. There were only two rooms, to the left a narrow living
room kitchen combination about eight feet wide and on the right, a
curtained off area about five feet wide with a mattress raised off the hard
packed dirt floor by pieces of four by four lumber. Behind the bedroom was
a small bathroom with a half drawn curtain. The toilet was a boxlike affair
that drained directly into the stream below. The floor there and in the
rest of the back was wood plank.

	"You wanna get naked?" she asked after closing the door.

	Again, "Okay. Everything?" All he was wearing were a button up
shirt, shorts socks and sneakers.

	Millie pulled him toward the bedroom and grungy mattress that
almost filled it. Both kids left a trail of clothing behind them. Millie
fell backward onto the bed, her legs open. A single lace curtained window
let in enough light that Brandon could see the hairless slit between her
soft brown legs.

	Millie sat up and ran her hands over his torso. "You got a real
nice body, Brandon." She lightly pinched his breasts. "I never seen a boy
with tits like yours. You really got a nice body and your stomach,
wow. Make it hard."

	He proudly flexed his middle. She slid her hand up and down his gut
then leaned in and kissed it.

	"I'll bet you can fuck really hard." She took hold of his balls and
stiff cock. "Want me to blow you first?" she asked.

	 Brandon, feeling very good about himself, wanted to fuck but
getting blown was "Okay."

	She slid back on the bed. He climbed up and lay beside her. She
rolled on top of him and laid on an open-mouthed kiss that Brandon wasn't
sure how to respond to. She told him. "Open your mouth."

	Her tongue pushed in as his teeth parted. She scoured out the
insides then sucked on his lower lip. Her hands held his head tight to her
face. Though this was kind of interesting, Brandon was thinking of parts
lower down.

	"Didn't you ever kiss before?" she asked.

	Brandon answered without thinking. "Mmm mm."

	"You gotta put your tongue in my mouth like I did yours." She
lowered her parted lips to his.

	Feeling like this was some kind of obligatory act prior to the blow
job, he complied. It wasn't all that bad. Her eyes were closed. Her hands
caressed his cheeks. He did a slow duel with her tongue. Even in that hot
room her body felt warm against his. The head of his cock was someplace
warmer. Was it at her hole? He rolled his hips upward. Yes, it was going
inside.

	Millie moved her middle off him, pulled her mouth briefly off his
and whispered, "That's later." She sucked on his tongue until it began to
hurt.

	Brandon grunted. She let him go and said, "You gotta do that to
me. Suck hard." She poked her tongue back into his mouth. He sucked on it
hard as he could. She groaned, cocked her head to one side and pulled his
mouth tight to hers. She put her groin hard against his and pressed,
rubbing up and down. Brandon tried to push his cock into her but the
opening was just below his belly button, too far away.

	Without a word, she smoothly and swiftly pulled her face off his
and turned around. Straddling him, her face above his groin. She looked
again at his middle. "You really do got a great body," and licked him from
belly button to crotch, careful not to touch his cock. Her mouth dropped
down between his legs. She sucked in his pea-sized balls and sloshed them
around.

	Brandon's passion demanded she put her lips elsewhere. He pulled
her head upward. She allowed it, swallowing him right down and over his
little testicles, causing his legs to shoot straight out, his belly to
flex, his lungs to fill, his eyes to shut, his mind to go blank. As the
delirium began to clear, he could feel the stiffness in his cock right down
to his ass hole and inside as though she was sucking in his entire
middle. He tried to raise his head to look down at her but his eyes
wouldn't open. Voluntary movement seemed impossible. The sensations created
by her lips and tongue had taken over his brain.

	Millie slid forward and pushed her upper lip down the mound between
his legs. His entire body stiffened. The warmth went up into his chest.

	After going slowly up and down a few times, she broke into his
reverie, pushing his head between her legs. She lifted off long enough to
say, "Put your tongue inside and up top."

	Brandon's mind didn't fully grasp what she wanted. She let go again
and repeated, "Put your tongue inside me and do the top too, up here." Her
one hand pushed his head between her legs and the other pulled his chin
toward her clitoris.

      Brandon wasn't sure he wanted to do that but, at the same time, was
entirely unwilling to delay a return to the intense pleasure she'd been
providing. He had to tuck his chin into his chest to get his tongue where
she wanted it. He licked up and down, trying to push his tongue inside her
hole but couldn't seem to find it. He lifted his head to look. She opened
her legs. There it was, red and mushy. It opened wide. Millie pushed his
head back down. The hole was bigger than he'd expected.

	Millie said barely intelligibly with Brandon's cock in her open
mouth, "Go up and down." She nudged his head in both directions.

	Brandon obeyed. There was something like a small bump at the top of
her slit. She humped into him each time he touched it.

	He suddenly realized he was about to get his feeling. He clamped
his mouth down on the little protrusion and arched his groin up at her. She
snapped her head up and pushed her vagina into Brandon's face.

	Brandon grabbed at her head, trying to force it back down,
desperate for his orgasm. Millie resisted for a few seconds then relented
but it was too late. The special feeling had receded but her renewed
ministrations quickly brought it back. Her mouth went up and down his
shaft, rolled side to side, stopped to suck, then lick the smooth head,
then back down again, all the way to his perineum.

	Once again, he headed toward fruition but, once again, she sensed
it and sat up, pushing her slit down over his mouth. She moved back and
forth over his mouth. "Put your tongue there, Brandon, hard!"

	Brandon did his best but his own needs weren't being attended
to. He pushed on her back. She went down gradually, pulling his legs open
then up as she did.

	A wet finger went against his ass hole, then inside. "Mmmmph!"

	"Just wait," said Millie calmly and went back down on his cock.

	The finger didn't really hurt, just felt intrusive. Brandon reached
down to pull it out but Millie had hooked her arms over his legs and was
pushing further inside. She touched something that made Brandon stop
fighting. A shot of pleasure went up through his cock and into his
belly. She touched it again and ran her finger over it repeatedly.

	She reminded him, "Suck me too."

	The excitement in his groin had distracted Brandon from what he was
supposed to be doing. He licked up and down from her opening to the little
lump. She humped her hips into his face.

	The feeling grew. He was close. It was getting hard to breathe. His
toes curled. His entire body tensed. Orgasm exploded out of his middle
right into is throat. She pushed the top of her vagina into his mouth and
moved it hard up and down. Breathing wasn't possible. For a few moments, he
didn't think about it. His brain was completely occupied by the incredible
sensation emanating from his cock and balls.

	Then the tickling came on. Brandon realized he needed some air. He
pushed Millie's body up. She rolled off him and said with a grin, "Neat,
huh?"

	Brandon, sucking air, fingered his balls then felt his rigid
penis. The ultra sensitivity dissipated. The whole area, wet with Millie's
saliva, still felt wonderful. Massaging his shaft sent good feelings down
between his legs.

	Millie asked, "Wanna fuck me?" She caressed his flat tummy with her
finger tips. It was nice.

	With little thought, Brandon climbed on top of her. She took his
face between her hands, kissed him then, one at a time, sucked in his
lips. Brandon moved his hips about, working his hard on up between her
legs. He found the warm area and pushed forward. A hot wetness engulfed his
cock. He thrust forward. Millie pushed her tongue at his teeth and
inside. Brandon forced his middle up against Millie's. It was very nice but
not nearly as nice as her mouth. He pumped into her, harder each time.  She
squeezed her legs shut. That helped a little.

	She dropped her face to one side of his and slid her hands under
his shoulders. "That's good. Do it hard," she strained into his ear.

	The room was hot, the air humid. Both were covered with
sweat. Brandon had to hold onto Millie's shoulders to keep from sliding
off. He pressed his toes into Millie's ankles and slid slightly up and back
as he fucked. Another improvement.

	Millie's words helped too. "Good, that's good. Fuck me hard. Good!"
They made him feel strong.

	Brandon put more hip into each thrust, making a slight smacking
sound with each entry. He could taste the salt from the sweat where their
two faces met, pressed hard against one another.

	Millie let go of his shoulders and grabbed a handful of each of
Brandon's buns, pulling them down and apart with each of his thrusts. It
took him over the top. His cock felt like it was expanding, hardening. His
toes tried to grip the sheets. Something seemed to force its way up and out
of his cock. He shook with each throb that rolled up through his urethra.

	Millie tugged at his ass, pressing the two of them tightly
together. "You fuck good, Brandon."

	Brandon was gulping air, unable to respond.

	She lifted her face and gave him a lips to lips kiss. "We better
take a bath."

	A bath was pans of water out of a 50 gallon drum poured over their
heads. The water temperature wasn't the warm stuff Brandon was accustomed
to but was tolerable. The drain was a hole in the floor through which one
could see the stream and the trash bordering it some eight feet below. The
toilet was a wooden box with an oval shaped hole for a seat. Brandon fired
a yellow stream through the opening and watched it create a V in the slow
moving stream below.

      It was in her primitive bathroom where Millie cleared up a nagging
doubt in Brandon's mind: why had she wanted to have sex with him?

	"My hole's big, ain't it."

	Brandon shrugged his shoulders. He had no reference by which to
judge.

	"It's `cause I go out with men, but it's for money."

	That was a surprise. "Don't it hurt?"

	"First time a little but I'm eleven now so it's easy, feels good
sometimes. You can make money too."

	"I ain't no girl."

	"Unh uh, some a the men like boys like you. Your face is real
pretty, especially your eyes and your real long hair, and you got a great
body too." She ran her hands down his sides and over his ass. "And they
pay, not like with a girl but they pay, twenty, fifty, more depending on
what you do."

	"I ain't gonna do nothin' like that."

	"You liked getting blowed, right?"

	"But you're a girl."

	"What difference it make. A mouth is a mouth. Feels good. Lots a
kids do it."

	"I don't know nobody does that."

	"That's `cause they don't say it but some a them do and you look a
lot better'n they do so the men'll like you more, pay more. It's good
money."

	The money sounded interesting but he was sure there was more to
earning it than just getting a blow job. It suddenly occurred to him that
maybe she expected him to give her money. His mother had a bar with a lot
of girls. Maybe she thought he was rich.

	"I don't got money, just four pesos."

	She missed his point. "That's what I'm sayin'. You can make money
with men who like boys like you. You could do three in one night like on a
Friday or Saturday, make, uh, seventy-five pesos just getting blowed. You
do somethin' else and it's double. You oughta try it. My mother knows some
men..."

	Brandon, shocked, interrupted, "Your mother knows we did sex?"

	Millie paused briefly in thought. "Sort of. Well, she knows I do
sex but she don't know we're here now."

	"My mother'd would kill me if she knew I was doing sex, `specially
with some man. She'd kill me."

	"So you don't tell her. Another boy I know goes with men. He don't
tell his mother nothin' so she don't know. Try it once. They blow you and
gotta give you twenty, twenty-five pesos."

	Brandon was tempted but the temptation was trumped by the fear his
mother would find out.

	"Unh uh. My mother's gonna find out."

	"Anyhow, she ain't around now, right? So how's she gonna know?"

	"How come you know that?"

	"Everbody knows. Lotsa kids' mothers gotta go to the clinic
sometimes. My mother was there twice, right where your mother is. Anyhow,
it don't matter. Listen, what if some man comes here and does it to you
here. Who's gonna know? We can do it at night when nobody can see. You wait
inside here, he comes, blows you, gives you the money and goes away. Later
you go home."

	It sounded interesting and he could use the money. His mother was
gone. He was trying to stop stealing and Owings, at best, only gave him a
few pesos a week.

	Millie put her arms around Brandon and whispered in his ear. "Try
it, you can't get caught by nobody in my house at night. Try it."

	"You don't got brothers and sisters?"

	"Yeah but they don't live here. They live in Manila. And my mother
don't come home `til real late, after midnight. You're gonna be gone by
then."

	Brandon sensed a connection between what Millie was trying to get
him to do and her mother. Was she like his mother, a pimp? "What's your
mother do?"

	"She sells stuff on the Fields Avenue, a block down from your
mother's bar, you know, like flowers and jewelry and shit to the
soldiers. Wanna try it? I can get you a man for tomorrow. It's Friday so
there's no school Saturday and you'll make twenty, twenty-five pesos just
for getting a blow job."

	"An' I don't gotta do nothin'?"

	"Just get a hard on and get off is all."

	"I ain't gonna do nothing."

	"And maybe you can watch a man fuck me, if you want. You can hide
in here." They were drying off with stolen hotel towels.

	"I dunno."

	"Just if you want."

	Twenty-five pesos just for lying on his back and getting off was
difficult to resist. In the end, they agreed that he would come the next
evening at seven and then wait until she came back with a man who was just
going to suck him off. He'd have to get naked but that was it. He didn't
have to do anything to the man.

	Brandon was distracted the next day in school. During recess, he
found Millie and asked, "Tell me what boy does this so I can ask him what
it's like."

	With a look of exasperation, she answered, "Don't worry. It's like
I said. Anyway, the boy I know don't go to school and he lives in
Mabalacát. He just comes around at night and goes to a hotel he knows."

	"He goes into a hotel with an American? They let him?"

	"They don't care. There's a couple of hotels we can go to and
nobody says nothin'."

	"Yeah but I'll bet my mother knows `em. Her girls go to all the
hotels. She knows `em all. I ain't never gonna do that."

	"Don't worry. You can come to my house."

	The decision wasn't difficult. As long as he was in bed by nine or
ten, it was unlikely anyone would know he hadn't been in the
apartment. He'd miss a couple of television shows but, twenty-five pesos to
spend on the weekend was worth it. And he did want to watch Millie taking a
man's dick inside her.

	He left at six fifteen, walking to McArthur Blvd. to save a peso,
but then had to ride hanging off the back of a jammed full jeepney. In rush
hour traffic it took a full twenty minutes to get to Millie's squatter
colony.

	She yanked him inside before his third knock, pulled him to her and
planted an open mouthed kiss on his lips. "Just wait here. I'll be right
back. He's waiting in the lot."

	Millie was back minutes after she'd left. A tall American wearing
jeans and a flowered shirt was with her. He smiled and introduced himself
as "John". In English, he said, "Millie says you understand English,
right?"

      Brandon nodded

      "I know this is your first time but don't worry. You'll like it. All
boys do." He was younger than Brandon's father but not by much, shorter,
with a military hair cut. He unbuttoned his shirt.

	Brandon asked Millie in Kampangan, "Why's he doing that?"

	"Don't worry. It's hot. Take your clothes off and get on the bed."

	By the time he was down to his shorts and turned around, the man,
the hairy man, was also down to his boxers. "I'm ain't gonna do nothing,"
Brandon insisted in English to both of them.

	John smiled at him. "Just gonna give you the greatest blow job of
your life. Don't worry."

	"Want me to get naked too?" suggested Millie in Kampangan to
Brandon.

	"Why?"

	"I don't know. If you want."

	"Okay, but I ain't gonna do nothing."

	He allowed her to pull down his shorts and drag him up onto the
bed. His penis lay unexcited over his balls.

	The man sat on the edge of the bed and fondled the small
package. "You've got a big cock, Brandon. Let's see how long it gets hard."
Slow masturbation had no effect.

	Millie took off her blouse and unbuttoned her skirt. Brandon had to
split his attention between his two suitors. Millie slipped off her panties
and pulled Brandon's hand between her legs. John went down on Brandon's
flaccid tool. Millie leaned in and kissed Brandon on the side of the mouth
then his lips.

	"You can fuck me after John does," she whispered

	Brandon glanced down at the top of the man's head. He was doing
something that felt very good. His cock stiffened quickly. The man's tongue
dipped down between his thighs, halfway to his anus. The feeling caused him
to open his legs. John put his arms under Brandon's knees and lifted. He
let the boycock flip out of his mouth and licked up and down his
perineum. Brandon resisted briefly but the feeling was too good to
fight. John's tongue worked its way back to his hole. That was too
much. Brandon jerked upward, slamming his cheeks shut.  .
	John didn't miss a beat and shifted his attention smoothly back to
Brandon's cock, quickly relieving the tension. Millie apparently didn't
notice a thing. She was sucking on Brandon's ear. That was nice. John was
proving his superiority as a cocksucker. Millie had been good but this man
was taking him and keeping him just short of orgasm. Brandon forgot the
lips on his ear and reveled in the high coursing through his midsection. He
craved release but Jack skillfully kept him at the edge by occasionally
dropping for a few seconds to his balls. Brandon's cock felt as though it
had doubled in size.

	Then, Jack took Brandon to heaven. It almost hurt it felt so
good. Brandon gasped as his penis pulsed wildly.

   	"Bet you can do it twice, maybe three times," commented John from
between Brandon's legs. "Let's wait a minute and do it again, okay?"

	Millie, who'd fallen asleep beside Brandon, one arm over his chest,
her mouth still at his ear, awakened during his third orgasm.

	John looked at her with his eyebrows raised. Millie appeared
confused for a moment then rolled closer to the man and reached out for his
boxers. A hard on slowed their removal. Millie sat on the side of the bed
and, as she pulled the shorts down his legs, took John's cock into her
mouth, nearly to the pubic hairs.

	Brandon imagined the man's cock deep inside her throat and marveled
at her ability not to choke.

	Millie's right hand went to the large testicles, the other to his
hip as she began a slow fellation, her cheeks tight against the shaft. John
closed his eyes and took a breath. Millie let the mancock come out to the
tip which she sucked on with puffed out lips before sliding back down the
shaft.

	Brandon was fascinated. From experience, he knew how good it
felt. He didn't notice John observing his reaction.

	Millie sucked, rolled her head side to side, massaged the shaft
with her right hand and ran her left up and down John's hairy belly.

	After a few minutes of orally produced pleasure, John produced a
small jar and put it into Millie's left hand along with a small square
envelope with `Trojan' printed on it. From seeing such items many times
over the years and having their use explained a couple of times, Brandon
knew exactly what it was for. Millie put down the jar, tore open the
envelope, extracted the condom from inside and, before putting it on, gave
his cock head a quick kiss. With the protection rolled on, Millie covered
John's erection with the greasy substance from the jar, two fingers dipping
and applying diligently, her head tilting side to side, making sure it was
spread on evenly and completely. Holding the jar with thumb and two
un-greased fingers, she twisted on the lid and, leaning over the side of
the bed, placed it carefully on the floor. Then, with smile toward John and
a wink at Brandon, Millie stood then sat down on John's well lubed
cock. Brandon, kneeling on the floor, his head on the bed for a better
view, his left hand on her hip, watched the large penis slowly disappear
inside Millie's body. Her arms over his shoulders, Millie pulled John's
head to her and gave him a deep kiss as she settled onto the mass of pubic
hair below.

	"Fuck me, John," she pleaded passionately in English. "Oh, that
feel so good."

	John played with Brandon's cock as Millie, her arms over the man's
shoulders providing leverage, raised and lowered herself, the shiny shaft
appearing and disappearing inside her soft flesh. Brandon imagined it
touching her belly each time there was full penetration.

	Millie continued with `Oooo's" and "Ahh, good" and more.

	At one point, John sat up and pulled Millie to him. They kissed
deeply as he slid slowly in and out of her little vagina. Then without a
word, he lifted her off his cock. She shifted her hips forward and sat back
down. Brandon moved quickly to watch from behind as Jack's cock poked at
her anus. She bounced gently up and down until the head squeezed its way
inside. From there, the shaft slid inside as easily as it had her vagina.

      Millie leaned back, put her hands on John's thighs and pushed herself
up and down on the manshaft.

      "Ohhh, fuck my ass, all the way," again in English.

      Each time, John's six inches went completely inside her, the skin of
his ball sack against her anus. Brandon was amazed. She was doing it with
such ease, and really seemed to be enjoying it. He was sure it would hurt
him terribly, probably cause him to bleed all over the cock inside him. It
might even kill him.

	Millie raised and lowered her hips swiftly, bouncing off his
thighs. John's eyes were closed. "Slow down, Millie," he groaned, then,
"Oh, oh, stop, ahh!"

	Millie sat down with the man fully inside her and leaned back
toward Brandon. "Brandon, stick your finger in front. You can feel his cock
inside me."

	Brandon hesitated.

   	"Go on, do it." She grabbed at his hand and pulled it to her. He
stuck his index finger into her vagina. There was no doubting what he felt
inside. The hard roundness below had to be John's boner.

	Millie convinced Brandon to fuck her with Jack still inside. It was
awkward but she made sure he rammed in hard. Brandon had to wrap his arms
around her to stay in place. His butt ran against John's belly with each
withdrawal. John caressed Brandon's quickly sweating back.

	Millie made it more exciting by continuing with her
exhortations. "Fuck me, Brandon, fuck me hard. Ohh, feels good," this time
in Kampangan.

	For a while, Brandon wasn't sure he could make it to climax. He
embraced tighter, thrust harder. It felt like his balls were going inside
her too. Millie grabbed Brandon's buns and squeezed. Moments later, he felt
a finger at his anus. It was wet, slippery. The tip pushed inside, moved in
and out by his fucking motion. Since Millie had done it before, it didn't
occur to him the finger might not be hers, until it pushed further
inside. It was bigger, and, he realized, both Millie's hands were holding
his buns. The finger came out briefly, then was slipped back in, much
deeper. He wanted to reach back and pull it out but knew if he did, sweaty
as he'd become, he might slip off, and out. In an eye blink, his agitation
at the invading digit evaporated. It found his sensitive spot and massaged
it. Brandon fell back against John as the sudden rush of orgasm rolled
through his groin. The finger slipped out. He was too deep into the
pleasure coursing through him to mind John's hands caressing his middle

	"Felt good, didn't it," said John after the three of them had come
apart.

	Brandon was occupied with Millie sucking on his tongue so didn't
catch the meaning of the remark until later when John explained to
him. "That little bump inside your ass is where all the good feelings come
from. Rubbing something against it makes you feel real good."

	When he realized where that was heading, Brandon assured them that,
"Nobody's gonna fuck me. I don't do that."

	Once they were dressed, Brandon saw John covertly slip Millie
another bill after openly handing her a fifty peso note. Brandon sensed a
conspiracy. The feeling was reinforced when, after paying him twenty-five
pesos, John suggested they get together Sunday evening and added with a
smile. "You can make more than twenty-five if you want."

	The moment the man was out the door, Brandon confronted Millie,
"How come he gave you more?"

	"He fucked me. That's more. I told you."

	"Uh uh, the money he gave you after. I saw him."

	Millie frowned then cocked her head. "He owed me from before."

	"Uh uh. Then how come he tried to hide it so I couldn't see?"

	The frown was accompanied by a sigh. Millie sat on the bed. "It, it
was `cause I got you. You get him a boy and he'll give you some too."

	"How much? Lemme see."

	"That's private."

	"Shit! Then how much I get if I get him another kid?"

	Frustration covered her face. "It, it depends, you know, how pretty
he is and what he does."

	Brandon put his hands on his hips, jaw clenched. "Come on,
Millie. How much he give you for me? I ain't gonna tell nobody. Anyhow, I
ain't mad. My mother always got money every time some guy took a girl outta
the bar."

	"Ten."

	"Lemme see."

	"Okay, twenty." She yanked a bill out from the waistband of her
skirt and held it out for him to see.

	Brandon had business on his mind. "So, Sunday, if I bring him some
kid don't do nothing, he's gonna give me twenty?" In his mind he was going
over every boy he knew, trying to figure which one would agree to get
blown, maybe even blow the American. "How much if he sucks?"

	Millie stood up and took Brandon gently by the arms. "You suck him
and he'll give you fifty. You don't need to get nobody. Anyhow, other kids
might say something."

	"How'd you know I wasn't gonna say something?"

	"I just knew." She hugged him, lay her head on his shoulder and
said softly, "I trust you."

	The affection was a surprise. It had been a couple of years since
his mother had embraced him. This was a girl he'd known for a week, another
kid his age. His arms were trapped by hers. He put his hands on her
waist. Did she love him?

	Millie said, "You wanna fuck me again?"

	Brandon thought about it. She'd sapped him physically with that
last fuck, but, "If you want."

	She reached down for the elastic band of his shorts. It took less
time than he expected. She held him tightly as he came, then fell asleep.

	Brandon wasn't sure what to do. He wondered why she was so
sleepy. She'd fallen asleep earlier while John was sucking him off.

	For a while, he lay beside Millie thinking about what it would be
like to suck on John's big cock, what it would taste like, then what effect
it might have on him. Did sucking a man's cock turn a kid into a gay? He'd
heard it could. Did the other boy Millie mentioned do that? If so, he
wanted to meet him before any further consideration of making fifty pesos
with John.

	And what about getting fucked in the ass? Was that the same as
sucking cock? Could that make a kid gay? Twice he'd had a finger in his
butt and both times it had felt okay, good. That last time John's finger
made him cum. Was he already gay? He didn't act like a girl. He absolutely
didn't want to become a fag. He had to meet this other kid.

	A few nudges did nothing to awaken Millie. She was fast
asleep. Would she know if he looked at her asshole?

	Slowly he pulled loose of the arm she'd laid across him and crawled
around behind her. Gently, he pushed her knees up from behind exposing her
two openings. Brandon lifted her ass cheek. He'd never seen anyone's anus
before, so wasn't completely sure what would, or wouldn't, be normal. It
wasn't open. He put his finger against it. It was soft. He dribbled saliva
on his index finger and put it against Millie's opening. Just as it began
to enter, she straightened her legs and rolled over onto her back, still
unconscious.

	Brandon stood and looked down at her. She was kind of pretty. Her
skin glowed softly in the light of the bulb hanging over the bed. It had
felt good against him. He liked what he saw. That should prove that he
wasn't gay. He'd seen boys naked when they beat off together. Other than
curiosity about how big the others' dicks were, he found Millie's body more
interesting. And, he liked kissing her. He tried to imagine kissing one of
the boys. Didn't sound interesting at all.

      For sure, he wasn't gay.

	But what if he sucked some man's cock? What effect would that have
on him? He had to meet that other boy, well, if he'd sucked cock.

	He dressed and, after covering the naked girl with a torn blanket
he found, went home with plans to come back in the morning. The trip was
going to eat into the twenty-five pesos but, he needed more information.

	Back in the apartment, he debated asking one of the bar girls about
boys who had sex with men but couldn't come up with a reason for asking
good enough to avoid suspicion.

	There was nothing to watch on television other than Ferdinand
Marcos on all channels talking about the upcoming snap election between him
and Cory Aquino, something Brandon was sure would have no effect on him. He
went down to the street in front of the bar to see if he could spot any
boys waiting for a man. A walk past most of the clubs didn't turn up
anything. There were some boys out but they were either shoe shiners or
selling something. He knew a couple, one a sixth grader from his school. He
quickly and easily dismissed the idea of asking him about the subject of
interest. He did inquire about shoe shiner's earnings.

	"Nothing. Maybe twenty, twenty-five a night on weekends. Dickless
cheap Americans!"

	Brandon laughed to himself. John had a big dick. Were he to become
so inclined, he could make fifty pesos in ten minutes or so by letting John
put it in his mouth, then suck on it. His thoughts shifted to the question
of what it would be like if the man's sperm came out while it was in there?
Yeuch!

	Back at the bar, Brian Owings scooted him upstairs. "It's time to
go to bed. You do your homework?"

	"Uh huh," he lied. He rarely did homework on weekends.

	Sleep came slowly. He tried to masturbate but even thinking of
Millie's naked body on the bed didn't help.

	He was awake as usual at six. He wandered over to his former
nanny's house for breakfast. He didn't know she wasn't being paid for the
daily meal and she didn't tell him. His school book bag was there. She
asked him about his homework. "Didn't give us none."

	"How come mine always have homework on weekends and you never do?"

	Brandon shrugged and dug into his eggs and rice.

	Millie's house was closed up when he got there at eight, another
four pesos poorer. There was no response to a soft knock. Her mother
figured to be asleep after working until late. No sense in pissing her off.

	Brandon walked the mile plus back to his house. After blowing the
remainder of his twenty-five pesos on poor marble shooting, three horrible
checker games and a bet on whether a man could get his derelict three wheel
motorcycle started, which he didn't, he hustled ten pesos off two bar girls
and walked and jeepneyed to Millie's shanty only to again find it empty.

	It wasn't until the next day, Sunday at midday, that Millie
answered Brandon's wraps at her door. Out of cash, even the two peso
cushion of his forgotten resolution, he'd had to walk.

	"Damn, Brandon, you wake up my mother and she'll kill us both."

	"Where you been? I was here a bunch'a times yesterday."

	Millie pushed him away from the door. "I had a customer. You gonna
come tonight?"

	"I gotta talk to that other kid before."

	Millie frowned. She saw how resolute Brandon was. "How come?"

	"I just gotta."

	She sighed. "John ain't gonna do nothin' you don't like. What're
you afraid of?"

	Brandon pursed his lips trying to find a reason that didn't touch
on his real fear of becoming gay because of what he might do. Nothing came
to mind. "I ain't gonna do nothin' unless I talk to that other kid." He
regretted saying it as it came out of his mouth but it had been said. He
couldn't back down.

	Millie, hands on her hips, started to turn away then stopped. "All
right, but you gotta tell me what you're gonna ask him."

	"It's private," answered Brandon feeling elated over what he sensed
as a win.

	"Shit! Then, all right, but you gotta wait. I don't know where he
is now. He could be anywhere. Might even be with somebody." She
paused. "All right, come back here at five. I ain't sayin' I'm gonna find
him, just I'm gonna look. You still gotta come at seven like you said."

	"Okay, but I ain't gonna do nothing unless I talk to that kid
first, just let him suck me like last time."

	"That's only gonna be twenty this time `cause he already done you
once."

	Brandon almost turned that down but shrugged his shoulders
instead. He needed a favor. "Loan me five pesos. I'll give it back when
John pays."

	"Unh uh. I gotta use what I got to go find Freddy. That's his
name. He lives in Mabalacát, not around here. Come back at five."

	"I don't got money for the jeepney."

	"Do like the stowaways, just get on the back. I mean it, Brandon, I
need what I got to go find Freddy. Didn't you never see kids hangin' off
the back of a jeepney?"

	"I done that but I hadda pay."

	"You were standing up. Get down, low, so the driver can't see you."
She squatted. "Like this. Stowaways don't never pay and they go all over."
Stowaways are what Filipinos call homeless street kids.

	Brandon wasn't sure he could do that. Anyhow, he had no expectation
of ever becoming a stowaway. He'd lived in the same secure environment
since he was born, had layers of adults who could care for him, and no
reason to expect that would ever change.

	He walked home. On the way, he did see a pair of grungy stowaways
hanging off opposite ends of the rear bumper of a jeepney, their butts
barely inches off the asphalt.

      During his forty-five minute walk, he had time to think. Millie was
obviously unhappy about the demand to meet her call boy contact but Brandon
felt he'd pulled off a great victory and learned something. John was
probably putting up money for Millie to convince him to give a blow
job. Maybe he could get more than fifty for doing it. The turning gay issue
was becoming less of a concern.

	Due to one of the bar girl's insistence that he eat dinner before
going out, Brandon didn't get to Millie's house until five twenty. "I said
five," said Millie angrily. Freddy's gonna be late for a customer." She
pulled him inside by his shirt sleeve. She was wearing a pretty yellow
blouse, a short skirt that almost exposed her panties and a necklace of
tiny sea shells.

	A boy about twelve was watching a small television set. A baseball
game was on. "He's here," called Millie.

	He waved over his shoulder to wait. Millie insisted. "You're gonna
be late. Brandon's here."

	Without taking his eyes off the screen until it was impossible,
Freddy stood and turned around, hands in his pockets. He was a pure blood
but full bodied and good looking, his long hair carefully brushed in a
style close to Brandon's. His jeans and red button-up shirt were new
looking. Only his flip flops indicated poverty "So ask," said Millie and
went into her bedroom.

	Freddy shrugged his shoulders and asked, "So?"

	Brandon realized he had no idea what to ask. His goal was to see if
this boy who did suck cocks was in any way effeminate. So far there'd been
no clue except for the boy's interest in baseball.

	Freddy asked anew, "So whatta you wanna know, kid?"

	"Uh, how much you get paid when you, you know, gotta do it to their
dick?"

	Freddy turned in the direction Millie had gone but she was
somewhere behind the bedroom curtain. "That ain't none a your business what
I get paid. Get what you can. What else?"

	"Do you gotta let them put their stuff in your mouth?"

	"They gotta pay extra for that. What else? I gotta go."

	There was a lot more Brandon wanted to ask but Freddy's gruff
answers made him back off, ashamed of being seen as a sissy, which Freddy
obviously wasn't. Anyhow, he had the principal information he'd
sought. "Nah, thanks."

	Shaking his head, Freddy headed into the bedroom, returning half a
minute later. He stopped and said, "Don't worry about it. Sucking's easy
and their stuff don't taste all that bad. Let the American fuck you and
maybe he'll give you a hundred. " He shot a quick glance at Millie then
left.

	Again, Brandon sensed a conspiracy. "Why'd he say that?"

	"Say what?" asked Millie with her frustration frown.

	"I ain't gonna let that guy fuck me."

	"I didn't say nothin' about that, just sucking."

	"Then how come that kid said about fucking?"

	"How am I supposed to know? He just said it. Anyhow getting fucked
ain't all that bad and it's a lot of money. You saw me."

	"Well, I ain't gonna do it." Though Brandon no longer had worries
about being turned into a homosexual, he was certain taking a man's cock up
his ass would be extremely painful, probably cause damage requiring an
embarrassing hospital visit. But, curiosity set in. "Anyway, he's bigger
than me. Does he let men fuck him?"

	"How am I supposed to know that?"

	Brandon was sure she did and again suspected he was being
hustled. "I'll bet you do. You gave him money to say that to me, didn't
you?"

	"No." She sighed hard. "Just so he could pay the jeepney and
all. Anyhow, he had to come down here and he's got a customer waiting and
maybe he'll see some other kid and go with him. You gonna suck John?"

	She'd done exactly what he'd requested and he'd found out what he
wanted to know. Freddy was making good money doing what she wanted him to
do. "Okay. Fifty, right?"

	Millie's face softened. "How come you don't trust nobody?"

	There was a touch of embarrassment in his answer. "It's just that,
everybody's tryin' to get me to do this stuff, and John's giving you money
so I will..."

	"I'm doing it `cause I like you," she interrupted, "I mean, you
don't gotta get mad `cause somebody's... Shit! Ain't nothin' wrong with
makin' money. I gotta give my mother so we can eat. You're lucky your
mother's got that bar and her new partner and gots a lotta money. Anyhow,
this way you can make a lotta money too. John ain't the only one. There's
lots. The guy Freddy's goin' with bought him clothes and all." She put arms
around him and pressed her lips to his. Then, "I gotta go out for a while
but I'll be here at seven, okay?"

	"Where you goin'?" He was hoping she wanted sex.

	"I gotta do something for my mother but I'll be here, don't
worry. You can stay here if you want."

	She surprised him with eight pesos to get himself home for dinner
and back. He rode the jeepney with her then walked her toward the Fields
Avenue strip. "I gotta meet somebody. You go home and I'll see you at
seven."

	Curious to see what sort of man she was going to have sex with,
Brandon followed her at a distance. Millie walked quickly toward the strip
then turned left after two blocks and walked into a hotel as though she
were a guest.

	He'd have waited until she came out but one of his mother's girls
walked out of the same place with a man. Brandon scooted back down the
street and off the strip. Behind a closed store, he ran into three older
boys he knew. One was smoking. Another was sniffing out of a paper bag. He
tried to change direction but the one with the bag said, "Hey Brandon, want
a huff?"

	"I don't do that."

	"You never even tried it, stupid, so how the fuck you know?"

	He'd heard enough about the ill effects and knew that it was the
sort of thing school dropouts did. "I don't do that," he repeated and
walked proudly past the trio. They laughed. The third boy had a bag at his
side.

	A few minutes before seven, Brandon was outside Millie's shanty
about to knock on her door. Before he could, Millie, wearing only undies,
opened up and hustled him inside. John was waiting, smiling.

	"Hey there, Brandon," he greeted in English.

	Brandon nodded nervously, already having second thoughts about what
he was expected to do. Millie led him by the hand into the bedroom and
pushed down her undies.  Had she already been having sex with John? Was it
him she'd met at the hotel? But then why would she go to a hotel when John
came to her house? And John was fully clothed.

	Millie yanked gently on his sleeve. "Brandon, get naked."

	He stared at her briefly, then at John who was unbuttoning his
flowered shirt. The man nodded. Brandon pulled off his tee shirt. Millie
pulled his shorts down. As he was stepping out of them, she pulled him down
onto the bed with her. Before he could react, she'd tugged him on top. Her
open mouth was on his, her tongue trying to get inside. He opened up, and
tasted something strange. It distracted him until it occurred to him it was
a smell from his mother's bar. Before he could nail it down any further,
John's voice came from beside them, "I'm here, too, lovebirds. Can I have a
hug too?"

	He reached for Brandon and pulled him backward to his chest then
struggled to turn him over. "Can I have a kiss too?"

	Trying to do something to avoid the man's tongue inside his mouth,
he kissed him quickly on the cheek. John accepted that and began massaging
Brandon's soft cock. Millie whispered into Brandon's ear, "Play with his
cock."

	Brandon obeyed. It was soft, mushy. He pulled on it a few times. It
hardened, filling his hand.

	John kissed the side of Brandon's face, too near his mouth for
comfort. Brandon looked down at the man's erection. John kissed him on the
head and said, "Turn around."

	Brandon worried he was about to get fucked and resisted until he
realized that John was nudging him to change direction, a move that would
put his face in the man's hairy crotch. Brandon crawled around until they
were both mouth to cock. John pulled Brandon's waist to him and put his
mouth over his dick and balls.

      And there it was, right in front of him: the big thing he was
supposed to suck on. It was huge. Would it fit inside his mouth? Certainly
not all of it. How in the world had Millie gotten it all in? A hand pushed
his head forward. Brandon wasn't sure whose it was. A small voice cleared
that mystery up. "Go ahead. Suck him."

      Brandon took a breath, then paused, realizing the money matter hadn't
been clarified. The hand pushed his head again. She'd said fifty and was
working for the man. It had to be okay. Millie's hand came over his head
and grabbed John's hard on, pulling it up until it was pointed right at
Brandon's closed mouth. Taking a breath, he smelled the man. He wished he
wasn't there. He closed his eyes and opened up. Nothing happened. He was
going to have to move his head. Staying blind and trying not to smell, he
moved forward. Soft flesh met his lips. He opened up further. John pushed
his cock forward. The thing was inside. Brandon's mind was blank on what to
do next.

      Millie's hand settled on the top of his head and moved it back and
forth. "Suck," she whispered. He realized her body was pressed full length
up against his. "Suck him," she repeated.

      Brandon closed his mouth as much as he comfortably could and began
sucking while moving his head slightly back and forth. It wasn't too
bad. There was no foul taste. This wasn't going to be so difficult. He
increased the length of his movements. John's cock seemed to grow thicker
and harder. Millie let go of his head and ran her hand up and down his
side. She humped into his butt. He felt John's mouth on his cock. He'd
completely forgotten it was being worked on too. It was still soft. He
tried to will it hard. Millie sucked on his ear, following the movement of
his head. It helped. He felt himself stiffen.

      John began to move his hips in time with Brandon. Brandon wondered
how long this was going to take, and if he could fuck Millie afterward. He
tightened his lips and mouth, pressing his tongue against the big dick
sliding in and out. He found himself wondering if it would be that easy up
his rear end. He thought about how big his turds were compared to John's
tool and decided the cock was thicker, a lot thicker. Getting fucked wasn't
going to be possible.

      John upped the tempo. Millie whispered, "Put your hand on his ass
like you're pulling on it."

      Brandon reached out and grabbed a handful of hairy flesh, riding
along with it. He could feel the muscles underneath flexing.

      "Remember, when he shoots, swallow fast."

      He'd forgotten about that. This man was going to fire a lot of sperm
into his mouth. He had no idea what it was going to taste like but, based
on what he was tasting at the time, decided it wasn't going to be so bad.

      Once again, Brandon felt John suck harder on his small cock and tried
to fuck his mouth. That made the rhythmic movement of his head more
difficult, so he quickly gave it up. His first responsibility was to get
this man off.

      Brandon's jaw began to ache. He eased up. It helped. John fucked
faster. Sensing that pressure he'd removed was important, Brandon tried to
use his tongue more, pressing it hard against the shaft moving over it.

      Then, his tongue started to ache too. How long was this going to
take? Brandon decided to put up with the pain in his jaw, try to get this
over with.

	Suddenly, John pushed in too far. Brandon opened his mouth and
gagged, coughing something nasty tasting into his mouth. He tried to pull
his head back but Millie was there to stop him. "Swallow," she whispered.

	He tried but couldn't. There were tears in his eyes from coughing.

	She said it again. "Swallow, swallow."

	He tried to say, "I can't," but it came out unintelligibly. John's
cock seemed to withdraw a bit. He made another attempt at swallowing the
foul tasting stuff flowing over his taste buds. It worked. There was no way
to spit it out with that big thing in there. He tried to force the liquid
back toward his throat and swallowed repeatedly. It wasn't doing much
good. He pushed at the man's hips. John backed off pulling his cock out of
Brandon's mouth. Brandon climbed over the man to spit onto the dirt floor.

	Millie said, "Here, drink some a this."

	He sat up. She was offering him a bottle of orange drink. He gulped
down several mouthfuls.

	John sat up. "You okay, champ? That was really good."

	Brandon was comparing the taste to the value of fifty pesos.

	Milli said, "See, you gotta swallow right when he cums. Then you
don't taste almost nothin'." She laughed. "I did that first couple times
too."

	John offered to take Brandon to orgasm but he received a more
tantalizing proposal.



	Millie didn't make it to school the next day. After class, Brandon
went to her house. A slim woman, overly made up, with hair in the style of
Imelda Marcos', opened the door. Brandon had seen her selling souvenirs on
the strip. "Come in, Brandon," she greeted with a smile. "Millie's with
somebody but she'll be done soon. You can watch television if you want."
She pointed to a new TV set on a table beside the kitchen area. It was
tuned in to a daytime soap. "Change the channel if you want."

	She pulled a chair out from under the table and offered it to
him. A basket of Philippine souvenirs, with everything from pencils to
dolls to little wooden jeepneys, all with `Philippines' on them in one way
or another, was on the dirt floor by the wall. He imagined she offered the
American servicemen a lot more than her trinkets.

      Neither his eyes nor his mind was on the TV. He was sure something
was going on behind the bedroom curtain. Did she have a man in there? Was
she giving him a blow job or getting screwed? There was no sound that he
could hear over the television.

	Ten minutes later, a young Filipino scooted from her room to the
door so fast Brandon barely caught a glance. After a few moments, Millie
appeared, fully dressed, smiling.

	"Hi Brandon," she said cheerfully with a less than cheerful glance
at her mother who was adjusting her hair in front of a mirror hanging off a
nail in the wall.

	"How come you didn't go to school?" he asked in a near whisper.

	Millie put her finger to her lips and said, "Got up too late. What
you get for homework?" she asked nodding toward the door.

	Brandon shrugged then, realizing he was supposed to get them out of
the house, said. "Uh, it's back at my house. Wanna study with me?"

	"I ain't stupid, you two," growled Millie's mother. "Mellissa, you
got something to do at seven, don't forget. And don't forget the other
thing."

	"Yes, mama. Can I go to Brandon's house?"

	On the way Brandon asked in her ear so other passengers couldn't
hear, "What you gotta do at seven, some man?"

	Millie didn't answer until they were on foot. "Just some guy."

	"So, how come you weren't in school?"

	"I didn't get home `til six in the morning. Son of a bitch wanted
to fuck all night. I hate that guy. And now I'm sore and I gotta do it
again tonight, some new guy."

	Brandon wasn't sure what to say but wanted to know, "So how come
you do it so much? You get a hundred a time, right?"

	Millie didn't answer.

      Brandon was doing math in his head. "You do it four times a week
that's four hundred every week. That's...

      "I do it a lot more'n that. I did three guys just Saturday night. I
think, yeah, eight times from Friday, and now this new guy. Shit! And all
she gave me was forty. I didn't even get to keep some of the money from
you."

      "How much you get for me?"

      "Nothin'. I didn't get nothin' for you. My mother gots it all."

      "But how much?"

      "You can't say nothin'."

      "I ain't gonna say. Who'm I gonna tell?"

      "A hundred just to get you first time. Fifty to suck. You let him
fuck you, fifty more, maybe a hundred. Depends on what my mother gets him
to pay."

      "And how much for me, if I let him which I ain't?"

      "I don't know, fifty, more."

      "Anyhow, he ain't gonna fuck me."

      "I don't care." A moment later, "Don't hurt all that much. Just say
you gotta have a hundred."

      "Unh uh. I'd bleed, probably have to go to the hospital and then what
do I say?"

      "You ain't gonna bleed. Lots a kids get fucked and none of `em
bleed. That's just a lie people say so boys won't do it. I got fucked in
the ass when I was seven and I didn't bleed none."

      "I still ain't gonna do it."

      Once inside his apartment, Brandon asked, "That other kid Freddy get
fucked?"

      Millie hesitated then answered, "I already said I can't tell you
that."

      "So he does."

      "You gotta ask him about that?" She frowned. "You ain't supposed to
ask stuff like that."

      "I ask you."

      "That's different. That's you askin' me, you know, with just the two
of us talking. It's about me, not somebody else."

      Both drifted off into their own thoughts. Brandon was thinking about
the money he'd earn if he let John stick that big cock of his inside
him. How much would it really hurt? Would it break something inside him,
make him bleed? Millie had the whole thing inside her and she was about the
same size as him except she had a bigger rear end. And she was a
girl. Girls probably had more space inside there than boys.

      Millie broke the silence. "I can teach you how to get fucked so it
won't hurt."

      That brought the other issue back to mind. "So you and your mother
can get more money?"

      "Well, you get money too, maybe a hundred, at least seventy-five."

      A yearning for some of the material goodies of the past was
growing. If he could do just half of what she did, even less, he could eat
better, buy some toys and things, marbles, one of the good sling shots,
decent shoes. "He's gotta pay a hundred, if I say he can."

      Millie was immediately more animated. "Don't worry, I can teach you
how to do it so it don't hurt all that much. And John ain't the only
one. You're the prettiest boy around. There's lotsa men gonna really want
sex with you. My mother knows a bunch of `em. I can show you how to get
lotsa money out of `em. You can even get `em to buy you stuff. I never buy
clothes or shoes. I just tell them I ain't got money to buy clothes. You
gotta wear old crap and they take you out to the stores and buy whatever
you want. You just gotta know how to talk to `em but I can teach you all
that. Wanna see how to do it, get fucked easy? My mother's gone now so we
can go back to the house and I got some things we can use to make your hole
bigger."

      That broke into Brandon's mental revelry. "Whatta ya mean?" he asked
worried about what she had in mind. "How big?" There were sudden thoughts
of a hole so big he would shit uncontrollably into his pants.

      "Just so a man's cock goes in and it don't hurt all that much."

      "How much?"

      "Just a little, but that's what you get paid a lot of money for, but
not that much. Let's go to my house."

      "What are we gonna do?"

      She sat up and looked at him seriously. "Remember when I stuck my
finger in your ass, and John? Did that hurt?"

      He didn't answer.

      "See? I got some things we can stick in there a little bigger. Then,
when your hole gets bigger, we put in something bigger than that. You'll
see. It don't hurt. Anyhow, you'll like it and you can fuck me if you
want."

      "You said you were sore down there."

      "Just inside. Your dick ain't all that big. Anyhow, I like to do it
with you."

      Brandon had a sudden urge to hug her. "Me too. But then you gonna let
some man fuck you tonight if it still hurts?"

      She frowned. "Come on, let's go to my house."

      Brandon asked, "How come you do it so much. Ain't there other girls
like you?"

      "A couple. There was three more but some reporter for a newspaper
found out about them and this social worker made them go into some home
down in Manila."

      "And it was in the newspaper?"

      "Yeah, about six, eight months ago. Didn't you see it? Was on the
front page. Now we got more men comin' here from Olongapo and even Baguio
and now there's just three of us I know about. My mother thinks its great
but not me."

      "And how many boys, boys like Freddy?"

      "I don't know but lots, ten, maybe more, but none as pretty as you."

      They didn't speak much the rest of the way. Brandon, animated by
Millie's explanations, was doing math again, trying to calculate in terms
of food, clothes and playthings what sex with men could net him. Potential
pain and unpleasant acts weren't part of the equation. Then Millie's living
conditions and paucity of personal clothes and things struck him.

      "If you're makin' so much money, how come you don't got a better
house and stuff?"

      Millie didn't answer right away so Brandon pressed, "How come?"

      "My mother's a junkie, just like yours."

      That took a few moments to sink in. It was the second time she'd
mentioned it. "How come you know about my mother?"

      "Everybody knows."

      Again, he had to consider the significance of what he was
hearing. What did she mean everybody? Who told them? The bar girls? "Who
told you that?"

      "I don't remember. Lots of people are junkies. The whores all talk
about each other. So one finds out something then everybody knows. A girl
makes money and never gots nothin', she's a junkie. And the pushers sell
inside the bars and everybody knows who they are so if somebody talks to
`em, well, she's a junkie."

      More thinking, considerations. "Who told you about your mother?" He'd
learned what he knew about his mother's drug use bit by bit overhearing the
remarks of bar girls.

      "I saw her doin' it to herself. I don't wanna talk about that."

      "I never saw my mother do it. What's she do?"

      The answer was slow to come. "They use a needle, like what the doctor
uses."

      "They do it to themselves?"

      "Yeah. I don't wanna talk about that." There was anger in her voice.

      Brandon tried to imagine his mother sticking a hypodermic needle into
herself. "I couldn't do that."

      Millie again paid for the jeepney. Inside her shanty, she went
straight through the curtain into her bedroom. Brandon followed slowly,
again trying to fathom why someone would voluntarily inflict the pain of an
injection on themselves and do so regularly.

      Millie said, "Take off your shorts." She was digging through a
cardboard box of old clothes. When she turned around, she had a plastic
vibrator, a full sized rubber dildo and a piece of broom handle. Brandon
only recognized the dildo.

      "That ain't gonna fit in me."

      "Take off your shirt too." She watched him do it. "You got a nice
body. You see, men like that, and your face. You're real pretty, Brandon,
especially your eyes, and your hair's real nice now, better'n before."

      "It's too long. I need to get it cut."

      "No, don't. They like it like that, me too. You just gotta comb it
nice, brush it. I'll show you how but it's almost perfect like it is."

      Millie took a small jar out of another box and screwed off the
top. It was the same type of jar she'd used when John had fucked her the
week before. "This makes it go in easy."

      "What?"

      "Just lie down. This ain't gonna hurt. I'm gonna put in my finger
first, get it all loose. You'll see. Lie down, on you belly, no, your back,
and put your legs up."

      Brandon was losing his enthusiasm. "Just your finger." He obeyed.

      She pushed his raised legs back until his knees were at his
chest. Brandon felt the tip of her greased finger press against his anus
then slip inside right to the knuckle. Then she wiggled it around and
touched that thing inside him that felt so good. He stopped watching for a
moment until her mouth surrounded his cock. Raising his head, he saw her do
a pair of revolutions that brought on an immediate boner.

      Her finger began moving up and down. She let go of his penis and
said, "Hold still. I'm just getting it bigger."

      He wanted her to put her mouth back where it had been. The finger
kept going up and down then stopped, withdrew only to return but
different. She was inserting two but there was no discomfort. It was kind
of nice with her lips back around his cock.

      Again, the up and down motion, this time longer. She was careful not
to take him too close to orgasm.

      After a few minutes, she released his cock again and told him, "Don't
move or get tight or anything. I'm gonna put something in you. Ain't gonna
hurt."

      "What?"

      "Shhh. Don't look. It ain't gonna hurt. Relax. Don't squeeze your
hole and it won't hurt." As she spoke, she greased up the piece of broom
stick and pushed it against his hole.

      He squeezed it shut.

      "Brandon, don't do that. Now I gotta start all over."

      "Lemme see what you're gonna stick in me?"

      "It's just this." She showed him the greased wooden pole.

      It didn't look all that big. "Okay, just do it slow." He tried to
relax his hole.

      The moment he did, she poked the pole inside.

      "Owww!"

      "That didn't hurt. Relax. You squeeze and it'll hurt. Relax." She
pushed it further inside.

      Brandon knew it didn't hurt. It had just surprised him. Then the
thing hit something inside him. "Wait."

      "It's okay, it's where your hole turns. I'm gonna show you how to
make it go all the way and it won't hurt none. Just wait a minute." She
kept the pole against the barrier he was feeling. Then, she began moving it
to one side and back. "Don't move. Just let me do it then you can do it
too. It's easy. I got a dick way up in me when I was just seven, or eight,
I think. You just gotta get the thing, it's like a rubber pipe, to go
straighter then you can get it all the way in."

      "Don't push, wait." Brandon was worried something inside was going to
get broken or bleed.

      Millie gradually pushed the tip of the pole toward Brandon's left,
then, it slipped past whatever was up there. For a moment, it felt like
something had been forced aside but the sensation subsided. Millie said,
"See? It's easy. I got this much inside you." She held up her hands about
six inches apart. "That's how big most of their cocks are. And watch," she
pushed the pole in further, "see, even more if they got a really long one.

      "Now, don't move, I'm gonna make it go in and out and you'll see it
don't hurt none." She withdrew the pole to its tip then pushed it all the
way back inside several times. As she did it, she moved it up and
down. "See, it don't hurt none."

      Brandon reached out and pulled her head down. She opened up and took
him in. The feeling was very different. The thing going in and out of him
actually felt good with her sucking his penis. He wanted to go all the
way. But, that wasn't her plan. The pole came out.

      Brandon couldn't see what she was doing with the mop of black hair
blocking his view. Something cold was pressed against his hole. It slipped
inside, stretching him. It was bigger but no more than uncomfortable. He
closed his eyes and waited to see if it was going to hurt. It touched the
good spot and passed it. He felt her hand against his opening.

      She lifted off and explained. "See, didn't hurt. Now wait."

      He felt her doing something. There was a click and a buzzing sound
inside, a sound that became a strange feeling, not bad, just strange.

      "What's that?"

      "It's a vibrator. Feels neat, don't it?"

      Strange became nice as it seemed to stimulate his good spot to
radiate a warm feeling throughout his middle. "Suck me some more."

      The combination was great. But, she had more to do. The sucking was
very light as though she was floating her lips up and down his rigid
shaft. The vibrator moved in and out of him, each time passing the barrier
that the pole had pushed aside. It seemed to pop out of the way with each
pass. After a few more minutes, she stopped blowing him and said, "This
might hurt some but not a lot."

      "What're you gonna do?"

      "Don't worry. Just think about the money. I'll go real slow."

      The vibrator came out. Brandon tried to keep his hole as loose as
possible. Something big went against it then began trying to get inside. It
hurt.

      "Don't squeeze. Don't squeeze."

      "It hurts."

      "It's your first time. Just let me get it in and it'll stop. Just
don't squeeze."

      Brandon tried to stay loose but it began to feel like something was
going to split. "It really hurts. Wait, wait a minute."

      The pain didn't subside. "Take it out. Take it out!"

      She withdrew the dildo.

      "Lemme see it."

      Millie held it up. "It goes in me okay. You just gotta wait. Come on,
try it again. I'll go slower."

      "It's gonna make me bleed."

      Millie looked at his anus, wiped her finger against it and held it
up. "See, no blood. Come on. Okay, do it like I do sometimes. Sit on it
then you just go as slow as you want."

      That sounded reasonable. "But you gotta suck me."

      She held it on the floor and he sat down on the tip. The dildo
bent. "Wait," said Millie and grabbed it in the middle.

      "Suck me," he ordered and opened his knees.

      She took in his cock. Brandon, holding on to the bed beside him, sat
again on the head of the dildo. Millie waved her hand for him to go
down. He allowed himself to sit harder. Again, it began to hurt though the
pain was reduced by Millie's lips. He waited, apparently too long for
Millie. "Ummvv" she grunted with her mouth full.

      She let go of his cock. "Move back and forth too." She pulled and
pushed him.

      Brandon lowered himself. The pain obliterated the feeling Millie was
providing. He closed his eyes, determined to handle it. The top pushed its
way inside. He groaned. "It hurts bad."

      "Wait, don't move. Just wait."

      "But it hurts." He felt like his hole was going to split open. He
raised himself but the head of the dildo remained, dangling below, held in
place by his sphincter.

      Millie saw. She took hold of it, taking the weight off. "Get on the
bed, lie down, on your belly."

      In agony, Brandon obeyed. There were tears in his eyes. "It's too
big. Take it out."

      "Wait. Wait. See if it gets better."

      "It ain't getting' any better. Take it out. Take it out!"

      Holding the dildo between his legs, she pulled slowly. It popped out,
leaving a puffed out anus.

      Brandon wiped his eyes on the bed cover. "You just got a bigger
hole'n me. I ain't gonna do that, just suck."

      Millie lay beside him. "It's okay. There's men likes that too. They
just pay less."

      Brandon reached back cautiously and touched his hole. A quick look
proved there was no blood.

      While they waited for the pain in his rear to subside, Brandon asked,
"How come men gotta use a rubber to fuck a girl but not me, I mean for me
to fuck you? Just `cause they're too big?"

      "Rubbers are so we don't get sick from the clap and syphilis and
other stuff men get. Boys don't got none of that." She laughed. "Mostly you
get fucked, not fuck, except you and me." She kissed him on the lips.

      They fucked and fell asleep in each other's arms.


      Millie only made it into class two days that week. She missed
Wednesday due to awakening too late, Friday because her mother told she had
to pick some items from a carpenter's shop: three highly polished varnished
thick wooden dowels, rounded at one end, that end widening gradually over a
third of its foot and a half length. The smallest had an initial diameter
of half an inch thickening to one inch three inches up the shaft. The
others augmented that by half an inch each giving the largest a two inch
diameter at its broadest. Millie had no doubt what they were for. In the
afternoon, she waited for Brandon three blocks from school and convinced
him to go home with her. He already had a date with John at seven but had
planned to hustle money from a couple of the bar girls and shoot marbles.

      She showed him the dowels. Brandon also immediately understood what
they were for.

      "I don't wanna do that any more."

      "The vibrator didn't hurt you none, right?"

      "So what. I just don't wanna do it."

      She held up the smallest. "The vibrator's bigger'n this one. Brandon,
the problem with the dildo is `cause it's too big at the top. With these,
you can let your hole get bigger just a little bit at a time. You can take
a week if you want. Getting fucked pays double what sucking pays. And I'll
suck you. You won't feel nothin'."

      "Yes I will. It hurt when I shit the day after you stuck that thing
in me."

      Millie pressed on with the argument that had been most successful
before. "What's better, forty or fifty or a hundred pesos? I get paid a
hundred for a fuck and just fifty, sometimes just forty for a blow
job. Anyhow, this one's smaller than the vibrator and you liked that."

      "No I didn't."

      "Then how come your dick got so hard?"

      "'Cause you were sucking it."

      "It got harder when I turned the vibrator on."

      "I don't care. I ain't gonna do it. Anyway, it's just so your mother
can make more money offa me."

      That deflated Millie. Her head dropped. Then she looked him in the
eye. "Not if we don't tell her. I know men too. I see who takes boys. We
can both make more. She got fifty from John for getting you to suck him. I
can get men for you just like she does." Her head drooped again.

      "What if she finds out?"

      "Fuck her!" said Millie resolutely. "Fuck her! All she does is take
my money and buy her stupid drugs and I don't get nothin'. I don't have to
live here."

      There were a lot of problems in Brandon's mind. "She can tell on
us. She can tell my mother when she gets out and she'll kill me. Or, she
can tell the cops."

      "No she can't. I can tell them she was selling me, and other kids, to
all those men so she ain't gonna say nothing to the cops, but, she might
tell your mother. We just gotta make sure she don't know. We let her get
some men for you but we get the others."

      "How many men do sex with boys? I never seen any."

      "You don't know, but there's lots. I'm out there. I see `em in the
hotels and I know the boys. They tell me. And not all of the men are
Americans. There are tourists come from everywhere, even Japan. Some are
Filipinos but they don't pay all that good. Guy fucked me Wednesday only
gave me fifty. He was Filipino but he works on the base and makes good
money. He could've paid me a hundred. I don't know how much he paid my
mother, probably about twenty."

      "What about the tanods? They're everywhere and they know my mother."
Barangay Tanods, neighborhood watchmen literally, are ubiquitous paid
community police with limited power who are supposed to be the first line
of defense in the Philippines against disorder and petty crime. They are
usually corrupt but do have a moderating influence in their area.

      "Shit, my mother pays `em so they ain't gonna say nothin'."

      "I still think somebody's gonna tell my mother."

      "Who? The men don't want nobody to know what they're doing. They
could go to jail, or have to pay the cops a lot of money. We can do
it. Come on, Brandon. Try this." She held up the smallest rod. "Ain't gonna
hurt none. Then when it don't hurt, you do the next one, maybe tomorrow or
next week. But soon, you can get that dildo up your hole and make a
hundred, maybe more with the men, every time."

      Her enthusiasm turned him. Clothes came off. He lay on his back, legs
up and back to his chest. Grease went on, the rod went in. Brandon braced
for pain that didn't come as the smooth dowel slipped easily inside him. He
was surprised when he felt it hit the turn in his colon.

      "See," said Millie triumphantly as she maneuvered the rod around the
impediment. "Didn't hurt none."

      She moved the rod in and out while she lightly sucked his
cock. Brandon relaxed and enjoyed the passes over his prostate and the lips
on his dick.

      That went on for a few minutes. Brandon could sense Millie was doing
something but he thought it was just changing her position. Then, the warm
rod came out and something cooler pushed in. He knew she was inserting the
second pole. He waited anxiously for the pain. He felt the thing go inside,
felt his hole widen. She stopped, lifted her head and said, "Say when it
starts to hurt and I'll stop."

      She was pushing and pulling it, gradually inserting more with each
slow thrust. Brandon closed his eyes and awaited the pain. After a bit, it
did begin to feel like it was going to hurt but, thunk, it hit the turn
again, hit it and nudged on by. The second rod was deep inside him. She
sucked and fucked. Brandon felt full inside but there was no real
discomfort.

      Millie began moving the wooden rod slightly up and down. "That okay?
She asked.

      "Just do it slow," was all he could think of to say. He hated
admitting to anybody that he was wrong about something but it was easier
with Millie. Anyhow, he wasn't about to admit anything, just advance things
to his own benefit. He debated saying what he said next but curiosity and
greed were ruling his words. "Put the big one in, slow, real slow." If he
could handle that one, he could make a hundred pesos with John that very
night. He'd never had that kind of money in his life. He began spending it
in his mind as Millie switched rods.

      "Don't squeeze. Say when it hurts."

      Brandon caught the `when'. So this was going to hurt, but, maybe not
all that bad. He tensed.

      "Don't squeeze," she repeated.

      Brandon looked down. Past his hard on he saw her looking intently
between his legs. Her arms looked like she had both hands on the thing she
was pushing into his body. There was stretching. Brandon bit his lower lip
bracing for the expected pain.

      Millie stopped and looked up at him. "Hurt yet?"

      He shook his head.

      "Anyhow, let's wait for a minute. That's how I did it. Your hole gets
bigger with something big in it for a while. It's why sometimes it hurts
when a guy starts fucking me in the ass but, after that, it don't feel so
bad." She revolved it, gently pushing it side to side.

      "How much is in?"

      "About this much." She held up one hand with her fingers about two
inches apart.

      "How big is John's dick?"

      "You know. You sucked it."

      "I don't remember. Bigger or smaller than that thing."

      "I don't know, about the same, maybe smaller. You gonna let him fuck
you if we get it all the way in?"

      "Maybe, and you just tell your mother I sucked him. And tell him
too. You think he'll tell her the truth if I do?"

      "Nah. He thinks you're real pretty and he really wants to fuck you. I
don't know how much he told her but she paid for the carpenter to make
these and I paid him a hundred seventy."

      "She's gonna be mad if he says I didn't let `im fuck me. Put in more,
slow, real slow."

      This time he bit down on his lower lip as Millie pushed the two inch
diameter rod toward its widest point. He was about to tell her to stop for
a moment when she did anyway. As she held the ground gained, Millie sat up
and put her mouth over Brandon's entire groin, balls and all. He
relaxed. She pulled the rod back then pushed it back where it had been,
repeating that several times before forging ahead. This time, the hurting
began, not terrible, but enough that he told her to "Stop."

      "It's almost all the way in."

      "Just wait some. Wait a minute."

      She sucked gently and massaged his flat tummy with her free hand. It
felt good, helped him forget about the uncomfortable invader. After a
while, she again pulled back a couple of inches, then pushed it back inside
him, right up to where the hurt had begun.

      "Can I go in the rest? It's almost there, just a little bit."

      Brandon put his hand on hers. "Okay."

      That hurt, but, it was in. She pushed it past the curve and deep
inside him. After waiting while she sucked him a little harder, getting his
juices flowing, Millie began the fucking motion, short strokes at first,
keeping the widest part inside him but little by little, she pulled it
farther and farther out with each stroke. The pain subsided, replaced by a
feeling that wasn't good enough to overcome the discomfort but certainly
bearable. Could he handle John?

      "Okay?" asked Millie lifting her face out of his crotch for a moment.

      If this was the worst of it, Brandon was sure he could take
John. "Let's tell John he's gotta pay us what he was gonna pay your
mother."

	"Can't be all. Part of it is for here instead of a hotel. Just the
part he was gonna pay if he fucked you."

	"How much for that?"

	"Just for you? I don't know, maybe fifty, seventy-five. It's
twenty-five for here."

	"He can tell us." The discomfort was continuing to decrease even as
Millie continued to move the wooden rod in and out of him. It caused
tingles in his prostate.  Brandon was planning how to approach the matter
with his customer. "We just tell him he's gotta tell us how much he was
gonna pay your mother, and he's gotta give the money for me to us. Then he
can fuck me."

	"That's something important," she explained. "You always gotta get
the money before they do anything. Well, not always, like with John. He's
okay but some of them say after that they only said twenty or something
little. So, you gotta make `em pay first. In the hotels, they gotta pay
before they go up. Anyhow, you talk real good English so you can tell `em
better'n me."

	She put her cheek on the back of his thigh. "How come you don't
teach me English so I can talk better to `em too."

	"If you went to school every day, you can learn it there, but it's
okay. I can teach you if you want. But you talk it some. I heard you say
some things to John."

	"Yeah but I can't say that much and sometimes they say they thought
I said less money was okay and stuff like that."

	Brandon said, "I gotta put my legs down but don't take it out. I
wanna it to be big back there when John comes."

	"You wanna stay here `til seven? I gotta go out."

	"Let's fuck like this, with that thing still in me." He lowered his
legs slowly. Millie kept one hand on the rod and moved to one side.

	Millie laughed. "Feels good, huh?"

	"No. No. I just wanna keep it in there so I stay big."

	"Whatta you call this thing in English, I mean, not like dildo. I
know that."

	Brandon thought. "Pole, I think. Say pole."

	She repeated the word then, "and `suck me down here'." She pointed
to her vagina.

	He told her but had to repeat it several times. Then, "Let's fuck."

	"You gotta hold the pole while I take my clothes off." She said
`pole' in English.

	Brandon turned onto his left side and took hold of the wooden
dildo. As Millie undressed, he moved it around, seeking out his
prostate. It moved in and out freely with almost no discomfort. His hole
felt slightly stretched but that was about all. John was going to be easy.

	After asking him to repeat `suck me down here' in English, Millie
slid up close and sucked in Brandon's lower lip. "Get on top and hold the
pole." She'd learned that word.

	They rolled together until Brandon lay on Millie, his cock right
where it needed to be. Millie took hold of the wood rod as Brandon let go
and tugged it up another inch. Brandon reached under himself and put his
cock between the lips of Millie's hairless vagina.

	After a few thrusts, Millie asked, "What's it feel like in your
ass?" She said `ass' in English. "See, I know that word."

	"Okay." Actually, it felt good. He wasn't sure why he couldn't say
it, so he did. "It's good."

	He reached orgasm in less than a minute.

	Millie commented, "Wait some. Then let's do it again."

	He'd gotten off three times when Millie said, "I gotta take a bath
now or I'm gonna be late. How do you say bath?"

	He told her. She had trouble with the `th' sound and practiced it
several times as she went to bathe.

	Brandon wanted to keep the pole in him but didn't think his shorts
would hide it. Anyhow, it would fall out. "How come I can't stay here while
you're out?" he asked when she came out wrapped in her towel.

	They decided he could. In case he fell asleep, Millie found an old
shirt with long sleeves. She tied one side around the exposed end of the
dildo and told Brandon, "Hold onto this and you can go watch television or
something. Just don't go outside." She laughed.



	John arrived before Millie got back. Brandon was asleep in front of
the TV. Hard rapping with the point of a key awakened him. He sat up too
quickly, poking himself inside with the pole well up inside his
butt. Realizing who it had to be, he stood and let the rod slip out then
looked frantically for somewhere to hide it while calling out, "Just a
minute."

	He decided against getting dressed before opening the door from
behind.

	"Wow, you are ready," exclaimed John when he saw the naked
boy. "Where's Millie?"

	"She's not back yet but she'll be here soon." At least he hoped
so. He needed her support to lay out the planned conditions for the use of
his ass.

	"So, do we wait or, well, you look like you're ready."

	"We wanna talk to you about something first but she'll be here
soon."

	"Well, with that great English of yours, you can tell me better
than her." He sat in the chair where Brandon had been sitting and held out
an arm for him to come over. "So, c'mere and let's talk."

	Brandon hesitated then, unwilling to put off a man who was about to
give him, he hoped, over a hundred pesos, walked over. John pulled him up
onto his lap and turned him sideways so they could look at each
other. Brandon prepared himself to resist any attempt at a lips-to-lips
kiss.

	"Whatta you wanna talk about?"

	Brandon took a breath, searching for words that wouldn't upset this
customer. "Millie says you gotta give money to her mother for me."

	"Oh, that. Well, yeah, `cause she found you for me, and I'm glad
she did. And she's letting me use her place instead of paying for a
hotel. Anyhow, you don't wanna go to a hotel, right?"

	Brandon felt outmaneuvered. He needed Millie. She'd know what to
say. But, she wasn't there and this man wanted to fuck him and he was ready
to get fucked. She said to get money first but that John was okay, that
he'd pay, but how much? He had to do something. "How much you pay to, uh,
put yours in a boy, back here." He pointed at his rear end.

	"Well, when it's his first time, well, how much you think I should
pay?"

	He'd done it again. Where was Millie?

	He asked again, "What you think would be fair for a boy's first
time."

	Another breath. Brandon decided he'd have to handle this. At least
the man would give him fifty if all he ended up doing was a blow job, and
he now knew how to swallow so the sperm wouldn't taste so bad. Wasn't any
soda around but, damn, he had to do this. "A hundred and Millie wants you
to give her the money you were going to give her mother, except for
here. How much you tell her?"

	"So, you are a businessman," he remarked with a smile. "That's okay
but what I agreed to with Millie's mother is kind of private, just like any
deal I make with you."

	Brandon thought fast. "Okay but you gotta give it to Millie, not
her mother. It ain't fair she gets money and don't do nothin', just me and
Millie."

	"But she does do something. Now think about this. You get to make
money with me, and probably other men, but you don't have to go out on the
street where people can see you and say things. Nobody at your mother's
club or at your school is gonna find out anything that could cause you
trouble. She finds you men who'll pay you for sex and you don't risk
anything."

	"But she hardly gives anything to Millie."

	"Brandon, maybe that isn't fair but that's between Millie and her
mother. You and I shouldn't get involved in that. Now, you and I can make a
deal but if we want to do things here instead of a hotel, we have to give
her something."

	Brandon heard the part about making a deal and followed up. "So how
much if I let you go back here." Again he indicated his buns.

	"Well, being as this is your first time and it might be difficult
for you, I'll agree to a hundred. We can do some other stuff first like us
sucking each other. That okay?"

	There was one condition. "No kissing?"

	"Okay but when people like each other, well, they kiss and I'm
getting to like you."

	Brandon frowned.

	John continued, "But we don't have to. Wanna go to the bedroom?"

	Brandon shrugged.

	John did kiss him on the cheek and his body but made no attempts at
lips to lips. The sucking was good. Brandon took in as much of John's six
inches as he could and twisted his head around like Millie had done to
him. He felt satisfied that the piece of wood he'd had up his ass all
afternoon was slightly larger than the cock in his mouth.

	Brandon felt one of John's hands on his ass, caressing, squeezing,
his fingers gradually slipping further inside until one reached his hole,
or was it two. With his mouth still providing comfort to Brandon's crotch,
his other arm moved. Something cool and damp seemed to come out of the
fingers at Brandon's anus. There was a light massage of the opening that
became gentle pressure inward followed by entry of at least one finger,
maybe two. It didn't go in very far, perhaps an inch or two. Yes, it was
two. They moved around, pulling, without causing any discomfort at the
opening into his body.

	It was time. "We can do it now if you want," said Brandon somewhat
embarrassed at the thought of John realizing he'd been using the thick wood
pole to prepare himself.

	John sat up. He was holding a white tube Brandon thought might be
Colgate toothpaste, the kind he used. "How you wanna do this?" asked the
man. "It might be easier if you sit on me. That way you can go as slow as
you want."

	Brandon had planned to insist on that. It was easier to accept the
man's suggestion. He was in no mood for further negotiations. He watched as
John covered and greased up his formidable looking tool. It began to look
thicker than that third wooden dildo.

	Whatever, it was time. Brandon stood and stepped over John, his
back toward him so the man couldn't see his face in case there was pain,
calculated where he needed to be and edged there. Hands on his knees, he
leaned well over to watch what he was doing. John held his cock
vertical. Brandon put one hand behind him and lowered his hips. His finger
tips felt warm, lubricated latex covered, hard as oak, full size male
erection and guided it to his hole. He lowered himself on top of the well
greased cock. The rounded tip pressed against his anus, spread it and
entered within seconds. There was no pain at all. The dildo had done its
job. Brandon slid down the shaft. When it hit the turn in his rectum, he
rocked side to side. It passed up inside with no problem. Shortly he was
sitting fully down on John's hairy crotch.

	John eyed him suspiciously. "This isn't your first time, is it?"

	Brandon, at first, had no idea why John would make such a remark
but, being the bright boy he was, it quickly dawned on him that he did make
things look a lot easier than they should have been. Sitting in a mass of
pubic hair with six inches of manhood up his butt, Brandon tried to put
together a response which wouldn't make matters worse or sound like a
lie. "Millie was teaching me how to do it. I never did it before, honest."
Should he show him the thick wooden dildo that had been spreading his hole
for the past several hours? Where did he hide it?

	John stared at him with increasing amusement. "It's okay. Most of
the boys I go with have been out with other men. It's no big deal. You just
should have, well, trusted me more."

	"I'm not lying. I never did this before. Millie's mother bought
these things we been putting in me so it wouldn't hurt so much when we did
it. I can show `em to you. I had one in me when you came." Embarrassment
was pushed aside by need.

	John had other matters on his mind. "Let's talk about that later,
okay. This still feels good. Can you go up and down?" He motioned with his
hands.

	Brandon was squatting with his weight fully on John's pubic
bone. Content the subject was off him and back on sex, he leaned forward,
sliding off the cock inside him until he could feel that it was about to
come out, then, putting his hands on John's knees, he dropped back
down. There was no need to maneuver past the turn in his rectum. From
there, with the man's help, he lifted and fell repeatedly. There was a
pleasant sensation each time the cock head pushed pass his little
prostate. Brandon didn't notice the prepubescent boner but John, looking in
from one side, did, catching the bounce half way through each entry.

	John introduced Brandon to a number of different positions. Some
were more enjoyable for the boy than others. They did it with Brandon lying
back onto John's chest, sitting up face to face with John lifting him up
then letting him back down slowly, doggy fucking which was a bit rough when
John stood on the floor and rammed in hard. What Brandon found the easiest
as well as the most erotic was John lying on top and making his final
thrusts before firing his cum well up inside. The final expansion, though,
did cause some discomfort at his sphincter.

	They lay like that for a while with John pushing in and out slowly
while embracing Brandon and telling him how great he was. "Want me to suck
you off?"

	They had bathed and were drying off when Millie finally showed
up. Her expression was one of remorse mixed with a great curiosity. She
only glanced at John as Brandon pushed her out of the bedroom.

	"You okay?" she asked still backing up.

	"He thinks I did this before `cause it went in real easy. Didn't
hurt none. I sat on him like you said and it went in easy. I kept that wood
thing in me until he came. How come you're late? He says he's still gotta
pay your mother."

	"I'm sorry but that man didn't want me to go, wouldn't let me get
outta the bed. I hadda say I was gonna tell my mother for him to let me
go. So it's okay? He pay you?"

	"Not yet, but he says he's gonna give me a hundred. And he did it a
lot, all kinds a ways, sitting, standing, lying down and when he did that,
his stuff came out and he got real big. That hurt some but not a lot. You
gonna talk to him about your mother?" A strange look came over Brandon's
face. "I think I gotta shit."

	He pulled Millie back into the bedroom with him. John was pulling
on his pants when Brandon passed him on the way to the bathroom.

	The bowel movement was noisy, the result of a lot of action up
inside. Gas was all that came out. When he finished wiping, Millie was
trying to explain something in her call girl English.

	John said to Brandon, "I think she's talking about what you were
talking about, the money I give her mother. If that's it, explain to her
what I said to you, that her mother provides a service and a place and that
is worth something."

	He did but that wasn't her point. Brandon explained it to the
American. "Her mother don't give her almost nothing, just a few pesos to
spend."

	"I'm sorry, but I only did things with her that one time last
week. I was paying for her mother to arrange you."

	In the end, he gave Brandon his hundred and twenty to Millie to
thank her for all she did. They showed him the wooden dildoes that had
facilitated his painless entry into Brandon's body then made a date for the
following Saturday night with the understanding that he still had to pay
Millie's mother for the use of the room. "A hotel would cost a lot more
and, anyway, you don't want to go to one."

	After John had left, Millie wanted details, exactly what they'd
done, how each had felt. During Brandon's explanation, she took hold of his
hand and played with his fingers. When he was done, "Wanna get in bed?"

	She surprised Brandon with a tongue bath, licking his body from
cheeks to cheeks, wetting every part of his torso with her saliva then
sucking him almost to orgasm before climbing back on top. "Fuck me."

	They rolled over and Brandon pushed inside her. She held onto him,
caressing his back, kissing his cheeks and shoulders as he thrust. When he
came, she said, "Do it again," but, seconds later, "we can't. I gotta go."

	"I can do it again tonight."

	"I gotta go, this guy's gonna be at the hotel."

	"No, I mean me, I mean a man. You know one?"

	"You gotta go home or you'll get in trouble."

	She was right. If someone saw him coming in late, Owings could
punish him. His freedom had limits and he was obeying rules of late. Still,
flushed with what he saw as a great success in painlessly taking an adult
cock repeatedly up his rear and the hundred peso bill in his pocket, he
wanted to earn more. "What about tomorrow? It's Saturday and you always
have men on Saturday."

	"Shit, Brandon," she remarked as she pulled on her panties. "You
said he fucked you a lot and it was your first time. Maybe you better wait
`til next week."

	Brandon tried to feel his insides. He sat and moved his butt from
side to side. It felt used but, other than a slightly sensitive anus,
nothing seemed damaged. Still, maybe she was right about that. "But I can
do blow jobs."

	Millie looked at him and grinned. "You're crazy. You like sex,
don't you?"

	Brandon shrugged his shoulders. "I like money. They gotta pay fifty
for a blow job, right?"

	She tugged on a tight fitting halter. "Some of `em, the Americans,
foreigners because you're so pretty, but not all. If you don't wanna go
places like the strip where they can see you and maybe one of your mother's
girls, you gotta let my mother get one for you. Get dressed. We gotta go."

	Greed ruled out principal. "Okay, but I still get fifty."

	"If they want a blow job. Some of them just want to suck you." She
grinned. "Nah, they'll want a blow job."

	Brandon put his T shirt on backwards.

	"Hurry up," insisted Millie.

	Just before they left the shanty, Brandon asked for the wooden
dildo.

	"Shit! You like it that much?"

	"Nuh uh. It's just so I can make my hole stay big."

	"I think you like it," she said with a smile. "Where'd you put it?"

	Brandon told her what happened when John awakened him. She thought
it was funny. They wrapped the thing in the shirt they'd used to keep it
inside him.

	"We don't got time now but you better wash it when you get home. It
stinks of shit. And wait, you need the grease too or it'll hurt." She found
a jar in a box of clothes.

	As they walked toward Balibago, Millie poured out advice. "Remember
to get your money before you do anything, before you take your clothes
off. And if they want to take pictures..."

	"Pictures? I ain't letting nobody take pictures of me!"

	"Oh, don't worry. Nobody's ever gonna see `em here and you can get
maybe twenty-five, more if they want you to do something. I did some with
another boy and the man gave me a hundred, the boy too."

	"Fucking?"

	"Uh huh, sucking, kissing, everything."

	"How you know he ain't showing them to people?"

	"Shit! It was almost a year ago. Anyhow, Junior says they get in a
lot of trouble if they get caught with pictures so they ain't gonna show
`em to nobody around here."

	"Who's Junior?"

	"Just another kid, a call boy like Freddie but he's fourteen, but,
okay, just remember that you gotta get money first and you always gotta
tell them how good the sex is. I forgot to tell you that. Remember when
John was fucking me and I said how good it was?"

	Brandon remembered.

	"Well, you gotta do that even if they're just sucking you but
especially if they're fucking. They like that and they cum faster and they
want to do it again with you. Most kids don't know about that."

	"How come you know about that?"

	"The bar girls all do it, most of them, I think. This one told me
she can make her customers cum in a couple minutes just by saying
things. Gets them all excited so I do it too and sometimes they want to do
it again and I get them to pay more, not double or nothin' like that but,
maybe twenty-five, twenty. Anyhow, it works.

	"I never told any of the boys about that so maybe you'll be the
only one. Anyhow, they are all gonna want you `cause you're so pretty."

	"I ain't that pretty, just girls. I'm handsome `cause a my eyes and
my hair."

	"Shit! You're prettier'n most girls I know. You just don't know it
`cause you're a boy but you are. Just wait. The men are all gonna want
you. But, you're gonna have to go to a hotel."

	"I don't wanna do that. Why can't I do it at your house?"

	"And if everybody sees men going in there all the time?"

	"But the girls from my mother's bar go to the hotels, they're..."

	Millie interrupted, "I know one where you can go in from the
back. I go there a lot. Just gotta give the man there ten and he lets me go
in that way and you go to a room where you can go in and nobody sees
you. Your customer goes in from the front and pays. He pays the extra ten,
not you and the man in front gives it to him, the guy in the kitchen. You
can go there."

	"Which hotel?"

	"Spring."

	He'd heard of it but had no idea where it was.



	Millie's mother did find Brandon a man for Saturday. As agreed,
Millie met him Saturday midday two blocks from the Showdown Bar. She handed
him a paper bag. Inside were a dozen condoms. "My mother knows about you
and John. I think he told her, well, I know he did. Anyhow, always use one
when you get fucked. Some'a these guys got things, diseases and
stuff. Sometimes they bring one so don't use yours unless they don't got
their own."

      She filled him in on his customer. "The man's name is Jack. At least
he says it is. None of `em give you their real name. Bunch of `em say
they're called John like the guy fucked you last night. It's so they don't
get caught or nobody can find them all that easy. Bunch of them are
soldiers or something on the base an' they'd be in real shit if their
bosses find out. Well, anyway, my mother says this guy says he's Jack likes
to fuck too but last time when he fucked this one boy, he only gave him
fifty but you don't wanna get fucked today anyhow so tell him all you're
gonna do is blow him but he's gotta pay fifty and, he's gotta pay you
first, okay?"

	Brandon was debating about taking another dick up his rear. It
didn't feel bad. His entry was still tender. He'd put the wooden dildo up
there that morning in the shower. Still, a hundred was better than
fifty. And, if he told Millie he was going to let the man fuck him that
might mean her mother was going to get more money. He decided to think
about it and, if he did let the man fuck him, make a deal with him that
included secrecy about what they had done.

	"Brandon? You're gonna let `im fuck you, aren't you?" Had she read
his thoughts?

	"Unh uh. I don't know. It's just that you can't tell your mother if
I do."

	"It don't hurt none?"

	He shook his head.

	"Better wait. I can get you somebody for tomorrow."

	"I wanna do one tonight, too."

	"Shit, Brandon. You're gonna get like me. You gotta be careful
nobody knows what you're doin'."

	At the hotel, Millie had to knock several times before a young man
in white pants and shirt opened up. He nodded at her as she passed then
winked at Brandon who hoped that didn't mean he wanted something more than
money. The room was just outside the kitchen at the end of a short section
of hallway that turned to the right twenty feet from where they entered.

	At the door, Millie whispered, "I gotta go. Meet me around six at
my house. Don't forget to get your money first. Just go in. You don't gotta
knock or nothin'." She backed off and Brandon, feeling a bit less confident
than he had moments before, opened the door.

	A man in khaki pants and a white T shirt lay on the bed, a ceiling
fan turning slowly above him. When he turned to look, his eyes went up and
down Brandon twice before he spoke. "Hi." He sat up smartly. "What's your
name? Speak any English?"

	On an impulse whose origin he never completely understood but was
later glad he'd had, Brandon answered in broken bar girl English. "I
Brandon. English no." As he spoke, he doubted the wisdom of his no English
ploy but figured reverting to his normal English at that point would be too
embarrassing.

	"You're a good looking boy. Your dad American?"

	Brandon acted like he didn't understand. The man waved him
over. "Let's see what you're like underneath."

	Brandon wanted to get finances out of the way first. He stepped
back and asked, "What you pay, Joe." Joe was what most everyone in the
Philippines called Americans. The source was GI Joe from World War II and
Vietnam.

	"I'm Jack. What're we gonna, uh, shit, you suck?" he asked poking
his finger into his mouth.

	"Suck fifty. Fuck hundred peso."

	"Shit, you're a real pro, huh? Much money. Fuck fifty."

	Brandon shook his head. "Suck fifty. Fuck hundred."

	"I don't, no have hundred. Only fifty. C'mon, fuck fifty. Me
little." He struggled with a military web belt, opened his pants and showed
a cock that did seem smaller than his first customer.

	Brandon felt he was doing well so repeated. "Suck fifty. Fuck
hundred." If the man really had only fifty, then why fuck when he was sure
the man would go the whole amount for a blow job.

	Jack frowned and reached into his pants pockets, pulled out a
combination of local cash and dollars, counted the local money, then looked
out of the corner of his eye at Brandon, "Ninety?"

	Brandon had seen the bills and was sure there was over a
hundred. He shook his head.

	A hundred pesos in six bills went into his pocket.

	It took a while. The man ran his hands over every inch of flesh,
licked his nipples and nibbled his ears, tried to kiss but was rebuffed,
sucked the skin around his dick, then his dick, finally reversing positions
so Brandon could perform on his cock. Brandon obliged and was happy to find
that it was, as a matter of fact, smaller than John's.

	They had to use one of Brandon's rubbers. Entry, Jack on top of
Brandon, was accomplished with repeated applications of saliva since
neither had thought to bring any lubricant.

	"Oh, that good," murmured Brandon trying to sound sexy.

	Perhaps twenty thrusts and a few words later, sperm spewed into the
tip of the condom deep inside Brandon's rectum.

	Jack insisted on staying put for another five minutes while he told
Brandon how nice his body was and requested another date the following
week.

	To the request for a good bye kiss, Brandon planted a quickie on
his cheek.

	Brandon went home and pushed the dildo back inside to prepare for
another possibly larger cock that evening.

     	When they met at six as planned, Millie already knew much of what
had occurred including the haggling over fees. "He told my mother."

	"I forgot to tell him not to say nothin'."

	"And you gotta go with `im next Saturday, same time at the
hotel. Anyhow, I'm gonna be there too with another guy, There's this guy
for tonight if you want but you gotta say now so my mother can tell
him. He's waiting `cause I told her I was gonna see you."

	"What time?"

      Brandon spent his free time window shopping in an RTW clothing
outlet, buying only two pairs of socks then walking into a small shopping
arcade or `tiangge' with rows of separately owned stalls selling everything
one could imagine. At one, he bought a set of toy military vehicles. Near
the door, he spotted another with cheap jewelry and chose a bracelet for
Millie.

	His next client, younger yet than the afternoon customer, was
standing by the curtained window in his military boxers when Brandon opened
the door. He came in less than a minute after Brandon began blowing him,
taking Brandon by surprise, causing him to briefly choke. He quickly
regained control and swallowed it all. They negotiated a twenty minute wait
so the young man could try fucking. He received about three minutes of
passion for the extra fifty.

	Brandon had to turn down a Sunday midday opportunity. Though he had
mixed feelings about going, he had plenty of cash in his pocket and really
did want to see his mother at the rehab center. He missed her. The feared
self-recrimination didn't happen.

	"Don't you worry about your mother," she told him once they were
alone. "I'm gonna be fine. It's just gonna take a while. You don't get over
what I was doing all that fast."

	The embraces were mutual. Brandon felt her love and believed her
desire to be a good mother. Perhaps he should be a good son.

	By the time he left, getting his homework done was a priority, more
important than an evening customer Millie's mother had lined up. He went to
bed trying to figure what to tell Millie. He'd all but decided to give up
his nascent call boy career.

	Millie didn't make it to school the next day, not an unusual
situation on a Monday. However, she was waiting for Brandon that afternoon
on his way home.

	"What happened last night? That guy got pissed at my mother `cause
you didn't show up. He wanted her to pay for the hotel. What happened?
Something about your mother?"

	There was a prepared speech accented with the gift bracelet but
Millie's concerned instead of angry tone made it difficult to use. "Kinda,
yeah. She's all worried about me and wants me to be good, do good in school
and all and I'm doing this stuff. She finds out and she'll be real mad, and
sad too. It's hard for her, what she's gotta do. This nurse told me how
it's really hard for people who use heroin to stop using it. Makes `em
really sick and all and sometimes my mother hurts real bad but she's
fighting and getting better but it's hard. I just don't think I should be
doin' this stuff with her in there and all."

	Millie took his arm and walked him in the direction of the Showdown
Bar. "That's okay. Too bad for those guys. They really liked you. My
mother, fuck her. Don't worry. It's okay. I still love you. Wanna go to my
house later? You can still do that, can't you?"

	That hadn't been a part of his considerations. "If you want." He
handed her the bracelet.

	Her eyes lit up. She stopped and gave him a ferocious hug. "I love
you, and I mean it, and not just because of this bracelet." She put it on
her wrist and admired it.

	There it was. The depth of her caring for him had been sitting in
the back of his brain, not hidden, just not fully recognized. Maybe
convincing him to try being a call boy was just a way of bringing them
close. The problem was, he wasn't sure what the word `love' entailed. It
had something to do with caring. His mother, even though she did some
things that weren't nice, did love him but that was because she was his
mother. His father had sort of loved him, but not like his mother. He was
fun to be with but there'd never been the same closeness he felt with his
mother.

	Millie squeezed his arm.

	Millie had sex with men for money, then had sex with him and never
asked for anything, just wanted to hug and kiss. The kissing was okay,
sexy, but the hugs were nicer. They made him feel good. She was his best
friend, that was for sure. The boys he hung with were friends but they just
wanted play, gamble. They talked some, told tales, but it wasn't the same
as with Millie. She listened to him. The boys didn't really, especially the
full bloods.

	The great doubt in Brandon's mind was why Millie liked him so
much. All the other kids his age were friends with others of their own
gender, boys with boys, girls with girls. Bigger kids were different but
all they really wanted was sex, at least, that's all they talked
about. Well, Millie wanted sex, too. She probably wanted him to fuck her
that afternoon. What would happen if he didn't want to? Would she get mad?
Didn't matter. He liked the sex too. Of course he'd fuck her if she'd let
him. It felt really good.

	One of the bar girls, on seeing the two of them together as Brandon
opened the door to the stairway, raised her eyebrows and smiled. She was
looking at Millie. Brandon noticed.

	"You know her?" he asked Millie as they went up to the apartment.

	"Kind of. I saw her at a couple hotels."

	Brandon stopped. "When you were there with a man?"

	"Don't worry. She ain't gonna say nothin'."

	Brandon didn't believe that for a moment. Upstairs, he dropped his
book bag on the sofa and said, "We gotta go out now."

	"Why," asked Millie as she looked around, "I never seen your house
before?"

	"'Cause that girl is gonna think we're doin' something up here."

	"Tsk tsk, Brandon, why. We're comin' back from school and we're
gonna do homework. C'mon, let me see your place. It's really neat in
here. Where's your room?"

	"Okay, but we can't stay long."

	On the way, she saw the kitchen and had to check it out. She opened
cabinets and the refrigerator. "Not much food here."

	"That's `cause it's just me and I don't eat here much except what
they bring it up here for me."

	Her interest again turned to his bedroom. Once there, "Wow, this is
neat." She sat hard on the unmade bed. "My bed's softer than this." She
grinned, "But your's is lot cleaner." She lay back and sniffed the
sheet. "Smells better too."

	Brandon frowned. Bar girls washed his sheets and spread once a
week. Millie's looked worse than it smelled.

	"Where do you hide your dildo."

	 "Under there." He pointed at the bed. "The mattress."

	She waited a moment to ask, "Want me to take it home?"

	That required a decision he found difficult. It was, if not
definitive, very close to closing the door on earning money with his
body. It had been easier the day before after being with his mother,
listening to her resolute desire to change her behavior, his to make a
change in his own. Still, she'd said nothing about not running the bar
girls which was directly involved with prostitution which was what he'd
been doing. She apparently saw nothing wrong with that though he was
certain she'd be very angry if she learned her son was selling the use of
his body. Sure, he was a little kid, not yet twelve, in primary school, but
he wasn't being hurt by it. He was making money honestly though there was
some sneaking in through back doors and, as a matter of fact, it was
illegal. Were the men to be caught, they'd be locked up or have to pay off
the police. He wasn't sure what his legal situation would be were he to be
caught but he would be in some kind of trouble, that was for sure. But he
wasn't stealing any more and only doing the occasional gambling.

	Millie sat patiently waiting for an answer as though she knew the
thoughts coursing through his mind, understood what she was actually
asking.

	Brandon sat beside her. She took his hand. "It's okay. You can give
it to me some other day if you want."

	 He suddenly felt very close to her. Yes, she was his best
friend. The sex had nothing to do with that. He could talk to her in a way
that was impossible with anyone else. For one thing, they were both
prostitutes. That was the term that floated through his mind. It didn't
seem offensive to him. She wasn't in it entirely of her own volition. Her
mother had pushed her into it but, at that point in time, she had indicated
to him a willingness to break from her mother and do it on her own. He
hadn't entirely gone into it of his own desire. He hadn't known it was
possible for kids to do so until Millie, at her mother's insistence,
convinced him to give it a try. However, at least the last two sessions had
been because he wanted to make the money and neither had been in any way
unpleasant. It was a lot easier than sweeping and mopping for a week which
was how long it would take a kid like him to otherwise make a hundred
pesos.

	Still, he had to improve himself, match some of his mother's own
efforts. "Can I do it just on weekends, Friday, Saturday and Sunday, and
not late?"

	"Sure. That's what I oughta be doing if my mother wasn't a stupid
junkie." She gripped his arm. "You know, with you making her money too,
maybe I can do it like that, too. Or maybe I can get her one more boy."

	Brandon forgot about his concern with having her up there with
him. They discussed how they could find another boy so Millie's mother
would have no excuse to force her daughter to go out so often. As they were
preparing to go to Millie's house, she said, "Even if I don't get her
somebody else, I ain't gonna go out that much any more. I'm just gonna tell
her."

	"She's gonna get angry."

	"Fuck her. She hits me and I'll just leave."

	"Then where will you go?"

	"I can stay with some bar girls I know. She can't do nothin'. She
sure ain't gonna call the cops?"

	At Millie's house, sex wasn't on their minds, just talk about the
future.

	Brandon said, "I'm gonna be a lawyer and make lots of
money. Everything you do you gotta have a lawyer. Even when I started
school they hadda have a lawyer for something about my birth certificate or
I couldn't go to school."

	"'Cause your father was American?"

	"I don't know. They just hadda do it. And when Brian came and was
gonna be in charge of the bar, this lawyer had to do a bunch of stuff. And
when they wanted to put my mother in jail, a lawyer got her out or
something. I don't know. She knows the Captain too and they hadda let me go
out of this place they put me in. And lawyers get paid for everything they
do. My mother hates `em because you gotta give `em so much money."

	Millie wasn't listening. She proclaimed, "I'm gonna have a bar like
your mother with a lot of girls but I ain't gonna use drugs. And if you're
a lawyer you're gonna be making good money and we can get married and you
can marry us `cause you're a lawyer and we don't gotta pay nobody and have
two kids, a boy and a girl, but they won't have to do what we do, just go
to school." She blushed. "If you want to."

	Millie's proclamation took Brandon by surprise. He didn't mind it
at all. Marriage was a kind of friendship. He liked Millie very much. Sure,
he could marry her. Maybe they could have the Showdown and live right there
in the apartment. There'd be the question of what to do about his mother
but they'd figure something out. He leaned to her and kissed her cheek.

	Her response to that was nearly half an hour of tender lovemaking.

	After a quick bath to get rid of the total body sweat they'd
accumulated, Brandon and Millie got down to the important practical issue
of school, something they both agreed was necessary for the fulfillment of
their plans: how to convince Millie's mother to allow her to improve her
dismal school attendance currently averaging just three days a week, often
drowsy after late night trysts with customers. They hatched a plot to
convince her mother that an investigation was in the works.

	Rather than make the expected visit to her mother on the strip that
evening, Millie had dinner at Brandon's apartment then went home to get a
full night's rest. When her mother tried to awaken her after midnight,
Millie easily pretended to be too sleepy to be coherent. In the morning,
she was careful not to disturb her mother's sleep, going off to school
without breakfast. Brandon bought her a couple of cupcakes and a
Coke. After classes, she sought her mother out.

	"You had a customer last night," complained Alicia Papagayo. "Where
the hell were you?"

	The planned lie was, "I was sick, still am some. I vomited all over
the place so I went to bed. Anyhow, I went to school today and this teacher
says this social worker is going to the houses of the kids that don't go to
school every day and that she knows why I don't go and that if the social
worker finds out, there's gonna be a lot of trouble. She says one of the
older girls has a sister works in one of the bars and she knows `cause she
seen me at one of the hotels with different men. The teacher says she ain't
gonna say nothin' but I better stop or she might."

	Her mother looked like she was going to spit. "Who is this bitch
can't mind her own business?"

	"She's a teacher in sixth, I think, but you can't say nothin' or
we're gonna be in big trouble. They can put me in a home and you'll go to
jail. I just gotta go to school every day and do my homework and just go to
the Spring Hotel where nobody sees me go in like with Brandon."

	The woman sat on her stool and looked morosely at the merchandise
in her basket. She was silent for several minutes. Millie stood
manipulating the buttons in her school blouse and waited.

	"No way you can make enough money just working weekends. Maybe we
oughta move to Manila where people mind their own business."

	"We don't know nobody there," said Millie with a worried look.

	There was no reply.

	"What if we get another kid like Brandon or Freddie?"

	"I don't make shit off of them. I need you. We gotta get your
customers to come earlier is all. They'll come if I say that's how it's
gotta be and you go to the Spring like you said but you gotta come here
after school every day."

	Brandon wasn't happy with the results of Millie's discussion with
her mother. "When you gonna do your homework?" he asked sitting on his
bed. "You gotta do it or you'll fail."

	"I can make `em do it faster. Lot of `em wanna lie around and play
with my tits and suck me but I can get `em to wanna fuck quicker, like tell
them I'm hot to fuck and all."

	"Won't they get mad, say it's too much money or something?"

	"Maybe, but it's what I gotta do."

	"Can't you just tell your mother you can't do it weekdays? Say the
teacher's gonna find out or something?"

	"Nah. She won't believe that. I just hope she don't go to the
school all pissed and wanna talk to the teacher. She was really mad."

	"What about today? You gotta see some guy today?"

	"Yeah, at seven but he just wants to fuck so I can go home early."

	Wednesday, Millie passed a message from her mother that a Filipino
with a small dick wanted to fuck him the next afternoon. It could be done
at her shanty.

	"It's only fifty. Filipino customers only pay half what foreigners
pay but I do it. And their cocks are smaller, most'a the time. You don't
have to if you don't wanna."

	He did.

	The man was older than he expected, at least fifty and small in
every way, only half a foot taller than Brandon with a dick that matched
his size. After handing over a fifty peso bill, he asked for a quick suck
before climbing on Brandon's back and screwing him using only saliva as a
lubricant. It worked just fine. It took less than five minutes for him to
cum.

	With his cock still inside Brandon's rear, the man said, "You are a
very good fuck. If I give you twenty more, can we do it again but in a half
hour?"

	 Brandon didn't think that was enough for him to wait. "I gotta get
fifty each time I do it. The Americans give me a hundred."

	"But I'm a Filipino. We aren't rich like the fucking `Canos. Are
you Filipino or American?"

	Brandon had learned to ignore abuse because of his appearance but
wasn't prepared for this customer's challenge. "I'm Filipino. You hear how
I talk. Americans' can't talk like me."

	"So, you can't go charging like I'm a fucking American. Twenty-five
and we wait, okay?"

	The only problem with the second time was the twenty minutes it
took for the man to get off.

	Friday afternoon, he sucked off a young airman then sat on John's
dong at seven. Millie came for him Saturday morning and rushed him to the
Spring Hotel for a fat middle-aged American tourist her mother had found
the night before. The man wanted him to sit on his lap and talk but Brandon
feigned a lack of English and resisted kissing. Action was supposed to be a
blow job but after not getting off after nearly fifteen minutes of hard
sucking, the man indicated he wanted to fuck.

	"Suck fifty, fuck hundred," he said using his finger to point to
the applicable area of his body.

	The man sighed and agreed. Brandon held out his hand. Money was
paid.

      Brandon had to bounce on his lap when other positions proved too
difficult.

	Millie was waiting for him when he finished. Brandon bought them
both a `turo turo' lunch consisting of lukewarm rice with a meat and
vegetable mix topping.

	At three, it was Jack who'd upped the time of his date and filled
another condom. That was followed by a snack, then another return
engagement after which Millie informed him that he had a seven thirty date
if he wanted it. His ass felt fine so why not.

	It was an Australian tourist Millie told him about, a regular in
Angeles, who came for a month each year. "He's already been with Freddy and
a couple others. My mother told him you were better but cost more." She
held out a hundred peso note. "Already paid."

	The both of them had dates though hers was in a nicer hotel a
couple of blocks away. "The other boys go in there but people see them so I
told him it's gotta be at the Spring. He didn't like it `cause he's been
there before and don't like it but my mother told him you're from a good
family so you gotta go where nobody sees you. He liked that."

	"How much she get for herself?"

	"I don't know but I'll bet fifty."

	"He gonna wanna do it again after tonight?"

	"Of course. They all do. You're real popular. John was with you at
my house told a couple of his friends and they wanna go with you and that
Filipino guy from Thursday gots friends want you too." She laughed. "Couple
the others and Freddy think you're gonna take money away from `em."

	"How many men come here for boys like me?"

	"Shit! A hundred I'll bet. And they're all gonna want you. You're
the prettiest of all. And Jack says you're the best fuck in the country."

	Brandon straightened up as he walked.

	The Australian, a large man to start with, had the biggest cock
he'd seen so far, bigger than John's. His hole stretched painfully as he
sat down on it. "You okay, mate?" asked the man once he was fully inside.

	Brandon turned and smiled back at him.

	The Aussie pulled Brandon down to his chest, wrapped his arms
around him, stood, let Brandon fall slightly forward then began a short
bouncing motion. His large dong only moved back and forth a couple of
inches but each time it went full up inside, Brandon's hole was stretched
further. Nonetheless, trying to shorten his discomfort, he said as
passionately as he could, "Good, Joe, good fuck."

	The thrusts became longer and harder. Brandon didn't give up. "Fuck
me, Joe. Fuck me. Is good."

	A minute later, the Aussie stopped and walked them into the
bathroom. He stood them in front of the sink. "Grab the sink, boy."

	Brandon almost did then, realizing he shouldn't have understood
that, he looked back with a quizzical expression. The man put Brandon's
hands on the sink and held him by the hips. What followed was the hardest
fucking Brandon had withstood. He wanted to speak but knew his words would
carry the pain he was feeling.

	"Awful quiet now, ain't you boy. This is what a real fuck feels
like, a hundred peso fuck." Each time he rammed inside, he yanked Brandon's
hips hard into his crotch.

	Finally, "Oh shit! Ahhh!" Gripping Brandon tight to him, a load of
sperm shot into the rubber well up inside the boy's colon. After a brief
rest, the man banged into Brandon three more times, stopped, took a breath,
pulled out to the tip and pushed slowly back inside again. He leaned over
and said sarcastically, "Gonna want more money next time?"

	With his ass hole burning, all Brandon could think of was, "Fuck
you."

	The man laughed. "Spirit! That's good, boy. C'mon, let's take a
shower. Be nice and I'll buy you a beer. Better'n a aspirin."

	"Get off me!"

	Another laugh as he withdrew. As his feet hit the floor, Brandon
pushed the man away and went into the bedroom for his clothes.

	When he told Millie what had happened, she said, "That shit
Freddy. He knew and didn't say nothin'."

	"He went with him?"

	"Yeah, but Freddy's got a real big hole. He let that German guy
fuck him about four times last year and Junior said that he made Lipe cry
and he's fourteen and big."

	"Well, I ain't going with him no more, unless he pays double."

	"He might. He's in the Mandarin. That's a hundred dollars a night
and gots a rental car."

	"How much he pay Freddy?"

	"Just a hundred. I wonder if my mother knew what he was like?"



	The next morning, Brandon's hole hurt enough that he told Millie
that he couldn't get fucked for a few days. "Tell your mother. She said I
got some guy at four. I'll suck him but that's all."

	"Don't worry, I'll tell her she's gotta get one of the others,
shit, nah, he wants you. Just tell him. If he gets mad, just leave. I done
that a couple times."

	Brandon bought a small bouquet of flowers for twenty-five pesos and
went with two of the bar girls to visit his mother. She cried and hugged
him on receiving his gift.

	"You're such a good son. I don't deserve such a good kid like you."

	The 4 PM customer, an American with a military haircut, did want to
fuck but accepted Brandon's "Sick, sick" with his finger pointed at his
ass, and then received an excellent fifty peso blow job with cum down
Brandon's throat. Brandon received a reasonable blow job in return though
he had hoped to save himself for Millie.

	Freddy was waiting for him when he headed into the hotel
kitchen. "Alie says you got a couple tourists, one for me. They don't wanna
pay for two rooms so she fixed it so we do `em both same time. Okay?"

	There was no friendliness in his voice. He sounded all business.

	The two were young tourists with long hair and backpacks. They
smelled. Freddy insisted in call boy English, "You take bath, Joe, okay?"
Once again, there was businessman in his tone.

	Fortunately, Freddy's English wasn't up to the conversation the two
British young men had when they came out. "You gotta let me have the kid
with the eyes, Brad. Jesus, he's a beauty. I'll owe you."

	"I don't know, Benny. You had the nice one in Baguio."

	"Do me a great one, Brad. I'll pay the room. Come on. Anyhow, the
other one looks like he's older. Probably does a proper fellating. You
don't think they understand us?"

	Both boys were looking at them impatiently. Brandon was trying to
figure out what a `proper fellating' meant. There was no way he was going
to allow either to fuck him.

	"Nah, I don't think so, little rotters. Probably never been to
school."

	Brandon was tempted to make a nasty remark but kept it to
himself. Freddy leaned toward him and asked, "What're they saying?"

	Brandon sensed an opportunity to make friends with his
competitor. "They both want you."

	"Bullshit!"

	"No, just watch."

	Brad lost the argument and took Freddy who insisted on his money up
front. Brandon followed suit then watched Freddy best as he could with
Benny all over him.

	The twelve year old had his own style. First, he undressed his
customer piece by piece as he did himself. Before removing the boxers, he
felt up the cock inside them, massaging it hard. Then, as he pulled them
off, he gave it a kiss and quick lick.

	Brandon was already on the bed beside his man, the two mutually
fondling and caressing one another, With Brandon watching him and somewhat
unconsciously following his lead, Freddy crawled up Brad's body, eyes on
the man's unshaven lips, his crotch grinding into the man's
middle. Apparently, his customer knew what was coming. His mouth opened
along with Freddy's. The kissing was deep and passionate and prolonged.

	At one point, Freddy looked Brandon's way. Brandon was sure he
caught a smile. His customer wanted the same service. He tugged on
Brandon's buns until they were face to face. Brandon held his breath and
put his lips to the man's, his teeth tightly clenched. The man's tongue
pressed, pushed, trying for force its way inside. Brandon, seeing Freddy
obviously exchanging saliva, relented.

	It wasn't as bad as he'd expected but nothing he wanted to do for
long. It was no different than what he and Millie had been doing each time
they made love but, this was a man. A cock was one thing, he thought, then,
he was struck by the absurdity of worrying about a man's saliva when he was
going to swallow his sperm. He sucked on the tongue inside his mouth hoping
that Freddy would see him doing it.

	The man's mouth was far better tasting than his acid sperm.

	As they were dressing, Freddy asked, "How come you don't talk to
them in English? See if they wanna do it again tomorrow or sometime."

	"None of them know I speak English," he said in a near
whisper. "That way they say stuff they don't think I understand so I know
if they're gonna try something I don't wanna do." He turned to the two
men. "Again, Joe? We do again?"

	The pair looked at each other. Benny said, "Why not. We can switch
off. Tomorrow?"

	Freddie piped up, "Tomorrow good, Joe. What time, Joe?"

	"Ten? Morning, ten?"

	Freddy frowned and pointed at Brandon, "Go school. Three?"

	Brad said to his partner, "Bus leaves at two. Wanna stay another
day? My kid was damn good too. Maybe they'll do something else, know what I
mean?"

	"Mano," replied Benny, "I'd really like to get inside the one I
had. He has one great backside."

	"Nah, we gotta trade off, right? He's mine. Anyhow, mine knows his
stuff, real pro, but we better wait until tomorrow to talk about that, you
know, in case they don't wanna get you know what'd."

	"So, we stay?"

	"Sure, why not. This is what we came for." He said to both boys,
"Three okay. We come here three."

	The moment the boys were outside, Brandon told Freddy, "They wanna
fuck us. How much you charge for that?"

	"Same as you, a hundred."

	Brandon briefly wondered how he knew that but accepted that there
were no secrets in their business. The two parted friendlier than they'd
met.

	Millie didn't make it into school Monday morning. Brandon, his
homework completed the night before, had felt the good student all morning.

	From school, he went straight to Millie's shanty. She answered on
the fourth knocking. "I'm sorry but this rich guy took me to this hotel in
Olongapo. I hadda dance and fuck four of `em but they gave me six hundred
so it was okay. Anybody say anything at the school?"

	 "Not to me. Six hundred? You keep some of it?"

	She pulled him inside and produced three hundred peso bills out of
her skirt's waistband. "Shit, yeah! Wanna go get something good to eat,
restaurant, not turo turo?"

	Freddy laughed when Brandon explained why he wasn't up to getting
fucked that afternoon. "They can both fuck me and I get the fuck money,
okay?"

	It wasn't okay. Brandon squeezed his hole. There was still some
discomfort but there'd be three days to recover before his next date. He
did not want to give up fifty pesos to Freddy.

	Freddy spoke up, "Okay, okay. You just give me twenty-five of your
fifty and I'll fuck `em both. Alie told me you had that Australian. He's a
son of a bitch. None a the kids like him. I won't go with him, just Benny
`cause he's gay and got a big hole. He likes it when they fuck hard. You
oughta hear him when they do it: `unh, unh unh' like some girl."

	Millie had told him that Freddy was big in the back, could take the
Australian. Now, Freddy was saying he wouldn't go with the man. He sought
out a query that wouldn't alert Freddy to Millie's remarks. "How many times
you go with him?"

	"Twice but I made him pay fifty more the second time so he really
fucked me bad. I couldn't do nothin' for a week, son of a bitch. How much
money you figure I lost for that stupid fifty? A lot, a lot. Don't go with
him no more even if he says two hundred. Let him fuck Benny. He likes it.

	"So, whatta you wanna do? I give you thirty, okay?" His `okays'
were in English.

	That was the plan but Brad very much wanted to fuck
Brandon. Freddy, lying along side the other Brit, the man's cock in his
hand, told him, "Brandon no like fuck, you fuck me, okay?"

	 "Uh, why no fuck? I go easy, uh..." He moved his hips in a slow
fucking motion. "Easy, okay Brandon?"

	Again, Brandon, kneeling on the floor by the bed from where he'd
been sucking Brad, tried to sense the condition of his hole by flexing and
unflexing it repeatedly. It was definitely tender.

	Benny said to his partner, "Maybe he never did it before. Offer him
more money."

	Brad sighed. "I'll bet he did and that's just what the little
rotter wants. He's negotiating, that's what he's doing." He looked at
Freddy. "Okay, I fuck you but you get money," and with a glance down at
Brandon, continued, "not Brandon. Okay?"

	Freddy shrugged. Brandon relaxed. He was only losing twenty.

	But, that wasn't what Brad really wanted. His friend exhorted him
not to be a "tightwad. Offer him more. See how much he wants. It's probably
his first time like I said."

	Brandon sensed a potential for enough money to make it worth his
while. He lay his head on Brad's thigh and fingered the man's balls. Freddy
looked at him with raised eyebrows and asked, "What's he saying. He gonna
give you more? If it don't hurt that bad, take it. I don't care. I can find
another guy for tonight."

	Benny said to Brad, "I think this one's trying to convince yours to
do it."

	That wasn't the impression Brandon wanted the men to have so he
shook his head while saying to Freddy, "I'm just doing this so he'll think
I don't wanna. How much you think he'll pay extra?"

	"Shit, I don't know. Tell him fifty and see what he says." He
looked up at Benny and suggested with a smile, "We fuck now?"

	Benny kissed him and went for his backpack alongside the bed. While
he fumbled around for something, Brad stared at Brandon.

	Brandon said, "Little" and pointed down at his ass.

	Brad muttered something unintelligible to himself and asked with a
single finger in the air, "First time, never fuck?"

	Brandon acted as if he didn't understand. Brad asked, "How much I
fuck you?"

	Brandon scrunched up his face in feigned confusion. Brad stood up
and went to a chair where his pants hung. Fishing around, he came out with
some bills, chose a twenty and held it up.

	Brandon was sure he'd go more so shook his head.

	After rebuffed attempts with an additional ten then twenty, Brad
held up two twenties and a ten. Waving his hand sideways, "Fifty but that's
all.'

	Benny, rolling a condom up his dick, worried, "You're gonna make
mine want more."

	Freddy had his head down on the bed hiding a smile.

	Brandon smirked then slowly nodded assent followed by, with his
finger pointed at himself, "Me fuck, no you." He accepted the money and put
it on top of his crumpled pants just below the bed.

	Brad pulled a Trojan from a different pocket and tore open the
envelope. Benny, applying lubricant from a tube, said, "You don't gotta
worry about him. I think you're right, kid's a virgin. You're gonna take
his cherry, you lucky bloke."

	Brandon knew the terms `virgin' and `cherry'. Men paid big money
for the privilege of being the first with new girls. He'd heard that one
man paid a hundred dollars for a fourteen year old who'd come to work
upstairs at the Showdown. The under sixteens were kept hidden away.

	He was going to have to keep his hole tight when the man entered or
he'd know this was no virgin. It was going to hurt.

	Brad laid on an ample amount of lubricant from the tube Benny
provided him. Brandon motioned for him to lie back down on the bed. Then,
standing over him, he again admonished, "You no fuck, me fuck."

	With that he sat down until he felt the cock at his hole. There
wasn't going to be a need to fake pain. With his hole squeezed shut, he was
sure there'd be plenty. Biting his lower lip, eyes toward the ceiling,
hands reaching for the man's body below, Brandon lowered himself, stopped,
moved his hips side to side, allowed the head to pierce the squeezed tight
sphincter, realized it wasn't hurting all that bad but reminded himself to
act like it was. His finger tips touched the man's hips. He put on a look
of determination, eyes closed tightly, and slowly slipped down the
shaft. Just as he reached it, he remembered that the turn in his colon
needed to be a problem. He winced and stopped, lips curled in toward his
gums. After a few seconds, he again moved his hips back and forth, lowered
himself ever so slowly, weight increasingly on his fingers.

	Benny apparently lost control and slowly arched upward, pushing his
cock deep inside. Brandon feigned pain and blurted out, "No fuck! No fuck!"

	Benny took a breath and relaxed, his shaft sliding out a couple of
inches.

	Brandon, beginning to bore himself with all the play acting and not
wanting to spend the entire afternoon with his charade, slipped down the
remaining distance to the man's groin.

	Benny said, "See? Not all that bad. Now, go up and down a little."
He used his hands to indicate what he meant.

	Brandon complied, keeping his sphincter tight as possible around
the cock inside him, his hands and arms providing the muscle. From watching
Freddy suck the man the day before, he figured it would take five or ten
minutes to get him off. It would be much easier to just roll over and let
him fuck but it might risk the fifty pesos lying on top of his pants. He
added a forward and backward rocking motion to the up and down. From the
expression on his face, Benny was enjoying it immensely. It wasn't bad for
Brandon either. The man's shaft sliding pleasantly across his prostate
produced an erection, something Brandon definitely didn't want the man to
see. There was no willing it down. Desperate to protect his charade, he
slipped down into the man's pubic hairs and, hand over his crotch, did as
quick a hundred eighty degree pirouette as he could.

	As he turned, he checked out the other bed. Fortunately, Brad's
face was buried in a pillow as he humped away into Freddy. Freddy, however,
was watching and grinned.

	Brandon pulled on Benny's arm, trying to get him to roll on top so
the rigid evidence would be out of sight under them.

	There couldn't be any `Oh that's good' or `Fuck me' or other words
of encouragement to get him off faster. He'd have to rely on the artificial
tightness of his hole to move the man toward climax. Worse, he needed to
make him fuck slowly or his subterfuge would be revealed.

	Twice, Brandon pushed back with one hand to reduce the increasing
speed of Benny's thrusting. His own erection was still here, animated by
the repeated passes of the cock head over his little prostate and the
masturbatory action of being pushed and pulled over the sheets below. He
tried to lift his middle but the man was too heavy.

	But, relief came soon. With no indication he'd arrived, Benny
rammed full inside and pumped his juices up inside Brandon's plumbing.

	On their way to the strip, Freddy told of difficulty controlling
his laughter. "You were really good. That stupid foreigner really believed
you were a virgin. You should do that some more, me too, but you're a
pretty good actor. Maybe we can do it together. Alie get's us two or I find
two, just new ones don't know you, and we do it but this time we split the
extra money, okay?"



	Brandon expected Millie to know about the deal with Freddy by the
time he saw her in school the next day. When asked directly, "What deal?
You and Freddy? I thought he didn't like you."

	Brandon told her the whole story.

	"That," she said with a smile, "means he didn't tell my mother
either. That's neat. He's getting men by himself instead of giving money to
her. You can do the same thing, well, no you can't." She thought. "No. The
girls are everywhere men go looking for boys. Wanna go to my house after
school?"


	The Thursday Filipino brought a friend. "He can come tomorrow if
you want. It's a holiday for the election so you don't got no school." They
tried to work out a two for one price but, with Millie's help, each had to
put up fifty pesos. The other, a younger, larger man, went first. He wanted
a blow job complete with cum down the throat first before relaxing while
his friend pumped sperm into Brandon's other end. When the new man came
back, he fucked on top, taking nearly twenty minutes to pop.

	In spite of Friday's Snap Election between Marcos and Cory Aquino,
even with American military personnel confined to their bases, there were
customers, five Friday and Saturday including two `John's', one Aussie and
the other American, another American and two Brits. Sunday it was a visit
to his mother and three men, all US servicemen finally free to leave their
base, a suck and two fucks. The last one, the suck, wanted to take pictures
but Brandon refused even after being offered an additional thirty pesos. He
was terrified by the thought of his mother ever finding out what he was
doing. It so shook him up that he turned down a final Sunday evening
customer.

	Monday after school, Brandon, oblivious to the turmoil regarding
the election and alarming reports of fraud committed by the Marcos camp,
bought a new book bag, more school supplies than he'd ever need and a pair
of Jack Purcell shoes. Though he hadn't counted it for a week, he was sure
he had well over a thousand pesos stashed around his apartment.

	The Thursday Filipinos moved to Wednesday for some reason or
another, perhaps because they saw chaos coming to their country and didn't
want to miss out on Brandon's sweet body.

	Even with the tense situation, tourists were around, two of whom
were directed by Alie to the Spring Hotel Friday at five thirty and seven
enabling Brandon to doze in room 17 between penetrations.

	Saturday, while the election commission was reporting Marcos
winner, despite thirty-nine of its workers walking out earlier in the week
to protest serious irregularities in the counting of votes, Brandon went
through three more customers, again, not including American military who
were again confined to their bases. The situation in the Philippines was
headed toward a possible blow up.

	The news Brandon received at the rehab center Sunday was of more
importance to him than what was going on in the country. His mother said,
"I know I never told you about them, but I got a family, you too. I never
knew my father but he was an American from the base like yours. He just
went away. My mother was, well, she was like me. The drugs killed her when
I was just a kid, fourteen. Her friend took me in until I could take care
of myself. But you got good family too like my grandmother, your great
grandmother. She's a really good person. She used to live in Bontoc up
north where the rest of my family, well, most of them, still live but she
got sick and they took her to Manila because they got better doctors
there. My uncle lives there with her.

      "But when I get better, I wanna take you to Bontoc so you can meet
your family and see where we come from. I never been there myself but they
say it's real pretty up there and the people are really nice."

	"Anyway, I sent my mother a letter and one of my aunts, she sent me
one I got here that says how my uncle took my mother to Manila and the
address is here so I sent her a letter. I didn't get one back yet but I
know she's okay `cause my uncle is an asshole, that's what my aunt says,
but he's always working and doing things right, going to church, so I know
my grandmother, your great grandmother, is okay. When I get out of here, we
can go visit her. She's gonna love you as much as I do. You'll see."

	Once again, Brandon, for the first time in his life feeling a part
of a real family, had pangs of conscience about the business he'd gotten
into. However, they only lasted until he got back and saw Millie waiting
behind the Showdown.

	"I got these two foreigners, got money. They paid Joselito a
hundred each just to blow them then they bought `im clothes and a hat. I
told `em I had this friend never went with nobody before and he's real
poor, ain't even got shoes but he's real pretty and maybe he'll go with
us. You got old clothes?"

	Family matters became mere mental vapor. Brandon's mind was on the
clothes that would adequately portray poverty. He had his shorts and shirts
from the year before. They'd be too small making him appear pathetic
enough. To add to the image, he ripped off the button of his shorts and
used a soda straw through two belt loops in its place.

	His soft feet hurting from walking barefoot, Brandon met the pair
in a room at the Spring Hotel. Freddy had explained his friend's need for
caution by claiming that Brandon's mother was a washer woman at one of the
bars and all the bar girls knew him. Brandon played shy and innocent,
devoid of English.

	Two heavy set, tall Americans in shorts and lace shirts waited for
them under the whirling ceiling fan. The fatter of the two remarked,
"Jesus, Walt, the kid's gorgeous. I hope you brought your camera."

	"Of course, but let's go slow. We go too fast and this little one
might want to leave."

	Freddy's plan was to work the two men over three or four days. He
had no idea what their marks' plans were but figured by increasing the
quality of sexual action over three to four days, they'd stick around that
long. Brandon heard their strategy fall apart when Walt lamented, "Too bad
we have to leave tomorrow."

	Brandon immediately passed on that intelligence to his partner.

      "Shit," grumbled Freddy, "what're we gonna do now?"

	"I'm acting like I wanna go. You pretend you're trying to convince
me to stay." Brandon turned toward the door. Freddy cut him off and said to
the tourists, "You say money now." He nodded and played reticent.

	"Say fifty. We look. Just take picture." Walt held out a fifty
pesos bill.

	Freddy turned Brandon around and pushed his face in the direction
of the money. Brandon frowned

	Walt, bill extended toward Brandon, said with a reassuring smile,
"I look?" He pointed from his eye to Brandon's crotch.

	Brandon looked at Freddy then at the money. "Tell him he can just
look, not touch."

	Freddy relayed the demand.

	Bill replied, "But naked, no clothes." He feigned taking off his
shirt and pants.

	Freddy spoke to Brandon and Brandon nodded assent. Freddy accepted
the bill. Brandon was slow to remove his torn T shirt, slower to undo the
straw that held his shorts up. His hand went over his crotch as they fell.

	Walt leaned down to gingerly remove the obstruction. "Oooh, look at
this. Gotta be four inches when it gets hard." He rushed to his shoulder
bag and fished around inside

	Brandon stood with his head down, hands behind his back, dick
hanging uninterested.

	When the camera appeared, Brandon immediately reached down for his
shorts. That was not an act.

	Freddy said to the men, "No picture, no picture."

	Bill was quick to ask, "Okay, how much for picture?"

	"No picture," replied Freddy. Brandon was pulling on his T shirt.

	Walt interrupted. "Okay, okay, no picture. See, camera in bag." He
put the camera back into its place. "How much sex, you know, we suck, just
suck."

	Freddy said to Brandon, "Let's ask for a hundred, no, I say fifty,
you shake your head, you know, look scared."

	Brandon, struggling to re-knot the straw, his face away from the
men, shook his head and moved toward the door. Freddy pretended to be
negotiating. Brandon stopped shaking his head. Freddy said to the
customers, "Maybe hundred. Just suck, no picture."

	"No problem, hundred okay, just suck."

	Freddy spoke to Brandon who again released the straw. His shorts
fell to his ankles.

	"Jesus, Walt. He's got an ass too. We gotta get this kid on film,
no matter what it costs."

	"I just wanna get between those cheeks. Wonder what it'll cost to
screw him. I'll bet he's tight as hell."

	"Forget that. You show him a hard on and he'll be out that door."

	Freddy led Brandon by the hand to one of the two lumpy
beds. Brandon lay down, arms at his sides, worry on his face.

	"Me first, Walt. Maybe you can sneak a snapshot while he's
occupied."

	Gently, Bill lifted Brandon, who went limp, and moved him toward
the pillow end of the bed.

	After kneading his penis between two chunky fingers, Bill began
sucking, his tongue licking Brandon's balls every two or three passes.

	Brandon struggled to maintain a softy by concentrating on the
stains in the dropped ceiling panels and breathing heavily. It worked for a
while but the man was experienced, knew how to raise a recalcitrant
penis. Once it was fully erect, he backed off and measured it with his
finger. "What'd I tell you. Four inches, or damn near. I hope you're
getting this on film. Wait a minute and I'll back off."

	The moment he did, Brandon covered his groin with both hands and
turned his face away. He heard Walt mutter something. Bill went back
down. Brandon let go.

	Apparently Walt couldn't hold back his own desires. "He cum yet?"

	Bill stopped and answered, "Not even close. Probably never did." He
looked up and smiled at Brandon. "Little virgin aren't you?"

	Brandon stared back blankly.

	Walt took over, fellating faster. Brandon heard Freddy say, "No
pictures." Since he shouldn't have understood it, he didn't look.

	Walt ran his finger tips lightly over Brandon's flat tummy and down
between his thighs. Holding off an orgasm was becoming increasingly
difficult. Brandon breathed harder, tried to relax his middle.

	"Christ, Walt, don't let him get off or we'll play hell getting
anything else out of him."

	Walt stopped. "You're right. Let's see if, wait, let me see how big
he is in the back." He ran his hands over Brandon's torso while smiling and
licking his groin side to side. Slowly, he lifted his knees, exposing
perineum and anus. When he went to put his tongue down there, Brandon
dropped his legs to the sheets. Walt sucked in the presented hard on."

	Bill spoke to Freddy, "Come on, how much pictures? You say."

	"No like, no like."

	"Two hundred."

	Freddy shrugged his shoulders. "No like."

	"How much?"

	Another shrug but he went to the side of the bed and whispered in
Brandon's ear. "We can get five outta these guys for pictures. Don't worry,
nobody's ever gonna see them. Just keep shaking your head a little more."

	Brandon debated with himself. He had never seen a magazine with
naked boys and just one with girls and they were all white. If they could
get them to pay for photos and sex, it might get to five hundred each. He
stopped nodding.

	Freddy turned to Walt and, with a look of frustration and another
shrug, held up five fingers.

	Walt said, "He'll do it for five hundred. Christ, that's almost as
much as that caved chest kid in Copenhagen."

	"I don't know," returned Bill dripping saliva onto Brandon's
balls. "This is damn near the prettiest brown kid I've ever seen."

	Brandon looked at Freddy but realized he had no idea what was being
said. Maybe Millie was right.

	"Fuck it. Five it is." He looked at Freddy and said, "Okay, five
hundred but many pictures."

	They went through two 36 frame rolls. Brandon had to stand, sit,
lie, bent, twist, smile and provide many a hard on.

	Sex was next on the agenda. They knew how much Freddy charged for
various acts. "Friend suck?" asked Bill.

	Freddy feigned surprise at the question.

	Apart from negotiating prices, the actual acts of getting blown or
fucking took a total of thirty-three minutes and that included nine to get
Walt past Brandon's squeezed tight hole with Brandon pretending to whimper
at the supposed pain.

	Then, as the boys walked out of the shower, their bodies
glistening, Bill asked his buddy, "Think we can get these two doing things
together in front of the camera?"

	"I think money is all it'll take."

	Bill motioned the two boys to sit beside him on the bed. To Freddy,
he asked, "How much you suck, fuck each other?" the latter with multiple
pointings at each boy, finger in the mouth or pointed at his butt.

	Freddy didn't need a translation. He turned to Brandon who was
thinking that, with the photos already taken, why not, and suggested "Two
hundred?"

	"You gotta say more."

	"Three hundred?"

	"No, I'm not supposed to understand what he said. You gotta act
like you're tellin' me. Three hundred's okay if you wanna."

	Straight faced, Freddy spoke the first two lines of the Philippine
National Anthem. Brandon had to stifle a laugh.

	Freddy said, "Three hundred" in English.

	Bill looked at Walt. Walt countered with, "Too much. Two hundred."

	Freddy came back with "Two hundred fifty," holding up two fingers
then slicing the air to indicate a half then a wave of the hand to indicate
final price.

	They sucked each other. Freddy was good at it. Brandon competed,
doing his best to bring his new partner to orgasm. Freddy cut him off with,
"Slow down, we gotta fuck too."

	Getting fucked was a pleasure with some men, particularly those
with smaller cocks like the Filipinos. Even though his just growing cock
was no longer than Brandon's, Freddy's skilled fucking gave Brandon an
immediate hardon and nearly drove him to climax. During the act, Freddy
whispered in his ear sarcastically, "Oh baby, I love you." Neither paid any
attention to the clicking of the camera, the repeated flashes of light or
the man's frantic pleas to wait while he reloaded film.

      Then came the surprise. Though, from the myriad experiences screwing
Millie, Brandon thought he knew what to expect when he poked inside
Freddy's backside, this was a new, exhilarating experience. At full
penetration, Freddy's sphincter gripped the base of his cock making it seem
he was getting more of himself inside and what was in there was more
tightly embraced by the hot walls of Freddy's rectum than he'd ever felt
inside Millie. This time, he did reach a thrilling, all encompassing
orgasm. It was noticed.

      "Jesus, Walt, keep shooting. He's getting off."

      The flash went off as often as it could recharge, about every three
seconds until there were no more frames available on the roll.

      Brandon hoped these photos would never appear anywhere in the
Philippines, at least in Angeles.

	Later, sitting side by side in a booth at the best restaurant in
Angeles, Freddy commented, "I think your hole's even bigger than mine. I
didn't cum but you sure did."

	"You ever do that before?" asked Brandon.

	"Sure, once with Millie, but don't never tell her I told you, and a
couple, no, three other times, once with Junior but he kept going soft, and
don't never tell him I told you. Guy had to keep waiting while Junior was
beating off to get hard but he finally did but he couldn't cum like the guy
wanted, you know, so he could get pictures of his stuff coming out."

	Brandon was thinking about Freddy and Millie, jealousy creeping
into his conscious. "How many times you fuck Millie?"

	"Don't worry. I know about you two. Just that once but we got three
hundred each. I know it was for some magazine or something but it ain't
gonna come here. Anyhow, it was over a year ago and I ain't seen nothin'
yet."

	"You think those two guys are gonna put our pictures in a
magazine?"

	"Nah, not rich guys like them. Guy took the pictures of me and
Millie was staying at the Clover." The Clover was one of the cheapest
hotels though it didn't do short time.

	"Brandon asked, "How long you been doing this?"

	"Shit, long time, maybe three years. This fat kid took me with him
with this guy from the base. Got paid ten or fifteen just for gettin'
sucked off. I was scared though and couldn't get off. The guy kept on
sucking but I kept going soft. I was really scared." He chuckled.

	"So, why'd you keep on doing it?"

	"I didn't have no money and I hated begging. I was new on the
street. Didn't have nothin', not even slippers."

	"I thought you lived in a house."

	"Yeah, with this gay guy but back then I just ran away from my
aunt. The bitch was always blamin' me for shit so I left."

	"What about your mother?"

	"Shit, that bitch left me when I was just a baby. My grandmother
and my aunt kept me. My grandmother was okay but she died and I just
couldn't take my aunt. Always complainin' about everything."

	"How come that gay guy let's you stay with him, you gotta let him
do stuff?"

	"Nah, he likes men. He fucked me once to see what it was like but
that's all. I pay some of the rent. He's a good guy, and a good cook."

	"You think I could stay with him too if I needed a place to stay?"

	"Maybe, but I don't think so. It's just a room. We gotta sleep in
the same bed or the table wouldn't fit. It's really little."

	Shortly, Brandon's curiosity about his own sexuality came into
play, "How come you sucked and let them fuck you? It hadda hurt when you
were just nine."

	"Guy says he'll give me a hundred, well, fifty that first time, I
gotta try it. It hurt some but the money was nice."

	Brandon wanted to ask if it felt good some time as it had for him
an hour earlier. He tried to frame it as impersonally as possible. "Junior
likes it when he gets fucked?"

	"Sometimes it feels okay for me too. You weren't that bad. I feel
okay?"

	It suddenly occurred to Brandon that Freddy might actually be
gay. "You like it too?" Had he said it wrong?

	"Sometimes. Just not the big ones." He noticed Brandon looking at
him strangely. "Don't worry. I'm not a fag like Junior. I'm just sayin' it
don't feel all that bad sometimes. It's better than havin' to suck some
guy."

	The last remark calmed Brandon's worries but, just to be sure,
"Junior like to suck?"

	"Oh yeah, but he likes big ones, not little ones like ours. He's
gonna love yours when you get big."

	After a dessert of chocolate cake and ice cream, they put the
remains of the money they'd earned on the seat between them and split
twelve hundred seventy-two pesos. Brandon had almost accepted two hundred
more each to spend the night at their high end hotel but fears of running
into a bar girl who knew him and a heavy reprisal by Owings for staying
away all night proved the squelcher.

	They had time for another score each with a couple of horny gay
airmen, one of whom goaded the other into a `different' sexual
adventure. "Don't dump on it until you've tried it."

	That night, he pushed a chair into the bathroom and examined
himself naked in the mirror. From his point of view, his face, other than
the eyes, wasn't anything special. He did have a nice build, full arms that
produced solid muscle bulges when flexed, a flat tummy, pecs that stood out
even soft, his long cock and reasonably thick thighs. Still, Freddy's body
was harder, his cock the same length but fuller, his face no better or
worse than Brandon's. Freddy's over the ears page boy hair only reached the
base of his neck unlike Brandon's that made it to his shoulders.

	Unsure how to explain its origin, Brandon, accompanied by Millie,
bought a used bicycle. The excuse he gave Owings was inspired by Millie's
reason for not keeping it at her house. "A friend of mine wants me to take
care of it. His mother's a junkie and she pawned it. His uncle got it out
and my friend thinks it's safer with me, okay? It won't be in the way."

	Owings only listened to half the story and approved it out of
hand. Brandon wondered if he really would be angry if he didn't come home
one night.

	Tension grew in the Philippines all week as report after report of
vote buying, vote count tampering and every kind of election fraud
imaginable was reported in the press and on the Catholic `Veritas' radio
station. The head of the Catholic church in Catholic Philippines came out
strongly against Marcos supposed win then, Saturday, Marcos Defense
Minister and military second in command quit and held a press conference
denouncing the election results and insisting that Cory Aquino was the
legitimate winner. Thousands upon thousands of Filipinos principally
Manilans but from farther and farther out began to converge on the EDSA
highway in front of the military bases where the two men were holed up. By
Sunday evening, there were millions. Marcos sent the military but they were
unwilling to do more than briefly fire some tear gas. Neither the soldiers
nor Marcos was up to using force on so great a crowd of their fellow
countrymen.

	Monday, only hours after having himself sworn in as president,
Marcos heeded the advice of a friendly U.S. Senator and accepted a ride on
American military helicopters out of his palace then off to Guam. Cory
Aquino had also been sworn in as president that morning, she by Supreme
Court justices, and the monumental Philippine People Power Revolution was
over. Some reports had the EDSA crowd at three million.

	During all these incredible events, Brandon, barely aware that his
country was going through changes that would directly affect him, made five
hundred fifty pesos with his body at the Spring Hotel. The Fields Avenue
strip was open all weekend though with far less business. Even some of the
bar girls had hopped transport to EDSA.

	Nonetheless, things immediately got back to normal in Balibago
though changes were in the air. One of the opposition's demands over the
previous two years had been the removal of American bases from Filipino
soil. Aquino had promised during the campaign to negotiate a gradual
dismantling of Clark Field in Angeles and the Olongopo naval station. No
one expected it to happen overnight. Tens of thousands of Filipinos
depended on those bases for their livelihood as employees on the bases
themselves or owners or employees of businesses that depended on base
business or the off base spending by American military personnel. Balibago
was almost entirely dependent on those airmen and mariners.

	Brandon, of course, even with the matter being discussed in school,
didn't see his life changing any time soon. He fully expected to be in his
last years of high school and off the market by the time anything
substantive took place.

	The weekend following the turnover of national power, Brandon went
through nine customers, most off the Clark Field Air Force Base across the
street from the Showdown.

	Saturday night of the next weekend, another customer requested an
overnighter. It was only an additional hundred but included a couple of
great meals. All the man wanted to do at night was cuddle.

	Sunday morning, Brandon appeared at the back door of the Showdown
at ten, in time to go with two of her mother's bar girl friends for his
weekly rehab center visit. They easily accepted his "I fell asleep at a
friend's house" excuse and didn't mention it to his mother.

	At that point, with seven weeks as a call boy under his belt,
Brandon knew about half dozen other boy hustlers from running into them at
the Spring Hotel and occasionally with customers when they took him out to
eat or buy. None seemed in any way gay. They acted pretty much as other
kids he knew, some friendlier than others, one downright surly, but more
normal than anything else.

      At first, Freddy had been aloof, maybe even a tad antagonistic, but
now that they were working together, he was a good friend. In fact, though
there were probably some commissions involved, Freddy was responsible for
easily half his new customers, and Brandon had sent some his way as
well. Alie, on the other hand, rarely spoke to him. Communication was via
Millie who told him that her mother was aware of Freddy's pimping
activities and didn't like them at all.

      When Brandon mentioned that to him, Freddy replied with a grin, "Fuck
that bitch. I'm getting a couple, three new guys a week on my own. She
never got me more than one."

	Millie was the one part of his life that everyone seemed to be
aware of. Whether or not they knew about the sex between them was
uncertain. Freddy was the only one who seemed to know for sure. A few of
the bar girls at the Showdown made remarks indicating they at least
suspected it. Millie didn't care. She lived on the assumption that she and
Brandon would one day get married. Sex with her was always passionate,
kissing deep and prolonged, intercourse almost violent. She learned how to
have her climax close to his. If he came first, he'd go on until she
reached hers and vice versa.

	Since the one he'd been given years before was by then too small,
Brandon bought another second hand bicycle so he and Millie could go riding
together, sometimes well out of the area. A couple of times they rode into
a sugar cane field and made love stark naked on top of their clothes. The
second, and last, time, they were discovered in the middle of things by two
boys carrying firewood. The interlopers thought it was hilarious. Brandon
and Millie managed to get dressed and pedal back to the road in less than
thirty seconds, still barefoot, their slippers hanging from their arms.

	For the next month, Brandon did very well both in school and in
business, including profitable once a week overnighters. By the week before
his mother was to be released from the rehab clinic, he'd gussied up both
his bikes to a point they competed in colorful accessories with the more
elaborately decorated jeepneys, bought Millie and himself a closet full of
nice clothes, a portable radio, new window shades for the apartment, the
latter, of course, to assure privacy, and toys galore. He possessed the
largest collection of marbles in his school. And, there were several
thousand pesos stashed around the apartment and hidden in Millie's house.

	Sure the return of his mother would greatly decrease the time
available for his sex trade, Brandon went into that final week with a goal
of twelve hundred pesos. There were two overnighters. He was fucked
thirteen times, twice each by two customers, and gave more blow jobs than
he could remember. Freddy guessed he'd have taken into both ends of his
body at least a liter of sperm if what remained in condoms was counted.

	Monday, midday, Layla arrived in a tricycle with one of the bar
girls. An elaborate welcome home party greeted her. However, while she was
very appreciative, what she really wanted was to be with her son.

	First there was an emotional hugging and words of love and hope in
the freshly cleaned apartment. Then, she took Brandon to the best hotel
restaurant. Back in the apartment, Brandon proudly showed off his school
homework and exams, all with nineties and hundreds.

	"Boy, you're going to the university one day and become a doctor or
lawyer or something fancy, maybe president, now that Marcos is gone."

	At nine, she put Brandon to bed like he was a five year old then
sat with him until he was fast asleep.

	In the morning, she awakened him, prepared a breakfast of eggs, ham
and rice and walked him to school. His teacher came out to welcome Layla
home and tell her what a great student Brandon had become. "He's number two
in his class!"

	Millie was less excited when Brandon told her he had to go straight
home after class.

	"Don't worry. I can still come out after. Just gotta eat lunch. And
do homework."

	"Can you still go out with customers?"

	"Some, I guess, but not like before but that's okay. We can be
together more."

	"If my mother lets me," replied Millie morosely.

	Things went going well through Wednesday. Brandon and Millie were
able to get together each afternoon. That evening, Brandon asked his mother
if Millie could come to the apartment and do her homework with him.

	"So, she your girl friend?" asked Layla with a motherly smile.

	"Nah, we're just good friends."

	"That's not what I hear but that's okay. Sure, she can. Just behave
yourselves up here, and you know what I mean."

	"Really, mom, all we're gonna do is homework."

	Thursday during recess, Millie was glad to hear the news but,
"You're sure she doesn't know anything about us?"

	"She didn't act like she knew anything bad."

	"It ain't bad what we do, Brandon. It's just that adults don't
think we know anything and they get pissed off if they see us doing
anything sexy."

	"Except your mother."

	"Except my mother."

	Then everything fell apart.

	Millie was along when he reached the back of the Showdown. He
planned to see if Millie could eat lunch with him. The moment he walked
inside, the looks by the two bar girls there, told him something was very
wrong. When they saw Millie with him, one said, "You better not bring her
in here now. Your mother's real upset."

	"What's wrong?"

	"She's upstairs. Just be, I don't know. Just go up and don't say
nothin', I suppose."

	Brandon told Millie to wait outside.

	"No, Brandon, she better go on home. Go see your mother."

	"What's wrong?" he asked insistently.

	The two young women looked at each other. One shook her head and
looked at the floor. The other said, "We shouldn't get involved. Just go on
up and, just go on up."

	Millie was already on the way out the door. Immediately worried
that his mother had somehow learned about the sex between him and Millie,
Brandon headed for the stairs but, as he went to take the first step up,
worry became paralyzing fear. What if she knew about him and men? Breathing
became difficult. His foot wouldn't come off the floor to the first
step. Behind him, the girls left for the front.

	If she knew, what was he in for? A beating for sure but what else?
How mad was she? For the past three months he'd been telling her that he
was just being a good student spending his spare time with friends. He sat
on the bottom step, head in his hands. If she knew about that, she wasn't
just gonna be angry, she'd be furious, and disappointed, feeling
betrayed. Would she thinking of kicking him out, sending to a home?

	Should he just get up and head out the back door, run away?

	"Brandon?" It was his mother from above. "Brandon, please come up
here."

	She didn't sound angry, upset, yes, but not angry. Maybe there
wouldn't be a beating. If she tried to put him in a home, he could still
run away.

	He stood and walked slowly up the stairs. At the top, his mother
put her arm over his shoulder and led him into the living room. Brandon,
unsure why, began to sob.

	Layla, also shedding tears, sat them both on the sofa. For what
seemed like several minutes, she said nothing then, "Brandon, this is all
my fault. A mother should never raise her son in a place like this, worse,
and use drugs like that tramp that got you into this. I know about Millie's
mother. It was bad enough she had to destroy her own daughter, but to go
and drag my son into it too." Anger crept into her voice.

	"I'm sorry, that's not what I want to say to you. I'm going to get
us both out of here. I've got a little money coming from Brian. We'll use
it to go somewhere far away from here, maybe Baguio. I can get a job there
doing something and you can go to school. They have good schools there. I'm
so sorry, son." She pulled her to him. "I love you so very much."

	Brandon was struggling with the thought of losing Millie.

	Layla repeated into his hair, "I love you very much."

	Brandon couldn't stop himself from saying, "I love you too, mom,
but what about Millie. I love her too."

	Her embrace became almost painful. He hugged her too. It took her a
few moments to say, "You're barely eleven, son, you'll get over her. Just
remember what she is. It's not her fault but she's been a whore for a long
time. She's been ruined. There are a..."

	Brandon muttered, "She's not like that. Her mother makes her do
it. She don't wanna." He knew that wasn't true as he said it.

	Layla took in a lungful of air, kissed his head and sat
back. "Brandon, we're leaving here. I know it's hard now but you'll be much
happier with normal people around you. And I'll make all this up to
you. You'll see. Just believe in me. I'm your mother and I love you and I
know what we need to do."

	"She's not like you think." Tears flowed again. "We can stay around
here and I won't go with men no more. I promise."

	She stood. "Listen to me, son. We're leaving. Forget her! Forget
Balibago!"

	By then, Brandon was crying uncontrollably. There was no way he
could be without Millie. It wasn't the sex. She loved him. She was his best
friend. There was nothing wrong with the two of them being together. Taking
a breath to gain control over his crying, he said quietly but resolutely,
"I ain't leaving Millie."

	Layla sat again. "It's not your choice, son, it's your mother's,
mine."

	Brandon remained silent. She could go but he was staying. He had
plenty of money. He'd just wait until she went to bed and gather it up then
sneak out. He could spend a few days with Freddy's friend Junior in his
rented a room in Mabalacat while figuring out something more permanent.

	He walked into his bedroom and lay down. Layla followed and sat on
the bed beside him. For a few minutes she tried to reassure him that what
they were about to do was best for him, that he'd get over Millie and what
he'd been doing in short order. He'd find new friends, better friends, and
so on.

	Brandon feigned sleep. She left. Sleep did come briefly. He
awakened with a start, not sure why. It was dark outside his window. The
booming bass from the bar's music system poured through the apartment
walls. He gingerly opened his bedroom door. The rest of the apartment was
dark as well. His mother had to be downstairs. He went back into his
bedroom and turned on the light. His watch read seven thirty-five. After
killing the light, he went carefully to his mother's bedroom. The door was
open. She wasn't there.

	He sat on the sofa and contemplated his situation. Running away was
a dangerous act. He might get away with it, especially if his mother moved
away though he doubted, no, was sure she wouldn't leave without him. If he
was caught, they'd almost certainly put him inside some miserable home,
locked up tight. But, he could probably escape from a place like that. But,
then he'd be a fugitive with the police after him. If they caught him, he'd
be put into a juvenile center where escape would be much more difficult if
possible at all.

	But, if he couldn't be without Millie, he had to go.

	As he went about collecting money hidden behind a kitchen cabinet,
his love for his mother seeped into his brain. He couldn't leave her
either.

	There had to be a way to convince her of his love for Millie. She
hadn't been bad for him. His great school performance proved that. But, how
was he was he going to convince her of that? Millie had, as a matter of
fact, led him into prostitution. He needed to talk to Millie, talk the
situation over with her. Maybe she'd have an idea.

	Stuffing the money he'd collected into his pockets, he tiptoed out
the apartment door and down the stairs as though his mother could hear him
from the bar. Two women were working in the kitchen as he walked
out. Neither said anything.

	Millie wasn't home. If she was out with a man, it could be a long
time before she appeared. He headed back to the strip to ask Millie's
mother where she was. Alie was going to be angry with him for only taking a
few of the dates she set up but he'd insist, maybe promise to accept more
men she arranged. He wouldn't do it, of course. He might be out of the
business forever. That would be an easy choice if it allowed him to stay
with Millie.

	What he didn't know was that his mother had been negotiating with
Brian Owings for the cash she needed to leave. He'd been unwilling to give
her anything. She had a contract with him to manage his girls. That's all
he'd pay her for, and the apartment was part of her pay.

	Then, she'd gone back to the apartment and found Brandon's empty
bed. Furious, she'd stormed out the front of the bar and went looking for
Alie Papagayo.

	Brandon was half a block away when his mother walked up, fists at
her sides, to confront Millie's mother. Alie had been sitting against a bar
wall on her stool, the basket of her wares on the sidewalk in front of her.

	"You fucking bitch! Where's my son? If I find out he's somewhere
with your whore daughter, I'll have you locked up for kidnapping."

	Alie jumped up. "Who are you calling a whore, you whore!" she
retorted angrily. "Get away from me!"

	Layla swung a fist hard at Alie's face, making a glancing contact
with her nose. People stopped and gawked. Alie pushed Layla backward and
went after her, scattering the half dozen passersby watching them. Layla
grabbed at Alie's hair with one hand and tried to slug her with the
other. Alie took hold of the shoulder strap of Layla's dress and swung her
toward the street. Passengers in a passing jeepney turned to watch as they
sped by. Whirling in circles as they did, both women struck at each other
with their free hands.

	Brandon rushed toward the pair screaming, "Mama, stop! Stop! Mama!"

	When Layla's foot missed the curb and she fell back, yanking Alie
into the street. Millie's mother was more interested in striking a blow
than where she was headed. Her right hand hit the side of Layla's head,
knocking Layla back toward the sidewalk, breaking both their holds on each
other. Alie stumbled backward, in front of an oncoming jeepney. There was a
thump followed by screeching brakes and a crash as another jeepney ran into
the back of the first, pushing its front wheel over Alie's middle.

	Brandon stopped in horror. An impatient cabbie tried to push past
the stopped jeepneys and hit the front passenger of the first one as he
jumped out. There was shouting as the cabbie raced away, his lights quickly
turned off. A man ran into the street and waved his arms at other oncoming
vehicles.

	Layla backed up from the chaos only to be stopped and held by one
of a pair of baranagay tanods who had raced to the scene.

	Someone shouted for an ambulance. Within seconds a large crowd had
gathered around the jeepneys, all pushing for a look at the victim lying in
the street. The driver of the jeepney which hit Alie walked off rapidly
leaving the keys in the ignition and the motor running.

      Brandon watched the barangay tanod hand his mother over to a
policeman who arrived minutes before the ambulance crew. The street was an
impassable traffic jam. It didn't really matter. Alie was dead.

	Eight blocks away, Millie was lying naked in a cheap hotel under an
Air Force colonel who'd paid her mother a hundred twenty-five pesos for the
privilege of fucking her eleven year old, now orphaned, daughter.