WARNING: This story – a fictional one - contains sex between a minor and an adult. Do not read the contents if it will offend you. If accessing this story causes you to break local laws (village, town, city, county, province, state, or country, etc.), please leave now.

 

Any characters portrayed in this story are fictional and not representative of anyone living or dead.

 

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Anthony Alboran's story – Crisp Buddies.

 

Written by John Teller.

 

Part ten.

 

 

Ashton was in a devilish mood on Friday 24th December 2010 (Christmas Eve) as he sat in a window seat on the Easyjet plane that we'd boarded at Liverpool airport.

 

When Olga said we would all go to the apartment, because it was almost Christmas, almost every flight was full and it was a devil of a job to get four flight tickets. So it ended up with Wendy and Olga flying from East Midlands on a 7am flight, and me and Ashton had to travel to Liverpool - John Lennon Airport – to catch one that also left at 7am. That meant us setting out in Crispy from Derby at a quarter to three in the morning for the two and a quarter hour drive to Liverpool. We'd stayed at my place that night, so we went to bed at nine so we could be up at two in the morning. Five hours sleep! And yes, we did have five hours sleep! I got called all sorts of things because I wouldn't have sex with him, and eventually had to promise to make it up at the apartment before the little bugger relented and let us go to sleep.

 

I'd got an old woman in the aisle seat next to me, and she was reading whatever on a Kindle. My Crisp Buddy had taken off his coat and it was on his lap, and he'd also got the food tray pulled down in front of him. That's why he tried to pull my hand under the coat so I could play with his hard on. I looked daggers at him and refused. He grinned, and the next thing I saw was his coat bobbing up and down while he was wanking himself off. I think he might have climaxed and let out one of sexy yells if the stewardess hadn't arrived with the drinks/food trolley and asked if we wanted anything. His hand was out from under his coat before you could say Jack Robinson.

 

(Pederasty for Dummies. Almost sixteen year old boys will forego sex if their belly is rumbling, even if they are halfway through achieving a climax to join the Mile High Wanking Club.)

 

So, as you can imagine, I was more than happy to pay an extortionate price for two breakfasts, two Cappuccinos, two blueberry buns for Ashton, and two packets of cheese and onion crisps. (They didn't have prawn cocktail flavor.) And by the time we'd eaten and the stewardess had taken away the detritus of our finished meals, we were almost across the Bay of Biscay and just three quarters of an hour to touchdown. So Ashton leaned his head against my upper arm and tried to catch a nap.

 

***********

 

We were sitting at a small café in the airport concourse when Wendy and Olga arrived fifteen minutes after we'd landed. Wendy sat with us and had a coffee while Olga queued at the car hire desk to sort out the car. Into the shuttle bus to the car hire depot, and at eleven o'clock we were on our way to Praia de Luz. We arrived there at almost two thirty in the afternoon, having been held up by an accident between two cars as we joined the N125 near Lagos. It was a mess. Two cars head on... and there was at least one child injured.

 

(Pederasty for Dummies. If your almost sixteen year old boy has a heart of gold, he'll be very upset if he sees a child injured on Christmas Eve. The remedy is to put your arm around him and hold him tight until you're well away from the scene of the accident.)

 

Being familiar with the apartment, it didn't take me and Ashton long to sort things in our room, and then we went into the lounge to help Wendy put up some Christmas decorations she'd brought with us, and Olga popped down to the local mini-mercado to stock up on food and stuff while she was doing it. We didn't have a Christmas tree, but everything else went up, and it looked lovely, especially because, like many apartments and houses in Portugal, they have wood-burning fireplaces that warm the place up superbly, plus the added bonus of seeing logs blazing in the fireplace is a proper Christmas thing that you rarely see in the UK after everything there went gas or electric in the cities to conform to smoke-free zones.

 

Back in the UK it was -2 degrees when we left, but it was a nice 17 degrees in The Algarve, and the ten-day weather forecast was for settled weather, which was a bonus, because, according to Olga, the weather was a hit or miss thing in December/January in Portugal. And it was pleasant and sunny when me and Ashton left the `girls' to sort things while we took a walk on the beach.

 

He was wearing his lovely red mohair pullover that I loved seeing him in, and while we walked slowly along the sands, he linked my arm and rested his head against my shoulder. After we'd gone about fifty yards without saying anything, he lifted his head and asked me, "What have you bought me for Christmas?"

 

"Mickey Mouse underpants."

 

He giggled. "Pedo! No... what have you really bought me?"

 

"Mickey Mouse underpants."

 

After we'd walked on a bit (Aston still giggling at my answer), he lifted his head again and looked into my eyes. "One of the reasons I love you is because you never stop making me laugh."

 

I grinned down at him. "And what's the others?"

 

He crunched a funny face at me. "Tell me what I'm having for Christmas and I might tell you."

 

I sighed deeply. "You won't give up, will you?"

 

He shook his head. "No. I never give up. So?"

 

"You might not like what I've got you."

 

"What is it?"

 

"Just Mickey Mouse underpants and myself. Your main present is back at home. It was too big to bring here."

 

Ashton unlinked my arm, pulled my hand out of my jeans pocket, gripped it tightly, and said, "You're my main present. I'm not really interested in anything else."

 

I squeezed his hand. "Same here. And I hope I have the same Christmas present until I'm an old man."

 

"Will you still love me when you're an old man?"

 

"I'll always love you."

 

He looked up at me and grinned. "Because I'm sexy?"

 

I shook my head. "Nope. Well, I suppose I do love you because you're a sexy little sod, but I also love you because you're a bloody nuisance who plays with himself on airplanes; I love you because you're a pain in the arse when you want something; I love you because you eat like a pig; I love you because you don't give a shit here and will hold my hand because you want to, but most of all I love you because you're you. You're just the most special person I've ever met in my life."

 

He grinned, gripped my hand tighter, and said, "I'll wear those Mickey Mouse underpants tonight."

 

And he did, and we had a fantastic time.

 

(Time to have a chat with you readers again methinks. All this stuff I'm telling you might sound overly mushy, but that's the way Ashton and me were. Think about it. What was I? I was gay and I was also a loving and caring person. That's not blowing my own trumpet... it's the truth. Some people are like that. In fact I'm sure you've met them... those people who always put others before themselves. That's me... unselfish to the point that I'm stupid at times. I was/am full to overflowing with love to give to someone, and it was just a case of finding the right person to give it to. Instead of my Crisp Buddy, I might have found another young man who would have been like Her. But it didn't happen that way. I met an Ashton.

 

So what was Ashton? He was an absolutely superb human being. Young men like him don't grow on trees. They're like gemstones that are hidden in the detritus of life – like truffles in the forest. Most times they hide themselves away, especially if life's events have made them wary of coming out into the open. But you've still got to eat, and the human spirit needs to eat just as the body does. So one day along comes a bloke who is bursting with love, and my Crisp Buddy was clever and perceptive enough to recognize him. Ships not passing in the night, and our love for each other was a celebration on the high seas of life. So that's why it was a mushy affair... and not being afraid to talk about the special relationship we had, both he and I were able just to look at one another and say those magic words: I love you. And in Ashton's case, despite his past, because he was in reality a gregarious and confident young man, once he'd found somebody he could relate to (me), and because he had genes in him that determined he was to be an overly sexual creature, combine the two and you get love and sex on two legs. And fine legs they were, and they were topped with the most gorgeous bottom imaginable. There we go again... ships not passing in the night. He had the perfect bottom and I was the most avid bottom-lover. That's why we celebrated so often. In bed. Then afterwards we could bask in the mushy part of what we were. That's when I could fondle and caress and appreciate the rest of his beauty. And he was beautiful... from the tips of his toes to the top of his gorgeous head.

 

But it was not just a one-way thing. Ashton had found in me all the things that turned him on emotionally and sexually. He liked big men; he liked men with a sense of humour; he liked men who were full of love; he liked to be loved and appreciated for what he was... warts and all. At times he was a pain in the arse. (No... not that way!) For a start, he was an untidy sod. But I loved his untidiness. Cleaning up his dirty underwear and socks was a joy to me. Most times he wouldn't empty the bath or even clean out the sink and it would be covered in hard toothpaste. But I actually loved cleaning up after him. If I told him once to close the fridge door after he'd left it open after going in it for something, then I must have told him ten dozen times. Even though I cussed him for it, I felt a pang of love for him every time I saw it open. But that's how you know what real love is. The negative traits that someone else would do could drive you crazy, but when the person you love does them, you grin and bear it and get a warm feeling inside. But for putting up with those negative traits, he rewarded me in his own way. He knew it gave me great joy to dress him, so he delegated that part of himself to my care. He couldn't care less what I wore, but he would always wear things that he knew I liked.

 

That's why he wore those Mickey Mouse underpants for me on Christmas Eve night, and he loved it when he filled them with his semen when I sucked him off through them. Then he took them off and gave them to me as his first Christmas gift ever, and when we kissed afterwards, he giggled and said, "You really are a pervy pedo, aren't you!"

 

Maybe I was, but I knew by the short length of time it took him to climax that there were some perversions flitting about in that dirty mind of his, too! I've still got that pair of Mickey Mouse underpants, but even though it killed me to do so, I have washed them... along with the others he filled with his boy juices that Christmas.)

 

Now let's get back to this tale I was telling you. Where were we? Oh... Christmas day in Praia de Luz and my first ever Christmas outside my native Derby.

 

It was a strange affair, partly because I was spending my first Christmas with my new `family'. Every family has certain rituals at Christmas, and Ashton's lot were no different. They made lots of phone calls to friends and family, and spent ages chatting on the phone. I felt a bit sorry for Olga. Her dad was dead and her eighty seven year old mother was in a nursing home suffering from dementia. She had one sister, and she'd told Olga to go away and she would make sure their mum was okay. From what I could gather, Olga being gay had not gone down well with her parents, so her sister Denise and her family were probably the best ones to visit their mum. Wendy had parents, but they lived in Aberdeenshire in Scotland. Her dad was something to do with the oil industry up there. Again they weren't a close family, and I'd gathered from some of the things Ashton had spoken about at times that it had something to do with Wendy having Olga as a partner. That's why Ashton never bothered with them. He was intensely loyal to his mum, so it was a case of: If you can't get on with my mum, then you can fuck off as far as I'm concerned.

 

I spoke to my family on my mobile. I'd told them that I'd decided to go to Portugal with friends. In fact, because I usually spent Christmas day with my parents after I'd parted from Her, mum said it would do me good to get out and about while I was still young. LOL. No, none of my family were aware of the double life I was leading. Some things are best left unsaid. So when I spoke to mum and dad, all I told them was that the weather was nice and that I was going out for a few beers later. Not a lie. We ate out late in the evening on Christmas day at a posh restaurant that Olga had booked before we even went to Portugal. She spoke good Portuguese, and taught me afterwards how to book a table in Portuguese. Uma mesa para quatro pessoas por favor. (A table for four, please.) Uma mesa para duas pessoas por favor. (A table for two, please.) It's easy when you know how. LOL.

 

Couvert (starters), and Little Piggy by my side ate most of it, including all the black olives. In fact, we ordered a double helping of bread and olives and cheese because he stuffed most of the first lot into his small frame before we had time for any. Wendy warned him that he wouldn't eat his dinner if he stuffed himself with couvert, but he ignored her and grinned his way through everything. Then it was Leitão e legumes: suckling pig with vegetables. Poor little piggies finished up inside another little piggy, but my Little Piggy had fries instead of boiled potatoes with his meal. I couldn't eat a pudding, but Ashton had something chocolate while we `oldies' had cheese and coffee. All washed down with vinho branco and vinho tinto. (White wine and red wine.) Half filled with water in Ashton's case, but he drank enough of it to equal what we drank. That's why he was part drunk when we left the restaurant. That's why, after we'd left the restaurant at midnight to much bonhomie, and after we'd collected two travel rugs from the apartment, he dragged me to Lover's Rock.

 

And then, underneath a beautiful starlit sky (between the two rugs because it was chilly), we made love as only a half drunken almost sixteen year old boy who loves you with a crazy passion can make love, and a twenty seven year old half drunken bloke when he's with the most gorgeous boy on earth can make love, and it could end in no other way than complete satisfaction both sexually and emotionally for both of us. In fact, even my Little Piggy was exhausted by the time I'd half eaten him and brought him to four climaxes by four in the morning. Then we gathered up the rugs and walked back to the apartment clinging to each other and openly kissing every step of the way. Why not? In Portugal, Ashton was old enough to have done what we did, and there were certainly no coppers around to give us a parking ticket. They might have tried if they saw he was wearing Mickey Mouse underpants though. (I told you I liked to dress him, and I told him I wouldn't go out for dinner with him unless he wore them for me. LOL.) I think that was the best Christmas present Shrek could ever have, don't you?  Who needs trinkets when Shrek had got a real life, oversexed Princess Fiona to tickle his fancy? LOL.

 

Talking of trinkets... I almost forgot: Christmas presents. Most we opened on Christmas morning, but because I couldn't bring the Xbox I'd bought him to Portugal, I just gave him the instruction booklet to it to confirm that it was the sort he'd been asking me to get. He gave me a big kiss on the cheek for that, and then had us all giggling when he said, "We won't have to go bed early every night at your place now because I'm bored." (I didn't give him the Mickey Mouse underpants in front of Wendy and Olga. Some things were not theirs to know.)

 

Then he gave me my present. It was a tiny gift wrapped present, and he was giggling when he gave it to me. When I took off the gift wrap, because it was a blue velvet ring box he'd given me, I thought he'd bought me a ring. But when I opened it, even I couldn't stop giggling. We'd argued for months about him wanting me to wear an earring, but I steadfastly refused to have my ear pierced, because it looks gay! (Did I tell you he was a sneaky little bugger when he wanted his own way?)  Fait accompli! Now, unless I was prepared to snub my Crisp Buddy, I had no option. But he'd done it in style. In the box was a diamond studded gold earring. His reward? A kiss on his cheek and my eyes were misty when I thanked him. Then he rested his head against my upper arm and hugged me.

 

But I got my own back for his sneakiness. Two can play that game. I waited until all the gifts had been given out and everybody thought it was all over, and then said, "Oh... I almost forgot. I've got something else for you Ashton."

 

He looked up at me, and I knew exactly what was going through his mind... he thought I was going to give him the Mickey Mouse underpants in front of Wendy and Olga, so he glared at me and said, "Don't you dare!"

 

He knew it wasn't them when I said, "It's in my jeans pocket. Close your eyes and don't open them until I tell you to!"

 

Again he glared at me, but he was grinning this time. "In your pocket?"

 

I nodded. "In my pocket. Close your eyes." So he did close his eyes, but he never stopped giggling while I got off my chair, went behind him, fished a gold chain out of my pocket that was once a watch fob chain but had been made into a choker and which belonged to my grandfather, and fitted it around his neck. Only when I'd fastened it did I sit down and say, "You can open your eyes now."

 

The look of amazement in his eyes when he lifted the chain and looked at it was worth far more than the 18ct gold chain, even more so because it was of great sentimental value to me. (I loved my grandfather.) He gave me a puzzled look, and asked, "Is it gold?"

 

I nodded. "It was my granddad's. He gave it to me and told me that it was full of his love and it would keep me safe. Now I'm telling you the same thing. She wanted it, but I wouldn't give it to Her. She wasn't worthy of it... but you are."

 

My reward? He looked into my eyes, and said, "I'd rather have this than the Xbox." Then he did his arm hugging thing again and didn't say anything for ages. I looked across the table at his `parents'. Wendy was in tears and Olga gave me the most wonderful smile she'd ever given me.

 

****************************

 

New year's Eve. Ashton was excited, and I was apprehensive.

 

Olga was the old hand in The Algarve. She'd been going there for years, long before even she and Wendy got together. She knew her way around, and she had many friends there. She must have discussed it with Wendy before she did her plotting. And then she came out with it two days after Boxing Day. She tried to be nonchalant. "We need to make plans for New Year's Eve. Have you boys thought about it?

 

I shrugged my shoulders. "I'm easy with it. I'll go with the flow."

 

Olga took a nibble at her wine. "Me and Wendy would like to go to Antonio's, but you boys might not want to."

 

Ashton knew immediately what it was about, and he asked, "Will they let me in?"

 

Olga gave him a knowing look. "You're old enough now. Well, here you are."

 

Still I hadn't grasped what they were on about, and like an idiot, I asked, "What is this place?"

 

Ashton giggled. "It's a place where we can all go... if you know what I mean." Then he looked at Olga and said, "I don't want to spend all night with you two though!"

 

Olga laughed. "Why not?"

 

Ashton gave her a dirty look. "I'm not spending all night with my mum in there! I'll go, but I don't want anything to do with you two!"

 

That's when the penny dropped, and I understood perfectly why a boy would not want to spend an evening in a gay bar with his mother. It just doesn't sound right, does it? Well, not in the small world I inhabited, it didn't. But I was entering a much bigger world than I'd previously lived in, and on reflection, I suppose it wasn't wrong for a gay mother to keep her eye on her gay son on his first outing to a gay bar.

 

(Have I explained that right? It wouldn't be in Pederasty for Dummies, so maybe you lot don't know either. I know it baffled me. Anyway, I had three days to get used to it, and as I've told you before, once Ashton had got his mind round the idea and he'd laid the law down about not being with his mother and her lover, and Olga had assured him that she and his mum had a number of male gay friends who already knew about him and me and had expressed a desire to meet us, and that some of those friends were not much older than he was, he persuaded me to go.)

 

*******************

 

Antonio's. In the backstreets of Lagos it was, tucked away behind a mini-mercado and a bike shop, and Ashton giggled nervously as we all got out of the taxi when we arrived at about eight o'clock. Me? I was crapping myself.

 

The weather had changed. At nights it was becoming decidedly colder, and because Olga had said dress would be informal, Ashton wore black denim jeans with grey high-topped trainers. I told him to wear a pullover of some sort, but he refused, saying, "It'll be steaming in there!" So he wore a plain black sloppy t-shirt under a padded grey and black parka that he'd seen when we were walking around the shops a day earlier. Did he look gay? Not really. He was, I think, asexual, until that is, he put on a black woolen bob hat with a big `ME' in white on the turn-up. I liked that. That made him all boy... even more so when he slipped his hands in the jacket pockets and adopted his rapper pose when he fitted his Ipod earphones. But I knew something everybody else didn't know: underneath that lot he was wearing blue Mickey Mouse underpants.

 

You can't dress mutton up as lamb, so I wore blue denim jeans, black trainers, and my cheese and onion t-shirt. The only thing we had in common was the parka I was wearing, but mine was dark blue and black.

 

It was awkward when we first went into the place. Ashton had made it absolutely clear that he wasn't going to sit with his mum and Olga, but they knew something we didn't know... although it looked a small place from the outside, once we got inside, it was very big... and the place was packed to the rafters. That's when my Crisp Buddy changed his mind about not sitting with his mother and Olga. And I was glad he did. I was perfectly happy sitting on the side of a pool, fishing, but I was like a fish out of water amongst that lot.

 

That lot! They were all shapes and sizes; all ages from Ashton's age to ninety-five, I thought, and sitting with Ashton's mother and her butch partner became the least of our problems. That's what Ashton thought too, I think, because he took one look around, and said to his mother, "I think we'll come with you."

 

Olga's Mob. Somewhere in my mind I'd formulated what I thought Olga's Mob would be like: all lesbians and foppish gays and transsexuals and the like. But I was wrong. They were all congregated at a long table at the far end of the place, and to my surprise, they all looked ordinary! (Stereotyping, eh!) So where did we sit? LOL. Everybody pushed up on the long leather seat that went the entire length of the room on the back wall, and made room for us, and Ashton sat next to his mother. (You have to laugh, don't you? Kid-on-the-block taking sanctuary by his mother in a gay bar. LOL.) I sat at the end of the long table, next to Ashton, and opposite a fat bloke who was sweating profusely. But he was a nice chap, and he gave me and Ashton a great smile when we were introduced to everybody as "This is Tony and his partner; Wendy's son, Ashton." They must all have been (well, most of them) forewarned, because they acted as if it was par for the course that a gay mother (along with her butch lover) would be quite happy for her almost sixteen year old gay son to be the partner of a twenty-seven year old gay man, and it was not a problem that they all went out together. (Yes, readers, you can chuckle and shake your head... but truth is often stranger than fiction! LOL.)

 

I think, readers, I'll fast forward to about eleven o'clock, because far too much happened for me to tell you about all of it. But I'll give you a general outline so you get the picture and the ambience. After my second large beer (Ashton was on his usual – wine and water) Ashton made me swap places with him. His mother should have known better! You don't smother your boy with lots of kisses when he's a teenager in front of a gang of folk he's pretending to be the kid-on-the-block to, even if you are half-pissed, as Wendy was because she'd drunk two large glasses of red before we set out. So I got the mother treatment. Wendy made it bloody obvious to everybody that she loved her `son-in-law'. LOL. Like mother, like son, and so I got the loving treatment from both sides, because once Ashton had found his gay feet, he was giving me the same from the other side. A thorn between two roses? That's what I told them, and everybody laughed. Oh yes, I was four-pints-drunk and making merry when I said that to Brenda-from-Oz... a lookalike Olga, from Australia... obviously! (Did I tell you that there were about ten different nationalities amongst Olga's Mob? The Algarve attracts folk from all over the world, and Lagos is the centre of it all.) Then came the grilling. Me and Ashton had been completely accepted into the mad lot and were made to pay the price for it. It all came out... how we got together via the crisp method of courtship, and Ashton became the hero when they found out that he'd put his phone number in a packet of cheese and onion because Tony is a complete waste of space and they wouldn't have got together if Ashton hadn't been so brave. I was a bit embarrassed, but Ashton hugged my arm and pushed his head against my shoulder to show off his prize, and after that, he wasn't backwards at coming forwards with his affection for me.

 

Anyway, by eleven o'clock things were really beginning to warm up. As they do! Sandy and Puck - two Scottish gay men about sixty years old who were ex-pats and who lived in Carvoeiro – had a big fallout because Puck accused Sandy of looking at another man. Outright astonishment from Sandy because he was appalled that Puck could even suggest such a thing! And then tears! They made up, of course, after lots of attention from everybody, which was what it was really about I suppose. And when it was all calmed down, Ashton looked up at me and giggled, and then said, "That will be me and you in another fifty years."

 

We both laughed and ordered new drinks. Then, at almost midnight, Ashton made me change places with him. I didn't object. I was not jealous. I understood. (Pederasty for Dummies. Never try and come between your boy and his mum. He can replace you, but he can only ever have one mum, and if mother and son love each other as much as Wendy and Ashton do, you'll always play second fiddle when push really comes to shove.)

 

Auld Langsyne was a mixture of laughter and bonhomie and tears and kisses and all sorts of emotions, and Ashton got more than his fair share of kisses. From both the `ladies' and the men! Oh yes, I've always been a people watcher, and I'd missed nothing.

 

It began when we first got to the place. Eyes were turned from all quarters when the cute boy walked in, and those same eyes became familiarity as the evening wore on. Familiarity as in introductions. They came from all quarters of the earth to pay homage to my beautiful Ashton... even an about fifty year old American from Alabama who tickled Ashton's funny-buds with his drawl when he said, "Myyyyy! Aint yo just a cuteeeeee!" Then he looked at me and winked. "Yo sho dropped on there boyyyyy!" I just nodded and smiled. Then there were the teenagers... the youngest probably a year older than Ashton. One (Carlos – a native) sat by Ashton for quite a while, and they made a great couple, I thought. Carlos was part of a learning curve to me. It was the first time ever that I'd seen Ashton in the company of his peers, and my boy was completely at ease. Ashton showed Carlos the gold chain he was wearing that I'd given to him, and explained its provenance and significance, and I didn't miss hearing Carlos say to him in his not perfect English, "That is love if ever I see it."

 

Ashton chuckled, and said, "I've given him a gold and diamond earring, but he won't wear it."

 

Carlos reached around Ashton and thumped my arm. "Hey... why you not wear your earring?"

 

I grinned at him. "I'm into meatotomy. You have to make an appointment to have a Prince Albert."

 

Carlos looked baffled, and so did Ashton, who looked up at me, and asked, "What's meatotomy? What's a Prince Albert?"

 

I pulled a silly face at him. "Think about it. I won't wear it in my ear or my nose or my tongue, so where else do you think it would go?"

 

Ashton still looked puzzled. "On your nipple?"

 

I grinned. "Lower. Much lower. You know, on that thing you can't get enough of."

 

Both boys gurgled with laughter for a good five minutes after that, and eventually Carlos left to go to his boyfriend who was leaning against the bar, not too happy by the looks of it because he'd lost his beau for twenty minutes. I made a mental note in my mind that their affair would not last. Possessiveness kills many associations.

 

But Carlos's partner wasn't the only one directing dirty looks in our direction. The overwhelming majority in the place were enthusiastic or blasé about me and Ashton, but there were a few that looked daggers at me a few times. I knew where they were at. In their eyes I was a paedophile, and for some gay men, there's nothing worse. Why? Because it demeans their status. Homosexuals were becoming accepted in the wider world, but intergenerational affairs between older men and young boys reflected on their status. It did! The media are never backwards at coming forwards to associate the two. Many times you could read in the press about men having affairs with `boys'. But when you got into the nitty-gritty of the story, you discovered that `boys' were actually young men of legal age. Anyway, after a while I just ignored them. To me they were little different than any other bigot. Had Ashton been ten years old then I could have understood it, but my `boy' was almost of legal age in England, and almost two years into it here.

 

At one o'clock in the morning, Ashton grabbed my arm and asked if we could leave. At first I thought he meant all four of us, but he didn't. The party was still in full swing and he just wanted out. To be with just me. (Wasn't that nice?) So, after making arrangements with Wendy and Olga for us to get our own taxi back to the apartment, we scooted out of the place.

 

After I made sure my boy was tucked up warm and his woolen hat was firmly on his head and over his ears to keep out the cold, we made our way down to the Avenida dos Descobrimentos, a lovely walkway by the river that led onto the fortress that has a lovely view across the Bay of Lagos during daylight hours. It wasn't quiet. Celebrations were still going on everywhere, and probably would until dawn arrived. We linked arms as we walked and talked about the evening, and had a lot of laughs too. When we thought we'd walked far enough and it was almost quiet, we sat on the river edge of the walkway, and I wrapped an arm around Ashton and hugged him for a while as we took in the street-lamp-lit-view. It was beautiful. Above us was a clear sky filled with stars, and light from the town reflected on the sea until eventually vanishing into darkness. We were even secluded enough for us to kiss often between general talk. And then Ashton got his Ipod out of his jacket pocket and made me fit an earphone into my ear. His face was serious when he looked into my eyes and said, "I love you. I've been saving this up. I downloaded it on Boxing Day. I didn't know when was the right time to play it. Now is good. Hold me tight."

 

So I did, and on New Year's Eve in that beautiful place, holding tightly to the young man I loved, and he holding tightly to the man he loved, we listened to Your Song, by Elton John. Did we shed tears? Of course we did... tears of love! It was the drink that did it. Or maybe not? You can make your own minds up while I'm writing the next part of Crisp Buddies. It will be about when Ashton had his sixteenth birthday party and he became a `man'. Well... legally he was, but mentally, he was still my beautiful, wonderful Crisp Buddy who meant the whole world to me... and who would even wear Mickey Mouse underpants for me if I asked him to.

 

Oh... and just to let you know, the next chapter – part 11, will be the end of this story. How did it all work out? Tune in next week to Nifty and see. And don't forget to make a donation to them. Ta ta.  

 

To be continued... 

 

You can find my other stories on Nifty here. If you wish to comment on this or any of my other stories, just drop me a line to JTST449@gmail.com Genuine comments will be appreciated. All flames will be extinguished in the trash bin.