Date: Mon, 10 Apr 2017 20:09:15 +0200
From: Nick Brady <y2kslacker@mail.com>
Subject: Mexico - Chapter 1

MEXICO - Chapter 1

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Copyright 2017 by Nick Brady, all rights reserved.

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

We had a good life, my wife and I. As a boy growing up in 1950's Oklahoma,
I found myself attracted to other boys and enjoyed sex play with some of
them. It all seemed innocent enough, although I knew that such things were
taboo. After I attraction and sampled pretty much everything that gay sex
had to offer. As exciting as this was, I never met anyone with whom I felt
I could have a long term relationship. The sex was great, but the lifestyle
did not suit me.

As a result, I decided that I had to put such things behind me and lead a
mainstream life as a straight man. Surely this was something I could
control if I just made up my mind. So, I tried to shift gears, dated, and
during my junior year, met a very sweet girl who became my wife shortly
after we graduated.

I found good work as an engineer. Karen was a nurse and her services were
always in demand. We were not wealthy, but quite comfortable. Our
relationship was warm and caring, if not passionate. We hoped to have
children but that did not seem to be in the cards for us. While we were
occasionally intimate, sex was not the focus of our relationship. We were
busy with work, church and a circle of friends. It was enough for us and we
were happy.

When the opportunity presented itself, we liked to travel. We took road
trips to interesting places near-by, and flew to other places at a greater
distance. There was a week spent driving a rented car down the California
coast from San Francisco to San Diego. Another time we toured New England
and admired places of historical interest. We vowed to come back and spend
an entire week exploring the Smithsonian museums in our nation's capital,
but never did. One October we flew to Montreal and drove north to enjoy the
beauties of a Canadian autumn. We had some good times.

Later, when we were in our 50's, we decided to travel to Mexico and took a
crash course in conversational Spanish. When we flew to Mexico City, we
found that our command of the language was limited to locating the nearest
toilet and were relieved to find that in most situations, there was a
helpful individual available whose knowledge of English was far superior to
our knowledge of Spanish. We rented a car and drove from the capital to
Puerto Vallarta on the Pacific coast and found the country to be beautiful,
the cost of living to be modest, and the people warm and friendly. We even
talked about coming back to this area when we retired to make our money
stretch farther.

All those plans went on hold when Karen got sick. She found a lump in her
breast and learned that she had cancer. Her doctors were skilled and
treatment began immediately, but the cancer had spread to her liver and she
began to decline. We did everything we could, but within a year she was
gone. I was 60 and found myself a widower and very alone for the first time
in my adult life.

We had been childless, and neither of us had much family. Friends were
sympathetic but could offer little comfort. I was depressed and at loose
ends. My carefully ordered life had been cut adrift. I threw myself into my
work and tried to adjust. I realized that I was now free to explore other
options, but was unsure just what I wanted to do with the remainder of my
life.

At age 65 I was eligible for retirement and Medicare. It was at this time
that we had talked about retiring in Mexico. Retirement seemed lonely
without her, but I definitely wanted a change of scene. Everything here
reminded me of Karen. I wanted to get away and start over somewhere
new. The more I thought about the lovely part of west central Mexico, the
more I was drawn to it.

I set in motion my retirement and began to research that area on the
internet, checking cost of living, health care facilities and crime
rates. It was said to be safe and inexpensive by American standards. I
contacted a Realtor with connections in the area and was advised that
property and living costs in the area northeast of Puerto Vallarta was
inexpensive if the requirements were modest. I was encouraged to look at
resort property but insisted that I wanted a small place that was quiet and
affordable. After some discussion, I was told that I would be contacted
after some inquiries were made on my behalf. I heard nothing for over a
month.

In late February, my contact called to present me with several options. Not
believing that I really wanted a place that was secluded and quiet, most of
the suggestions sounded more fitting for someone accustomed to luxury. The
place that intrigued me was what was described as a small villa to the east
of the small town of El Valle, some thirty miles north and east of Puerto
Vallarta. It was not in good repair, although livable and he only mentioned
it because it was very cheap. At $2,500 it was certainly inexpensive. While
El Valle was a very small town, it was within thirty minutes of Puerto
Vallarta which had good medical facilities and shopping. Some hours to the
east was Jalisco and then Guadalajara, Mexico's second largest city, both
with excellent facilities.

On a hunch, I agreed to look at it. I would put down $250 in earnest money
and drive down to inspect it. If it was satisfactory I would complete the
transaction. If not, then I was out my $250. I found a service that would
facilitate obtaining a Permanent Mexican Visa and made the investment
required to make that happen. As a retiree with sufficient monthly income,
all that was required was a sum of money. I gave my notice at work and
filled out the paperwork which would make me a retiree. I put my house on
the market and soon found a buyer. If this didn't work out I would do
something else, but one way or another I was going to have a change of
scene. On the first of April, I loaded what essentials of furniture I could
fit into my Ford pickup truck and set out for Mexico.

I suppose I half expected to be set upon by banditos, but the trip took
less than a week and was uneventful. I arrived in El Valle and contacted
Mr. Ortega the local Realtor, who seemed surprised that I had actually made
the trip. Nevertheless, he was cordial and agreed to show me my new
'villa'.

While 'villa' sounds elegant, it was not. It was a 2-room flat-roofed adobe
cottage set back off of a gravel side road. There was a waist high stone
wall surrounding the whole place with a little courtyard at the rear.
Mercifully, it had electricity. It had well water delivered by a pump at
the kitchen sink and another on the outside of the house. The ancient
kitchen stove was connected to a propane tank. Heat was provided by a
fireplace which stood on one side of the living room with a kitchen on the
other. The bedroom had a small bathroom built on one side with a small
electric pump to pull water to a tank on the wall above the toilet. The tub
was to be filled by buckets of water from the sink and drained into the
back garden. I was assured that the toilet emptied into a septic tank of
some sort. I verified with some relief that it did not empty into the back
garden.

I had filled the bed of my pickup with what I felt would be the bare
necessities for living. I had crammed in a small sofa and side chair, a
double bed and mattress set, a chest of drawers and storage chest. I had
been told that the place was partially furnished but had no idea what that
might be. In and under those items I had squeezed boxes of clothing and a
few personal possessions. Everything else had either been sold or given to
Goodwill. It wasn't much. I would be living quite simply and I wanted to
make a clean break from the past.

The furnishings that were provided consisted of the propane stove, an
icebox, a small wooden table and three wooden chairs. The bedroom was
empty. With what I had brought with me, it might be livable - barely.

The cement floor was cracked and dirty. The dingy walls might have been
white at one time. It had a musty odor and the fireplace was filled with
trash. Outside, the stucco walls were peeling. There was the remains of
what must have been a small garden at one time abut the yard was overgrown
with weeds. The rock wall was crumbling in a few places but mostly
intact. It was not quite the 'villa' I hoped for, but at the price, I was
not surprised.

Mr. Ortega and I sat at the wooden table and discussed the situation.
Having come so far, I was reluctant to abandon the project without further
consideration. I pointed out the dismal condition of the place and was met
with his insistence that it only needed a little work to make it
comfortable. Clearly I would need some help. The one bright spot was that
domestic help was very inexpensive, and he knew of a nice lady who could
clean and cook for me for very little money. With her lived a young nephew
who could serve as gardener and errand boy. It would only take a little
money, he smiled optimistically.

I decided to complete our deal with the notion that if this didn't work
out, I could sell the place and find something a little better, or even
abandon the project altogether. I had the money from the sale of my old
house and could not claim to be without some resources. We shook hands and
the transaction was completed. Ortega helped me bring in a few things and
left me to set up the bed. I fixed a supper from the contents of my ice
chest and made myself comfortable for the night.

Mr. Ortega arrived the next morning with a lady he introduced as Maria. She
was a short pleasant looking woman who looked about 35, a little plump with
a dark brown face already etched with wrinkles. With her was a young boy
whose name was Juan Carlos. He looked perhaps 13, small and slender with a
black buzz-cut over large brown eyes. He was wearing loose khaki pants
bleached almost white and an over-sized white shirt obviously borrowed from
someone older. He was quiet and polite and only nodded his head when he was
introduced.

The details of her service were worked out with Ortega as the translator.
Maria was to give the place a thorough cleaning, then would come every day
except Saturday and Sunday to cook an evening meal for me, clean the house,
and do my laundry once a week. She had other clients that kept her busy
during the day, so I was extra money for her.

Juan Carlos would stay and help me unpack and put things away. When his
aunt came back to fix supper he would leave with her and return the next
day to see what I needed. The wage asked for, and agreed to, was both
satisfactory to them, and would stretch my dollars considerably.

Maria left with the Realtor and Juan Carlos followed me into the house to
unpack. I had clothes in boxes and the few pieces of furniture that I had
brought in from the truck. There was more to be carried in, so I sent him
to fetch them by pointing and gesturing to where I wanted things to go. He
set to work while I began to sort through the boxes.

I had a small 13-inch TV with a video player that I had Juan set up in the
living room. He did this with some enthusiasm, seemingly proud to
demonstrate that he knew how. I dumped my clothes in the dresser and before
long we had most everything put away. The place was beginning to look like
someone lived there.

Up to this point Juan had not spoken a word, and my directives had been
made by pointing and a few words here and there. I had little confidence in
the few words of Spanish I knew, and was unsure if Juan Carlos spoke any
English. We had reached the point that some conversation was going to be
useful.

My little villa was east of the village in an area that was rural. I had
not had the opportunity to scout around and had no idea where to buy
anything. I motioned the boy into a chair in the living room and I sat on
the sofa, pulling my Spanish phrase book from my pocket. As I fumbled to
find 'grocery store', Juan looked at me with bright brown eyes and spoke
for the first time.

"I can speak a little English," he said quietly.

"Oh, that's wonderful," I said, "where did you learn English?"

"I learn in school," he said slowly but clearly.

"My Spanish is very limited," I explained.

"No problem," he said. "You can learn to speak."

"Maybe you can be my teacher," I said with a smile.

"Yes" Juan said, returning a sweet smile, "I think so."

Standing up I said, "I need to buy food and ice."

The boy jumped to his feet. "Yes, I take you."

He followed me to the pickup truck and hopped in beside me, pointing the
way. I drove out to the main road and about a mile down was a small grocery
gas station combination.

As we walked inside I told him, "Maria will come later to fix supper. I
need something for her to fix."

Juan gave me a puzzled look, "Sir?"

"Food for Maria," I said. "Maria needs food to cook."

"Ah yes, I know!" He said with sudden enthusiasm, darting inside.

While Juan chattered to the store owner, I gather up some simple staples:
beer and soda, bread and cheese, some apples, bananas and grapes. I came
back to the counter to see the man wrapping a piece of meat and several
onions, peppers, tomatoes, a package of dried beans, another of rice, and a
small stack of corn tortillas.

"This is good?" he asked without stopping for an answer. "Little is good,
too much not good, tomorrow buy more, OK?"

I laughed and nodded. He knew better than I did how things worked here. As
I was about to ask about ice, he dashed to an insulated box and came back
wrapping a good-sized block of ice in some old newspapers that were stacked
nearby. I paid the man and followed Juan back to the truck as he carried
more than his share of our purchases.

Once back to the house, he hustled everything in, and wet a small towel at
the sink, using the hand pump that provided my running water. He wrung out
the towel and started to wipe out the icebox while I put away the
non-perishable things. Before I could finish, he had the meat, cheese, soda
and beer in the box with the ice to chill. This boy might be worth having
around.

He found a broom and began to sweep, while I rinsed out the towel and wiped
off the counter-tops and what little I had in the way of tables and
chairs. Before very long, things began to look a little better.

Juan looked it over and said, "Maria can do every day. Maria can make house
look very good."

I thought it looked better already, but then my standards were not too
high. After looking around for a minute, Juan Carlos nodded as if he had
made a decision and motioned for me to follow him outside into the little
back garden. Not much was out there but a scrubby tree and some dead shrubs
against the house. There were some stones to mark where flowerbeds had been
at one time, but the place was pretty barren.

Juan looked at me and waved his arm at the garden. "You want make nice?"

I laughed, "I don't know much about gardens, Juan. Can we do anything out
here? It looks pretty dead and I don't want to spend a lot of money on this
kind of thing."

Juan nodded vigorously, "I can do senor - little money, little money. You
have water, good water. I can make very nice, you see."

It occurred to me that the kid needed to crank up some kind of a project
for himself if he was to make any money from me. Once settled, I might not
need a kid to run errands every day. It would look nice to have some
flowers around the place.

"OK, Juan Carlos, you make it nice. But only a little money, OK?" I said.

Juan smiled, and bounced up and down on his toes with excitement. "Yes,
yes, yes. You will see, I make very nice for you - little money!" he said,
squinting his eyes and emphasizing the word 'little'. "Little money, and
you teach me good English. OK?"

I couldn't help but laugh and nod my agreement. I left him, and went inside
to sort out the clothes I had dumped onto my dresser. He ran to a little
shed that was butted up against the back wall where he found a rake and a
rusty shovel. He picked up all the rocks around the old beds and started to
rake them out and turn over the dry soil. By the time Maria came about 5
PM, the whole area had been cleaned up and looked a lot better. Still brown
and dead, but ready for some kind of planting.

Maria came in, looked at what Juan had bought and clucked her tongue. She
unpacked a small box of seasonings to do her best with what we had. She
chattered at me in Spanish and I gestured that I couldn't understand
her. She chuckled then got to work. Before long there were good smells
coming from the old stove. When it began to smell really good, she pointed
to the garden and said something about Juan Carlos. I assumed that this was
the call to dinner.

I went out to see about the boy and found the garden looking very neat and
clean.  The flowerbeds next to the house had been raked and dug and the
stones reset to outline them attractively. The dead shrubs had been pulled
out and tied with string to be carried away, and the tree was pruned free
of dead branches. He had found an old bucket in the shed and was pouring
buckets of water around the tree and onto the flowerbeds. Although the
April day was not warm, his efforts had worked him into a sweat and he had
pulled off the long white shirt. That served also to keep the shirt from
getting covered with the loose dirt that he had thrown up while digging the
beds and pulling out the old shrubs. His torso was covered with the loose
soil, which the sweat running down his chest and back had turned to
rivulets of red mud.

"Hey Juan, dinner time," I called.

He straightened up and smiled, "OK, Sir," he said, "You think look good?"

"Yes," I said, "It looks very nice. You hungry now?"

He looked a little unsure, so I rubbed my hand over my stomach. "Hungry?" I
asked again.

"Ah, yes sir," he cried, running for the water pump with the bucket in his
hand. "You wash, please?"

Filling the bucket with water he handed it to me then bent
over. Obediently, I started to pour the cold water over his head and
shoulders while he gasped a little and scrubbed at his face and chest. His
back was out of his reach, so I rubbed away the dirt from his shoulders and
back with my free hand. He was a beautiful boy, slender and lightly muscled
with golden brown skin that felt smooth as satin under my wet hand. When he
stood up to shake the water from his head and face, I could see that he had
a lovely tight belly, pert little brown nipples, and surprisingly, a wisp
of black hair under each armpit. He was quite small, but perhaps a little
older than I thought.

He stopped his shaking and opened his eyes to see me staring at him with
the bucket frozen in my hand. He laughed out loud, then ran for his shirt
and pulled it on still buttoned over his head. I followed him into the
house.

On the table was a single plate filled with what looked like enchiladas,
and a coffee cup for beer or soda. I took a beer and handed Juan a Pepsi. I
asked if Maria and Juan would not eat with me and Juan explained that this
was only for me. Juan sat at the table, drank his Pepsi while I ate, and
Maria finished going through the kitchen, washing out the cabinets and
whatever salvageable utensils she could find in them. When I finished
eating, she took the dishes and washed them in the sink, using hot water
she had pumped into a kettle and heated on the stove.

She called Juan over and began to explain to him what we needed from the
store, writing things down in a list. I had no idea what they were talking
about but there was lots of pointing and nodding. I really needed to work
on my Spanish if I was to live down here. Finally, she turned and gave me a
nod, then picked up her box of spices and walked out the door.

"Does she need a ride?" I asked.

"No. She walk home," Juan explained.

"What about you?" I asked.

"You want I go?"

"Well, not necessarily, but where do you live?"

"No much from here, I can walk. Is OK," Juan explained.

"Where do you live then?" I repeated.

"Maybe 2 kilometer from here. Not far," he insisted. "I live with Maria."

"What about your mother and father?" I asked.

"I don't know, maybe Guadalajara. I don't know."

I thought for a moment. "How old are you?

"I am 16 years," he said smiling. "Last month, 16 years."

"Do you have brothers or sisters?"

"I don't know. Maybe, I think," he said, changing the subject and waving
the list. "Tomorrow we go to store, buy for Maria. Buy for garden."

"Yes, we need to stock up on some things. So will you come back tomorrow
morning?"

"Yes sir. I come here tomorrow. Thank you sir," he was smiling and almost
bouncing with happiness.

"You worked very hard today. I know you must be hungry. Why didn't you eat
with me tonight?"

He looked surprised. "Maria make for you. I think she no like if I eat you
food."

I frowned a little. "If you work for me then I would like for you to eat
with me. It is not good to eat alone while you are hungry and can only
watch. Please explain to Maria that I would enjoy some company with my
supper. Can you do that?"

I wasn't sure if he understood such a long speech, but his smile told me
that he did.

"I tell her, sir. Thank you. You very nice man, I think."

When he started to leave, I held out my hand to shake with him. He took my
hand in both of his just for a second and gave a little nod, then dashed
down the path to the main road and out of sight. He ran quickly and
effortlessly like a little deer. I stood and watched him disappear,
chuckling to myself. My time in Mexico was off to a rather nice start.

After Juan left, the place seemed very quiet. Maria had cleaned up the
supper things, so I stretched out on the old sofa and checked to see what I
could find on television. There were only a few stations, all in Spanish of
course. I watched a rerun of an old Bonanza show and found it amusing to
see Hoss Cartwright speaking fluent dubbed-in Spanish. I turned in early
after a busy day. Maria had found my set of sheets and made up the bed for
me, so all I had to do was fall in and fall asleep.

"Sir!" a youthful voice pierced the early morning quiet, dragging me out of
sleep like pulling me out from under deep water. "Good morning, sir," piped
Juan Carlos.

I opened my eyes to see the boy standing eagerly at the foot of my bed
holding a brown paper bag. I looked at my watch, saw that it was a little
after 8:00, with a low morning sun pouring in the bedroom window.

"You're up early," I said. Swinging my feet to the floor while holding the
cover to my waist. I slept naked and was not expecting an early morning
visitor.

Juan looked with curiosity at my bare chest, realizing for the first time
that he perhaps should have entered a bit more discreetly. "Maria make for
you," he said, holding up the bag.

I motioned him over and looked into the bag. "What you got there?" Inside
were some Mexican pastries covered with sugar. I tried one and found it
better than I expected.

Handing the bag to the boy I decided to make a break for the bathroom. I
motioned to a towel laid over the bed side chair, and he handed it to me. I
slid it under the cover and stood up with it in front of me. Juan looked a
little amused as I stumbled off to the toilet, giving him a view of my bare
ass as I went by.

When I came out, he had taken the hint and gone to the kitchen to eat a
roll while I dressed. I looked around the kitchen and mentally added a
coffee pot to my list of things to find today. Juan sat and watched me,
quietly chewing. I walked to the sink and pumped a cup of water.

"Is this good to drink?" I asked, motioning as if to drink from the cup.

"Yes sir, good water here. Down, down in earth," he said, explaining that
it was a good deep well.

Reassured, I drank, and found it to be both cold and sweet. Looking at Juan
I saw that he was dressed in the same baggy clothes as before. It occurred
to me that he might not have much else to wear. The pants were a little
dirty from his work in the garden, but his face and hands were very clean,
from what I could see under the long shirt. He was making do with what he
had, clearly not bothered much by being poor. He was likely on a par with
his friends, which made it OK.

"Where do you go to school?"

"Um, there," he pointed down the road in the direction from the store, his
explanation hindered by a mouth full of sweet roll.

I decided that small talk would have to wait until our language skills
improved. "You ready to go?"

"Yes, no. Uno momento." He scurried to the toilet, pushed the front of his
baggy pants down without loosening anything and whizzed in the stool. He
shook himself off and came out looking eager.

I drove to the market where we had stopped the day before, but Juan waved
me on by. He directed me to the next road, where we turned and drove into a
shabby neighborhood. We came to what looked like a junk shop, he motioned
me to stop and we went inside. Juan took the list Maria had given him and
began to sort through stacks of cooking utensils and dishes until he had
located a decent looking pair of cook pots with lids, a coffee pot, a
covered skillet and a cast iron griddle. Next to those, he stacked a small
set of dishes, bowls and some decent looking drinking glasses. He began to
talk with a stocky lady wearing an apron who appeared to be in charge of
the mess.

Juan turned and said. "Not so much money in dollars. Dollars more good than
pesos."

"How much in dollars for all that?" I asked.

"I think 5 dollars," he said, looking back at the woman.

She nodded and I reached for my wallet. Prices were good.

From the junk shop he led me to another place behind the rambling group of
houses and sheds. Behind one shack was a nursery of sorts, with planted
rows of healthy looking plants. Juan set to work asking about the different
kinds, and negotiating prices until he was satisfied with his selection.

"Twelve American dollars?" he asked for approval.

By this time I had decided to trust him and didn't even ask what they
were. Once the deal was completed, Juan and the nurseryman began digging up
half a dozen plants, wrapping the balls of dirt in newspapers and setting
them carefully in the back of the pickup. Juan then ducked in the back door
of the house with the man and came back with a number of paper packages of
seeds. The kid looked like he knew what he was doing. My part in this was
just to supply the small amount of money required.

We left and drove back to the little grocery store, where Juan went through
the rest of Maria's list and stacked some provisions on the counter. The
list included not only foodstuffs, but soap, toilet paper and all the other
necessities of life.

We grabbed another block of ice and drove back to the house. On the way
back, we briefly detoured to get my bearings on where I was. Juan pointed
out his school as we drove by, a low stucco building with several bicycles
stacked against the side. I wondered why he was not at school today but
guessed that attendance might be a little casual. After arriving back at my
house, we put things away and he led me out to the garden.

"OK, sir," he said, unfolding a piece of paper from his pants pocket. "You
look, please?"

He showed me a neat drawing of my back garden outlining both the flower
beds against the house, several new ones to fit against the stone wall, and
an open area in the center. He enthusiastically named in Spanish the plants
that were to go in each area, apologizing that he didn't know the English
name. I figured that we could work that out later with the help of a
dictionary.

I gave him a big smile and told him to go for it. He grabbed a shovel and
started to dig out places for the new beds and for the shrubs. I tried to
help as best I could but he did most of the work. As it got warmer, he took
off his shirt, and after thinking about it for a minute, so did I. The warm
sun felt good, although I knew I would need to be careful not to let my
fair skin burn. Juan would just turn browner, of course.

We dug, planted, and piled dirt back around the new plants. The seeds went
in the flower beds and the new area in the center. After everything was
planted, he led me back behind the house to a shallow area where we found
some nice round stones like the ones around the existing beds. We carried
them back by the armloads until they lined all the beds and it began to
really look like a garden.

We worked until we finished, and by then it was nearly 2 o'clock. We were
both dirty and sweaty, and ready for some lunch. When I rubbed my stomach,
Juan leaned back, rubbed his and nodded vigorously. We both laughed. This
was not work, it was fun.

Juan ran to the outside pump and got the bucket, filling it with water. I
followed him over and took the bucket as he bent over. I splashed him with
water and watched as he rubbed the dirt from himself. The water ran down
his back and got his pants wet. Juan stood up, looked around and
shrugged. There was no one in sight and the wall obscured us from the waist
down anyway. I nodded and he slipped off his pants, leaving him in boxer
shorts and ratty tennis shoes with no socks. When I raised the bucket he
slipped the shorts off as well and leaned over in nothing but his tennis
shoes.

I poured the water over his back, stopped, filled it and poured again. He
stood and washed himself off under the cold water. He was a beautiful
kid. Although he was small in stature he had begun to mature very
nicely. His foreskin was puckered at the tip from the cold water. A bush of
straight black hair stood out, shining and wet, from around the top of his
flaccid cock.

From the waist up he was nice and brown with signs of some recent sun on
his back. He had a strong chest, and round well-defined shoulders and
biceps. From the waist down he was a permanent light brown with a lovely
firm ass cupped in at the cheeks. His legs were muscular with just a trace
of dark hair starting to grow around his calves. The thighs were slim but
firm, and very smooth. Best of all, he seemed totally unaware of himself.

While he was shaking himself dry I stepped into the house and grabbed a
towel. He smiled when I handed it to him and toweled his head dry giving me
the chance to stare at him unobserved.

Suddenly he threw the towel over his shoulder, pumped more water into the
bucket and looked expectantly at me. I suddenly realized that I was a
little shy about undressing in front of this boy. His broad smile disarmed
me, so I kicked off my shoes and shucked my pants and shorts. Quickly
turning away, I bent over for him to douse me from the bucket.

I had been a red head when I was younger, although my hair was mostly white
at my present age. I had tried to stay fit, so in spite of the inevitable
sags that come with being well over 60, I was still in pretty good shape. I
rinsed the dirt from my face and chest as he rubbed his small hands over my
back and across my bare ass. I stood up and shook, then took the towel and
dried off with my back to him. By the time I was finished, he had replaced
his clothing and was going into the house as if this was all very routine -
a nice routine, if so.

I dressed quickly and followed him into the kitchen. I pulled the bread,
cheese and a couple of sodas from the ice box, and handed the bottles to
him to open while I sliced cheese and made a couple of generous sandwiches.

"How far to the beach?" I asked him.

"The sea, the ocean?"

"Yes, to the Pacific."

"Um, maybe 30 minutes. You want to go?"

"Yes. I would like to swim and maybe fish when it gets warmer," I said.

"Too cold now I think, but some people do," Juan explained.

"Maybe so. But I want to know where I might go. It's not far to Puerto
Vallarta. Is that a good place?"

Juan shook his head. "Not so good. Too many people, cost too much money. I
can show you better place."

With Juan showing the way, we drove towards the blue Pacific. The day had
turned out to be warm and fine and Juan was obviously enjoying the ride. I
guessed that this was as much a treat for him as it was for me. We got on a
main road then off again and down to a long lovely beach. There were some
men fishing and a few people walking up and down, but no swimmers.

Juan and I strolled along the edge of the ocean with our shoes in our
hands, looking for shells and kicking at things with our bare feet. This
was what I was hoping this place would be like when I decided to come down
here. What I didn't expect was to have such a pleasant companion to share
it with. Being with him made me remember what it was like to be a boy.

A wave rose high enough on the beach to wash over our feet and make us
dance. Juan grabbed my arm and made as if to pull me into the water,
resulting in a quick wrestling match as I held him around the waist and
tried to pick him up. He was surprisingly strong and agile for his size,
and neither of us gained much advantage. Laughing, we trotted back to where
the sand was dry and sat down.

"This is very nice, Juan Carlos. Thank you for bringing me here," I said.

"Ah, thank you, sir," he looked out at the water. "You are very nice man, I
think."

Looking at Juan I said, "You're a very nice boy, Juan. I'm really glad that
you are here with me."

Juan held his knees and rocked back and forth a little, smiling
broadly. "Thank you," he said, and leaned his head against my shoulder.

It seemed perfectly natural to put my arm around him and give him a little
hug. He responded by leaning into me and smiling. After a moment I looked
around and quickly stood up.

"Well, let's go look around some more. Where could I go fishing?"

He gave me a brief tour of the long beach area, pointing to some rocks
against the shore line. On the way back, we stopped at a kiosk and got some
ice cream, then drove on. I wanted to get home before Maria started supper.

She had brought a chicken, which she prepared with some of the things that
Juan had brought to her from the store. Whatever it was called, it was
delicious. I insisted that Juan join me for supper. Maria protested a
little, then relented. The boy and I were hungry after a long and active
day and there were few leftovers.

When the meal was over, Juan and I went out in the garden and carried
buckets of water to soak the new things we had planted. I didn't say much,
wishing the day wouldn't end, and wondering if I would see this lovely boy
again. I guessed he would come around to check on the garden.

Soon Maria called to him and he went to go out with her. I walked to the
gate with them and rubbed the palm of my hand over his stubbly hair. Juan
stroked his hand over my forearm then stepped away with his aunt.

I watched a little television, then went to bed early. Lying naked under
the warm air from the open window, I drifted off to sleep, the vision of a
small brown boy danced in my head.


.....to be continued.

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