Date: Mon, 17 Apr 2017 01:15:01 +0200
From: Nick Brady <y2kslacker@mail.com>
Subject: Mexico - Chapter 3

Mexico – Chapter 3.

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Copyright 2017 by Nick Brady, all rights reserved.

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


When I woke again it was early morning. Juan was on his side with the
covers over his head. His butt was touching my hip, maintaining his sleepy
tether. I broke the connection and slipped out of bed to empty my straining
bladder. Walking into the kitchen, I started a pot of coffee and returned
to the bed.

Juan had not moved when I returned to my place and sat next to him. I was
genuinely fond of this boy and wished to make his life better. I certainly
didn't want to take advantage of him. I found him enormously attractive as
well, but had serious misgivings about becoming sexual with this
boy. Better that we keep our relationship platonic. I smiled at the
sleeping boy, ran my hand under the quilt and dug my fingers into his
ribs. He startled awake, and then quickly dissolved into a peal of
giggles. This resulted in a brief scuffle that concluded with Juan and the
covers in a pile on the floor. The boy was ticklish.

He lay in the pile mostly uncovered with a wide smile of contentment on his
face.  I plopped the pillow over his face and went into the kitchen to
check on the coffee. Bringing back two cups, mine plain and his with milk
and sugar, I set them on the bed table. By this time he had pulled himself
and the quilt back onto the bed. I sat down on the bed and handed him his
cup. For a few minutes we drank our coffee in silence.

Juan sat cross-legged on the bed with the quilt bundled around his waist,
blowing across the hot coffee and sipping it carefully. He appeared to be a
picture of fresh innocent boyhood, full of charm and enthusiasm. Just
looking at him filled my heart with affection. If I was looking for a young
sex toy, he would be perfect. Yet he had held me and wept, calling me his
father. This was a real person - sweet, loving, and for all his hardships,
I believed him to be basically an innocent. Was I to be his father or his
lover? Did he know the difference? Did I?

Finally I broke the pleasant silence. "Who were those boys in the mall? The
boys who knew you, but you pretended not to recognize?"

Juan sat with his head down looking at his coffee. I was not sure he
understood what I had said until I saw a teardrop fall into his cup. I
called his name and he looked up at me, his eyes shining with tears.

"I don't know, Papa," he said so softly I could barely hear him. He looked
a little frightened.

"You knew them Juan. Listen, I care very much about you. If you trust me,
you have to tell me the truth." I watched his lips tremble and several
tears fell down his cheeks. "Please tell me the how you know those boys."

"Then you not like me," he whispered.

I almost wanted to let the moment pass, but pressed on. "I'll still like
you Juan. Please trust me with the truth. We all have secrets. I have
secrets too."

Juan closed his eyes, lowered his head and began to speak quietly to his
coffee cup. It took him a long time to find the words, but he slowly told
me his story.

He was a 4 year old orphan living on the street in Guadalajara when Maria
took him in. He was with a group of older children and one of the girls was
helping him. There was no one to ask for permission, as they were only a
few of many street children. He didn't know why he was chosen, but Maria
seemed nice. He was hungry and very willing to go with her.

Back in their little village, Maria did laundry, cleaned houses and worked
for whoever could afford to pay her. Juan was expected to do as much work
as he was able. He was too small to do very much, but he tried hard to
please her, and she saw to it that he was fed and had something to
wear. With her was a man named Victor. He would leave for months at a time,
then return with money that he mostly spent on liquor. Maria managed to
hide some of it, but they quarreled a lot.

Victor generally ignored Juan when he was small. When he was 9 or 10,
Victor began to use him for sex while Maria was away from the house. He
demanded that Juan perform oral sex on him and soon forced him to submit to
anal sex. Juan protested, but when Victor threatened to dump him back in
Guadalajara, the boy submitted with no further argument. After Juan stopped
resisting, the frequency of these encounters increased.

Juan said that sometimes when Victor was having sex with him, he would hug
the boy and say nice things to him. When it was over he was pushed away,
but the memory of the nice words made him feel happy. He both looked
forward to the attention, and was shamed by it.

From time to time Juan would stop and glance up at me, expecting to see
shock and anger on my face. When I patted his knee and assured him that it
was OK, he would look down and continue. This was a very hard thing for the
boy to talk about, and his limited English made it even more difficult, but
he struggled bravely on.

When he was 12, Victor and another man named Enrique took Juan to Jalisco,
the city where we found the mall. They went to a small apartment there
where the man stayed with 5 or 6 other boys between 12 and 16. They had a
big TV, video games, ate good food and had nice clothes. At night the boys
were mostly away. The men would take first one and then the other out into
Jalisco or to somewhere in Guadalajara, and they would return late at
night. After a few days, Enrique took Juan into the bedroom and had sex
with him. He made Juan do things that he had never done before and
encouraged him to act happy and pretend that he enjoyed it. Some of it gave
Juan pleasure and he thought he could do it. He was frightened and wanted
to win Victor and Enrique's approval.

Within a few days he was dressed in new clothes and taken to meet a
'friend'.  This friend was a Mexican businessman who wanted a boy for the
evening. They went to the man's hotel room and he was introduced. Some
money was given to Enrique then Juan was left alone with the businessman.

The man was kind to him, asked him if he would like something to eat and
ordered a nice dinner from room service. When they finished the man
stripped to his underwear and turned on the TV. Getting onto the bed, he
motioned for Juan to join him, and began to fondle him as they watched
TV. He was very affectionate towards Juan, said nice things to him, hugged
and kissed him and told him that he was a handsome boy.

Soon they were both naked and Juan was trying his best to make the man
happy. He sucked the man and did as Enrique had taught him. The businessman
sucked Juan and licked his ass wet, then fucked him. Juan asked the man to
use a condom as Enrique had instructed him, and the man reluctantly did
so. When he finished, instead of being rude and pushing Juan away, the man
hugged him and told him he was a nice boy. Juan felt that this was not too
bad after all.

Later that night Enrique came back to the hotel to bring Juan back to the
apartment. The businessman gave Enrique some extra money and said nice
things about Juan, and Enrique was pleased.

This life went on for about 2 years. Juan had lots of new clothes and made
friends with the other boys. He had sex with the men that Enrique found,
and was rewarded with clothes, food and nice things. Mostly these were
older men - rich Mexicans and a few American tourists. The boys went to
amusement parks and video parlors and Juan decided it was fun, and not a
bad such a bad life after all.

When Juan was 14, he began to mature. He started to develop physically and
lost his little boy look. The men that Enrique found for him also began to
change. They wanted to play rougher and did not treat him so well. Several
men hurt him with hard anal sex and one beat him. He began to hate the
life, and complained to Enrique.  He was told to shut up and do what he was
told.

Victor seldom came to the apartment. When he did, Juan saw Enrique give him
some money and guessed that it was Victor's share of the money that Juan
made. Enrique told Juan that he had a lot of money coming, but that Victor
was holding it for him. Juan got pocket money when they went out, but never
knew how much Victor owed him. The last time that Victor came, Juan told
him that he wanted to go home, that he didn't like this place
anymore. Victor laughed, told him to shut up and Juan cried. Enrique told
Victor that Juan was no good any more and they got in a big quarrel. Victor
left very angry then Enrique yelled at Juan and beat him. Juan asked for
his money and Enrique beat him some more.

The next morning while it was still dark, Juan took what little money he
had and ran away. He was afraid to go home to Maria because of Victor, so
he took to the streets on his own. He caught a ride to Guadalajara and
lived as best as he could. He knew how to please men and found men who
would pay for his company. But these were not nice men and they often
treated him badly. He felt very miserable and wanted to die.

Finally he became desperate, and somehow found his way back to Maria. When
she first saw him, he was older, very dirty and she did not know him. But
when he spoke to her, she recognized him, knelt down and hugged him. They
cried together, and he told her wanted to come home. She asked him no
questions, but took him inside, fixed him a bath and fed him. Juan believed
that she knew where he had been and what he had been doing, but they did
not speak about it. They did not see Victor for a long time. When he did
come, he scowled, but said nothing to Juan and did not stay long.

"Now, I live with Maria, help her work, not see Victor," Juan looked up at
me with a sad face. "In mall I see Enrico boys. I not want see. Never. You
come here, I think you very nice man. I want to be your friend. I want you
to like me. I like you very much. I think you are like father for me." His
eyes filled with tears again, "Now you not like me. I am too much bad
person. I am very sorry."

It had taken Juan a long time to get out his story using his limited
English, and the effort had drained him. He looked tired and beaten, as if
he was expected to be told to leave and never return. I could find no words
for him, but took him in my arms and held him, rocking him back and forth
while we both wept. I rubbed my hands over his shoulders and kissed him
gently on his cheek until he stopped crying and took a deep breath.

I pushed back from him and looked at his face, red and wet with tears, his
eyes puffy and exhausted. Pulling up a corner of the old quilt, I wiped his
face and kissed him on the forehead.

"I'm hungry, how about you?" I asked.

He looked unsure, "You still like me?"

I took his face in my hands and kissed him again on the forehead. "Of
course I do. You are a good boy, and very brave. I like you and respect you
very much, Juan."

I kissed him one more time and left him sitting on the bed while I went
into the kitchen and began to cook sausage and eggs. It was late on a
Sunday morning, and I had a hungry boy to feed.

I sliced up some sausage, threw it in a skillet and turned on the propane
burner. I diced up a potato, a green pepper, and a small onion and turned
down the fire to let them cook while I scrambled 6 eggs. When the potatoes
were tender I poured off the grease and stirred in the eggs and some yellow
cheese. By this time the smell had resurrected Juan, and he was sitting at
the kitchen table in his boxer shorts. I dished out half the omelet on each
of two plates and added a thick slice of bread. We washed this down with
coffee and milk. After spilling out his long story, the weary boy devoted
himself to his breakfast, and we ate in silence.

He was bent over the plate, shirtless and barefoot, eating with some
concentration.  I wondered what would happen to Juan. If he was 16 now,
then he would be finishing with school very soon, and expected to go to
work. He was lucky to be in school at all, and college would be out of the
question for a kid in his situation. Jobs were very scarce here and my
garden could not provide an income for him. He had no family, no
opportunity, and little future. But for the moment he had a few new
clothes, an old man who cared about him, and a belly full of breakfast. I
left him to finish his eggs and started to clean up.

Juan brought his empty plate to the sink and filled the kettle with water
for the stove. We worked together to wash up and it was done quickly. The
sound of church bells in the village nearby reminded me it was Sunday.

"What do you do on Sunday Juan Carlos? Does Maria make you go to church?"

"Maria go sometime. I not go," he said without looking up.

"What do you do on Sunday?"

He hung the damp towel over the back of one of the kitchen
chairs. "Sometimes I play football," he looked at me with quiet interest.

"Do you belong to a team?" I asked.

"No team," he said. "We go to field and make team."

"American style football or soccer?" I asked.

"You say soccer, I think."

"Do you like to play?  Can I watch?"

His eyes brightened, "You like to watch, really?"

"Sure," I said. "Where is it? What time does it start?"

He held up two fingers. "School has field. You like?"

"Sure. Let's go. You play like that?"

Juan looked down at his boxers and bare feet. "No, I have other one.  Uno
momento!"

He shot out the door and started for Maria's at a trot. I yelled that I
could take him but he was quickly out of sight. I opened a cold beer and
sat down to wait for him to come back. What was I going to do with this boy
who had stumbled into my life and offered himself to me? Was he looking for
a father, a lover, a sugar daddy? Did he see me as a rich American? Was he
trying to con me, or sell himself to me?

What did I want out of this? Was this just a sexual thing or could I really
try and be a father to this boy?  Did he know the difference between a
father and an older lover? Did I? Could I be both? It was clear to me that
I was beginning to care a lot about Juan Carlos. I didn't know where this
was going, and didn't want to screw it up.

Just then Juan ran in the door and slid to a stop in front of me. The smile
was back on his face and he was a little out of breath. He was wearing a
loose pair of black nylon soccer shorts and a white t-shirt. On his feet
were black knee socks with shin guards inside and black shoes with rubber
cleats - soccer shoes. The boy was ready to play.

I admired his outfit and packed up some refreshments. I wrapped up the last
2 beers and a couple of sodas in a towel and stuck them in my little
cooler, along with the last of the ice and our fruit and cheese. Juan
grabbed it and put it in the floor of the truck, then hopped in next to the
driver's seat and waited for me to get in. We drove to the school and the
field that lay behind it to find we were early. There were only a couple of
young kids there chasing a ball around, so we sat in the truck and waited
to see who would show up.

"Is this where you go to school?" I asked

"Si," he replied, and pointed to a window near one end.

"What grade are you in?" I asked. "What year?"

"Eight year. I finish now," he said.

"School only goes to the eighth grade?"

"Eight year is enough for me I think," he explained. "Maria say I work
now. No money for school."

"How long could you go if you didn't have to work? Don't some kids go
longer than 8 years?"

Juan frowned. "Eight is good for me. More is for university. I no go to
university. I work."

"Would you like to go on to more school? If you had the money would you
want to go to the university?"

"Yes, I want to go, but university is for rich boy, not for me. I cannot. I
work," He seemed surprised that I was having trouble understanding
this. "Why do you ask me?"

I shrugged and dropped the subject. This boy was very bright, and I
wondered what he could do if he had the chance. He understood better than I
just how limited his options were. But I asked him about the football game,
how many would come, how did they choose the team, etc. He explained as
best he could. Soon other people began to arrive. Juan saw some boys he
knew and went out to kick a ball with them.

Finally there was a good crowd there, boys, young men and their families. A
man and his wife backed a pickup truck up to the field and began to sell
soft tacos, cold soft drinks and beer to the crowd. Those who were
interested in playing began to kick the ball around and loosen up.

By some process unknown to me, they divided up into two groups and got set
to play.  Juan was one of the younger boys to be chosen. There were no real
uniforms, but the team that Juan was a part of all removed their shirts so
that they could recognize which side they were on. I remembered choosing up
sides and playing 'shirts and skins' when I was a kid.

A slender older man with a striped shirt blew a whistle and they took their
positions and began to play. I watched with delight as the ball moved back
and forth. Some of these guys were very skillful, and they moved and passed
the ball very well.

I was pleased to see that Juan was able to hold his own and was fast on his
feet. He ran like a young deer, and seemed to anticipate where the ball was
going. He made contact with the ball fairly often and played with some
finesse. When he collided with the bigger men, he would tumble back on his
feet and keep running. He was playing with skill, courage and great
enthusiasm. He never glanced at me, but was completely focused on the
game. I was impressed.

At the half, he trotted over and I offered him a cold soda. He shook his
head and dived into the cooler for a couple of oranges. He grinned as he
devoured them.

"You like?" he beamed.

"Yes, you play very well Juan. You are really very good."

Juan laughed out loud, then scooped up the melted ice water from the cooler
and splashed it on his face and over his short hair. He shook his head and
scattered some water on me, laughed again and ran back to his team.

I drank the beers and enjoyed the rest of the game. I understood baseball a
lot better than soccer, and since there was no scoreboard, I had trouble
keeping track of what was going on. I found out later that the score was 4
to 2 and Juan's team lost, but it didn't really matter. The excitement was
in watching the ball being moved skillfully, and the scoring of near
misses. Juan did not score but helped set up one of their goals and clearly
had the respect of his older teammates. After some post game handshakes and
back slapping, he ran back over and I resisted the urge to hug him.

He insisted on carrying the cooler as we walked back to the truck. Now he
took the sodas and chugged them as we drove away, belching loudly and
laughing at himself. As soon as we were out of sight of the crowd he slid
next to me and hugged me around the waist.

"You like, Papa? I play good? You like me?"

I took my right hand off the steering wheel and wrapped it around his
shoulder. "Yes, you played very well. I like watching you play and I like
you too."

He stayed close to me until we got back to the house, then he straightened
up and gathered up the cooler and what little trash we had left, and
hustled it into the house. By the time I walked in, he was wiping down the
cooler with a towel and putting things away.  I washed my face and hands in
the sink while he went into the bathroom and washed himself off with a wet
washcloth, then went in the bedroom and changed into some of his new
clothes. He came back to where I was sitting in front of the TV, and sat
down beside me on the sofa.

He sat leaning against me with his arms folded across his chest. My arms
were stretched our across the back of the sofa, so he fit in just under my
armpit.

"That was fun," I said. Juan nodded his head. "Are you happy?" I asked
him. He nodded again and leaned into me a little harder.

"Yes Papa, I very happy," he said softly.

I wasn't sure how to respond. "Juan, I can't really be your father."

"I think you my father," he said very softly.

I decided to let it go for now. He found a soccer game on the TV, and we
watched it for a while. When a player made a good move he would point it
out and look to see if I understood. Sometimes I did and sometimes I
pretended to. After some time I began to feel hungry and motioned to my
stomach and made a growling noise. Juan nodded in agreement and we walked
out to the truck.

I drove to the little restaurant where we ate before, and let Juan order
something for me. I had a beer while we waited and another while we
ate. The jukebox was playing traditional Mexican music which was beginning
to sound pretty good to me. About the time we finished eating, the waitress
turned off the music and a man sat down with a guitar and began to play and
sing. I asked for another beer and a soda for Juan and we sat and listened
to the music. The man was very good. Sometimes he played intricate flamenco
music and sometimes he sang sad songs. It didn't seem important to be in a
hurry.

After a couple more beers, Juan pulled on my sleeve and pointed to his
wrist. Although he wasn't wearing a watch, the message was clear. It was
getting late and was time to go. I went to the toilet and relieved
myself. The short walk reminded me that I had drunk a bit more beer than I
was used to. Once outside I stretched a little and took in some fresh
air. We got in the truck and I drove very carefully back to the house.

By the time I got home I needed to relieve myself again.  I was OK, not
drunk but a little light-headed. I wondered if Juan was disappointed in
me. I sat down in the living room and in a few minutes he came in with a
hot cup of tea that he had fixed for me.  He nodded encouragingly to me as
I sipped at it. He was doing his best to look after me. He smiled, and I
giggled a little.

I finished my tea and we watched TV. Before long, I leaned my head back and
dozed off. After awhile, Juan turned off the set and shook me awake.

"We go to bed now Papa," he said.

I looked at my watch and saw it was after 10:00. I had a little headache
but was fine. "What about Maria?" I asked. "Don't you have to go home?

"I make letter for her," he explained.

I got up and made ready for bed with no further argument. As I peed and
brushed my teeth, I wondered what I was going to do with this kid who
called me Papa and seemed to have moved in with me. I undressed and crawled
into bed as he repeated my routine in the bathroom. I couldn't recall that
he had a toothbrush over here, so assumed that he must be using mine. Talk
about making yourself at home! I scooted over for him as he snuggled up
next to me on his side, draping his arm across my chest and laying his head
on my shoulder.

"Goodnight Papa."  He said.

I woke up from an indistinct but erotic dream with the pleasant sensation
of a hand gently passing slowly over my stomach and down to my pubic
hair. Juan was under the quilt with his head on my chest. Opening my eyes a
crack I could see that the sky was beginning to lighten outside the window.

It was a light touch, not intended to disturb me, but intended for his own
amusement and enjoyment. After a few minutes of this, he extended his hand
to pass over my scrotum to feel the soft hair that grew there. At this, my
cock began to rise and creep up to an erect position. The boy moved
cautiously so that his face was close to my crotch and began to carefully
fondle my penis. First he traced it with his fingers then wrapped his hand
around it and gently squeezed it to test its hardness. When I did not move,
he began to pull on the loose skin, pulling it up, then down to expose the
head and take a cautious sniff. On the upstrokes, I could feel his tongue
touch the loose tube of skin, holding it there while the tip of his tongue
flicked around and inside, then pulling the skin down to expose the head
again.

I assumed that he believed me to be asleep and I was not inclined to
indicate otherwise, so I lay very still and tried to keep my breathing
steady. He continued this play for some time, raising his face so that the
underside of my penis passed over his eyes, nose and lips, making little
noiseless kisses to the sides. His free hand was busy tracing the hair on
my balls and over my thighs. He scarcely touched the skin, but let the
curly hair tickle his fingers and the palm of his hand.

He did this for some time, not moving toward some climax but seeming to
enjoy the intimacy provided by being connected to me in this way. For my
part I was content to let him amuse himself. I remained in a state of high
arousal, although I still felt close to the edge of sleep. Finally without
thinking, I took a deep breath and let out a sigh. I moved my hand to
stroke his bare hip, over his side and up to the back of his neck.

Juan's reaction to this was to stop what he was doing and hold very
still. I guessed that he was waiting to see my reaction to being awakened
like this. I passed my hand around his side to cover his chest and pulled
him towards me slightly as I bent forward just enough to kiss him on the
back of his head, then settle back and run my fingers up and down his side
very lightly.

Juan straightened out and lay close to me with his head on my outstretched
arm.  Now the palm of his hand rested on my stomach. He ran his hand
lightly over the rough hair covering my belly and across the top of my
chest. He ran his fingers over the hair on my forearms, and sighed. When I
was a boy I had curly orange hair but my body was almost hairless. As time
went by I grew hair on my arms and legs, and over my chest and stomach, but
now it was more of a rusty gray. Juan seemed fascinated by it and kept
toying with it.

"You like, Papa?" he whispered.

"Yes," I chuckled. "It tickles."

"I like Papa very much. Papa make me happy. I want to make Papa happy."

It occurred to me that to this boy, the line between love and sexual
activity was very fuzzy. He needed to understand the difference, and I
needed to remember it. But with his hand caressing my body, now did not
seem the time for such a discussion.

"Do you know what you are doing Juan?" I asked.

He laid his head on my chest and looked down at his hand. "You like I
think."

"Maybe, but do you like this?" I asked.

He didn't answer but cupped his hand under my balls and stroked the fine
hair gently, then gripped my hard cock and ran his hand lightly up to the
head, pulling my foreskin up. Abandoning my scruples, I laid my head back
and slid my hand down his back until his firm butt was under the palm of my
hand, tracing his crack with the tip of my middle finger. His ass was
wonderfully smooth, firm and meaty but very soft to the touch. He held me
in his hand, moving the skin around and examining me. I let out a long soft
sigh and shut up.

He stroked me for several minutes and I could feel myself beginning to rise
again.  I leaned forward a bit and lightly kissed him at the base of his
neck and over the top of his shoulders. I passed my hand over the soft
stubble of his burr haircut.

He began to kiss me across my belly. I could feel his warm breath moving my
pubic hair. He moved his face forward and pressed his lips against my hard
cock as he held it in the palm of his hand. I felt that I should stop him,
but simply took the muscles between his neck and shoulders in my hand, and
began to knead them gently, marveling at how supple they were under the
brown skin. He could do whatever he wished.

The boy pulled my foreskin all the way down then opened his mouth and
placed it as far over my erect cock as he was able, closed his mouth with
his tongue pressed down the length of me and sucked, while he moved his
head up and down. Pressing down again, he pushed himself down the length of
it until his face was in my pubic hair and my cock was in his throat. His
skill was amazing. He repeated this slowly while he gently stroked the hair
on my balls with one hand, and gently pinched my nipples with the other. It
only took a few minutes for me to cum.

I arched my back, gripped the back of his neck and grunted, "Watch out!"

He pulled back to rest his head on my chest and watch, while he gripped me
firmly and stroked rapidly up and down until I gasped and spurted a long
white stream up and across his face and down his chest. Several more ropes
fell across my belly and into a puddle at the base of my dick. I could hear
him chuckle while he watched through squinted eyes.

"I think you like," he chuckled.

I moaned in agreement. When I caught my breath, I leaned over and picked up
the towel on the bedside chair and used it to clean us both up. I wiped his
stomach and looked at his erection.

"What about you?"  I asked quietly.

"You want?" he asked, lifting his eyebrows and smiling.

"It seems only fair," I said. It was clear to me that this not the first
time he had performed this service, but that it was not often that he had
the favor returned. It troubled me to think about how he had gained his
experience.

Juan turned over on his back smiling broadly. He seemed to be having the
time of his life. I was prepared to feel guilty about being intimate with a
youngish looking 16 year old, but he made that seem unnecessary. He was
fully erect and I paused to look at him.

He was absolutely beautiful. His abdominal muscles were clearly defined and
formed a sharp V which came to a point just under his balls somewhere. He
was small for his age and very slender, but strong and well built. It was
not that he was skinny, but that he had no fat on his body. His dark brown
skin was unblemished and shifted to a lighter tan beginning at his waist.
His 5 inch penis was rigid, and laid flat against his belly. The foreskin
covered the head with just a spot of pink visible through the opening. The
skin was soft and smooth with several pale blue veins running up the
shaft. His scrotum was relaxed and supple, hairless and of a darker brown
then the rest of him. A fan of shiny black hair made a ruff around his
cock, a little sparser at the center, a little longer at the sides.

His narrow hips tucked in slightly before the top of his slender thighs.
The long muscles curved out from the hips and back across the knee and then
opened up to a well shaped calf and slender ankles. His feet were small,
suggesting that he would not grow to be much larger. His muscular arms were
raised with his hands cupped under his head, revealing a tuft of black hair
under each armpit. He had a nicely shaped chest capped with two soft brown
nipples. A groove ran down the center of his abdomen and pointed to the
pubes. His face was well shaped, with a long straight nose and thin arched
eyebrows over large long-lashed dark brown eyes that twinkled. Adorning all
this was a wide full mouth pulled back into an expectant grin.

Raising myself up on one elbow I began to pass the palm of my hand over the
length of him, across the chest and shoulders, over his side and hip, down
the outside of his leg, then up to inside not quite to his balls then down
the inside of the other and back up the outside to his chest and shoulder
again. I repeated this circuit several times. His eyes were closed, but the
smile remained.

I pressed the heel of my hand on his scrotum and wiggled the balls to each
side. My fingers laid up the length of his penis as I began to roll it back
and forth under my hand and rock it from side to side. His lips pursed and
he blew air out slowly. I maintained that pressure as I leaned forward and
pressed my tongue to his soft nipples. He reacted by tipping his head back,
and opening his mouth to breath in. I kept this up for several minutes,
alternating nipples until I could feel him start to tense up.

Releasing my grip on him, I pulled his foreskin up over the head and took
him all the way into my mouth. His size made it easy for me to engulf all
of him with my nose pressed into the silky pubic hair and my tongue wrapped
around his shaft. I placed my fingers on the base of his dick and slowly
pulled the foreskin down to expose the head to my warm wet mouth. Once
stretched tight, I pushed further to get the head in the back of my throat
and began to swallow. He pushed his hips up and moaned softly. His mouth
was open and his eyes were closed tight.

I squeezed his balls and began to pull them down, and tugging them from
side to side. He arched his hips up off the bed and held tightly to my
head. I increased my suction and the movement of my tongue, and he gave a
sharp cry and let go, filling my mouth with the warm sweet taste of his
semen. Juan strained forward then collapsed on the bed, gasping from the
intensity of his orgasm.

I let him go and watched his face as I pulled the last of the fluid out of
his cock with a gentle milking motion. He looked concerned that I would
object to his lack of verbal warning, then relaxed when he saw my smile,
and rocked his head from side to side. I kissed his cock, laid the towel
across his hips and walked to the toilet for a piss.

When I walked back in a minute later, he had not moved and I thought he
might have fallen asleep. When I sat down on the edge of the bed he opened
his eyes and held out his arms. I pulled him close and laid down across
him, hugging him close with my face pressed into the soft crook between his
neck and shoulder. I took a deep breath and inhaled his fresh youthful
scent. I could hear him making a soft humming noise. It all seemed very
right and very natural.

We lay like that for several minutes, then Juan eased out of bed and
started dressing. He put on his new khakis, the black T-shirt, socks and
sandals. "I go to school now, Papa," he said. He took a banana and a roll
from the icebox and scooted out the door, leaving me in a contented haze.

I got up, dressed and drove the truck to the restaurant. I needed some
coffee and I needed to think. I parked outside and walked in, taking a
chair at a table near the wall. A couple of men in work clothes looked up
at me as I walked in and nodded before going back to their conversation. I
was beginning to look familiar to them. I ordered coffee and huevos
rancheros with corn tortillas, and started on the coffee while I waited for
the eggs.

The decision to take Juan to raise seemed to have been made for me. I could
refuse him of course, but my heart was not in that. I found him enormously
attractive for one thing. I had not felt such sexual arousal since I was a
boy myself, and was not eager to turn away from that. Even more appealing
was the companionship that Juan provided. He was young, alive, and full of
excitement for life. That kind of enthusiasm was contagious and made me
feel young again. On top of everything was the opportunity to change a life
for the better. I could open doors for this boy that would otherwise be
closed to him. It was a chance to be something like a father, and this
would be my only chance to experience that relationship.

On the other hand was the nagging guilt I felt for being sexual with a boy
so young. Although technically he was of age and this was clearly something
that he wanted, that sort of relationship was a big taboo, especially
between father and son. Would he later look back at this as abuse? Would it
create difficult sexual and psychological problems for him later on? Could
I get in serious trouble with the law if we were found out? What should I
do?

The girl placed a plate of eggs and cheese in front of me. I stared blankly
at it for a minute before one of the Mexican men finished his coffee and
started to walk out. As he passed my table he paused.

"You are helping Juan Carlos?" he asked.

"Yes," I said, a little startled. "He's doing some work for me."

"That's good," he said with a reassuring smile. "He is a good boy I
think. You helping him is a very good thing."  Then he nodded to me and
walked on out.

I watched him leave through the door then looked back at my breakfast.
Maybe that was the answer. Maybe it really was a good thing after all. I
picked up my fork in one hand and a tortilla in the other, and dug into my
breakfast.

...to be continued.

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