Date: Thu, 11 Mar 2021 09:59:31 -0500 From: MC VT Subject: Rock Sextet Gay Adult-Youth Rock Sextet ©MCVT2017 02 Mar 2021 Blithe tale of artisanal miners. In six parts, brothers Lyle and Buzz traverse the globe as traffickers of rare minerals and the jewels they encounter along their way. Invaluable assistance in creating this work was provided by FEC. Thank you. Rock your card out and make a donation: https://donate.nifty.org/ 100% fiction, adult content: Mb, inc, anal, oral, inc, crystals. ========================================= Rock Sextet Part 1 Caribbean "You got rocks for brains, Lyle?" Buzz yelled, "Always stash your cash. A roll of bills is a ticket to jail, idiot." My older brother Buzz bailed me out after I got busted my sophomore year. Didn't need the money. I dealt for the danger, the high of the chancy moves, the "getting it over on the system" when I was ripped. Went down like a first-class ass after my first sale; another dealer in the area ratted me out to reduce the competition. Got kicked off campus. Took a job at cleaning company, chauffeured cleaners at night, picked them up in the morning. Guilty, bored, and jealous, I earned minimum wage while Buzz was working with a petroleum company flying around the globe testing ore samples. Short career in crime taught me several things. The dealer who uses, goes down. Good connections are everything and only carry a few bills. Shoulda known that. ... For my twenty-fifth birthday, Buzz sent me a ticket to fly to the Caribbean with him. Tiny island off the coast of Central America--Isla de Maiz. I counted out my pennies and begged a few bucks off my friends. Flew to Dallas, then to the capital of a small nation, hopped flights on small aircraft until I took an outboard to this island. Tropical, relaxed, breezy, just like the brochures. Isolated place, few people, mostly fishermen and locals who ran the one large hotel on the beach. Most attractions were near a wooden pier which was considered the port area. Exotic birds and plants, swimming, plenty of rum coolers, scuba, all kinds of seafood; no hassles. Life moved slowly on the island until the blazing-hot sun set. Bars near the surf drew small crowds in the cool of the evenings. Buzz and I walked the beach, going from one to the next. We were accustomed to knots of local children gathering around us during the day selling trinkets and shells. As we walked the shallows that evening, two children approached, smiling. A boy and a girl; the boy was around twelve--said his name was Tito. The girl, around ten or so, named Rosa. Both slender, wearing shorts, the girl with a bandana tied around her narrow chest. Tito pimped the girl, touted her as a virgin. I wasn't interested until Tito made Buzz a two-fer deal. Both of them for a few bucks. Buzz grinned, "Happy Birthday Lyle, take Mr. Tito to your room. Give him what you used to give me." Gave me a wink and a grin; we were extremely close brothers. ... Tito was a Caribbean jewel--slender, smooth, clear skin, tanned without lines. Sleek body, barely muscled, narrow shoulders and dark, puffy nipples. Nalgas to die for. Big, black eyes flashed, wide, toothy smile, a man-killer in the making. Tito had a delightful trick. Took an envelope of sugar from the coffee service, made a small mound of the minute crystals on the nightstand. Kissed me, rubbed my face while one hand opened my legs. He wanted to get to my ass where he licked his middle finger and dabbed it in the sugar, rubbed it over my hole. It dissolved while Tito's tongue rimmed me like it was polishing silver. Damn, that made me hard. I had to punish him with my rod, and he took it all, smiling, telling me he wanted more. My inner barbarian awoke to pummel that boy's tight ass and fill him several times. Little bugger would wet the end of his cock, sugar it for me to lick. Cock was only as long as my little finger; midnight snack. Talented and professional; always got me off twice then sold me a blue pill for another round. Tito stayed with me every night until we left. Worked me over during the days for meals, a trip to snorkel and a tiny black, stretchy pair of bathing trunks. This boy had the system down, and kept my erection up the entire vacation. The day Buzz and I left, I saw Tito on the beach snapping the elastic around his leg of his speedo while passing a substantial man with gold necklaces and heavy rings. Had to wish that boy luck--the little gold digger deserved to hit the motherlode. On the flight home, I realized that Buzz was probably bisexual, sexually flexible or a lucky opportunist. I was gay, not just any kind of gay--queer for boys. After Tito, I couldn't imagine myself with a girl, a woman or anything else. Not just a perv, but now an international perv. At twenty-six years old, that was valuable information. It felt chancy, risky, and that excited me. Rock Sextet Part 2 The Highlands Several years later after begging Buzz repeatedly, he took me to Central America--we bummed around several days when we meet a man in a bar who asked if we lived in the area. "Lots of ex-pats around." Asked questions about our professions--I extended the truth about mine. After a few drinks, we went to dinner with Mr. Acosta. Met him several more times that week, nice guy, Canadian. Seemed educated, and he was antsy about something. Things became chummier one night over drinks when he reached into his pocket, pulled out a small vial. "If you're interested, I know where there's more of this and have the labor ready to dig." In his palm he poured out green stones and black crystals, all glittery, gorgeous specimens. Buzz examined them closely. "Yeah? Tell me more." Buzz must have seen some value in the stones. The two discussed a scheme. Buzz knew more than me about geology, all things underground; Acosta knew the gem market. I listened. "We were ready to start digging last month when I lost part of my crew." Acosta explained. Sounded shifty, Acosta said his managers were hauled away in a drug cartel sting. "My hundred-and-fifty-eight carat jadite went for half a mil at the last auction. You two supervise this jadite dig, haul the load down and I'll ship it to Montreal auction. Fifty-fifty on the proceeds." He lost his crew; lost time, now in a bind. Buzz hesitated; "Lyle and I have to discuss it, we have commitments." Buzz looked at me, looked at Acosta, "Meet you here in the morning." ... In our hotel room, Buzz was up all night on his phone. At around five in the morning, he woke me. "Couldn't find the auction in Montreal Acosta talked about, but a one-hundred carat chunk of jadite went for five-hundred thousand last year. There is a market, for it. I'm going to make him an offer--fast cash." "What about paying us to get the rocks down here and how will we know the amount of the proceeds? What if he skips out?" "If he wants the jadite, Acosta has to pay us up front to manage, then take us to Montreal after he makes a deposit or we're out. I'd say we need about two-hundred thousand in our e-fund account for getting the rock out. Our work is paid for if he doesn't show in Montreal--we could always bad-mouth him to the auction houses." Buzz continued making his calculations. "Oil company work isn't looking this good. Did you see that tourmaline on his pinky ring?" "Wait. We can't even speak the language--how we gonna manage the miners?" "It'll work out. Cash--international language." .... Lengthy negotiations over coffee that morning. Acosta was sweating his backers pulling out if we didn't get the stones out of the mine in a hurry. He was pressed for time and we looked like his best chance to meet his Montreal deadline. Wasn't long before I went to buy supplies while Acosta and Buzz transferred the funds. Buzz got the auction location and we were set. Now, all we had to do was get the rocks out and down to the road with strangers holding picks and shovels. That afternoon Acosta introduced the man who would take us to the mines. Acosta left us in "Jefe's" hands. ... With our backpacks, a string of mules hauling supplies, Jefe's two nephews escorted us to the Highlands, set up our tents laid out the plan. Diggers were nearby. Cool, misty and forested, we climbed the narrow paths. Lush, verdant, quiet, broken by birds' songs and the tall trees sported huge bromeliads which bred mosquitos by the millions. Buzz grabbed the older nephew; his boy spoke the indigenous language and Spanish. That left me with Darcy, a peculiar boy who looked to be around seven, maybe eight. "Quántos años, tienes?" I held up seven fingers. "How old are you?" The boy pouted and stomped, saying he was ten. "Okay, okay. Ten." I held all my fingers up and nodded. "Short guys are fine by me." My Spanish wasn't great, but improving by the moment. At first, Darcy seldom smiled or spoke, appeared he didn't want his job. Wasn't neat about the tent or the supplies. Threw everything inside and shut the flap. Had to ignore that--he had the most beautiful rear end, fullest lips and sloe eyes. Straight, blue-black locks cut at his eyebrows, the rest he tied back. Yeah, he was short, it gave him the appearance of a woodland elf. His beauty came with a peculiar temperament. The boys hauled water from a spring, and washed. They were at the water hole the same time I arrived to bathe. Caught Dacey with my nylon singlet--not wearing it but pulling it back and forth between his legs and against his bared package. Cool, slippery fabric on his twiglet, he was mesmerized. Had to sneak up behind him, grab the singlet, chase him around whipping it through the air. Giggling, dancing through the foliage, he began to tease me. Caught him in a clearing and got him over a stump--not to happen. He lay me on the singlet and rode me while he sang. No idea what the words were about; I joined in the chorus with a lusty howl of complete ecstasy. About his temperament; Darcy showed a distinct proclivity to feminine clothing, affect and grooming. No pants or shorts, but he wrapped a length of fabric around him more like a sari, carefully opened in the front. Stole a pen and drew rings on his fingers and toes. Refused to enter a dirty mine, he waited outside wearing a hibiscus flower over his ear. I didn't like going in either, and the rocks were filling the boxes and bags quickly. Darcy. My Darcy. He was a tight as the grip of a drowning man on a life ring, my little Olmec god. Didn't mind when he wrung me out and threw me over the jadite to dry several times a day. Perhaps an odd duckling, but unabashedly sexual and aware of his appeal--got to the point I had to put him on a schedule. Allowed himself to borrow my comb, tied his braided hair with bits of vines and danced for me before our sticky, sweaty liaisons accompanied by the insectual drone of mosquitos. Only a month with Darcy, I was a satisfied man in the Highlands. But I left grateful that we were so far from law enforcement. My proclivity deepened with that boy. Rock Sextet Part 3 Somewhere East Montreal was chilly. The Highland specimens went for incredible bids. Buzz and I pocketed hundreds of thousands though the work was hard, physically demanding. Nearing thirty years old, I was on the road to being a millionaire. Worth every drop of sweat, every burnt, heart-shaped tortilla Darcy served with a smile wearing only my nylon singlet. ... Acosta turned out to keep his end of the deal, and hired us for another expedition, red stones were in vogue, and emeralds were trending: Took a series of planes, then rusty merchant vessels; last one at night. Heavy-duty, inflatable raft took us to deserted beach in the dark; we slogged through the shallows with our backpacks. The name of the place sounded like "glans-squatter." Tried to find something to laugh about to avoid complete terror. Even our guides were tense. Buzz was as nervous as me, but Acosta once again sent several contacts who would get us in and out covertly. That night we stayed inside the hulk of a bombed-out bus. Woke up to the sounds of ATVs and were transported to a very small, old town. Stucco walls surrounded several familial compounds; made our way to the dismal open-air market for breakfast. Tea and "none." The local bread. ... Got outfitted with robes and plenty of wraps, were told to keep our heads down, and cover most of our faces. We had no beards, a requirement in the area. Boxes of supplies appeared from somewhere and we waited to go to the mines along a packed-dirt road. Around noon, dust on the horizon--a row of converted military trucks. We loaded supplies and took off toward the distant mountains over miles of hot, sandy landscapes. Headed toward rubies, emeralds and spinel, a coveted red stone. New-age healing crystals, so they said. Mid-afternoon we found ourselves in an even smaller village. Four buildings, no market but a huge corral of camels. For some reason, the land smelled odd behind the camel stench. This was an ancient ocean floor; smelled like the sea but more like money. I got a good feeling about this escapade. Transferred supplies on the camels and picked up several camp aides: I was assigned Gujj, his hair carried a sharp smell of roasted caraway. Thought it odd that none of the locals didn't give him a hearty recommendation, said he was the only other boy available. Buzz got his older brother, a mouthy teen with a smart-ass attitude. ... Two days of rocky roads as we climbed the foothills. Slower nearing the mountains. Gujj was put told to bring up the rear and bitched about it the entire trek. Got to a small plateau and stopped. Gujj seemed experienced making camp. Couldn't tell what he looked like under the robes and scarves, but I did see he had big eyes and a dimple on his chin. After days of seeing sun-bleached rock and barren, beige landscapes, Gujj unwound his robes and wrappings that night to reveal a deep brown form. Rich, rusty colored, reddish and so slender. His small muscles and tendons were clearly defined and this boy was tall. His eyes almost at my nipples. The color of red jasper, he moved gracefully and efficiently. Hair was dark, wisped around his face, framing smooth, red-brown complexion set with obsidian eyes. While Buzz and I hustled rocks out of the mine almost non-stop hoping to take an extra day off, My Gujj assumed the responsibility to lead prayers, provide quality control among the others. Found out they often kicked sand at him, threw shoes, called him a flea. Gujj was a stickler about rules. ... Nights were noisy around the fire. Big dinners and songs from the workers. Somehow a bottle showed up several nights, though a strictly forbidden luxury. Gujj flitted around the men, I believe he was nagging them. Like old married men, they nodded, "Okay. Okay, I'll do better tomorrow." They were exhausted after a fourteen-hour day. When Gujj came to the tent, I got chewed out for not leaving my shoes outside. "Okay. Okay. I'll remember next time." Didn't need a translation of his rant. Sheesh, in the middle of nowhere and I have all these restrictions.... And Gujj was a responsive boy, anticipated my needs, rinsed my briefs and socks daily. Shirts only once a week; water was scarce. Nights my boy washed my face, neck, groin and ass; in that order before any fun began. Worked me hard, usually twice on Sundays; sucked like he'd invented the Electrolux. Found I could coax him into another fuck with dried fruit. If I forgot the shoe rule, two Medjools silenced his gripes. ... After the first week of mining, we took a day off. Buzz and his boy were into spanky-play. His boy howled like a cat in heat, then laughed. Believe I heard Buzz getting spanked a few times--he didn't laugh, but growled. Gujj heard them, gave me a big-eyed look, he wanted a spank, too. I lit into his soft glutes with a force that shook his whole body, left several handprints. Put him over my knees, I spit on my finger, shoved it in his hole and slapped the back of his thighs. Gujj liked it, looked over his shoulder at me and smiled, eyes with long, black lashes made crescents above his cheeks. Pre and spit dried too quickly; I grabbed a tube of lip balm. Opened the boy roughly through the greasy goo and didn't stop. He whimpered, he jerked; didn't pull away. Gujj pushed back against me and cooed, groaned, couldn't get enough. Reached around him, grabbed his hard three-inch shaft, tugged hard. Saw tears of ecstasy when he looked back at me. I believe the boy just found his drug of choice. From that moment until we left, he waited for a slap or a pinch. Not being too familiar with giving pain, it was uncomfortable at first. Somehow, I got to like watching his face, and his short rod jerk and bob. That boy was going to be world-class sub too soon. Diamond in the rough--simply awaiting refinement, a little faceting and polish to bring out his true shine. Organized, clean and ready to fuck. What more could a man ask for? ... Next auction was in London. Acosta rented us suits after seven days on ships and planes, and we entered the room full of bidders looking like just what we were, hip suppliers, the adventurers of exotic lands. We were suddenly the "golden boys" of the rock world. The pale blobs of flesh with deep pockets and beady eyes watched us, envied us. Buzz and I got a lot of looks with our beards and deep tans, wide smiles and it upped the value of the minerals, "Buzz and Lyle's find." They had to have a piece of it. Our account hit the million-dollar mark with that haul. ... London was cold, damp, overcast. Made me miss Gujj, my enforcer-cum-sub. Looked in the mirror, and I appeared as a thirty-four-year-old bum who cleaned up well--that's what I was. The sun was aging my skin, liquor was eroding my stomach and liver but my hard dick was still seeking the next tiny, tight ass. Had to wonder if I'd have enough money to buy myself out of jail if I was caught. Guess that depended on the price of the cops and judge. Promised myself to watch the currency rates before our next contract. Rock Sextet Part 4 Across the Vaal Last trip took a lot out of Buzz, he was exhausted. Took some time off in the Greek islands. Acosta suggested we try a more well-developed area, riskier but he had great connections. Finally, Buzz agreed and the three of us were on a plane to Cape Town. I was excited, the nation was completely civilized, had great food and an intriguing mix of cultures. Free State was our next stop, and then we went out on the farmlands around Bloemfontane. Made a beeline to the Soetdoering area. Big preserve, acres of nothing--no mosquitos but plenty of snakes. Met a guy named Dub, old-timer in running goods, retired military. Stayed on Dub's farm for several days, working up a plan. "Anything around the diamond mines is dangerous; looter-on-looter shootings, thefts. Same with the gold." He studied a map laying in front of him, pointed to an area, rubbing his chin. "Here." He described a place rich in tanzanite; he had friends in the area. We waited a few days, got supplies, rented trucks. Planned to leave on a Thursday, Dub wanted his boy to come with him. Said Camdyn knew several languages, he could help. "You have your own boy? House boy?" "He's my lover, you know, boyfriend. We'll leave as soon as his semester's over." Dub went about the business of organizing a crew. ... Camdyn arrived; a short boy with pale hair and large brown eyes. Quite the sprite, slender, happiest when nude. Had the cutest upturned nose and just turned thirteen. Dub's super-confidence attracted Camdyn, probably a lot of other guys. Dub was a wide-chested, hairy, man with a steely mystique about him--unruffled by all the preparations, potential problems. He had a biting sense of humor as well as staunch tone of authority in his voice. Acosta went back to Cape Town saying he'd meet us at the port in Beira. We had to hurry, and a load of tanzanite would lure the wealthier collectors at the Tokyo auction. Along with Acosta, we built a reputation for the rarest of unusual specimens--rock world buzzed with anticipation. Heading north, Dub told us to let him handle the border crossings, they were problematic. Yeah, there would be problems--paying bribes or "disappearing." We hit the road in three trucks loaded with men and gear. ... Afrikaners are mouthy folks, hold nothing back, didn't understand their language but their gestures and body language was clear. Camdyn understood them. He'd laugh and joke with the crew often. Dub's boy looked out of place with grizzly old sunburnt men and the dark coworkers. He became a treasure at our second border crossing: Seven uniformed men, heavily armed, stood in the road; we were miles from any town and no stores, phones or other traffic. Dub, greeted the soldiers; we were told to get out, stand beside the road during inspection. The expected negotiations began. The capitan among the guards explained how he had a duty, and his men were hot and tired as he eyed inside truck beds. Dub nodded and explained he we were hot and tired, too and were expected ahead soon. Their banter went on and on. Looked like we weren't going to get through until Dub pulled a slick trick. He looked at his watch, "Camdyn, get over here." Grabbing Camdyn by the hair, he got nose to nose with him. "Did you pull off while I was driving?" Camdyn's eyes got big. He couldn't answer; his slender body trembled. "Get to the back of the truck. Now!" Dub took Camdyn to the back of the truck. "Drop `em." Camdyn dropped his shorts, briefs, faced the tailgate and grabbed the metal lip. "Lean over and start praying." Dub screamed. Cam grabbed the tailgate, squinched his eyes shut, began mumbling. At this point, Dub made a show of pulling the boy's shirt up slowly, then pulling down the boy's briefs exposing those white globes to the gaze of all the men and the guards. It appeared Dub was undressing his son to punish him. Dub's hand stroked across that smooth, white rump, he pulled back and landed a hard slap on Cam's left cheek. Camdyn jumped, squealed. "God can't hear you!" Dub screamed at his boy, then he looked at the captain, "Can't let these boys run wild with their willies--end up as criminals. Damned to prison, then hell. I saw him rubbing off in the rearview mirror. Twice in fifteen minutes." The captain nodded hesitantly in agreement, "Evil preys on our youth." He swallowed hard as he rearranged his junk. Couldn't help but grin, I was hard too. Camdyn's lower lip wiggled, ready to bawl. Punishment went on for ten more swats. Kid prayed--hollering about coveting, lusting, fornicating, bestiality, gluttony.... Dub spun the boy around, noticed his short erection was rigid after his swats. "Boy, are you getting kinky on me? Down on your knees." He slapped the boy's package and shoved Cam to his knees, "Keep praying or I'll snatch your jewels and toss `em to the lions." Dub turned to me and the crew, "Godly men practice self-discipline. Right?" His drill sergeant persona was on full display. In unison, we nodded. At this point, Camdyn begged Dub to forgive him, stop the swats. "Don't ask me. You've wasted the time of these highly-respected professionals guarding their country, protecting decent citizens. Ask them for forgiveness." Head down, Camdyn shuffled to the capitan, pants around his ankles. His young stem strained upward, "I'm sorry. Forgive me." He snuffled. Captain kept his clipboard in front of his groin, "Wasted sperm is the devil's nectar." He eyed the boy's package and licked his lips. "Here, let me pay you for this insult to your duty." Dub interrupted, pulled out his wallet. Everyone fell silent, stunned. Cash in the open? The captain had to refuse with all his men watching, they'd want a cut or snitch. "No. No." He shook his head, "Hard to raise a son these days." Dub gave Camdyn the slightest of winks and pointed to the back of the truck. Manly handshakes, thanks, we loaded and left. Weren't stopped again. Distraction, confusion and contrition peppered with the humiliation of a naked boy greased us through that mess. Found out later Camdyn and Dub pulled a similar scenario running hooch during lockdown. ... Where we wound up, I couldn't say. Didn't recognize the language or the signage. At a crossroads area we hired one aide, Joseph, and two older men to dig. No roads, no nothing, only a several mines in the mountainside ahead. Camdyn trained the sixteen-year-old named Joseph. They became fast friends. After a big dinner, the men drank. Camdyn began dancing around the campfire; Joseph joined him. I believe the boys had a little to drink, they began strutting, then humping against each other, they jerked each other off into the fire to our delight. Joseph slept with Camdyn and Dub usually. Stayed by my side during the day, helping with the sorting. Joseph was pretty, almost elegant; part Egyptian with almond-shaped eyes, long slender hands. Young, gorgeous and gay, he'd do well in Cairo, Durban, somewhere safe. But he wouldn't--traditions had his path mapped. He'd be the unmarried, odd uncle who kept the older members of the family. He didn't leave the truck when we dropped the two diggers off. Asked Dub why. "We're taking him home with us. I have a friend in Port Elizabeth who's looking for a treasure of his own." ... Our tanzanite went for record prices in Tokyo. Big dinner, all the formalities, service to the extreme, which can be annoying when you've just spent several months in the Vaal. Buzz and I had stashed more than we'd ever spend. Life was good, and Buzz wasn't the greatest company, but we got along in resorts on the Mediterranean, the beaches in Brazil. Southeast Asia was memorable yett the boys came and went without much difference between them. ... By this time, I was facing my forties. Too old to sleep in tents where temperatures dropped below freezing at night. Maybe I needed to hire several boys. My perspective on my proclivity changed. No longer felt guilty. I had a common perversion, and there's plenty of boys wanting a few bucks. Money and experience built my confidence. I could stay cool enough to buy my way out of any trouble, but doubted there would be any. Being a high-roller has its covert protections and my last few years left me with nothing to protect; no boys in semi-retirement. Rock Sextet Part 5 Tocopilla Bought land on the Texas border, place called El Indio and raised aloe, a very lucrative and very legal crop. Few pests want to chew through the tough skins; easy income for an idle man. Thought I was out of the trade when Buzz heard about a cache of clinoclase--demand for it was building--bidders were asking for another find. "Clinoclase? Never heard of it." Buzz explained about translucent, dark blue, greenish-blue jewels--runs in streaks near copper deposits. Neo-pagan religions searched for these specific rocks, used them in rituals. Nevada mines clinoclase--it was closer, but we'd be monitored by satellite and drone. Four Corners area looked promising, but we couldn't get in to assay. Buzz wanted to go to Chile, Tocopilla, north of Santiago for this rarity. We took Favio, the foreman on my farm. Greyed at the temples with rich, brown skin, he grinned when we got him fitted for a suit before his manicure. He was a trustworthy, discrete compa. ... Took a flight to Santiago, a ship to Tocopilla. The coastal towns were small. Stayed in a modest and ancient pensionero. Six suites around a courtyard, stone floors, potted ferns and palms; the place was quiet--we were the only tourists rooming there. The reason for the pensionero was a boy sweeping down the sidewalk in front. About twelve years old--had a distinct grace in his movements. I was entirely smitten as he watched us sign in. His parents owned this old colonial inn. Renato had poise for being so young. Confident, he stood straight with a slight lift to his chin. His Spanish is clear, perfectly conjugated, formal at times. Magic and adventure-themed books were scattered around the courtyard, sheets of half-finished homework on the front desk added his charm to the décor. No designer clothes but always neat, like a doll still in its package. Clean fingers, smooth skin as he pointed, directing us to restaurants, attractions. ... After lunch on the beach, Buzz, Favio and I returned to find Renato watering the ferns in the courtyard. Buzz asked about the history of the area. Renato handed us a brochure of the museum, the train depot and several old monuments. The most popular Incan ruins were in Ecuador, he explained. Renato distracted me from trekking the mountains until I had to. Buzz and Favio got their plans in order and left for the Ecuadorian ruins before hitting the mines. I stayed with a bottle of Rum Oro that afternoon. Watched Renato, later, hired him to take me to the beach, shop for shells. Pale boy with a bushy crown of brown curls that blonded on the tips. My mind undressed him to enjoy a smooth, clear groin, small rod and pink sac. My palms itched to cup his buttocks, suck his pearls. Renato caught me staring yet refused to flirt. His blushes and grins were enough. He took my hand when we walked back. My damp briefs rubbed me into a frenzy before I retired to relieve the pressure. Alone, sadly. Almost fifty years old; I felt my clock ticking. Considered buying Renato. Didn't even know if he was gay. Parents would probably report me, they were a respected family. Who could advise me? Called Dub in ZA, "Tell me, where did you buy Camdyn?" "Buy?" He laughed, "He chose me. Strangest set of circumstances, his parents working... he just started staying over. Helped me with family obligations I was dealing with. He came, he stayed and when he fisted me, I was done for. Couldn't let him leave after that." "He just came to you?" "As a family friend, they all knew I was gay. Cam's a gay boy. He made up his mind and moved in. Hard-headed boy, but what an imp--how could I turn him away? He's finishing school while I sock a few bucks--taking him to study acting in Kensington." Camdyn chose Dub. Hmmm. Taking him to his university studies? Hadn't thought about any of my boys being legit professionals with their own careers. Though I hadn't chosen my own profession, I wondered if I would have been a decent accountant or manager. Nah, I liked short-term, illicit thrills. ... Got a call from Favio late at night, he was breathing hard: "Hurry. Buzz got busted by the local cops. He pocketed some relics...." "Stay where you are, I'm on my way." Got the details and zoomed to Ecuador. Had to keep Buzz in that small town. If his charges got out and hit the media in Quito, I'd never spring him. Took two days to find this place, and wore the "ignorant American" hairshirt in front of the judge. He was cheaper than I figured. We were escorted to the border and warned not to return. I vowed I was out of the biz for good. No more hauling rocks around the planet--got a little too close to the flame that time and hadn't even touched any clinoclase. ... Back in El Indio: Just so damn exciting watching aloe grow. Found myself on a Saturday night with a street whore-boy in Cuidad Acuña who wanted to marry me to get into the US. Couldn't get it up when I thought about marrying him--at least four years till he came of age to marry and another five-year legal commitment before he could gain citizenship. My looks were shot; skin sagged. Favio told me to get facial surgery in Juarez, "Lots of men do." A chin lift, lipo and cheek implants wouldn't cover my baldness or address my lassitude-fell into a funk. Doomed to become ancient with Favio wiping my butt and cursing, waiting on his inheritance. Bought myself a flashy topaz ring set in silver and began wearing a peridot stud in my left ear. That didn't help either. Rock Sextet Part 6 Aloe Fields Went to Piedras Negras almost every week. Couldn't stop my eyes from scouting for a boy along the Zona Rosa when Favio and I went for dinner. Only older boys. I wanted one like Renato, or Gujj, just barely into puberty. Ennui coupled with my apathy. ... Favio and I were out with a crew chopping aloe, roasting in the Texas sun. Hot work, I had plenty of cold water, drinks for the crew. Catered snacks in the shade of the big metal barn for everyone. Told the guys to break for a rest at ten--we dripped sweat, and physically, were exhausted. It was that afternoon when one of my crew came running between the rows. Sweat flying, face twisted in fear, "Señor Lyle! I didn't kill him." He pointed back to where he was working. All the men stopped--several went to the spot where the worker was harvesting. Adrenaline rush; I ran through the dust and into the crowd of workers. Scrap of bright blue fabric showed from near a clump of aloe. Workers drug a body out. One man listened with his ear on the child's chest. He was breathing; heart was beating faintly. Favio got them back on the job while I carried the child to the house. Weighed almost nothing. He was limp, dusty; dark hair matted. Electrolyte drinks, water, damp washcloth. He was groggy, slept for several hours. Then, his eyes opened and his faced changed, "Where am I?" In his stumbling English. "Texas," softly. "What's your name?" In my bumbling Spanish. "Cristóbal." "Cristóbal." I whispered, a boy with golden-brown eyes and dark, wavy hair. Eyelashes so thick, looked like eyeliner. His lips were chapped, his skin was singed from being out in the sun and wind. "Are you hungry?" He shook his head just slightly and pinched his arm, hard. "Stop." I grabbed his hand, "Why did you do that?" "Don't want to cry." Started crying anyway. I didn't know what to do for a moment. From under his wet lashes, big eyes watched me and closed his eyes again. Something shifted inside me. ... On the couch, Cristóbal lifted his head, let it fall back and closed his eyes. "Mi popi." Tears came again, he began silently sobbing. I brought more water, drinks and found he'd eat ice cream. He went through a pint of caramel swirl between naps. Dumped all the work of the harvest on Flavio and stayed by Cristóbal. He let me take off his dirty clothes and shoes to wash and bring more ice cream. When he got up and found the john, I got a feeling he'd recover. Had to find Cristóbal's father, that meant going to the border patrol, federales or some government agency. I avoided bureaucracy, as always, but found I was able to partially file a missing person report on my phone. ... Favio had a long conversation in Spanish with the boy; I understood bits and pieces. Cristóbal and his father had come from Chiapas, near the Guatemalan border. Walked, hitched, rode in the back of trucks till they neared the border. Cristóbal wouldn't say anything about the border crossing. "Did he say why they came north?" Wondered if Dad was on the lam, or planned on selling the boy. "Nope. Kept saying he loves his dad and wants to get back with him." ... Flavio had family working with the immigration service. He invited his aunt over to meet Cristóbal, she brought a nurse. The boy was comfortable speaking with the women, kept asking about his father. Gave no information about his family--shook his head and looked away when questioned. On the word of Flavio, I was lightened by several thousand dollars to legally become refuge for Cristóbal until further plans could be made. ... Yep, dropped several grand to keep the boy--as it turned out, only for two weeks. That's when I got the call to take him to the border. Some official said they spotted Cristóbal's face on a missing child post from Chiapas--Tuxtla. The agent who called said they would send the boy home, gave me the address to the bus station. No paperwork? Dump the boy at the bus station with a stranger? When Favio explained to Cristóbal what was happening the boy went into a full-blown tantrum. Stomping and yelling, grabbed his tattered rucksack and headed to the door. "No! Ya me voy!" He headed through the aloe to the place where we found him. We ran behind him, chased him around, he dodged us again and again until we cornered him. Walking back to the house, Favio threatened to spank him if he didn't explain himself. Tears came again. In the middle of a field of aloe in the blazing heat, he hung his head. "Maricon." Favio stopped, soothed him saying he was safe now. As we walked, I considering Cristóbal being gay, father taking him to the border, traditional family antipathy pressured by the church... This precious commodity was wanted by someone for something else--had to be the sex trade. The shipment of this precious mettle had been interrupted, but by whom? Didn't seem Cristóbal's father was going to sell him; he could have funded their travels by selling the boy on the way. His father was protecting his son. ... Sat the boy on my lap with a pint of ice cream, called the folks who told me to bring him to the border. "I won't release Cristóbal to anyone who can't show official transfer documents. They need ID and legitimate proof within twenty-four hours or Cristóbal stays with me." Favio interpreted; Cristóbal listened. Easy enough for bureaucracy to send a suit out with the paperwork, difficult for a hustler to round it up quickly. ... Left that afternoon to the office where Favio's aunt worked, I asked her to take me to the office of the person who'd called me. He didn't work with the immigration service or the border patrol on either side of the frontera. This smelled fishier by the moment. Not sure how they found my phone number, I suspected someone in the aunt's office sold it underground. Between the bureaucracy and the grifters, the line was smudged, so I bought a gun on my way home. Favio laughed, told me I'd shoot myself in the foot. Strangely, Cristóbal threw a fit about the gun, I had to hide it from him. ... Didn't think it peculiar that the boy roamed the house during the night--he was far from his familiar. Nights, he never went outside or disturbed anything, only looked around. Woke when I heard bare feet on the tile floor next to my bed, "Cristóbal, why are you up?" "I want my popi." Tired and frustrated with the events of the day, I pulled him in bed with me. "Did you sleep with Popi?" In the dim light, he nodded. "He told me stories." "C'mere, I'll tell you stories." I had to keep this boy, and I wanted him to choose me. Cristóbal was different from the boys I'd bought for a few days or hours. He held a flawless purity in his way. I wanted him to stay with me. Needed a plan to keep him. Thought about calling Dub, maybe Buzz, but didn't. How complicated can a ten-year-old mind be? Imagined myself as Cristóbal. Wants? Food, clothing, shelter, ice cream; check. Needs? His father; wait and see. Cristóbal was young, entirely vulnerable and alone.... He'd need stability, some surety in my life that things weren't going to change every few hours. Friends, people to understand and love him, teach him the ways of the world; necessities. And as a queer boy, safety was imperative. Wasn't sure if I could manage that, but I could manage some comfort for the boy next to me. I pulled him close and rubbed his tummy, "There was once a boy who rode a rainbow instead of a horse...." He was quiet, soon asleep. Kept him close as another shift deep moved inside me. Felt like a cave-in. ... All the thought you put into fulfilling wants and needs, all the parenting advice counts for shit. It's a circus--never know what the kid's up to next. You can count on them being hungry and shoving you around to do what they want. Life was never better. ... Through the next year we had to have a pool installed; a necessity. Gangs of boys stayed over on the weekends. Slippery, wet boys playing behind palmettos. Security cameras caught a short bone-huffing in the shed. Had to laugh, and had to wait. Still hadn't heard anything about his father. Our nights together started with the few children's books for queer kids. Neither of us liked them. Cristóbal made up his own and told them to me at night while my hands caressed him. When he was with me around a year and a half, his English was great. Bawdy with border idioms, I let it slide. Loyal Favio corrected him for me. Of all the boys I'd known, Cristóbal surpassed them, he was a seventy-five-carat amethyst geode glinting with mystery; cleverer than Gujj and exceeded Renato's beauty. Cristóbal had his peculiarities though none were bothersome, only one look at his slender, straight form running through the house, through the aloe, and I'd forget his peccadillos. Perfection, every movement, every smile; was I in love? ... It was the day of the big bike race behind the barn--ten boys on ten dusty bikes. Yelling and zooming through the aloe and around the field; Favio waved a bandana and I timed the riders. Cristóbal hadn't won, yet was a great host, grilling wieners and stuffing the buns for all his friends. He was growing up; sad moments of realization with that. That night in bed I asked him if he loved me. Surprised me when he said he couldn't. "Why not?" My mind jumped to the list of my faults, but they weren't the reason. "I'm not ready. Mi popi always tickled inside me with his finger. He said he was going to show me a big secret when my escroto was ready for love." "Escroto?" Must mean scrotum. "Did he say what the big secret was about?" "Yeah, my feel-good place. It's inside my butt where he tickled me." "When will your escroto be ready?" Heart beat like mad. "He didn't say, but he tickled in my butt to make me ready." Heart almost jumped out of my chest; kept myself calm. "I can help with that till Popi gets back." "You have to kiss me while you do it." Following his father's tradition, I fingered the boy thoroughly and Frenched those red lips--what a playful tongue. Then was instructed to lick his face, then his feet. Wasn't sure about that, but eagerly obliged. Wouldn't have noticed if the house burned down around us with what happened next. It was his turn to tickle me. Got fingered by my son-of-sorts while he sucked my rigid, ready dick. Blew like a geyser, cutting our fun much shorter than I wanted. Awed and emptied, I tried move bed time up to six. He balked. I surrendered. El escroto became the center of my universe. I was after the prize, and I had to wait through several months of small fingers rubbing me into paraíso. Had to wait for some visible change on his sac I could use as an excuse to get to what I needed. My inner barbarian had aged through the years, now I realized I could buy and fuck just about anything. Didn't want that. Fucking felt richer with love--a completely different thrill. Understood fully what Dub and Camdyn were about. ... Unfortunately, Favio came to me while we were out in the aloe, I noticed a small pile of dirt and gravel near the fence, not fresh dirt, but a mound. "Did you have to backfill erosion here? Why is the dirt mounded?" I stood near the spot with him. Favio was a square shooter, most honest person I'd ever dealt with. He hung his head, "Don't fire me. I had to do it." Couldn't imagine what he was talking about. "What happened?" "Remember the day we found the boy?" "Sure." "That night I came out to look around, maybe find something that would help locate his father. I found... I found his dad. Face was blown off." Favio looked at me, swallowed hard, "Brought the backhoe and buried him. Emptied his pockets and buried him about four feet down." Tears ran down Favio's face, the only time I'd seen him cry. "Looked like the father hid the boy and drew attention to himself. There were tire prints across the fence, none near where we found Cristóbal." "Don't tell the boy yet." At the house, Favio gave me the few coins, peso notes and a thin, worn wallet from Cristóbal's father. Identification card; Cristóbal's father was a handsome man. ... As soon as the first tiny dark pube peeked out beside Cristóbal's constantly hard three-incher, I planned a celebration, a drop of liquid had surprised me several weeks before. He was anxious for his feel-good place to get tickled by more than my fingers. It was exactly two years since he came to me. Aloe harvesting would begin soon. Took him to the mound of earth; we planted date palms near the mound--didn't explain why. Silently thanked the man who brought his son. I let Cristóbal drive the jeep back to the house while Favio was in my bedroom, placing video cameras aimed at the bed. This would only happen once. Pampered Cristóbal that night, brought him gifts, filled the room with flowers, candlelit and fragrant ambiance, perhaps that was for me. Gave the boy sips of Amaretto while he opened his gifts. Last of the gifts was an assortment of scented lubes, all with a slight desensitizing ingredient, "Choose one." In some ways, this was my first time as well as Cristóbal's. Holding him gently, I kissed him as my hand slid downward to his rear, "I love you." Cristóbal wanted to go first. My butt wasn't rounded, not flat either, but he found a way on the side of the bed. Not the girth or the length to give me that hard rub and shove like Buzz, and I encouraged him. Just the feel of his small cock pressing into me brought a strange kind of pride. Wasn't sure what I was proud about. He was pleased with his work, he rutted, humped, huffed and shot within a few moments. Cristóbal grinned, kissed my cheek. "I wanna do that again." "You will. I promise." My turn: Got Cristóbal on his back, lubed him well watching his face, "I'll go slow, if it hurts, tell me." What a beauty underneath me, short rod, tight sac, just the hint of lengthening. His testes were well defined in their gray-rose pouch. Fingers went to tickle them and follow the seam to his ass. Slipped my finger inside him, applied more lube. Stuck the pointed applicator inside his rear and gave him a shot of the cool bubble-gum scented gel. "Do you know I love you?" I whispered, taking his graceful ankles and placing them on my shoulders as I leaned forward over him. He nodded, looking at me. Waited with eyes locked on mine. Glanced down at his cleft, lined up against a tight hole. Pressed lightly. "Push out against me." That brought only slight ease. My skin surged with sweat. Held my dick in my fist. Shoved again, a little harder. His mouth dropped open, eyes still on mine. I pushed hard and popped inside with one fast, hard motion. He froze. Stopped breathing. "It gets better, I promise." Grabbed the lube and slathered our joining. His eyes glazed, I pulled back. His clench held me inside him. Stoppered. Waited until he moved again. The sensation of the first thick shaft penetrating his body overwhelmed him. Finally, he looked at me, "Go to my feel-good place." His eyes glistened, filled with tears. Slowly I pressed inward; fingers went between his legs, pressing, positioning his prostate for my corona. Further, further by the smallest increments, "Relax, sweetheart, almost there." I should have been there already, but hadn't rubbed where he wanted. Slow pull, slow push. Most of my dick was buried when I felt the ring of his colon around my glans. Balls roiled; pressure built. Hard to manage being gentle and wanting to shove my cum so hard into him I'd fill him with me--all through his body. I wanted my cum to penetrate every vein, every cell.... Had to distract myself. Reached under him, pulled him against me and held him to my chest as I knelt, still deeply attached. Warm arms wrapped around my neck, smooth thighs encircled my waist. Sweat dripped, biceps trembled as he kissed my clavicle. "Popi." Almost inaudible. He called me Popi? My heart stopped, "Popi?" Cristóbal shifted himself, put his feet on the bed near my hips and lifted himself slightly, "Popi wasn't so big." He winced, a tear fell down his cheek. Sudden decrease, my hard dick lost all tumescence. Held him against me as my sad cock deflated but stayed locked inside by his grip. Rocked him against me. This wasn't loving; I couldn't continue. He managed a quick smile as my dick finally fell out. Silenced by shame, I held him all night. ... Grateful kids are resilient, Cristóbal let me rub ointment on rear the next day. Had a time walking for a while, played his video games and rode the jeep with Flavio to mark out the fields for harvest. Swam that afternoon and prepped for the workers, moved hay bales in the shade of the shed for a make-shift lunch area. Yeah, I felt like the biggest jerk on the planet for hurting my boy--guilt stung all day and the rest of the week. Harvesting started, men buzzed all over the farm, many noting my sexy nymph Cristóbal who roamed the rows of aloe on his bike. The men enjoyed my Cristóbal. Gay-boy heaven for those days; muscled, shirtless workers smiling and flirting everywhere around him. A few months after the harvest, Cristóbal needed new shoes almost every week, new jeans.... What did I remember about growth spurts? That's when the magic happened. Seemed he shot up two inches overnight. Didn't gain that same length on his cock, and it didn't matter. Can't say which of us enjoyed riding the other more. Middle school, high school, university days, were filled with his friends and sometimes-lovers, and I was his rock. He was my tiger's eye lover. ... Those were the best years of my life. Even when Buzz came to live with us, share our bed at times. He loved Cristóbal dearly, though his mind was filled with gems. Always trying to get me to go on another dig. No longer needed the money, the thrill or the rush of the risk. ... My Cristóbal found a partner, and we got a bigger bed. Two handsome men worked the aloe fields with new techniques and machines to my dismay. Harvesting was better with the field hands. I missed the camaraderie and kegs when the work was finished. We enjoyed dusk by the pool. Evenings, my boy and his partner were regaled with crazy stories of two men digging in the dirt around the world. Doubted they believed us, and Buzz had a few photos. When I looked at those photos, I thought of elements, for eons electrons rubbing under pressure, forming crystals, pure and clear. Thought about how long it took me to clarify my thoughts, and find the treasure that made my life with Cristóbal beyond any price. Rock Sextet