Date: Sat, 11 Oct 2003 11:54:22 -0400 From: Tom Cup Subject: The Innocents: Paulo and Beto by Richard Dean - Part 4 Chapter 8 - A/Y - AF Copyright 2000-2003 by the Paratwa Partnership: A Colorado Corporation. All rights reserved. No part of this work may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic or mechanical, except in the case of reviews, without written permission from the Paratwa Partnership, Inc, 354 Plateau Drive, Florissant, CO 80816 This is a fictional story involving alternative sexual relationships. If this type of material offends you, please do not read any further. This material is intended for mature adult audiences. Names, characters, locations and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. ************************************************************************ What's New at TomCup.com? Airport Voyeur by Adam Bricker: Chapter 4: Added 10/07* The Innocents: Paulo and Beto Chapter 13: Added 10/07 Calvin: Indentity Crisis Part 2 Chapter 1 Added 10/3 Raptors by Richard Dean Chapter 10 Added 9/28* Lesbian Files: Changing Seasons Chapter 3 Added 9/23 The Nasty Boys Club Chapter 1: Added 9/22* KOA Boy Chapter 9: Added 9/16 Article: A stick in the Queer Eye: Added 9/14 Private Lessons Chapter 7 Added 9/14 Age Before Beauty Chapter 5 Added 9/9 Of Our Teenage Years Chapter 16: Added 7/22 Short Story: Such a Beautiful Boy Added 12 Short Story: Home Alone Added 7/1 Stephen Miller's Journal Chapter 13 Added 6/25 Article: Bisexuality Added 6/12 Article: My New Swimsuit's Too Small Added 6/03 *TomCup.com now offers an Executive Club membership! Check it out at http://www.tomcup.com! ************************************************************************ The Innocents Part 4: Paulo and Beto Chapter 8 By Richard Dean richard@tomcup.com The rising sun emitted heat to burn off the early morning fog that lay heavily with moisture laden sullenness on the favela high in the mountainous hills overlooking Rio de Janeiro. Within one of the many hasty jerrybuilt hovels a family slept. One of the occupants had not slept all night, sitting at a table, an ashtray over-littered with cigarette butts humming snippets of a religious themed song of her youth. She could not be rid of it from her tortured thoughts of her mind. It kept playing over and over and over. The words repeated itself as a continual loop of thread. Parched throat and tongue protested as she lit another cigarette. Nearer, my God, to Thee, nearer to Thee! E'en though it be a cross that raiseth me, Still all my song shall be, nearer, my God, to Thee. Nearer, my God, to Thee, Nearer to Thee! Though like the wanderer, the sun gone down, Darkness be over me, my rest a stone, Yet in my dreams I'd be nearer, my God to Thee. Nearer, my God, to Thee, Nearer to Thee! The sound of a dog yip-yapping in the distance disturbed her wandering thoughts which made little sense to the repetitive tune playing itself over and over like a needle skipping on a record. Mindlessly she reached for the glass of sweetened tea to take short sips of it. Oh too sweet. The liquid slipped down her throat so lazily, so slowly that she could feel it. None complained about it, did they? I don't think so. There let the way appear, steps unto heav'n; All that Thou sendest me, in mercy given; Angels to beckon me nearer, my God, to Thee. Nearer, my God, to Thee, Nearer to Thee! ************ She had come home because of the torrential rains. There was no business to be had that night. She heard some whimpering in the darkness. "Shhhh precious. We don't want to awaken the others do we?" Whimpering from whom? Cautiously she slipped through the darkened room. A flash of lightening preceded the rumbled crack of sound that blazed, blasted into her eardrums, causing her to startle. The flash of light could well have been the flash of bulb from a camera. The image seared into her mind. Ayrton. My Ayrton licking and sucking the cunny of Clara. The shocking scene staggered her backwards until she rattled the table. "Wh..what? Is that you, Gloria?" "Y, y, yes!" She heard the rustle of the bed sheet pulled over to cover her daughter; then footsteps walking toward her. Another flash of lightening displayed Ayrton buttoning his shirt as he progressed toward her. "She was having another of her bad dreams. It happens when you are away, you know. Did you bring any beer? I need something to calm my nerves." "No, I hurried home when the rains became worse." "God damn you, you bitch! Thinking of yourself, knowing we need the money here. I ought to send you back out there. Fuck!" "It would be useless. There's no one out there tonight Ayrton! I'm staying here. At least it's dry." "If you do, I'm sending Javier off to the streets in the morning. With no money we can't afford to feed him when the youngest kids need it. He's eating us out of our home." "I'm not going to argue with you tonight about this Ayrton. I've walked the streets all night in the rain. If you want to get some beer, get a fuckin' job!" "You dirty slut! You rotten whore! You know I can't get a job with my nerves shaking like this!" "Quit drinkin' Ayrton, you're nerves will stop shaking. I'm going to bed." "Fuck it! Give me your purse. I'll go out and get some myself." "Here! There's no money in it. Why don't YOU go out there and rent yourself out? You can fuck a queer to death with all the shaking you do. You might get a nice tip from it, but don't show them your skinny prick first or you'll end up with zero!" "Good night! I'm going to bed. Since I'm home we won't have to be concerned with Carla having bad dreams will we?" If Ayrton sends Javier out of the house, I'll send Carla with him. It'll prevent him from slipping up on her in the future. Out on the streets or Ayrton? Not much of a choice there. ************ Then, with my waking thoughts bright with Thy praise, Out of my stony griefs Bethel I'll raise; So by my woes to be nearer, my God, to Thee. Nearer, my God, to Thee, Nearer to Thee! Or, if on joyful wing cleaving the sky, Sun, moon, and stars forgot, upward I'll fly, Still all my song shall be, nearer, my God, to Thee. Nearer, my God, to Thee, Nearer to Thee! There in my Father's home, safe and at rest, There in my Savior's love, perfectly blest; Age after age to be, nearer my God to Thee. Nearer, my God, to Thee, Nearer to Thee! As the woman shakily brought the glass of liquid to her sere parched lips, she collapsed in sleep-like stupor. The fallen glass shattered upon the floor. Her lighted cigarette slipped from her still hand, smoldering and blackening the outer dry aged wood of splintered pine. With sooted tendrils spiraling into the air, the intensifying heat crept deep within the crude wooden floor to the flammable oils that remained. Soon it burst into full flame, creeping, searching to consume all within its hungry gape. More than the sun spread its heat, light and flame; consuming nearby hovels and shacks and the innocents that lived within. Terror, panic, and lack of water to fight its ravenous hunger could not quell its angry consumption. . A disaster some would say. A terrible price to pay said the politicians. Hell, fire and brimstone the newscasters reported. Some were lost. Some were safe. A song could be heard in a distant church nearby the rubble and ashes of the neighborhood: Nearer, my God, to Thee! ************************************************************************ Send comments to: richard@tomcup.com To support this and other stories by the author, join at http://www.tomcup.com. If you like this story, check out Tom Cup's "Calvin: A Coming of Age Story." Available at Barnes and Nobles Bookstores, Amazon.com, your local independent bookseller, or from Tom Cup.com.