USUAL DISCLAIMER

"THE LEASH" is a gay story, with some parts containing graphic scenes of sex between males. So, if in your land, religion, family, opinion and so on this is not good for you, it will be better not to read this story. But if you really want, or because YOU don't care, or because you think you really want to read it, please be my welcomed guest.

THE LEASH By Andrej Koymasky © 2012
Finished writing February 17, 2003
Translated by the Author
English text kindly revised by Kent D. (sw Ohio area)
CHAPTER 5
"My name is Guillermo Olivera"

The next morning, I was in a state of sleep and was feeling a strange sensation at first I could not define. Then I woke up completely, almost suddenly, and I realized what was happening.

"Pablo" was nestled between my legs and was sucking my hard cock, gently caressing my balls and stomach.

For a while I stayed still, in part enjoying the pleasant maneuvers, in part wondering why he was doing it. To "earn" his money? Because he just liked it? Out of sheer habit? Or perhaps it was a form of gratitude...

After a while I moved my arm and with the hand stroked his hair. Then the boy began to put more energy into what he was doing to me. I took him and pulled him away from my crotch, drew him to me, and made him lie down on my body. I felt he was excited; his beautiful hard member throbbed against my body. I took his face in my hands and kissed him. He actively reciprocated my kiss.

"You want to fuck me, señor?" he asked almost in a whisper.

"And you, you want me to fuck you?" I asked softly, too.

"I'm here for that, right?" he said.

Then, before I answered, he sat astride over me, took my cock and started to sit down over it.

"Wait..." I told him, taking him at his waist and making him stop.

He looked into my eyes, then nodded: "Take a condom, señor, and give it to me. I'll put it to you." he said.

"It's there in the drawer." I told him.

He nimbly got out of bed, opened the drawer, took out a bag, tore it and went back on the bed. He slipped a condom on me, then again squatted down on my pelvis, driving my member with one hand between his legs and going down on it.

"You do not use the lubricant?" I asked.

"I do not need it anymore. I have taken so many..." he said shrugging his shoulders, and lowered himself.

He welcomed me into himself without difficulty. I entered inside him totally. However, it was hot and tight... I told him.

"I know how to look tight." he said quietly, without looking at me.

He began to move up and down, then started to rub my nipples. I whined softly.

"You like it? I remembered it..." he said, still serious.

While he continued to bounce up and down, I stroked his chest and belly, hips, and thighs. I looked at the two patches that I had put on him, at his black eye... and I wondered how anyone could hurt a boy like that... any person, but especially a boy.

I took his beautiful hard member in my hand and holding it, simply for his going up and down on me, I masturbated him. "Pablo" continued to impale himself on me, and his expression did not change: he was serious, maybe a little concentrated in what he was doing to give me pleasure. I'd have liked to take him, to make him lay on his back and to hammer inside him... but I let him have his way.

After a few minutes, continuing to move over to me and make his sphincter quiver around my pole, he brought me to orgasm. When he felt I was emptying in him, he stopped, pressing his small, firm buttocks against my groin and gently shaking his pelvis in a circular motion. Then he closed his eyes, and he came too, splattering on my belly and chest. So I drew him to me, and made him lay on my body. I kissed him, and caressed his back.

"Let's go take a shower..." I told him.

"You must go to work?"

"No, today it's Saturday, I do not work."

He took off from above to me. I got out of bed and went to the bathroom with him. I adjusted the water.

"Come here. Let shower together." I told him.

We washed one another. His hands were gentle, pleasant. This caused me a new erection, but also to him.

"You want to fuck me again?"

"No, Pablo... it is not necessary."

"But I will not ask any more money. All inclusive." he said.

"That's okay." I said and closed the water. "Now let's dry off and dress. Then we go to the kitchen and make breakfast."

"Where did you put my clothes?" he asked as we finished drying off.

"They are still in the washing machine, but should be dry by now." I told him.

I took them and gave them to him. He had no underwear, just the shorts and the vest.

"You have no other clothes?" I asked.

"No, only these."

"They are battered... how do you do when they break?"

"I'll see... There are the junk dealers... If I do not have enough money... there is a junk dealer that for a couple of fucks gives me some old clothes..."

We got dressed and went into the kitchen. I prepared a rich English breakfast: bacon, scrambled eggs, toast, jam, fruits, and milk.

Like the evening before, the boy ate slowly and chewed for a long time, in small chunks, with lots of bread. He drank three glasses of milk. I asked him if he wanted a coffee and he nodded.

"You cook very well, señor. It's all good." he said.

"I like to cook. These are simple things. Have you ever eaten Italian food?"

"No... I eat what happens when it happens..."

"Your mother... she lives here in Buenos Aires?"

"No."

"Far?"

"No."

"It's a long time since you saw her?"

"No."

"She's not worried not to see you?"

"No."

Evidently he did not want to talk about that, so I did not insist. I decided to change the subject.

"What would you like to do, if you could?"

"Live."

"And what else?" I insisted.

"Live." he repeated, stubborn.

"You have friends?" I asked him then, looking for a topic to talk about.

He looked almost surprised to me: "Friends? Who wants a dog for a friend?"

"But you're not a dog." I said.

He shrugged his shoulders. I did not know if that gesture so often repeated meant that I could not understand, or that he did not care, or whatever.

He finished eating, while I was washing the dishes, he said: "Can I take them?"

I saw that he meant the money the evening before I had put on the table and that was still there.

"Sure, they're yours."

He pocketed them. He took his leash that was left on the back of a chair, then said: "I must go now."

"Do you have?"

"Yes."

"I can see you again?"

"Maybe. You can find me there. The doorman will let me out?"

"Take the elevator. You can exit from the garage."

"I do not have the key."

"I'll open it myself. To go out you don't need a key. But when you exit the small door, close it well or else the alarm sounds and people will run to see... and maybe they think you're a thief."

"I will close it well."

I accompanied him to the landing, opened the elevator and said goodbye to him. He did not answer, and pressed the button. The elevator door closed. I returned home. I sat at the kitchen table. And I thought about "Pablo".

He was a very nice boy, a bit too thin... but he was closed like an oyster, like a hedgehog, and I could not scratch the armor with which he defended himself. I remembered that at age eight... he was in the hands of one, many men ready who took advantage of him. More than half of his life went to meet men without scruples, just to avoid starvation. And his mother? His family?

I knew there were boys who lived on the street, but many were orphans... How many "Pablo" were in the streets? The guys that I had paid before him were dressed, if not well, at least in a dignified manner... They had shoes, socks, underwear, perhaps not always very clean, but not really tatty. He had only those blacks pants, short and a little too tight, that little black vest, his red leash on... and nothing else.

What was he doing all day long? In the evenings he hustled... and then? He was loitering... Watching TV in the windows... And then what? I could not imagine how it could be his life, his days. I thought I'd never been hungry, really hungry. Sometimes one says: I'm hungry, but really only feels a bit of appetite... Sleeping in the street... and when it rains? And if you get sick?

Maybe also others, sometimes, made him spend a night in their bed, although I doubted it: the "albergues transitorios" worked well because "decent" people normally do not bring a hustler home. And there you don't stay the whole night, but just a couple of hours... I like all the others. "Pablo" was my first exception. A bank manager should not make such imprudence. I had done it... and I was not at all sorry, at least for now.

Later I went out to run errands. I also made a visit to the Museo de Arte Hispanoamericano "Isaac Fernandez Blanco" in Suipacha. It is a beautiful colonial style building which displays fine collections of silverware, paintings and antique furniture. I had to meet José Maria Alencon, the son of the curator of the museum, a friend of mine who promised to get me a beautiful Art Nouveau statue of a naked athlete, in pewter.

When he gave me the box that contained it, and I admired it, I thought that if only the boy had a little more muscle, the athlete represented in the statue could almost look like the portrait of "Pablo"... Then, when I gave the check to José Maria, I wondered how many days Pablo could live with that money... and I felt a vague remorse.

I went for lunch at Au Bec Fin, a rather renowned French restaurant in Lùpez Vicente, at the Recoleta, with José Maria; he wanted to pay for it. Again I thought that with what my friend had paid for a meal for two, Pablo would have probably lived for one month...

I could not get out of my mind that boy. José Maria realized that I was thoughtful. He asked me what was the matter. Because he too was gay, I thought to open up a bit, without telling him everything.

"I met a boy. A little young for my taste, but... I like him."

"How old is he?"

"Seventeen, or nearly so."

"Over fifteen there are no problems with the law..." he said.

"I usually like at least twenty to twenty-four old boys... But this boy, I do not even know why myself, attracts me a lot."

"He's good in bed? He lets you fuck him?"

"Yes..."

"Well, then. Where is the problem?"

"Problem? I do not know... I hardly know him. I went with him just a couple of times..."

"So enjoy him, right? Meanwhile you get to know him and if he is a fine boy, you keep him, otherwise you give him the heave-ho and that's that."

"And you?" I asked trying to change the subject.

"I? I met a boy, twenty-two year-old, handsome... the kind you'd like. That's why I don't let you meet him." he said laughing. "It's a cop, a spring chicken. If you see him, he seems very reserved, but in bed he is a bomb. He lets me do and does for me everything I like."

"Good for you."

"It took me three months to take him to bed... but it was worth not to give up, I swear."

"Excellent."

"And your boyfriend, what he does?"

"He's not my boyfriend. I barely know him, I told you."

"You just know him, but rather intimately, right? What's his name? Is he someone I know?"

"I do not think."

"Student, I guess."

"No, he works."

"Oh, you like the working class?"

"I do not care if he is a worker, a student, a spoiled child, or..."

"As long as he gives you his little ass, right?" he laughed. "As I like it, however. Too bad you have my own tastes... I would have liked to do it with you."

"But if you like young people like me!" I objected.

"But you're handsome, sexy..." he said.

We went for a walk for a while in Florida Street, a street with no traffic, doing window-shopping, and then we parted. I went home to place the statue, that I put in the living room, above the shelf on which there was the telephone and a lamp: it looked just fine, there.

Then I went out again. I walked around for a long time... and shortly before dinner, I went to Cerrito. Pablo was there, sitting under the usual street lamp. Instead of going towards him, I turned on a side street where I knew I'd find some street vendor. On the usual square of red, black, or green cloth, on the sidewalk, they exhibited their wares, many different things. I saw a guy selling necklaces, brooches, bracelets, and rings. I chose a necklace of white glass beads. I bought it and put it in my pocket.

Then I went on Cerrito. Pablo was still there. I went before him and greeted him. He looked at me.

"For you, Pablo." I said putting a hand in my pocket and handed him the necklace.

"For what?" he asked without taking it.

"To put it in place of that leash... when you come with me."

He took it, looked at it, and then slipped it into his waistcoat pocket. "You want me again?" he then asked, giving me the briefest of glances.

"Yes, but first we go to somewhere to have our dinner..."

"You don't cook? I told you that you are good..." he said softly.

"I can do it. What would you like to eat?"

"Whatever."

"Then come with me. I'll do a little shopping, and then we go home. Take off that leash, though."

He took it off, rolled it up and tried to put it in the pocket of his shorts. It did not enter in it well, so he pulled it out again and tied it around his waist. Then he put the necklace around his neck. I watched him fumble. When he had fastened it, he looked at me as to ask if that was fine. I nodded.

We went. I bought something to cook. Then we passed in front a small shop of second hand clothes.

"Let's go." I told him.

He followed me. I told the dealer that I wanted something for the "son of my gardener"... The man looked at me as if to say that he understood that the boy was anything but the son of my gardener... but he said nothing and asked me what I wanted. I bought socks, shoes, underwear and a pair of jeans with a T-shirt, all stuff in good condition. I paid, and gave the paper bag to Pablo.

"At home you'll change." I told him.

"For me?" he asked.

"For me they would be too small." I replied.

He took the bag. He said no thanks, said nothing. We went back to my house via the garage.

"If I have to change... can I wash before?"

"As you like." I replied, thinking that he had washed only twelve hours earlier when we got up... but if he liked, why not.

I went in the kitchen and began to cook. I prepared a good Italian dinner, nothing fancy, but something not heavy but nutritious and tasty. When Pablo came in the kitchen, dressed in the clothes that I bought him, he looked different. He was even more beautiful than ever. And the necklace at his neck was fine - emphasized the color of his skin, of his face. He stood in the doorway.

"Sit down. It takes me a short while to finish. You hungry?"

"Not much." he said, sitting.

"You want to give me a hand?"

"What should I do?"

"Open the drawer and take the place mats. Then the cutlery is there."

"Yes, I've seen where you keep them."

He got up and began to lay the table. I noticed he was taking everything opening the drawers and doors without hesitation: he had evidently observed the evening before and the morning, where I kept things. When the table was ready, he remained standing by it.

"Do I have to do anything else?" he asked.

"No, thank you. You can sit, if you want."

"Yes." he said and sat down.

After a little I put the food on the table. I had prepared a risotto with mushrooms, veal rolls with boiled eggs, a mixed salad, a fruit salad and an apple pie was finishing to bake in the oven.

He ate slowly, as always, in small portions. I poured him a thimbleful of wine. He drank every once in a while, in small sips. He ate everything and, as always, he thoroughly cleaned each time the dish with the bread. I noticed that when he broke the bread, if crumbs fell on the mat, he picked them up two fingers and ate them. He did not waste even half a gram of food...

When I offered him the warm apple pie, he ate it savoring it. He immediately accepted a second slice. Then we drank the Italian style coffee, done with my inseparable Moka Bialetti.

"You liked it?" I asked.

He nodded.

"Do you still want to eat something?"

He said no with his head.

I cleared the table and left everything in the sink. Then I put on the table twenty pesos.

"You take these when you want - now, later or tomorrow morning. And you sleep with me again. Okay?"

He nodded.

"Come to the living room; before going to bed we'll watch a little TV."

He followed me. I made him sit on the sofa in front of the TV; I sat beside him, took the remote and switched on. I did a bit of zapping to see what there could be of interesting.

"What would you like to see?" I asked.

"It does not matter..."

I handed him the remote control: "Press these two buttons, you see, to change channels, front and back, and you stop wherever you want. No, direct this part at the TV... this is so, see?"

He tried. He changed the channels, rather rapidly at first, then more slowly. He looked thoughtful at the screen. I spied his expression. Finally he stopped on a channel that transmitted from a theater some Argentine popular songs. A female singer who I did not know, wrapped in a silver lame dress and a male singer all dressed in black, accompanied by a small orchestra, were singing "Pedacito de cielo."

"You like?" I asked.

"My grandmother sang this song, when I was young."

" Were you fond of your grandmother?"

He nodded. And I noticed he had wet eyes. He sniffled, not to cry. I wanted to hug him, but I did not - I preferred to leave him alone with his emotions, not to intrude.

When the couple of singers ended the song and was replaced by a trio of comedians, Pablo turned to me. He looked at me straight in the eye.

Then he asked, "Why?"

"Why, what?" I asked him, almost breathless.

"The necklace, clothes, dinner, everything... why?"

"Why you're not a dog, you're a cub of a man, you are Pablo."

He shook his head. For a while he remained silent, but this time did not avert his eyes from mine. He looked at me seriously. I looked at him serene, trying to tell him, better than with a smile that could be too much for him, that I wanted to be his friend. That he could trust me. And he understood.

In a very low voice, he said: "My name is not Pablo. My name is Guillermo. My name is Guillermo Olivera."

"How do you do, Guillermo. Welcome to my house. My name is Daniel Savoldi."

"I could be a thief..."

"Are you?"

"I never went to jail. I have never been taken. I always ran on time, I always run faster than them. But I have never stolen, señor, I swear."

"I believe you."

"I never stole, señor, not even when hunger made me sick..."

"I believe you."

"Not even when the temptation was strong, señor, not even when someone deserved it, señor."

"I believe you." I repeated again, in a gentle tone, and held out my hand.

Guillermo grabbed my hand and squeezed it with both his hands, then leaned on it his forehead and I felt that at last his tears were streaming, in silence, without a sound, without jolts or sobs. With my other hand I stroked his hair. From the TV came the sound of another song. I recognized "Naranjo en flor".

He lifted his head and looked at me again: "You take me to bed, señor?"

"Call me Daniele..."

"Take me to bed Daniel?" Then he repeated, his cheeks wet with tears.

I caressed his cheek: "Are you tired?"

"No... You do not want to fuck me?"

"No... But I would like to make love with you, that yes."

"Making love? What is the difference?"

"Maybe for the body it changes only a little... but inside you, everything changes."

"I do not know love, Daniel, I am able only to let men fuck me." he said wearily. "I did nothing else, all my life."

"Then... wait. We'll stay still a bit here..." I told him.

I drew him to me, embraced, caressed, and kissed him in the mouth, tenderly. He clung on to me, almost convulsively. I held him to me.

"It is not necessary for us to fuck, Guillermo. We may stay so, here or even in bed, until you feel like making love..."

"You take me in your bed, Daniel?"

"Sure."

"Naked, like yesterday?"

"Sure."

"And you hold me tight like that?"

"Yes."

CONTINUES IN CHAPTER 6


In my home page I've put some more of my stories. If someone wants to read them, the URL is

http://andrejkoymasky.com

If you want to send me feed-back, or desire to help translating my stories into German, so that I can put on-line more of my stories in German please e-mail at

andrej@andrejkoymasky.com