Date: Wed, 6 Jun 2007 21:35:19 -0500 From: Morris Henderson Subject: Loving Luiz Pat 7 This story is entirely fiction. By describing the love and sex between a man and a teen boy, the author does not advocate such behavior. If you are offended by or if it is not legal for you to read such material, leave now. Chapter Nineteen ---------------- After Saturday's game, we packed all of Luiz's and Robbie's gear into the trunk of my car. With a final promise to the coach to have Robbie home by 6:00, I drove home. The two boys chattered all the way about the game and the tough opponent they would face in the next match. As I listened, I found out why Luiz liked Robbie so much. He was energetic, friendly, polite to me, articulate, and showed occasional flashes of wit. With me in the car, of course, Robbie made no comments that could be construed as sexual. Upon entering my apartment, I said, "You boys probably want to shower and change after the game." I couldn't help but notice a gleam in Robbie's eyes but I added, "Luiz, why don't you get Robbie a towel and show him where the bathroom is. Then I need your help on something while Robbie showers. You can shower when Robbie is finished and dressed." Robbie was not very good at concealing his disappointment after hoping that he could shower with Luiz. The two boys disappeared down the hallway. Moments later, Luiz returned and said, "So far, so good. Do you think our plan will work?" "I don't know," I admitted. "But it's worth trying." When Robbie came into the living room, Luiz and I were pretending to work on the television. I was behind the set asking Luiz to flip through the channels. Hearing Luiz greet Robbie, I came out from behind the TV and said, "Just a loose antenna wire. It's fine now. Feel better after the shower, Robbie?" "Yes, sir," he replied. "Sit down, Robbie," I said in a cordial tone. "Luiz and I would like to talk to you." He looked quite puzzled but complied. Luiz and I took our seats and I said, "Luiz and I are very open with each other. We talk about all kinds of things. And we don't have any secrets from each other. We believe that's important." I paused, hoping that Robbie would internalize what I had said about the importance of honesty. "One of the things Luiz has told me is how much he likes you as a friend. He has also told me some of the things you have said to him. Because he likes you, he's concerned because it may get you in trouble and he doesn't want that to happen." Robbie looked at Luiz with a bit of a scowl and began to fidget. Following the rough outline of our plan, I let Luiz continue. "That's true, Robbie. I do like you and would like to be friends. But you've said things to me -- and to other boys on the team -- that I don't think you should be saying because it's already caused a problem." Robbie no doubt knew what we meant but, like most boys, went immediately into denial mode and said, "I don't know what you're talking about." Luiz continued, "Remember when you asked me about jerking off and asked if I wanted to jerk off with you?" Robbie was visibly shaken by Luiz's question no doubt because I was there. It was certainly not something one talks about in front of an adult and a relative stranger. "Before Luiz continues," I said, "Let me assure you that masturbation is normal, especially among teenage boys. Every boy does it and it's okay. I also know that it's not uncommon for two boys to experiment with each other, to jerk off together or even jerk each other. I have no problem with that. But that's not what we want to talk about." I glanced at Luiz as a signal to continue. "The problem," Luiz began, "is when you ask other boys to jerk off with you before you really get to know them ... and are sure that they would be willing. When you come on to boys like that, there's a strong chance that you will offend them. Much worse, they will think that you're gay and will start calling you a fag or a queer. They won't want to be friends with you and may torment you. I like you, Robbie, and I don't like what the other boys on the team are saying about you." Luiz paused for the last comment to sink in while Robbie sat nervously, his hand folded in his lap and his eyes glued to the floor. "They are calling you a fag and a queer," Luiz went on. "And that bothers me because you're really a very nice person." Departing from our plan, Luiz moved over, sat next to Robbie, and put his arm around him. Robbie recoiled slightly from Luiz's touch but then settled down. Several minutes passed as Luiz comforted his friend. Robbie could no longer deny what he had been saying and, I feared, may move into attack mode as a means of defense. That situation would be far more difficult to handle. Gratefully, he didn't. He looked at Luiz who had been reassuring him that he still liked Robbie and didn't want to see him hurt. Then, Robbie spoke to Luiz, seemingly having forgotten that I was in the room. "I'm sorry, Luiz. I can't help it. I want to be with a boy. Ever since my cousin stayed with us for a week last year. He's two years older than me and knew all about ... well ... sex. He taught me how to jerk off. We would jerk each other and he even sucked me. I was just so happy doing things with him. That's about all I've thought about since he went home. I just want to do stuff with another boy. But nobody wants to do it with me. I can't help it, Luiz." Robbie was trembling, on the verge of tears, and obviously distressed. Luiz looked over at me, raised his eyebrows, and nodded toward his friend. I took that to mean he wanted me to say something. "Robbie," I said and he jerked as if suddenly remembering that I was there to hear his confession. "I understand your feelings. Many young boys have the same feelings. For some, it's just part of growing up. For others, the feelings are deeper and they continue into adulthood. You shouldn't be ashamed of how you feel but I think you will have to learn to express your feelings in a way that won't drive people away from you." Robbie looked at me for a moment and surprised me by saying quite assertively, "You just don't know how strong my feelings are, how much I want to be with another boy." I had hoped not to have to respond to that kind of statement but it was uttered with such force and conviction that I had no choice. "Yes, Robbie, I do know because when I was your age, I felt the same way. I wanted it just as badly as you do. I had a friend that I'd know since fourth grade. We were best friends. After we went through puberty, I began to think that he and I might even get intimate with each other. After a while, the desire to be naked with him, to touch him, and have him touch me was almost overwhelming. So you see, I do know how you feel. Fortunately it turned out that he wanted what I wanted. So I not only know how much you want it but I understand the pleasure of being with another boy." Robbie was listening to me intently, probably not believing that he was hearing a story like that from an adult. I decided to return to the purpose of our discussion and drive the point home. "One day after school, my father caught me in bed with my friend. He ordered my friend out of the house and then called me all kinds of foul names. My own father! He and I have hardly spoken to each other since. Yes, Robbie, I know how you feel, I know of the pleasure you experienced with your cousin, but I also know the hatred and persecution of people I loved and who should have loved me. That's what we don't want you to suffer." Luiz added, as he continued to hold Robbie, "You don't deserve to suffer. You're too nice of a person. So please be careful in what you say and do." I had told Robbie of my high school gay romance and, so far at least, not admitted that I was still gay. I still hoped it would not be necessary, for Luiz's sake. But I also knew that if Robbie asked, I would have to be honest. I also hoped that Robbie recognized our real intent: to help him avoid the cruelty of others. For the next 45 minutes, Luiz and I gave him advice on how to avoid being labeled as gay, even if he was, and how to find a willing partner -- proceed slowly and carefully. The latter he didn't like hearing but grudgingly if not sincerely agreed to try. It was then time to drive Robbie home. I told him to collect his things and said to Luiz, "You can take your shower now. Wash you soccer gear while I'm gone. I don't want to smell a stinky boy when I get back." Luiz grinned and shot back, "I'll do better than that. I'll splash on some of that awful after shave you use. No. I don't think I could stand that." We both laughed and Robbie, at first stunned by the banter, laughed along with us. As we started for the door, Luiz unexpectedly grabbed Robbie and gave him a hug. Poor Robbie didn't know how to react. I felt as though he wanted to return the hug but, because of our warnings, was afraid to return the hug and give the appearance of being gay. Driving Robbie home, I reaffirmed that we had talked to him because Luiz genuinely liked him although he was not interested in any kind of sex play. I also told him that he should feel free to talk to either Luiz or I at any time because we didn't want him to be hurt. As we pulled up to his house, Robbie said something that almost broke my heart. "Thanks, Mr. Simpson. I wish my dad would care about me as much as you and Luiz do." He opened the car door and ran inside his house before I could think of anything to say in reply I arrived home to be greeted by an exuberant Luiz who rushed to greet me, gave me a kiss and a hug, and said, "I love you, Jake. And I'm proud to have you as a dad." "I love you, too," I replied. "And proud of you for wanting to help Robbie." Then, feeling playful, I said, "But I thought I told you to shower." "I did," he exclaimed. I dramatically lifted his arm and smelled his arm pit. "That passes inspection but I think I'll have to inspect you all over. Drop your pants." "No," he exclaimed. "That's for dessert. Dinner is on the table." Over dinner, Luiz said, "That went better than I expected. Do you think we helped Robbie?" "Too soon to say," I replied. "I think we did but it depends on how he behaves in the future. And by the way, you didn't tell him that you didn't want to be seen with him too often." "No," Luiz said. "I decided that he needed at least one friend. Maybe I can do something to make the other boys stop insulting him so they can be his friends, too." "Luiz, you are amazing. Sometimes I just can't believe what a wonderful person you are." "Neither can I," he said and chuckled. "But seriously, I've had two wonderful teachers: Papa and you." Then, to lighten the mood, he added, "Of course Papa never taught me how to have great sex." "Oh, I see. Your Papa taught you to be a good, caring person and I corrupted you with sex." "That's right," he grinned. "And I can't thank either of you enough." During the remainder of the soccer season, including some post-season championship matches, Luiz and Robbie were often together but less frequently than before. Luiz reported that Robbie's behavior had improved considerably and that the other boys had begun to stop insulting him. Based on what Robbie had said to me, I observed his interactions with his father very carefully. Sadly, I detected no signs of affection, only too frequent criticism of his soccer skills. I debated with myself about whether or what could be done to help Robbie. Chapter Twenty -------------- It was almost 10:00 in the evening, two weeks after the soccer league, when my doorbell rang. Luiz and I looked at each other wondering who would be at the door so late at night. I opened the door to find Robbie standing there in tears. His left cheek was firey red and a few drops of almost dry blood stood out on his upper lip. I immediately invited him in and asked what had happened. Before he could answer, Luiz saw him and rushed to his side, also asking what had happened. We took Robbie into the living room, sat him down, and heard a terrible story. The mother of another soccer player had overheard her son talking to a friend about Robbie's inappropriate comments during the early part of the season. She intimidated and interrogated her son into giving her more details. She then called the coach demanding that his 'queer son' not be included in any future soccer team and the 'evil boy' be kept away from her own son in particular and all other boys. Robbie's father confronted him with the allegations. Over the course of an hour, Robbie admitted that he had said what did, that he liked boys, and that he was gay. His father reacted violently, slapping him across the face so hard that Robbie fell, hit his nose on the edge of a table, and it bled profusely for several minutes. Meanwhile, the father showed no remorse for assaulting his son but, instead, continued to berate him as a 'goddamn queer,' a lousy athlete, and a complete disappointment. Robbie retaliated by calling his father demanding, uncaring, and cruel. It was then that the father told Robbie to get out of the house. He came to the only place that he knew would understand him. As we listened to Robbie's story, both Luiz and I grew increasingly sympathetic and angry. At one point, Luiz muttered, "That bigot bastard," and I asked him to watch his language. Luiz replied defiantly, "Well he is!" I didn't want another issue to cloud our comforting Robbie so I let the matter drop. I asked Robbie where his mother was during his father's outburst and how she would react to it all. "She ran off with a truck driver when I was only three years old. Dad got a divorce. I haven't seen her since and dad won't talk about her." Luiz asked about his brothers. They were both in college and had taken jobs for the summer out-of-state. "I didn't know you had brothers," I said. "Is it possible they might reason with your father?" "Hell no," he said emphatically. "They are both macho jocks. That's why dad likes them. They can do no wrong according to him. Even when Mike knocked up a couple of girls in high school, dad paid for the abortions and never punished him. From what I've heard them say when they were home, they hate gays as much as dad. My whole family hates me." With that, his sobbing began anew. Luiz, who had his arm around Robbie's shoulder for the entire, sad story, hugged him. I moved across the room, knelt in front of Robbie, and held his hands. "I would like to say that everything will work out, Robbie," I began, but we can't be sure of that. Remember my telling you of how my father got mad when he caught me in bed with a friend? He didn't beat me like your father beat you but his anger was the same. And my feelings must have been very much like what you're feeling now. I considered running away but then I realized what would happen to a 15-year-old trying to live on his own. I decided to stay at home and tough it out. I won't lie to you; it wasn't easy or pleasant living with a father who thought that I was scum. But I knew that I was not scum and could survive a few years with somebody who should have loved me as a son in spite of what I had done. What happened to you tonight is terrible but now you have to decide what you want to do. You can move out, live on your own, and be hungry most of the time. Or you can live with your father. He may call you names or he may ignore you like my father did. If he calls you names, you can remind yourself that you are not the scum that he thinks you are. But you'll have a place to stay, you'll have food to eat, and you can finish school." Robbie looked at me and through his dwindling tears said, "But he hates me. He told me to get out. If I go back home, he'll just throw me out again." "I think we can change his mind on that. We may not be able to overcome his homophobia but I think we can convince him to take you back." "Why would he do that?" Robbie asked. "He hates me." "He's also your father. I think when he realizes what your life would be like on the streets, he'll change his mind. If he doesn't, we have a trump card to play. We can point out to him that Children's Services might investigate his beating you and throwing you out." "NO!" Luiz objected. "You can't do that! They would take Robbie away and put him in an orphanage! You can't do that Jake!" "I wouldn't do that, Luiz," I said. "I would only threaten to do it and only as a last resort to change Robbie's father's mind." Turning to Robbie, I said, "Do you want to go home? I'll go with you. We can talk to your father. I think we can persuade him to let you come home. It won't be easy for you, I know. But it will be a lot easier than living on the street." "Jake." Luiz said. "Could Robbie stay with us?" The thought had occurred to me but I was reluctant to suggest it because it could create a number of problems. Since Luiz had suggested it, I had to respond. "That is an option that you and I can talk about. I really think the best thing for Robbie -- and for everybody -- is that we get his father to let him come home." Robbie let me take a picture of his face, just in case we might need it, and finally agreed to let me take him home. Luiz wanted to come with us but somehow I convinced him that, as an adult, I had a better chance of getting through to Robbie's father. I drove Robbie home and asked him to wait in the car until I had a chance to talk to his father. He readily agreed, not because he believed I could better convince his father but because he was still afraid of what his father would say or do to him. I rang the bell and several minutes later, the coach opened the door wearing a robe. Obviously, I had gotten him out of bed. "Who the hell are you at this time of night?" he demanded. I was mildly surprised that he didn't recognize me since I had been to every one of Luiz's games. "I'm Jake Simpson. Luiz Loberto is my son. He was on your soccer team and he's a friend of your son." "A friend of my son?" he asked. "Is he another queer faggot?" "Coach," I replied, trying to contain my anger, "Under other circumstances I would let you know just how idiotic that question is. Instead, I will simply say, don't you ever ... ever ... insult my son again." "So what do you want?" he asked bruskly. My patience was at its limit. "Your son came to my home tonight. He was upset and it was obvious that he had been the victim of a brutal attack. I invited him in and he told us that you had beaten him, berated him, and thrown him out of the house." The coach maintained his arrogant attitude. "And did he tell you that he is a fag? No fag is going to live under my roof." Struggling to restrain my temper, I said, "Your son told us he's gay. That may or may not be true. He's still to young to know for sure. What I do know is that he is your son. I know that you, as his father, are still responsible for his care. As a father, I would hope that you love him as a son even if you disagree with some of his behavior. Beating him and throwing him out of the house does not show love for your son and it certainly does not fulfill your obligations for his care." "Who the fuck do you think you are?" he raged. "Telling me how to raise my son? I've brought him up as best I could and he turns out to be a fucking queer." "Who am I? I'm someone who recognizes that your son is intelligent, witty, capable of surviving your constant criticism of his soccer skills, and, right now, is suffering the pains of the damned because his father, who should love him, has thrown him out of his home. I don't expect you to change your mind about homosexuality but I do expect that you will do the only decent thing and let Robbie come home." "I've had enough of your bull shit," he fumed. "Get the hell off my property." Clearly, appealing to reason was not working so I said, "I'll do that. I'll take Robbie home with me. He's in the car by the way, hoping that the father he loves would change his mind. But it's clear that you are too irresponsible, cruel, and bigoted to do that for your son. First thing in the morning, I will call Children's Services. I'm sure that they will investigate. Right now, I don't give a damn how that will embarrass you and damage your reputation in the community. You're finished as a coach. You're finished as a respected neighbor. Your friends who are parents will see you as the scum you are." The man was clearly surprised by my outburst. And he seemed to recoil at the damage that an investigation would do to him. He stared at me for a long, awkward minute before saying, "It's your word against mine, isn't it?" "No," I replied, "My son and I both heard the story. We saw how upset he is. We saw his injuries. And I have a photograph of his injuries. I certainly wouldn't want to subject Robbie to it but I think he would testify against you in a custody hearing. Just think of what that would do to your reputation and possibly your career. I'm taking your son back to my home now to give you time to consider what you have done to him and what it might mean to your future in the community." I turned to leave. "Wait," he said. "No," I replied. "I'm taking your son out of harm's way. When you're ready to take him back ... and treat him humanely ... call me. I'm in the phone book if you don't already have the number on your team's roster. But call before 9:00 in the morning or I will call Children's Services." I walked to the car. The coach called me back but I ignored him because my anger continued to rise and I was afraid of telling him what I really thought of him. When I got in the car, Robbie said mournfully, "I heard what you said on the porch. He won't take me back. He hates me." "I think he will, Robbie. He has to think about what I said. Tonight, however, you're staying with Luiz and I. I think by morning, your father will change his mind. It still won't be easy for you but you'll have a home until you finish school." When we walked in the door of the apartment at almost midnight, Luiz was on the phone and I heard him say, "Wait, they just came in. Here's my dad." He handed the phone to me. I listened to the coach, whose tone had improved significantly, but said, "No. Robbie is spending the night here where he is safe. That will give you time to consider how to apologize to him and what you can do to make it up to him. That will also give Robbie time to consider forgiving you for your cruelty. Call me in the morning." I then added, "Before 9:00." I hung up the phone. I briefed Luiz on my conversation with Robbie's father. Luiz grew even angrier while Robbie sat anxiously wondering what would happen to him. "It's late," I said. "Luiz. Would you get out the sleeping bag and air mattress we bought for camp. Robbie can sleep in your bedroom." Luiz gave me a disappointed look because, no doubt, he realized it would be the first night since we met that we had not slept together. However, he understood the situation and walked down to his bedroom to lay out the sleeping bag. Robbie said to me, "Thanks, Mr. Simpson." "Call me Jake," I interrupted. "You've been wonderful. I don't know what I would have done if I couldn't come here." "I'm glad you did," I said. "And both Luiz and I will be there for you whenever you need a friend." Robbie then hugged me, something that I suspected he had rarely or never done to his own father -- not that he didn't want to but that his father was clearly not the affectionate type. "Mr. Simpson ... ah ... Jake," he began. I remember what you said about Luiz not wanting to have sex and I promise to behave myself tonight." "I'm confident that you will, Robbie. Luiz has told me how you have been very careful since our discussion. Now, trot off to Luiz's bedroom. And try to forget about what's happened tonight. I'm hoping that tomorrow is going to be better." I laid awake for a long time, still angry with the coach's attitude and worried about Robbie's future. I heard Luiz and Robbie's muffled conversation. I couldn't make out what they were saying but I had total confidence in Luiz's ability to help his friend through his emotional turmoil. My alarm went off the next morning. I went into the bathroom for my morning relief and to shave. I returned to my bedroom, dressed, and realized that the coach would likely call, perhaps after I had left for work. I walked into Luiz's bedroom and was surprised to see both boys in Luiz's bed, which made me wonder whether, in spite of Robbie's promise, they had done something together. Both boys were sleeping soundly but I had to talk to Luiz. I kissed him on the cheek, shook him gently, and called his name softly in his ear. He stirred, opened his eyes, saw me, and gave me a kiss on the lips. Then, realizing that Robbie was in bed with him, he sat bolt upright with a look of panic on his face. "Come out into the hall," I whispered. "Don't wake up Robbie." Luiz, wearing his boxers, followed me into the hall and said, "We didn't do anything. Honest. Robbie just wanted to get in bed with me. Neither one of us did anything. We just talked." "I believe you," I said. "But even if you had done something, I know that you would be honest and tell me. And, given the circumstances, I would understand. Now. Here's what I wanted to tell you before I left for work. Robbie's father is likely to phone this morning. If I've already gone to work, just tell him that you will get a message to me. He may not want to talk to you but you can say that I've asked you to take a message. Don't give him my work number. Tell him that I will respond to his message this evening. If he asks if I'm going to call Children's Services, tell him you don't know. We both know that I won't unless it is absolutely necessary but let him worry about it all day. In the meantime, I know you will do what you can to help Robbie feel better. Okay?" Luiz joined me in the kitchen as I ate breakfast. He didn't eat, saying that he would wait until Robbie woke up. As I left, the phone had not rung. Luiz gave me a passionate kiss at the door and said, "I love you Jake. I hated not being with you last night. And Robbie and I didn't do anything." "I missed you too. And I'm not upset that Robbie slept with you. I think he just needed to be close to someone. Thank you for being there for him." At about 8:30, my phone at work rang. Luiz said, "Robbie's father called to say that Robbie could come home. I told him that you would call him back this evening." "Thanks, Luiz." I said. "How is Robbie this morning?" "He's still asleep. I thought we might go to the park and play some soccer today. Maybe we'll just walk along the beach but I'll try to keep his mind of his father." "Sounds good," I said. "And thanks again." As I arrived home from work, I did not get my customary kiss and hug because Robbie was there. Robbie had helped Luiz prepare dinner and was quite proud of the cake he had baked. It certainly was a different boy than the one who had come asking for help the night before. After dinner, I said to Robbie, "Your father says you can come home. Is that what you want to do?" "Yes," he replied. "Luiz and I talked about it a lot today. Luiz said I ought to give my dad another chance if he gives me a chance. I don't know if he loves me or hates me but living at home is better than wandering the streets begging or selling myself to perverts." I was a little surprised that Luiz had mentioned that possibility but pleased that Robbie felt comfortable enough to say it to me. "Okay," I said. "Here's my suggestion. It's only a suggestion, Robbie. I want you to tell me if you agree. I phone your father and tell him he can come get you. When he arrives, I invite him in and tell him that he must apologize to you in front of us and promise not to hit you or insult you for being gay. I tell him that if there is any serious trouble in the future that you are welcome to come here for help. Is that all right?" "I don't think he'll do it," Robbie said. "I think he will," I said. "I think that finding out you are gay was just too much of a shock and he acted without thinking. I think he's sorry because he now realizes how he's hurt you. Not just last night but for years. I know that he's afraid of people finding out what he did. That alone is enough to convince him to be better ... or at least not as mean. And the bit about your always being welcome here if there's another problem ... I mean that sincerely. Your father will know it, too. That's another reason for him not to abuse you." "I guess you're right," Robbie conceded after a moment's reflection. I made the call. The coach initially resisted but agreed. When he arrived, Robbie was nervous and hardly looked at his father. However, his father saw the very large bruise on Robbie's cheek. I explained the rules to his father about apologizing and promising not to mistreat his son. He didn't accept the conditions and said that he was taking his son home. "No," I said. "Unless I am sure that you promise to treat Robbie as a father should, he stays here where he is safe." He glared at me as if no one had challenged his authority before. "You do," he said, "and I can charge you with kidnapping." "Yes," I agreed. "And when the police investigate the charge, they will learn what you did, why Robbie is here, and why I'm keeping him safe. Do you want that?" He knew that his position was hopeless and that he would have to give in to my demands. He turned to Robbie and said, "I'm sorry, son. I won't do it again. Now let's go home." "Sorry for what?" I asked. He gave me an incredulous look. The arrogant, obnoxious man I had talked to the night before seemed to be defeated if not contrite. "I'm sorry for hitting you, Robbie." "Anything else," I pressed. It took only a moment for him to realize what I was asking. "And I'm sorry for being too critical of you and expecting too much from you." "And not showing your affection for your son?" I asked. "Yes, that, too." I turned to Robbie and said, "Your father has apologized and promised not to hit you again. Do you accept his apology? Do you want to go home with him?" "Yes," he said to me, still avoiding eye contact with his father. "Okay. But remember that you are always welcome here. Whenever you want to come or..." I looked at his father. "...whenever you need help." After they left, Luiz asked, "What's going to happen to Robbie now?" "I can't be sure," I admitted. "But I think Robbie's father will think twice before mistreating Robbie. I'm afraid Robbie is not going to be happy, at least not as happy as he deserves to be, but I think he can cope with the situation. Who knows? They may put it behind them and get along. Or they may just tolerate each other like my father and I did." "I think I'll check up on him once in a while," Luiz said. "Somehow, I knew that," I replied. "Now come on. We have something important to do." He looked puzzled and asked, "What?" "Didn't you find your own bed a little uncomfortable last night?" He flashed his wicked grin that I had grown to love. "It's all right to visit but I wouldn't want to live there," he said as he grabbed my hand and led me down the hall to our bedroom. Chapter Twenty One ------------------ As the time for Luiz's camp drew near, both he and I had mixed feelings. Luiz was alternately growing excited about the adventure and dreading being away from home and familiar surroundings. For my part, I was happy that he would gain new experiences and friends but also knew that life without his company would be dreary. We had both studied the information given to us when we registered him for camp. It was expensive but the description of the facilities and the agenda were enticing. There was a swimming pool; a small lake for boating; fields for soccer, football, and baseball; hiking trails; an indoor recreation room with table tennis, pool, and video games; a chapel for nondenominational services; a large mess hall for meals; and several cabins that slept eight boys each in four bunk beds. A counselor was assigned to each cabin and would supervise the daily activities. The information also listed some required and optional gear for the boys to bring. I was pleased to see that a cell phone was on the optional list; Luiz could call me if there were any problems or, I hoped, if he just wanted to say hello. As we shopped for his gear, Luiz seemed to become even more enthusiastic. That, and my objections, overcame his customary insistence on finding less expensive alternatives. The only disagreement came on selecting a swim suit. He wanted a fairly skimpy, almost speedo style but I suggested a more modest and popular trunk style. He pointed out that both types were worn on the beach near our home but I countered with, "And the guys who wear the tight-fitting swim suits are usually just advertising ... trying to attract either girls or other guys. Do you want to advertise what you have?" "But they look better," he complained. "And they'll feel better, too." I felt sure that he was making excuses, that he was proud of his emergent masculinity, and wanted to show it off. Our discussion continued with neither of us willing to concede until I gave in and offered a compromise. "We'll get both styles," I said. "If you promise to wear the trunks if the other boys wear them or if another gay boy sees how beautiful you are and tries to rape you." He grinned and agreed to my conditions but I knew which of the two he would wear. In spite of that, I was confident that he would resist the unlikely advances of another boy. I still worried, however, that his choice of swim attire would trigger unkind words about his sexuality among the other boys at camp. I was to drive him to camp on Saturday morning and pick him up the following Friday evening after their concluding 'banquet'. When I arrived home from work on the Friday before I was to take him to camp, he had all of his gear packed and ready to go. He greeted me in his usual, enthusiastic way and excitedly led me into the kitchen where the table was set for dinner, two candles burning on the table, and a bouquet of flowers formed the centerpiece. I hugged and kissed him again and asked, "Did your mother have another birthday?" He looked puzzled and said, "What?" "The last time you brought home a bouquet, you said the florist let you work so you could get her some flowers." "Oh," he said. "It wasn't that. I've been saving out of my allowance. I just walked in and bought them. Look, they're red, white, and blue. The little blue ones here stand for loyalty, just like in the American flag, because we're loyal to each other." "So the red flowers represent bravery?" I asked. "Yes. We're gay and we have to be brave to be gay." he said proudly. "So the white ones are for purity?" "Well, no," he said. "They represent what we share with each other." That confused me and I suppose my expression showed it. He giggled as he asked, "What do we share with each other almost every night that's white?" After a moment's thought and using Luiz's slight blush as a clue, I realized what he was talking about. "Let me see," I began with a dramatic thoughtfulness. "Our toothpaste is sort of green, the bar of soap is yellow, ... what could it be?" He was almost jumping up and down as he said, "We don't just share it, we give it to each other." "Hmmm," I said. Impatiently, Luiz exclaimed, "We swallow it!" I grinned and said, "I need another clue. Is it warm and creamy and tasty?" "That's it," he cried out. "And that's why the white flowers are the best in the whole bunch." I hugged him, gave him a long kiss, and said, "That was extremely thoughtful, Luiz. I wish I had thought of it. Tonight will be special. I have a lovely bouquet of flowers, you've prepared a special meal, and I'm sure you have an even better dessert." "I do," he giggled. "Sausage, meatballs, and cream. Second helpings if you want." "And third and fourth, maybe?" "As much as you want." he said with his wicked grin. We went to bed early because we had to be up early in the morning and because we both knew we would not soon go to sleep. Our first love-making was almost animalistic. We energetically explored each other's bodies with hands, mouth, and tongue. Luiz willingly -- no, eagerly -- let me massage his prostate as I sucked him to an intense orgasm. He then surprised me by finding my prostate with his finger for the first time, stimulating to the point that my orgasm virtually paralyzed my entire body. Our bodies then melded together in a long, loving embrace. "I'm going to miss you," he whispered. "And I'll miss you," I whispered back. "But I have some lovely flowers to remind me how wonderful you are and how much I will enjoy having you come home." "You like them?" he asked. "Of course. I like the red ones. I like the blue ones even more because our loyalty to each other means so much to me. But the white ones are my favorite." For several more minutes, we cuddled and basked in each other's love. Eventually, he began fondling my flaccid cock and said, "Want some more dessert?" "If you do," I replied, sure that my recuperative powers were no match for his. "You'll have to make it yourself," he said and immediately jumped out of bed and ran from the room leaving me to wonder what the hell he had in mind. Soon enough, he ran back into the room hiding something behind his back. He stood next to the bed with his soft cock dangling inches from my face. He looked down, pointed to his crotch and said, "It looks like you'll have to work on this to get it ready. Then you can put the topping on." He then revealed what he had been hiding: an aerosol can of whipped cream. Luiz had developed a kaleidescope of personalities. The distraught, frantic little boy who asked for help finding his Papa had receded but sometimes surfaced as when the police chased him, when he feared being kept in Mexico and institutionalized, and even when he resisted going away for a week to camp. Frequently, he was a mature adult, responsible, perceptive, thoughtful, and analytic. He was deeply religious, although that facet of him showed less frequently unless you consider his unabashed compassion for others. Now, however, as he stood before me holding out the can of whipped cream, he was the playful teenager creatively seeking fun. That such a person could rise from his impoverished and tragic background and that some benevolent fate had brought him into my life was amazing. I laughed and pulled him down on top of me before laying him on his back next to me. I took the can from him and said, "The chef is about to create a masterpiece." First, I squirted a dab on his lips and licked it off but took the opportunity to give him a mouthful of my tongue. Then, I put a dab of cream on each nipple and took my time licking it off, licking for much longer than necessary to remove the cream. I then laid a zigzag trail of cream down his chest and stomach while Luiz continued to giggle. I repeated the playful game with his toes, feet, and legs. Surprisingly, when I reached the top of his legs, I found that his cock still laid limply over his balls. "Hmmm," I mused. "This sausage isn't ready yet. But not to worry, master chef knows how to make a sausage come alive." It didn't take long and Luiz's limp cock turned into a rigid pole with the purplish head peeking out from his foreskin. "Sausage and whipped cream," I said. "Not what you would find in most restaurants but this is a rare kind of sausage." I squirted a small dab of whipped cream on his fuzzy balls, took my time licking it off and moved up to his now-leaking cock without adding more whipped cream. I licked and sucked slowly as Luiz laid back softly purring with his eyes closed. It was a much longer time than usual for Luiz to reach the brink. Not that I minded. I was enjoying it as much as Luiz and I had deliberately gone slowly to prolong his pleasure. I had planned to massage his prostate but my timing was off. Suddenly, he bucked his hips, groaned loudly, and filled my mouth with his seed. We snuggled together for a time before Luiz reached for the can of whipped cream. I knew what he intended to do but I was content having had an orgasm not that long ago and merely wanting to be close to the love of my life. "I appreciate your wanting to show your love," I said. "But you've made me very happy already. Can we just lay here together?" Luiz gave me a disappointed look but said, "A wise man told me once that when a person doesn't want sex and is honest about it, I have two choices: have sex anyway or respect the other person's wishes. I think I'll do both." I looked at him trying to decide how he could do both. I didn't have to wait for Luiz to make things clear to me. In a flash he was on top of me and lowering his head to kiss me. Then, just as quickly, he raised his head, squirted some whipped cream on my mouth, and began to lick it off. He ended with a deep kiss and then rolled off me to lay alongside me. "I love you, Jake Simpson," he cooed. "And Jake Simpson loves Luiz Loberto," I replied. When the alarm went off in the morning, he was spooned into my back. I could feel his erection pressing against my ass. I rolled over, shook him gently, and said, "Time to get up, Luiz." He opened his eyes and said sleepily, "It's still dark. What time is it?" "It's 5:30," I replied. "Why so early?" he asked. "We don't have to leave until 8:00." "Well," I said. "We can go back to sleep for an hour or figure out some way to pass the time." There was that wicked grin again. "Can I pee first?" he asked. "Of course. I don't want anything but your delicious cream in my mouth." Luiz laughed and jumped out of bed to head for the bathroom. I followed right behind. As I joined him at the toilet, he was surprised to see me. "I have to pee, too, you know." I emptied my bladder but Luiz just stood there. "It's hard," he said apologetically. "I can see that," I said as I leered at his erection. "No, Jake. I mean it's hard to pee when I have a boner." "I know. But I can't help you. Just hurry because I'm horny and I'll be waiting for you in bed." After extended and delightful foreplay, Luiz maneuvered into a 69 position. While our mouths were busy, my finger toyed with and then penetrated his hole. He took that as a cue and did the same to me. As we laid together recuperating, he said, "What am I going to do for a week without you?" "Have you forgotten?" I asked. "You have a fist." "That's not funny," he pouted. "I didn't mean the sex. I meant not being with you for a whole week." "Okay. If it helps, you can think of me when you jerk off." He sat upright and thumped me on the chest. "Jake! I'm serious . Evenings and weekends with you are special. And it isn't just the sex. You are my whole life. We're partners. And we won't be together. For a whole week." One of the charms of living with Luiz was the unpredictability. Last night, he had been the avid lover and then the playful teenager. That morning, he had been the responsive lover but his uncertainty and possibly fear surfaced. I hoped that I could alleviate them somewhat. "I'm sorry, Luiz. I know how you feel and I shouldn't be making jokes. The apartment will be empty without you. My life will be empty. There's nothing more important to me than you. I'll be thinking about you all the time. But I know that you'll be coming home, to our home. And when you do, we will appreciate each other even more than we do now. A week seems like a long time but just keep reminding yourself that I'm here waiting for you. I'll always be here for you. Always."