Date: Sat, 8 Nov 2008 16:18:39 -0800 (PST)
From: d ap <dap_cl@yahoo.com>
Subject: Four Friends (06)

Edited and translated into English, from a Spanish version, by David Clarke
(Gothmog@mail.anonymizer.com)


This is the continuation of the story of Marcelo and Camilo.  The usual
warning applies: this is a story about homosexual activity between boys.
If you are not legally old enough to read this sort of story, or if this
sort of thing is illegal altogether where you live, please stop right now.
As mentioned before, you won't hear the word `condom' mentioned in this
story, but in real life it's a good idea to use them, especially if you
don't know much about your partner.

[My English: thanks Don, Paul and Jon, your comments are a strong stimuli;
Thomas, I'm so sorry you still don't get a computer... there is no much sex
in this chapter (actually almost nothing)... I really hope you like
it... as always, I many thanks to David, of course to JJ, too].

Right, then:

I slept in my clothes and woke up at seven o'clock next morning.  I got up
and went to the phone, picked up the directory and looked up the number of
the clinic.

"Good morning, Ma'am: could you please tell me how Camilo Pino is, please?"

"I need to know who's calling," she replied.  "Are you a relative?"

"No, I'm just a friend... but I really need to know how he is.  Please?"

"Well... okay, let's see... Camilo Pino... right, here it is: yes, his
condition is stable, and he's been transferred from the ICU to a regular
room."

I felt a massive sense of relief.  "Thanks, Ma'am," I said, and I went to
find my father.

"Dad... I know I'm being punished at the moment, but... please could I go
to see Camilo at the clinic?  It's really important to me."

Dad looked at me in the mirror -- he was shaving at the time.  "Okay," he
said.  "WE will go to see him, and afterwards we'll go and visit his
family."

My heart started to beat faster, both because I was going to see my beloved
Camilo again, and because I was going to have to face his family, and that
idea scared me: I couldn't help feeling guilty about the accident, even
though my head told me it wasn't my fault.


"Okay, you can have ten minutes with him, but you mustn't upset him.
Deal?" said the nurse.

Camilo was in a beautiful room, light and spacious and with a magnificent
view of San Cristobal Hill.  He also had a TV set (though not a very modern
one), several magazines to read, and some flowers arranged in glasses.  He
saw me come into the room with my dad behind me, and as soon as he saw me
he smiled.  And so did I, but I still felt nervous.

"Marcy," he said, "please forgive me.  This was all my fault..."

"Shh.  You don't have to say anything.  This is just a quick visit... I'm
really glad to see that you're okay.  This is my dad -- Dad, this is
Camilo."

Dad looked at him sympathetically.  "I'm sorry you had such a nasty
accident, young man," he said.  "Don't worry -- you'll soon feel better.
And your family and I will make sure everything is taken care of."

I took hold of his beautiful hand and squeezed it gently, trying to convey
the words `I love you' in that gesture.  And he understood and squeezed my
hand, too, and I knew that he was sending the same message.

When we left I stood at the door and gave him a little wave, though I would
really have preferred to kiss him.

We drove to Bulnes Avenue and parked in an underground car park, very close
to the La Moneda Presidential Palace.  We emerged from the car park in
Tarapaca Street.  My heart was beating so furiously I thought it was about
to jump right out of my mouth, I was so nervous.  This was an area of small
local shops, second-hand book stores, cheap goods stores, a few small
restaurants, and even a hotel.  There were two branches of the leading
Chilean supermarket, too.  However, there was garbage everywhere; people
had spat on the sidewalk, there was dog shit on it here and there, several
damaged garbage cans had fallen over and spilled their contents, and the
stink of urine was clearly discernable at every street corner.

We reached a building that had undergone several different paint jobs, in
lots of different colours.  We found the right name on the set of buzzers
and hit the button.

A middle-aged woman, quite nice-looking, appeared at the door.

"Yes?" she said.

"Good morning, Ma'am," I said, politely.  "My name is Marcelo Walsh, and
I'm a friend of your son.  I need to speak to you... that is... would it be
alright if I came in and talked to you, and to Camilo's dad, please?"

She looked at me, and I got the impression she was angry, but she opened
the door nonetheless.

"I'm Camilito's mother, come in...I mean, both of you," she corrected
herself, looking at my dad a little distrustfully.

She led us to an apartment upstairs.  There was a smell of cooking.

"Please, could you sit down for a moment?" she said, and went through a
frayed curtain at one side of the room.  We heard her talking to somebody.
The curtain opened once more and she came back accompanied by a short guy,
carrying a little too much weight and suffering from premature
baldness... but he had exactly the same beautiful eyes as Camilo.  This was
obviously his father, and now I knew where those eyes came from.  Dad shook
Mr Pino's hand -- they had already met at the clinic, of course.

My dad seemed in no hurry to say anything, just nodding or answering Mr
Pino's questions in monosyllables.  I knew he was waiting for me to say
something, so I gathered my courage, took a deep breath...and then the
curtains opened again and a twelve-year-old boy emerged, looking just like
Camilo -- that is, incredibly cuuuuuuute!!

"Danilo, we're busy.  Leave us in peace, okay?" said his father.  The boy
stared at us, obviously interested in us, but went back behind the curtain
as he had been instructed.

"Mr Pino," I said, trying to moisten my dry lips, "what I have to say is
for the whole family, including Camilo's brother -- so would it be okay
if he came and listened, too?"

I swallowed, looking at Mr Pino, but he didn't seem hostile, just curious.

"Dani!  Come here!" he called, and instantaneously Camilo's kid brother,
one year younger to the day, re-entered the room: he had obviously been
standing right next to the curtain, listening.  I looked at my dad and he
gave me a little nod, which made me feel a bit better.

"Mr and Mrs Pino, and Danilo," I started, "I should tell you that Camilo
and I met three days ago, in O'Higgins Park.  We hit it off right away, and
soon we were chatting about all sorts..."

I looked round the family, meeting everyone's eye, but in a friendly way.
"We trusted each other from the start, and I invited him to my house, which
is quite a way from here.  We went on my motorbike, and we shouldn't have
done that, but no harm came of it."

I was sure I was telling this the way it had to be told, but I was afraid I
sounded a bit like one of those official UN spokesman announcing that a
bombing mission had gone astray and caused civilian casualties. I tried to
sound a bit less formal.

"Camilo did call you to say that he was with a friend -- me -- but he
didn't give you any further details, and that was wrong, too.  Anyway, he
was at my house first of all, and then I took him horse-riding -- and I
was wrong about that, too, because I didn't tell my dad what we were doing
or where we were going. Of course, that was nothing to do with Camilo- that
was purely my fault.

"Anyway, we stayed overnight in a hut my mother owns -- we had to stay
overnight because of the storm.  And then the next day we went out for a
walk, and Camilo tried to climb a cliff -- and that was his idea, not
mine... anyway, he fell, and I couldn't get there in time to stop him
falling."

Everyone was giving me their complete attention.  Of course, I didn't
mention our sexual adventures, which would obviously have just made things
massively worse.

"So all I could do was to try to help him as much as I could after he
fell," I continued, starting to feel embarrassed.  "Please forgive me for
this awful situation I've put your family in.  You, Mrs Martinez, and you,
Mr Pino, and you too, Danilo -- please forgive me: I exposed... well, I
suppose me and Camilo both exposed your son and brother to this bad
situation.  And I want to apologise to you too, Dad, because I didn't tell
you what we were doing or anything.  I'm really sorry..."

I finished my speech, which I'd managed to gabble out in one go.  And there
was a heavy, unbroken silence, which scared me: nobody was saying anything.
I thought about my speech, which I'd worked on for ages: had it just come
across as fake, or stupid?  But in fact the silence was due more to
supercharged emotions than to incredulity.  Camilo's mum had tars in her
eyes, and so did his father.

It was his mother who replied first.

"Thank you for telling us all about it, young Master `Gualsh'," she
replied.  "I'm sorry you had such a nasty experience, but I want to thank
you, and your father, for the bravery you showed."  She looked at Dad.
"Thank you, Mr `Gualsh', for bringing your son up to do the right thing,
and to be brave."

Camilo's dad was more practically-minded, and the first thing he said was,
"I don't hold you in any way responsible, Marcelo.  I think we'd have to
agree that the accident was Camilo's fault, not yours.  And I agree with my
wife: I think you were very brave, and I also think that coming to see us
like this and telling us what happened is the act of a true gentleman"
(that made me blush) "and I really appreciate it.  I think you are a very
decent, well brought up young man."  By now I was so shaken by his praise
that I couldn't even remember whether his name was Camilo or Tamilo or
whatever the hell else it might have been.

But Danilo broke through the supercharged atmosphere easily: he gave a
happy laugh, ran up to me and hugged me, with no restraint whatsoever.

"You're cool, dude," he said.  "My jerk of a brother was stupid enough to
fall off a cliff, and you saved his life."  And he laughed again and hugged
me some more, and I hugged him right back, barely stifling a laugh of my
own.  And I could see my dad trying not to laugh, too.

"Danilo, for God's sake!" said his mother.

"But it's true!" he insisted.  "Where would `C' be now if this mate of his
hadn't rescued his stupid ass?"  Obviously standards of behaviour were a
little different in this household than in ours.

The way `D' had stuck his oar in completely defused the tension.  `Mr
Gualsh' said he didn't need anything in writing, and that as far as he was
concerned they simply had a gentleman's agreement.  Mr Pino, his dignity
wrapped round him like a cloak, said he didn't want to accept the money
that my father was generously offering, but that he'd be grateful for just
enough economic assistance to see his son on his feet again.  This was not
to be considered in any way an obligation from my father, he said, but
added that he'd be grateful for whatever we could manage.

Meanwhile Danilo fluttered round me, grabbing my hand without so much as a
`by your leave' in order to look at my watch, and then he even wanted a
look at my dad's Rolex, a mere trinket of a thing worth about five thousand
dollars.  His mum told him off, and Danilo more or less told her to shut
up, which wasn't how things were done in my house...

We all went to the clinic.  Dad went to talk to Dr Giordano and I just
waited, until Danilo came to tell me that Camilo wanted to see me.  My
heart beat faster: I was going to see my beloved boy twice in one day.  We
just stared into each other's eyes, conveying the message that we loved
each other, while Danilo bounced about like a madman, making us laugh and
annoying his mother.

***

Camilo left the clinic on the Friday.  He left on a stretcher, but still
managed to walk into his house on his own two feet.  He had been ordered to
stay at home and have complete rest for a month, so I offered to stay with
him so that we could study together, only going into my school when there
was a test that had to be taken.

Dad withdrew some of my punishments, starting to pay me my allowance again.
My study periods with Camilo were sort of complicated: it didn't take him
long to progress from simple equations to touching my cock and balls, and
my bum (and I retaliated in kind, which seemed only fair).  I learned quite
a lot about the San Diego district, and even more about the famous San
Camilo one, where the prostitutes hung out.  Of course, we couldn't do very
much that was sexual: we just had to settle for furtive kisses when nobody
was looking, leading in turn to private solo masturbation sessions in which
we thought about each other...

If you're still enjoying the story and want more, write and tell me so --
I'm at dap_cl@yahoo.com