Date: Sat, 15 Nov 2008 05:13:23 -0800 (PST) From: d ap Subject: Four Friends (07) Part Seven -- October 2007 By Doc. [Mi English: Edited and translated into English by David Clarke (Gothmog@mail.anonymizer.com) Thanks to Donald, Bill and Paul, also Jon. Here is the next part of the story of Marcelo and Camilo. And it's time for the usual warning: this is a story about sexual relations between boys, and in this chapter we also get the first hints of incestuous relationships. So if you are under age, or if this sort of story is illegal where you live, you should leave. Condoms... well, if you've read the story so far, you've read these warnings before, so you know that we recommend their use, especially if you don't know your partner very well. And we've mentioned Mary Jane before, too: if you're going to do drugs, be sensible about it, and don't drive under their influence. All the names used in this story are fictional... okay, that's enough of that. So, here we go again: Dr Giordano was a close friend of my dad because his son Giovanni was one of my classmates, and they had met through the school. Giovanni was a good-looking boy, but noisy and in a lot of ways rather unpleasant: he took the piss out of my ass, my hairstyle, and pretty much everything. I thought of him in my own mind as "That fag". I was sorting out my motorbike in the school car park -- I was allowed to use it within the districts of La Dehesa and Lo Barnechea - when Giovanni came up to me. "Hi, Walsh," he said. "How's your queer bit of rough?" I stared at him angrily. "What are you talking about, you dummy?" I asked in English. "Fuck off with your poncy English, you asshole! Are you still fucking that queer from Barros Borgoņo?" I stared at him in silence, first surprised and then angry: I had no idea where this stuff was coming from. "Don't put on that stupid look! I know you're fucking that fucking fag! Has he got a nice little ass, then? Good, is he? Does he like your filthy dick?" I simply stared at him. I couldn't understand where this came from, though clearly he had a reliable source somewhere. "Okay," he said, taking a piece of paper from his math book. "Just the basic facts, then." He started to read. "'Camilo Hector Pino Martinez. Age: thirteen years, ten months, twelve days. Weight: 54 kilos'. And so on, and so on... Okay, here's the important stuff, and I quote: 'Closed ECT resulting from a fall. Occipital fractures, 2.5 centimetres, closed, full, no striations. No brain haemorrhage, mild anaemia, head wound not requiring a suture. Scraped lesion on right shoulder, bruising to lumbar region, some minor injuries; some areas severely ecchymosed. Kidneys healthy and undamaged, gall bladder radiography normal in size and shape...'" He stopped and gave me a twisted smile. "And now we get onto the really good bit, Marcy dearest - listen to this, sweetheart: 'Damage to perianal region, minor wound, closed at present but evident on left face of anal sphincter, semi-collapsed sphincter with minor prolapse; evidence of anal penetration, presumably by rape or consensual anal intercourse, treatment by Ibuprofen, two local applications...' This is the report on your friend's ass, my dear little Marcelito. Would you care to comment?" I felt the world collapsing around my ears. "Okay, Marcy, dear heart, if you don't want copies of this piece of paper to turn up pinned to every wall of this fucking school, you'll have to do me a little favour, okay? Listen very carefully: I want you to come over to my house, right now, and once we're there I want you to get down on your knees and suck my dick, and after that you can take down those expensive trousers of yours and offer me the little hole in your little crack, okay? And I do mean right now!!" Something flashed in front of my eyes: suddenly I was Mr Hyde. Something elemental and unstoppable. I faced Giovanni... I bent my knees and pushed myself clear off the ground, delivering a flying drop kick to his head with my right foot, which caught him cleanly in the mouth, making his head snap back. As soon as I landed I pushed off again and kicked him hard on the chest with my left foot, and as he flopped about from that impact I spun round, clenching my left fist as tightly as possible, and unwound to deliver a vicious blow to his chin. Blood and saliva flew from his mouth as my fist connected with a thwack. He fell to his knees, but I was nowhere near finished with him: the red mist had descended. I dropped to my knees in front of him and grabbed his shirt in my left hand, and then delivered, in quick succession, a right to the jaw, a left to the stomach, another right to the groin and a left to the chin again, making his head tilt backwards. I drew my right hand back to my jaw, stiffening all my fingers like a board and aiming at his throat. My hand was rigid, and the blow would shatter his hyoid bone, and that would be the end of Giovanni. Kempo karate. I'm a blue belt, with honours, and the national junior blue belt champion. Three boys leapt on me simultaneously, grabbing my right hand. Another seized my left arm, and yet another grabbed me round the waist, dragging me to the ground. My gym teacher, who weighs 103 kilos, pinned my body down. The female gym teacher slapped my face to try to calm me, but instead I shook my right hand free and punched the poor woman in the middle of her forehead, knocking her out (she later brought charges, which Dad paid off). And then I just saw stars as the male teacher punched me in the jaw... and I went out like a light. *** "Giorgio, your son has been badly beaten up, and it was Marc who did it," said Dad (Mum was at the meeting, too), "but he wouldn't do such a thing without a reason. In fact he's told us why, and it was obviously a complete overreaction -- but, nevertheless, it was your son's attempting to blackmail Marc into sex that was at the root of this." "Yes, I know all about the fight," said Dr Giordano. "What I haven't yet heard is Gio's explanation of what started it. But we're going to hear it now -- right, Gio? I want to know why you threatened Marc -- and I want the truth, son, okay?" Giovanni looked a mess: his mouth was swollen, there was a sticking plaster right across his cheek, and there was heavy bruising round his eyes. "I... I..." mumbled Gio, before hiding his face in his hands and starting to cry. "Giovanni Giordano, I want the truth and I want it NOW!" The boy's body shook with his sobs. "Dad, I... I was... I was... (sniff) je... jealous!" he managed to say. You can believe that nobody was listening as closely as I was, not even his dad. "Pardon?" said the doctor. "I don't think I caught that. What did you say?" "I was jealous," his son repeated, bitterly. And this time everyone could hear clearly what he was saying. I frowned (as much as I could: my jaw was still sore from the gym teacher's punch), and my dad frowned, too: I couldn't remember seeing him looking like that before. Mum's head came forward like that of a chicken looking for a worm. And Dr Giordano just shook his head, looking bemused. These reactions pushed poor Giovanni over the edge, and he stood up, stared at all of us, and proceeded to leap right out of the closet, dragging me catastrophically out with him. "That's right!" he shouted. "I was jealous -- jealous 'cos Marcelo has got involved with that piece of trash he's been seeing! I'm jealous because he fucked that stinking piece of shit!" Mum gasped and put her hands to her mouth, Dad jerked his head in astonishment, and Dr Giordano just sat immobilised. Me? Well, I'm pretty sure I went as pale as death. "Marc?" said Dad, staring at me in such a way that I knew I could never avoid answering the question I knew was coming: it would be one of those questions that have to be answered looking my father in the eyes. There was nowhere to hide: I was going to have to face this one, no matter how much shit it got me into. "Yes, Dad?" It felt as if the temperature in the room had dropped below zero, and that cold was emanating from my father, whose eyes were like needles. "Is that Camilo boy your sexual plaything?" he asked. "No, Dad, he's not my `plaything'." "That's not a straight answer, Mr Walsh junior. Is he or isn't he?" "It wasn't a straight question, Sir. If you want to know if I had sex with Camilo, the answer is yes. It's true. But if you're asking if it's just a game, then no, it isn't. Dad, I love Camilo." I spoke with a clarity and certainty that I was very far from feeling: I knew that whatever came out of this moment, although I had no idea what that would be at that point, was likely to be terrible. "Well, Giorgio," said Dad, "this obviously didn't come as a surprise to you, because the document your son has is the medical record you prepared. So how did it come to be in Giovanni's possession?" "Giovanni will have to explain that to us in a moment. But first, I didn't mention this to you before because Camilo is my patient and I have a professional relationship with him, and that requires complete confidentiality: I can only discuss it with his relatives. But, since the genie is now out of the bottle... the examination I did on young Mr... Pino, isn't that the name? showed that his condition... that is, showed that he had lost his virginity within the previous few hours, and since he had been with Marcelo for the whole of that period it was easy to deduce that Marcelo was the one responsible for his... well, let's say 'deflowering'. And when the boy recovered he said nothing at all about 'rape', and neither did Marcelo, and that would seem to indicate that it was consensual. And that's why I didn't say anything to the parents. And that's all there is to it," said the doctor, sounding even more sure of his position than even my father usually did. "So," he went on, staring his son in the face, "how did you get hold of the report, Giovanni?" "I took it from your office, Dad. On the day after the accident, remember? I came by to see you, and you told me about Marcelo being involved in an accident, and then when you got called away to an emergency I thought I'd read the report, just for fun. And when I had read it I decided to take a photocopy. That's it." "Oh, my God, how stupid of me to leave it there," said Dr Giordano. "I guess that leaves me open to disciplinary action... but that's not what's important right now. What do you mean, 'jealous'? Are you in love with Marc Walsh? I mean, you've never even met the other kid, so it can't be him..." Giovanni sighed deeply, his eyes still full of tears. "Yes," he said. "I'm in love with Marc." My legs stated shaking, and I had to sit down again. "Okay," said Dad. "Gio's personal life is your business, Giorgio; my son's is a matter for my family. We'll both have to sort this out according to our own standards of right and wrong -- though I'm not sure if there are any clear rules about this sort of thing, or how we should follow them if such rules do exist... anyway, I suggest we end this meeting here. I don't propose taking any further action as far as you are concerned -- as far as I am concerned you and I can put all this behind us. I'm really sorry about what happened to your son, but it looks as if he'll survive. Marc?" Dad stared at me meaningfully. I stood up to deliver the required speech. "Giovanni, I'm sorry -- in principle -- about making such a mess of your face. I shouldn't have done that. Instead we should have talked about it sensibly, without threats on either side." I emphasised the word 'threats' fairly heavily. "What do you mean, 'In principle'?" asked Dad, frowning. "I want an apology from Giovanni for threatening me, and I want him to take back what he said about Camilo," I said. "That's only fair. I'm happy to apologise sincerely, but I want the same from him." Giovanni looked at me in surprise. "Okay," he said, "I'll apologise to you -- but" (and here he looked scornful) "I won't withdraw anything I said about your chum." "I will not accept half an apology," I said, coldly. "I withdraw my own." "Okay, okay, okay," said Dr Giordano. "Boys will be boys -- I'm sure they'll work out their differences sooner or later. For now we should just talk about it within the family, as Bob suggested." "They'll either fix it, or they'll kill each other," said my Dad. "Sorry, Giorgio, but I disagree: we have to sort this out here and now. Giovanni, I'm afraid I agree with Marc, not because he's my son, but because he's right: you do owe him a full apology." "I offer you a full apology," said Giovanni, through gritted teeth. "So do I," I said, equally coldly, staring at him angrily. "Good, that's the formalities over," said the doctor. "Come on, Gio: we need to have a little talk." Our families said goodbye, though me and Giovanni barely nodded to each other: it was clear for everyone to see that this was not over. Mum left the room with tears in her eyes, and I made to follow her, but Dad stopped me. "Stay here for a moment," he said. "We need to talk. I need to find out a bit more about this." "Yes, Sir," I said. Shit! This wasn't over... "So -- are you a homosexual, son?" That wasn't so much a question as a condemnation. "I don't know, Dad. I just know that I like him... no, more than that: I love him. A lot." "Well, he's obviously a very good-looking boy... but tell me something, Marc -- is it mutual?" "I'm sure it is, Dad." "Okay, I think I get the picture. Maybe you're right... now, son -- have you had anal intercourse with him -- and did you use a condom?" "No, we didn't use a condom." Dad looked at me and shook his head. "So," he said, looking me in the eye, "has he penetrated you?" "Dad!!! That's my business -- you have to respect my privacy!!!" "I DON'T GIVE A FLYING FU... A FIG FOR YOUR PRIVACY!!!" he yelled. "This is your health we're talking about -- and that, and your feelings, and your safety are all my business: as long as you're under eighteen I'm responsible for you, do you hear? So answer me -- has that boy penetrated you?" I stared at him. It took me a while to get an answer out, and when I did it was in an embarrassed whisper. "Yes." "Do you have any idea how his parents are likely to react to this? Because, sooner or later, they're sure to work it out..." "I don't know. Look, I ought to talk to him and tell him what has happened -- he deserves to know. And he'll have to decide for himself whether he should tell his father, or if he'd prefer to keep this situation a secret." "Look, Marc, this 'situation', to use your word, is more dangerous than you might think. Society has some fairly strict views about this sort of thing: this isn't Europe or California, this is Chile. What people say and what they really think can be completely different, and the way people act isn't always what you might expect to hear them talk. I won't try to change who you are, though I have to say I didn't want a gay son. And Monica, your Mum, doesn't like this 'situation', either. I'm happy to let you go on seeing that boy provided you agree to keeping to a strict set of rules. And, whether you like it or not, you're both going to have to take an AIDS test. Deal?" "Yes, Sir." And it seemed to me that he was close to tears. *** I caught a train to the University of Chile subway station and then walked down San Diego St to Tarapaca St. I pressed Camilo's doorbell and his brother Danilo opened the door and gave me a firm hug and a loud kiss on the cheek, dangerously close to the corner of my mouth. His eyes were sparkling, and I suspect that mine were, too. I greeted his parents politely and asked if I could visit with Camilo. *** "What? He's jealous? Of me? You mean, he's in love with you?" said Camilo, amazed and angry. "Yes, but that's not important. And keep your voice down!" "What do you mean, 'that's not important'? That bastard wants to challenge me for your ass and dick, and those are mine!!" he said, in a harsh whisper. He reached out and put his hand on my crotch, and immediately I started to get hard. "You don't need to get jealous, silly," I said, impatiently. "Look, what are you going to do about this? Are you going to tell your family? How will you do it? You have to make a decision -- it's important!" "Damn it, I don't know," he said. "I don't think I dare tell them. My dad would die of embarrassment -- he's pretty homophobic. I think maybe Mum is, too, but she'd be more understanding about it. I mean, this one time she actually caught me having a wank and she didn't say anything about it -- well, I mean she didn't tell me off. She just said it was private and I should make sure the door is closed if I'm going to do that." "Well, okay... but if we're going to be boyfriends I guess we ought to take the AIDS test. You've got enough to be able to pay for it, yes?" "No chance -- I'm broke. And if you think I can go to my father and ask him to pay for me to have an AIDS test so that I can go on having sex with you, well..." "Okay, I'll try to get the money to pay for it. But if I do... will you do it?" "Welllll......... look, actually I don't think we need to." "It's for my Dad's benefit, and you can bet your life that if we don't do this it'll be impossible for us to keep seeing each other. And... I love you, Camilo..." And I gave him a kiss on the lips. And at that moment Danilo walked into the room. I quickly moved my mouth so that I was kissing him on the cheek instead, but I was pretty sure I was too late: I was virtually certain Danilo had seen me kiss his brother on the mouth. And I was right. "I knew it!" he said, smiling broadly. "I knew you two loved each other, and I'm pretty sure you've been having it off together, too -- hey, be cool!" We stared at him in astonishment. "I'm as silent as the grave," he went on, making a zip gesture across his lips. "And... well, I think I'm probably gay, too -- and Marcelo is very, very hot -- and I know he likes me -- don't you? - and I want to be his boyfriend, too. Anyway, I think our 'rents have caught on already -- they've been talking about your 'special friendship', anyway. I don't think Dad's angry about it, but a couple of days ago I saw him crying. I was sad for him... but he's just upset, is all." So the local twelve-year-old CIA agent was onto us. I could see a new blackmail attack heading our way, one that I wouldn't be able to deal with by kicking his ass or punching his face. But I simply couldn't allow anyone to start an extortion operation against us: I knew that once you showed any weakness you'd end up paying over and over again, both in financial terms and in terms of peace of mind: you could never escape from the fear of exposure. "Look, guys, I just want you both to be my boyfriends," Danilo went on. Camilo and I stared at each other in shock. "For God's sake, Danilo, this is your brother!" I said. "You can't be boyfriends with your own brother! And as for me... well, okay, you are pretty cute, and I know you almost kissed me on the mouth when I arrived..." Camilo looked surprised, and then angry. "...but, look, I'm your brother's boyfriend..." I continued. "So what?" he said, grinning mischievously. "Huh? What? Whaddya mean, 'So what', asshole??" said Camilo. "Yeah, so what? What's the matter -- why can't you share your boyfriend with your little brother?" Cheeky little sod, I though. But the kid marched up to me, took hold of my head and planted a stunning kiss right on my lips. He pushed his tongue into my mouth and I had to open my mouth a bit more to stop myself from biting his tongue. He pushed his tongue a little further in until it met mine, and I was frozen for a moment, my eyes like saucers. Then I managed to get my hands on his chest and push him away, and he left me as abruptly as he had attached himself to me. A thread of saliva hung from our lips, and I just sat there, open-mouthed, trying to lick it away with my tongue. To be honest, he was a fantastic kisser, and it was obvious, even in the baggy trousers he was wearing, that it had given him an erection. But, amazing though that was, it was even more amazing to see Camilo sitting there, his eyes wide open, with his hands on his crotch gripping a massive stiffy of his own. Come to that, I was getting that way myself. Camilo made the next move: he moved close to me, every bit as deliberately as his brother, and hugged me and kissed me as enthusiastically as his brother had done. I reacted by welcoming his kiss and returning it, closing my eyes and letting my tongue caress his. He pulled me to my feet and hugged me properly round the waist. Danilo wasted no time in coming to join us, putting his arm round me... and Camilo made room for him!!! Danilo's tongue joined in the celebrations, wriggling its way against both mine and his brother's. I closed my eyes -- I could feel my heart beating as the sensations flowed over me. Danilo took Camilo's place in front of me, his mouth meeting mine. I returned his kiss, and when I opened my eyes I saw Camilo staring at us, his face a mixture of lust and anxiety. Danilo was completely unrestrained: he moved from my mouth to Camilo's, and they kissed passionately. And then both turned on me with their tongues, and then, working almost in unison, they put their hands on my ass and started to fondle it. I was mesmerised. My dad had it all wrong: Camilo wasn't my plaything - I was fast becoming theirs... and I decided that wasn't the game I wanted to play. I pushed them both away, removing their hands from my buttocks, but even after they let go of my ass they still kept hugging me. "That's enough!" I said, roughly. "You guys seem to think I'm a tart; or something. And I don't understand what's going on here -- it looks as if you two have come to some sort of agreement to share me, or something. But I don't want to share Camilo with anyone -- and, Camilo, how come you want to share me with your brother?" Danilo, at least, was enjoying himself, a mischievous grin lighting up his face. But Camilo looked much more serious. "Marcy, there's no agreement," he said. "I haven't said anything to D about this, I swear. It just happened. And... I dunno, but... well, I thought it was pretty cool. I liked it. But if you didn't, I promise we won't do it again." And the disappointment on Danilo's face was plain. I moved his hands away from my body and sat down, wanting to calm my nerves and to settle my churning emotions. And, hopefully, it would allow my painfully stiff erection to subside. "You gotta stiffy! You gotta stiffy! You gotta stiffy!" sang bloody little Danilo, wickedly. "Don't laugh at me, Danilo," I said, sourly, and he seemed to realise that I wasn't in the mood. "I'm really sorry, Marcelo. I didn't mean to upthet you." "That's 'upset', you moron," said Camilo. "You can't even speak properly," he added, teasingly. I just smiled, and that seemed to make the brothers relax a bit, even if it didn't do the same for me. I shook my head. I really had to get away and think about things. I was thinking about Gary Jennings' novel 'The Journeyer', in which a dying man is crying, regretting not his faults, exactly, more the things that he could have done and never did. And I was remembering that, after all, I was a male, and basically males are supposed to find a female to live with. I remembered that... that... "I gotta go," I said, "I can't handle this. You guys are both really cute, but I don't want to betray you, Camilo, with you, Danilo. Okay, Camilo, it is just your brother, and yes, he is cute, and yes, I loved the way he kisses... and I liked it when you both touched my ass, too, but -- like my Dad said - I don't want to be anyone's sexual plaything." "Marcy, you're not betraying me with my brother. It's not like you were going behind my back -- you're doing it right in front of me, which is a completely different thing. And I don't think of you as a sex toy, either. I love you because you're cute, and... look, it's not surprising that whole heaps of people can't help falling in love with you -- me, my stupid brother, that 'Yiovanni' asshole -- I mean, it's not just because you have a cute ass -- you saved my life, remember? And you're clever -- a total genius, in fact -- what else do you want me to say? You're really bloody cute, you're neat, you're a wonderful gay guy, trapping little queers like us in your web... and you're posher than King Solomon... how could I not fall in love with you? You speak properly, you read a lot... God, it would be impossible not to fall in love with you..." He finally fell silent. "I guess my money would be nothing to do with it, then?" I said. "Because I don't have any money -- it's all my Dad's. And frankly I don't understand your brother -- I mean, he says he likes me, and he kisses me, but he spies on everyone, even your own folks...and, Cami -- and Dani -- that makes me very suspicious." Dani was anything but stupid, and he realised that he had almost messed everything up. "It's true," he said. I'm always sticking my nose in where it's not wanted. Everyone says so, at school and at home. I'm really sorry I snuck in on you like that, but... well, I needed to give you a kiss." And his face lit up, which I didn't think was really appropriate, seeing that I was criticizing him. "And it was the most amazing kiss anyone ever gave me." "Hey, I didn't kiss you -- you kissed me!" I protested. "You did kiss me, three times." I admitted kissing him three times, and indeed those kisses were amazing -- just like the ones his brother Camilo had given me, too. *** The bus left the Santiago terminus at 1030. Camilo and Danilo brought some food (we didn't really need it, but their mum insisted) and I got the tickets, outward and return. Don Tanilo helped by supplying two sleeping bags, which their mum insisted they brought with them. At the bottom of my bag, carefully concealed in an apparently unopened packet of new underwear, was a 400 gram bag of grass: I was pretty sure nobody would think to open a brand new packet of underpants to search for weed -- at least, I hoped not. Dad had offered to drive us all the way to Santo Domingo, but I declined the offer because I didn't want us to look like a hyper-rich family flaunting our money. We exchanged kisses, hugs and handshakes with our parents through the bus window. We arrived at Llolleo at 1230 and found it was bloody cold, and cloudy, too, so we took a taxi from there to the 'beach house' at Santo Domingo, which I reckon is about the most boring place on earth. It's a big house, with ten rooms. As soon as we got there the brothers set off on a grand tour of the house and the gardens, investigating the pond where the goldfish lived. The housekeeper came by and offered to deal with the food, but I declined her offer -- I wanted us to be on our own. I said we'd deal with our own cooking and washing up -- all I wanted was for her to supply us with fresh bread next morning: we had enough bread for the moment and we didn't need her to make us any other food. "But, Marcelito..." she said. "Don't worry, it's okay." "But, really, Marcelito, please..!" "Look, it's okay, Graciela, you don't need to worry, we can manage... thanks... thanks... yes, yes... no, we really don't need..." (Bloody hell!) The boys came back from their patrol, very happy and full of energy -- lots of energy. So I tried to channel it by asking them to go and get unpacked and sort out the beds, for God's sake... The bloody brats were bouncing about everywhere, and they proclaimed me the leader of their gang of horndogs. Lunch was quick and easy, just fried streak with potatoes, together with a beer that came to light somewhere in the kitchen. I reckoned we could eat in the kitchen, rather than bothering to go into the dining room. And while I was frying the meat they came and molested me, squeezing my butt, so I grabbed theirs in return. And Danilo knelt down behind me and kissed my crack, and then he touched my genitals, too, and my heart speeded up immediately, so fast I thought I was going to keel over and die. "Stop that, you asshole!" I yelled. "Stop it! Leave me alone! Get your bloody little butts out of here!" Obviously I hadn't had sex with Danilo, but I hadn't done it with Camilo either since his accident, which was over a month ago now. All we had managed was the odd fleeting grope, grabbing each other's dicks quickly and sucking each other's fingers hard -- which was, I should admit, extremely erotic. Once the food was ready I put it on the table. "That's all I'm doing round here -- there'll be no more cooking from me, today or tomorrow," I warned them. "One or other of you little buggers will have to do the cooking -- and you'll have to do your own washing up, too. I didn't come here to act as a servant to the milords Pino Martinez, understand?" They loved the idea of me being their servant -- in every possible way! -- but were happy to agree to share the work around, as we had agreed several days previously, when we had first started planning this escape from our families. Once we'd eaten, and were suitably lubricated by a litre of beer, we got a lot more relaxed. And, since it had been ages since I last managed to smoke any weed, I thought this would be an ideal time to return to that habit. So I went and collected my stash from the packet of underwear, pausing to close all the curtains in the house on the way. Sex, drugs and alcohol, the perfect way to wind up in jail. What a shining example of model teenagers we were! I found one of Dad's old pipes and decided to use that, though I'd have to remember to doctor it using Pisco brandy or whisky later on to hide the smell. Anyway, once the pipe was nicely stuffed with grass we lit up and set out to get off our faces. And a few minutes later we were all on the way to being nicely stoned. "Let's go see the beach!" said Camilo, and that seemed like a good idea, so we set off to walk there. It was only about fifteen minutes away on the other side of a small wood of wild pines, and we walked through the wood thinking how wonderful everything was, how beautiful, how fascinating, how... well, we were totally shit-faced, after all. It was October, of course, so the beach was windy and cold. We walked along it, making our way through the Santo Domingo Rocks, and when we reached the southern side of the mouth of the River Maipo we saw someone fishing with a long rod. I guessed he was after croaker fish, which taste delicious. "Let's go see if he's caught anything," said Danilo, and ran towards the fisherman, who I thought looked strangely familiar... When we got to within fifty metres of him I realised who the fisherman was: it was Giovanni. Fuck, I thought, I really don't need to run into that bastard... and I certainly didn't need that little tart Danilo to run into him, either! I speeded up, and Camilo, who was running alongside me, looked at me in confusion. "What's up, dude?" he asked. We saw Danilo take a step back -- he was looking at Giovanni's face in surprise. And then both of them turned to look at us, and I saw that Giovanni has crying, tears running down his cheeks. And then he realised who I was and he frowned heavily, and I'm pretty sure my face took on a similar expression. Clearly things were still not right between us. Nonetheless, I gave him a brief nod of greeting (just because you're not speaking to someone doesn't mean that you shouldn't be polite), and he responded in the same way (just because you're not, etc...) "What's up, Giovanni? What's the matter? I mean, you're okay, aren't you?" I asked, in English. "I'm okay," he answered, in the same language. "But you're crying! That doesn't look `okay' to me. In fact, you look awful." "Camilo, Danilo, this guy is Giovanni!" I said, and then realised I had said it in English. "Sorry, guys," I said, reverting to Spanish, "This is Giovanni Giordano." "Which one is Camilo?" asked Gio. "That one," I said, indicating him. "And the other one is his brother." Giovanni wiped his tears away with his hand. "Yiovanni -- you mean," said Camilo, "that this is the same guy? The one you hit?" "Yes, it's the same guy. Now give us a moment, please -- I need to talk to him." "So," said Gio, using English once more, "you came up here with two boys. They're cute, you know, both of them. Look, Marc, I don't want to mess things up for you -- and I wouldn't have come near you if you hadn't come to me first. You can go now -- it's okay to leave me alone. But... actually, it was you I was crying about..." "I'm not going to leave you on your own," I said, also in English. "At least, not in the state you're in at the moment -- I'd be afraid you were going to do something stupid. So, where are your parents?" "I'm on my own. Dad spanked me and slapped my face twice," he said, bitterly, "so I left home." And he started sobbing again. "Do they know where you are?" "No, I just ran out of the house without saying anything." "Then we'll have to call them. They'll be worried about you -- they don't deserve all this bullshit." And, although I knew it would spoil our weekend, I invited him to come to the house with us so that he could use our phone to call his folks. "Cami, Dani," I said, "Giovanni's coming with us; he needs to use our phone to call his parents." They looked at me strangely, but they didn't seem to want to discuss it further. Neither did I. Gio had already caught a decent-sized croaker, which was already in his bag. We helped him to pack up his stuff, and then Danilo carried his rod for him while Camilo and I managed everything else, including the heavy fish. *** Gio's parents were hysterical at first, but they soon calmed down. And Gio managed to calm down enough himself to stop crying, and even to laugh at the way Danilo was mucking about. It was decided that Giovanni would catch the bus at eight o'clock, and we arranged for a taxi to pick him up to take him to the bus station. We made coffee with cinnamon, which is the way I like it best, and while we were making it Camilo decided to make it perfectly clear to everyone that I was his boyfriend by hugging me a lot. He was obviously jealous because I was worried about Gio, so he made a point of kissing me on the lips to show Gio that I belonged to Camilo, and not to anyone else. And of course, he was aided and abetted in this by his brother, who clowned around having fun with me and Camilo. And it seemed to me that there was another good way to help Gio to relax -- so a few minutes later I had a second pipe full of cannabis ready to go (and that meant I would have to remember to clean two of them with whisky before we left....) And soon we were feeling as mellow as we had been before. It was now five o'clock in the afternoon... *** Thanks David, thanks JJ, thanks Nifty, thank readers *** If you're enjoying this story, write and encourage me to keep it going! I'm at dap_cl@yahoo.com