Anton and Daniel 5

Raul, Lacinta, and Jose trail discreetly behind Rafael Martinez. Their person of interest slows as he walks up the bay view stretch of Lazaro Cardenas. Raul frowns his discontent-turmoil. The puto tripped over his feet to go and meet the Americano puto on the expensive sailboat. It was exactly as Raul imagined. Rafael was predictably despectivo y sospechoso when Raul first planted the idea of meeting the stubborn young visitor on the sailboat. Rafael always brushed off the gay-teasing of his classmates with prickly-cactus dignity. The three companions watch the fifteen-year old dither near his two-story home.

“Mierda, seguridad toro,” José begins. “Your plan almost worked. It got the Americano off the sailboat. It did not get us on the boat.” José is ready to try anything. Segundo Aire is desperate for repairs. The ancient Luhrs 340 F. B. Sedan needs upgrades or José will be beached like all the other uneducated men. He is a fisherman, not a migrant worker picking vegetables and fruit for the Americans. At Segundo Aire’s helm, José is his own master. He knows he will do anything to stay at the helm of his lazy uncle’s boat. “What are you doing tonight?”

Rafael Martinez has decided to move towards the potted-tree-flanked steps to his whitewashed house. He has not noticed Raul and José watching from behind. “You’re crazy, José. Today you thought we could wave at everyone in the marina, walk on the boat with empty delivery boxes, and strip it.”

“Not the helm, but you said the chart station had many things. They will have their toys. At night, we could load the Americano’s Zodiak, slip out of the marina. We could do it tonight!”

“Rafael is there in his house.” Raül gestures at the nice home. The pair on the street can hear the crescendo of an argument beginning in the Martinez home. Mother and son, going at it in a way Raul’s parents would not think to do. “Fourteen is alone on his patron’s sailboat. He is not distracted by Rafael in Los Mochis.” Raul is stressing the obvious. “Why this boat? There are other boats, local boats. There are other ways to get what we need!”

Get what we need; Raul is miserable. He cannot say steal. They take things because they need them and real crime, like drugs, is a line neither will cross.

“These rich people have insurance. They have paid their premiums, their money is already spent, so it doesn’t matter if they claim the thefts. They will turn to their fat women and say, see? I was right to get the insurance. Now we won our bet! We get all that money back, plus more! Raul, we are doing them a favor.”

“Why this boat, watched by Fourteen? The old Italian’s Navetta is there.”

“The Navetta is right by the marina where the lights and traffic make it dangerous. The boy’s boat is at the end. He is a faggot. His patrons are faggots. They are easy pickings, like the old Italian. Maybe tonight we snatch it all. The faggot’s, the Italian, maybe the empty Hunter.” José speaks confidently.

“Then we are arrested at the marina.” Raul replies glumly. “Or, we are arrested when we land. We are arrested when we try to sell the things we take.” Rafael has appeared like Juliet on the first floor balcony. Rafael looks out at the bay, knocks his head to the railing, then seems to turn back to the house in frustration. “Not tonight, José. Tomorrow the boys will get together. Rafael will distract Fourteen somewhere about the town and we can try repartidores as you planned. I’m not sure I can do this, partner.”

There are other boats to crew on, it is a disloyal-guilt thought Raul will not share with José. Raul’s mother shakes her head and observes, “Talk is always as cheap as the boat they put you on!” Raul will not admit his mother has a point.

Friday begins with a lazy masterbation on the pilot berth. 6 of 7 inches of Icicles No 5 (Sapphire Spiral) glass dildo penetrate Fourteen’s lubricated-accommodating rectum. This is very practiced. His palms and fingers reprise Rafael’s Thursday massage to a happy ending. Fourteen has skills. The dildo threatens to disappear as he rides a phantom lover. He Bull-rides someone’s crotch hearing echoes of his own soft pants. His index fingers manipulate his frenulum with the last of his precum-lube combo. Release and catch; it is awesome to watch your manhood disgorge.

Rafael, oh God, Daniel (Elvis … Scott … John) - proverbial buckets of cum fountaining free through clenched fingers. Cleanup on aisle seven, Fourteen giggles. Endlessly fascinating spatters when you let the semin vault across your chest. This morning, Fourteen cups his soft glans and feels the wet warmth on his palm. He bathes his cock in fresh cum, imagining the latex-containment relubricating his hard organ as it pistons someone’s ass. He has jacked off on someone’s cock more times than he recalls. Well, that is Friday morning. Icicles No. 5 withdraws like some reluctant lover.

Naked, his first fist-fix in, man-coke beginning to white-powder his spent cock, Fourteen heats water for his (Anton’s) coffee press. Still Saturday, Daniel warned him. Fourteen frowns his pouty tangerine. Rafael Martinez warned him there would be hell to pay for his truancy. Skipping school to go to Los Mochis, not running the first bases with a Gringo on Surocco. From Rafael’s final blush, that lusty memory might go to the shy Saint Rafael’s grave. Bless me father, for I have sinned ….

The boys exchanged email addresses, like they would stay in touch. Jeremy Gates’ first boy on the beach. Sophie knew Fourteen very well. He jumped into the live-aboard lifestyle eyes open, cock first. Not my first time, Fourteen admits, fourth email address. Notches on his belt-bedpost. “Penga,” Fourteen wags his cock. He has forgotten many of the other words Rafael taught him. Boy on the beach, it still feels unconsummated between the reserved boy and the Gringo. Struck out, Jeremy Gates grins tangerine at the coffee press, as if it was his frowning coach.

Fourteen swims in the pool, because it is there. Surocco gleams after a pointless swabbing, and Fourteen’s tan begins to rival Rafael’s delicate, patrician tone. Daniel (and Levi’s ghost) sourly predict melanoma and early-onset dry-husk skin. Anton wants him toasted in a retro-Speedo. Fourteen is his frivolous-flower-echo in the Baja desert.

As far as Anton is concerned, the cabin boy has a short lifespan, or a short shelf life. Fourteen is TWINK-consumable, an ornament-trophy on Anton’s ketch. “Nothing sexier than a boy’s bikini line.” Fourteen at fifteen does not mind sexy. Melanoma is an after-possibility whereas a sexy tan enhances the orgy-orgasmic now. Jeremy Gates does not really think he is immortal-young. John Cannon Saturday-Night-Specials that delusion long ago. Still, he always finds the right cards in his deck, and two men eye him appreciatively in the pheromone-cum-saturated Surocco-now. Now is all that matters.

Fourteen spends the afternoon kiss-and-telling Cameron and Sophia about prickly-sweet Rafael. He does not send either e-mail. Fourteen reads Rule of 3’s improbable-apocalyptic story to the point where trouble brews in the bunkered neighbourhood. Daniel’s damn homeschooling project catches Fourteen’s eye. The sober university graduate will ask him about it. Remy and Greyson Gates would be on his case about it too. I’m running from the law dad! Fourteen can hear the exasperation in his voice. “That’s no excuse to avoid your homework, kid.” This answer parroted out loud breaks the silence in the Saloon. Fourteen laughs at himself.

He does two hours of school work and two cold beers. Add that to the shopping list, Fourteen reminds himself. Club Marina is Walmart parking lot. KOA in its way, and then again not. There is nothing drab-sad about the moored regatta. As Fourteen pauses on Daniel’s keyboard, a monster Sea Ray pulls past. Fourteen has to look-admire. Live-aboard that! Anton has Fourteen infatuated with sailing, but the huge blue water cruiser is a sight to see. Fourteen sucks on his lip.

“Hola” Very tentative, very hopeful.

Red and white school uniform is back. “Hola, pensé que eras grounded.” Fourteen replies. Jeremy Gates’ parents would lock him in his room!

“Oh yes, six feet under. But your patron returns tomorrow, father is at sea. I can be twelve feet under on Sunday.” Rafael shrugs-rebellion. He has no phone to pester him this afternoon. That was taken away. Sunday comes, till then, arrastrar el ala. Rafael bites his lip till his Gringo makes the beautiful smile. “Do you want to go back to Los Mochis? Hardly what Rafael has in mind.

“I’ve got a better idea!”

A teenager’s better idea is often not. “You stay there. Throw me your school bag.” Fourteen has Rafael cast off the stern line. They meet at the bow. When Surocco is edged closer, Rafael tosses Fourteen the line and leaps aboard. Things get further untethered in a growing atmosphere of rebellious adventure after this.

Fourteen tries to be all swashbuckling-cool about it. No way, no how would Anton let Fourteen maneuver through potential insurance nightmares of leaving the marina. Fourteen is a quick study. He drove the Luxor Winnebago through Denver. Contingencies, Anton would explain. Levi’s RV had no bow thruster. It is just a video game with joysticks, Fourteen assures himself nervously. A quarter of a million dollar ketch starts (slowly) edging towards the free water and erotic possibilities.

Anton has watched Fourteen raise a sail. The cabin boy knows more than he realizes, but he is not that brave today. Surocco can be his carbon-spewing Luxor Winnebago. He burns Anton’s diesel (add it to the shopping list) and steers the long ketch across the smooth inlet water towards the dangerous volcanic rocks. He keeps the roaring Volvo at 5 knots. The screens are on: chart-plotter, depth sounder. The wind is fresh. How insane would it be to raise sail? Fourteen wonders. Wade or (fucking) Cordell would do it in an instant, fuck caution! Jeremy Gates slows the ketch and turns cautiously parallel to the forbidding coast.

The Gringo is magnificent! Rafael assumed the seamanship, he applauds the caution. Fourteen shows off a bit, setting both a bow and stern anchor with Rafael’s help. Rafael looks across to Sector Naval Topolobampo, where his father is stationed for the moment. The Americano brought adventure and romance to Rafael’s anxious adolescence. He is content to watch the tangerine boy soberly set everything to rights.

“We will both be twelve feet under on Sunday.” Fourteen sends the sweet perfume of citrus Rafael’s way. Mano el Mano, there is understanding between them. This adventure can only have one satisfactory outcome between them. Fourteen seals this mutual understanding with a kiss in the cockpit (cock kissing cock).

They swim naked off the stern, pretending there is nothing more to this than poolside play. What they will do after is understood. For a wonder, land-locked Fourteen swims more powerfully than the son of a sailor. Perhaps because of the constant body-sculpting since San Diego. Naked man overboard, Anton loves to see Daniel lift a struggling Fourteen off the deck and pitch him in the water. Endurance grows as they tease him from the deck.

The pair circle each other in a water dance. Currents molest their flesh as eyes imagine the dapple-light camouflaging their dolphin movements made below the surface. Fourteen could sink below the waves with Rafael. Kiss the Latin boy like Daniel kissed him as they fell into the water. They want to touch, but the touching will come later.

Rafael tires first. He swims to the low step off Surocco’s stern and rests his arms. Fourteen swims close. Holding onto the stern, Fourteen drifts into Rafael’s body. It recalls Daniel and Fourteen, just foreplay. Flesh against flesh, a thigh slides up a thigh to press against a hip. Fourteen’s chin can rest on Rafael’s shoulder. Everything is in deep shadow as the sun drops farther in the west. They are shadows together, while Topolobampo still hurts in the bright sunlight.

The roles seem reversed, but Fourteen’s body-wisdom is expanding. Nestled against the Mexican boy, he understands the muscle play. Reverse positions, and Fourteen’s insatiable ass would be pressing into his partner’s crotch. Fourteen welcome-needs the penetration as much as Anton does. Flip the coin, play the upturned card, Fourteen is ready to fuck or to be fucked. Rafael does not press close. Delicate Rafael will only top (for now).

Dinner for two in the cockpit. Eyes meeting over the table Fourteen deployed. Rafael accepts a white wine, because this is very special. How do you pair hotdogs and Kraft dinner? Anton would smile his superior-worldly opinion. It must be known that Anton is experienced, even-especially if the thought is foolish. Levi Fisher would know. You want an acid to cut through the fat and minerality, something to enhance the salty-savoury flavours of the meat. Rosé, this is a gap in Fourteen’s education. They eat dressed. They cannot stand to dress. Rafael watches his hometown, his father’s sprawling base. Fourteen watches Rafael.

“The mountains will block the sunset.” Rafael can say this quietly. Like Fourteen’s earlier kiss, his observation is a determined affirmation of what happens now between them. His confident Americano holds him from behind again, like he did in the water. Rafael’s schoolboy daydreams come alive. Who does not have them? This boy touching him always knows just which dreams to fulfill. There is just the smallest fear that Fourteen will rush. Rafael laughs, “You’re like some big cat with oversized paws and sharp teeth.”

Rafael recalls the heart-pounding panic when it hit him on the balcony, this meeting with Fourteen was lost opportunity. The boy nuzzling his neck on the sailboat, this young man pulling at his earlobe speaks to his body. Rafael has not even mentioned thoughts of love to the Americano. Rafael understands before, now, and after as well as any teenage boy. Before is the abstraction-hypotheticals of his feelings for another. After will be the real-world consequences. This needed-now with Fourteen inflames his flesh. The only consequence he feels on Surocco’s deck is the anticipated wisdom of the body.

“Follow me below.” Fourteen whispers to the wet earlobe and long erection. He leads Rafael to Anton’s Master Stateroom. Levi taught Fourteen to own it, not flaunt it. He strips first. Each necessary movement an unconscious fluid-gesture. Underwear comes off without the awkward loss of center. A steady Yoga pose draws the dangling underwear towards his crotch where a hand can snag it. Men’s eyes rape him at this burlesque point.

Rafael is distracted by the confident reveal, so Fourteen coaxes his school shirt off. Fourteen stops there. The rest will be Rafael’s decision-volition. Skinny dipping, they have seen each other. This now is a different sort of seeing. This is the Biblical knowing. “So here I am,” Fourteen voices unnecessarily. And he is there for the taking that will allow him to take in his turn. Fourteen is polin to Rafael’s bee sting. Eyes look to like, if liking looking does. It is a brief, sensuous exchange.

Rafael does not stop to think about how many others have stood marveling at Fourteen. The August Fair cuteness of Jeremy Gates’ tangerine is morphing into something harder. Time waits for no one, Anton understands mournfully when he takes his pleasure in Fourteen’s appearance. Remy frowns disappointed-fretting at the picture Sophie Wright shared. “He looks different!” She tells Greyson. Time waits for no one in Chillicothe or Topolobampo. Remy looks for damage and abuse. “He looks good,” Greyson reassures, more willing to relinquish his little boy to approaching manhood. Rafael agrees. Jeremy Gates looks jodidamente bueno!

Marca Alatorre, in grade ten, is a plump Bushtit chirping from classroom to classroom. Él es un maricón que te chupara la polla, the boys will say to uncloseted Rafael. Rafael imagines Marca swallowing his seed, the boy taking his cock between plump cheeks. Any port in a testosterone tempest, Rafael recalls his hormonal-desperation. “Marca isn’t gay,” Rafael assures-misleads his classmates, knowing Marca whispered him the truth when he first came out to the school. Fourteen looks damn good!

He feels damn good beneath Rafael’s hands. Rafael sits on the bench beside the Stateroom berth, much like Anton did in San Diego. Fourteen’s fingers stroke his thick hair. The Americano’s knuckles brush his nipples. In his turn, Rafael’s hands move everywhere. The sapling strength of Fourteen’s shoulders attracts Rafael, but not as much as the cowboy hips and hard flanks. Rafael is not conscious of the drive-me-crazy points on Fourteen’s body. He is not conscious of the way Fourteen begins to know his virgin body.

On the quiet shadowed waters off Topolobampo, Rafael begins to masturbate Fourteen. First cock, and it does not matter if Rafael lacks the skills. “Hold them,” Fourteen urges softly, and the gentle rise and fall of Fourteen’s balls becomes a flex and ease as Rafael’s fist moves up and down his shaft. Fourteen strokes hair, and presses nipples with approval. Levi or Anton would eat him whole, anticipate the pleasure-play reward of Fourteen’s seminal jets. Rafael is virgin-fascinated by the poetry of his flesh moving over another’s hardness. Rafael is like he-who-must-not-be-named and Daniel, not really a cock sucker. The world is full of many types, Levi explained once over Fourteen’s writhing body. We seek our own ecstasy and offer it to others, Levi reminds his apprentice before it all turns to mindlessness. 

Fourteen cums quickly between Rafael’s closed fist. Strong jets spring up and are quickly forgotten in the kiss that follows. Rafael does not even notice smearing Fourteen’s shoulder with a sticky palm. “Fuck me,” Fourteen orders, necessarily. He stands back, still dripping.

Rafael tears at his pants, eyes locked on Fourteen. Performance art-seduction, Fourteen turns to the waiting berth. He stretches across the bed with one knee on the mattress. Anton’s ready condoms and a (not small) bottle of lubricant lie always ready where another man might leave a book to ease him into sleep. I’m ready, like this, Fourteen’s stretch stokes Rafael’s growing heat. I’m opening like this to your cock, his body says. I will be like this when you take me.

Rafael springs free hard. Fourteen avoids the shyness of a virgin cock. Black hairs across Rafael’s body remind him of the men who have had him. He rips the plastic package with his teeth, fingers the condom free with one hand, and offers it to Rafael between two fingers like a shared cigarette. Fourteen lubricates his anus, massaging the hairy sphincter while his novice partner fumbles the condom over his near-bursting cock. Fourteen resumes his pose across the bed. This is how you will have me as I take what is yours.

“Jeremy, what?” Rafael confesses when his hands return to Fourteen’s hips. The target is only hints within the glistening cleft. Fourteen shifts so slightly on the bed, sliding a knee outward. The rose is revealed.

“Find me, then just push in.”

Fourteen has waited for this since Rafael stood feet-shuffling on the deck. “Idiota,” Rafael began the second day. You were going to have me at halo, Fourteen smiles at the memory. A new cock invades him in an easy bump. As easy-relaxed as a palm wrapping around a ready cock. Fourteen’s sphincter grabs his partner with a feline-stretch of suntanned back. Fourteen does not have to tell Rafael to move.

The first moment after diving into the water, you feel the glide-sensation of immersion. The senses really engage with the subsurface pressure. It is all along your body, rippling-alive like a school of fish nibbling at your skin. Sinking into Fourteen is like that. Rafael has to pause. Then, like a swimmer submerged, the motion-instinct kicks in. Breeding a partner with your hard cock is a survival instinct like gasping for air. Rule of 3: three seconds to insert the cock, but no way (Jose) can Rafael hold still in Fourteen’s rectum for three minutes. Three minutes is how long he will last driving his cock into his first boy. He is proud of that three-minute accomplishment.

Fourteen purrs his own contentment, keeping his growls and snarls to himself. The boy’s sex is (sort of) silent. Rafael is young-tied and Fourteen always speaks through his body at the coupling. Writhing and a strong reached-clench on his partner’s tense thigh say more than Fourteen can put into words. Love you, Jeremy Gates will not cheapen those words with a boy on the beach. He spent those words on (fucking) Cordell in Arizona. He will spend more wisely now and after.

Rafael slides a foot back and leans into the fuck like he is pushing a heavy washer with his pelvis. Rafael is un conquistador taking MesoAmerica. He meets the resistance-invitation of Fourteen’s tense body. His body recognizes the wrestling match of this now. Rafael’s hands clasp Fourteen’s hips. Sort of silent, because Fourteen makes noises in his throat like it is the vibrating back of a viola, and Rafael’s tense breath is also distinct. The inhalations initiate-propagate incomplete words. The first-flood cannot come soon enough. “Ugh, ugh, ugh,” the final effort has to be voiced. Such a shame to stop the pleasure. Rafael pumps on more slowly, willing the memory-echo of his orgasm to continue. This final knowing of a man’s body and his own response is worth the condescension from his schoolmates. This fuck makes it all worthwhile. This coupling is just the start!

Rafael pulls out, missing the final miracle of hard flesh drawn free from wet anus. His cock has lost some strength. He feels the looseness of the condom hanging on his organ. The weight of his captured fluid hangs off the tip. Cum bathes the shaft around his glans beneath the latex. This fascinates Rafael more than the parted cleft that still reveals Fourteen’s slack anus.

The absence leaves regrets for Fourteen. Three minutes? Try three hours with Levi ministering his patient insanity on Fourteen’s young body. Done right, it felt like three days on the Luxor Winnebago bed. Rafael’s withdrawal is just the parting of lips for a soft inhalation. Lips part and come together again. It can be hours, this miracle. Fourteen stretches up off the Stateroom berth to twist around and kiss Rafael.

“I’ve just …” Rafael mumbles shyly and escapes to the aft head. Fourteen watches his cute bum retreat with barely a jiggle. There is a glimpse of heavy condom swinging Rafael’s cock back and forth. Fourteen presses a palm into the low ceiling and slowly jacks his cock in memory of his still-felt fuck. Shy boys, Fourteen forgives.

There is a nightmare memory of being taken by Patrick in the motel room. Shy Jeremy Gates urged to masturbate while the young man told his endless stories of Juvie-abuse. The privacy of a boy’s body gets discarded. Grab your chubby, Patrick ordered. He recalls his shyness. Fourteen can hear water running in the sink. There is no judgement in Rafael’s inevitable after-actions. Fourteen would have sucked the boy’s cock clean.

Fourteen would listen to a man pass gas and hear the gurgle-burble of his partner’s last meal, as his ear lay on a hairy stomach and his tongue tasted the piss-reality of animal flesh. Fucking is like that. It is fucking insane and somehow grounded. Fourteen would like to explain it all to Shane sometime.

He abandons playing with his own cock and opens the skylight at the foot of the berth. Cool air washes the sex farther down the gangway. Mother Sea blesses the sweat from their first congress. Fourteen turns back to Anton’s bed and flops down to wait for Rafael.

Rafael looks down on Fourteen, dimly conscious that the taking was mutual. Mother of God, he is so sexy there with his big cock and knee bent against the cabinets. Fourteen measures bodies in a bricklayer-bruising John Cannon metric. He is chicken-little imprinted on the sky-falling fuckery delivered on his young body. Muscle and nature’s fuzzy mats adorning male flesh in streamlined patterns; yeah, like that. Rafael has a more modest measure cut to Fourteen’s trim adolescent physique. To think he might have settled for plump Marca Alatorre for his first time. Rafael is too satisfied to wonder if Fourteen is satisfied-satiated.

Rafael has his dignity. He is the Top, so he cannot trust himself to offer the first words. Thank you, comes to mind. The boys smile at each other. Rafael sits down beside Fourteen on the narrow berth. Instead of words, his hand traces across the Americano’s hard body. It is a good futbolista body. Fourteen could run the field tirelessly. Rafael has no idea how true that is.

Fourteen sits up and kisses Rafael on the lips. Liquid passes back and forth. Fourteen falls back with a trailing hand that seems to invite more touching. Rafael is too shy to touch the violated crevice behind Fourteen’s heavy scrotum. He watches his own fingers explore the hair nestled on Fourteen’s abdomen and thighs. His finger encircles Fourteen's groin. The heavy cock with its circumcised glans and flaring corona attracts his hand. Rafael plays with it. He kisses Fourteen’s cock and then breaths up the boy’s torso to his lips.

“I can’t do this at school.” Rafael admits sadly.

“Well, there are quiet storerooms. I always thought I could take a boy down to the school basement in my spare period. Other people probably have the same idea.”

“Idiota, that’s not what I meant.” Rafael lightly punches Fourteen in the solar plexus. He is fingering Fourteen’s cock. The brilliant freedom of this moment. The texture of another’s manhood. It swells between pinched fingers. “I only know a few boys who might be gay. I worry I’ll settle for some Derecho boy who simply wants me to suck his cock all the time.” He envies the American boy. Fourteen can toss off, “I’m gay.” He will sail away again with no lasting consequences. If he was my exchange student for a while ….

“Lie back.” Fourteen instructs with a light heart. Rafael’s dark cock is his latest whimsy. He laps it up from its soft nest. When it begins to perk-wake, he kisses hard belly flesh. “I worried like you do, before. It’s not worth the worry. Let me give you some advice. If you want to suck a cock, don’t label the boy. You want the cock. You want the fuck. You are never going to know who they really are anyway. Remember, it’s about what you want.”

“So you take who you want, when you want, don’t you?” A flat statement.

Fourteen laughs at this. “Are you saying I’m a slut?” He remembers Levi’s answer to this; all boys his age are slutty. “I like a man’s touch. Don’t you?”

Fourteen is getting Rafael hard, reminding him how good warm flesh feels. Rafael has to worry about what others think. “I’m nobody's pussy!” Rafael sighs, “How can you not worry about what people think?”

“Oh Rafael!” Fourteen pauses to gnaw on Rafael’s fleshy scrotum. He might have been a boar sniffing for truffles. “There are far worse things than facing who you are.”

Put both hands on your chubby, you cum sock. Hold your legs little bitch. I’ve got what you’re looking for. Touch your baby bitch cock. Patrick ground the words into Jeremy Gates. Fuck you, Patrick. It does not have to be that cruel. Fuck angst tonight. Fourteen let the fear of coming out chase him across America. He just made mistakes.

Rafael is hard again. Suck dick or ride? Once Rafael is safely sheathed with a new condom, Fourteen impales himself on cock. “It’s what you want.” The advice comes with a wicked smile. Rafael is laid before him in a lustful rapture. They have hardly begun, and the Mexican boy’s gut is jerking like the next orgasm is already on him. The boy’s cock feels so far up Fourteen. The thought of it makes Fourteen harder. His cock stretches to his navel and he thinks it’s sensitive tip must match the buried shaft. From the look on Rafael’s face, he must agree.

Fourteen starts slowly riding Rafael’s pelvis. He thinks of Anton at Surocco’s helm, confidently in command, maybe always in command. “I’m a bottom-bitch sometimes, Rafael. I (take) want your hard cock.” He laughs out loud to chase Patrick’s sickness from the moment. Sex should be shared laughter or a claw-bared cat fight. “I want to feel you shake between my legs. It’s what I want. What do you want?”

“I want to see you cum on my cock, Idiota.” Rafael echoes Fourteen’s laugh. Rafael blushes at his own boldness. The boy’s enthusiasm is so infectious. He is barely rising off Rafael’s erection, and between tensing thighs, Fourteen’s cock juts proudly. Fourteen’s dangling balls massage his groin. Rafael strokes the boy’s silken shaft. Fourteen reaches back to slide his fingers on either side of the shaft delving into his rectum. “No, no, no,” Rafael moans as his testicles are squeezed.

“Hmm, yes!” Fourteen replies.

Anton shifts beside Daniel on the worn green seat. Daniel can feel his partner begin to surface from his temporary refuge from the end-of-journey boredom-let-down.  Daniel knows Anton will be seeing old friends in Puerto Vallarta. Beckett Calibaba, Anton’s previous boyfriend. Anton picking at scabs. Daniel’s one weekend with the man (measuring cocks) was one weekend too long. Beckett’s all knowing smirk, So little bimbo, are you man enough for my wild demanding bitch? So dismissive of Daniel’s architectural interests.

Anton blinks his eyes at Daniel. He smiles at his young partner. “What are you thinking?”

“When we reach Puerto Vallarta, I’m going to take a few days by myself in Mexico City.” Daniel answers quietly.

“Okay,” Anton replies as if Daniel is stepping out for ice from the machine in the lobby. “I’ll miss you.” Wrong thing to say. Anton can only keep Daniel by not holding onto him too hard.

“You’ll have your friends, and there is always Fourteen.” That gets the smile Daniel needs. He touches Anton’s arm to reassure him all is well. “You know me and famous buildings.”

It is obvious why Daniel is vanishing. Puerto Vallarta is preying on his lover's mind. “What’s in Mexico City?”

“I want to see Torre Reforma, since I am this close.” Daniel’s eyes follow a fellow passenger walking down the aisle. His mind is on the architecture. Fifty-seven stories, an intelligent support structure that addresses the local earthquake risk. “It’s the highest building in the city. It has this triangular footprint.” The steel braces carrying the floors merged into flexible hangers in the glass façade.

Daniel looks back at Anton. Unlike Beckett Calibaba, Daniel’s lover respects Daniel’s passion and choice of life work. The older businessman is not a kindred spirit in that way. If Anton saw the building in Mexico City, he would feel the elegance of its sculpted form. Anton would not appreciate the shape designed to draw in natural light. This building was the way everyone built in a crowded space. Not Daniel’s way, perhaps, but it was one deserving attention.  Daniel wants to see the way large openings in the walls are left as “crumple zones” for when the earthquakes come.

It is the other things Daniel has read about Torre Reforma that really drive his curiosity. There is not much chance an unemployed graduate can wrangle a look at automatic systems that bring natural ventilation before the heat of a Mexico City day. Daniel’s face relaxes into a worried frown.

Anton sees the abstract frown on his partner’s mouth. There it is, Daniel’s continued passion for architecture, or dislike for Beckett? One reason serves the other, Anton decides with a heavy, unnoticed sigh. Anton knows he needs to find a way to satisfy Daniel’s hunger for this professional mastery. He was not prepared for this conversation. It would be nice to trot out some architectural wisdom. “The city is so old. Some buildings must be half a millennium. I can see how looking around would be interesting.”

“You don’t have to be an expert.” Daniel smiles warmly at Anton’s vanity. I love you, he mouths. Anton smiles and squeezes Daniel’s hand.

Anton looks out the window, as if Topolobampo will mercifully end this anticlimax. Be honest, you wanted Beckett to see both young men by your side. Anton moves uncomfortably on his seat. Fourteen is quite young. Swanning in with just the teenager might appear, well, pathetic. Anton admits it to himself. With Anton’s family wealth, capturing a young cock was shooting fresh fish in a barrel. It was probably more disastrous than brazenly bringing a rent boy. A delightful boy, to be sure, but nothing serious, and obviously so to all his friends. Nothing, his friends would snigger, like an old (deluded) queen with a boy half his age. Having Daniel by his side was in-your-face enough for Beckett. You remember Daniel Ayer? You moved on, I’ve moved on. That was the reassuring message Anton needed to send to his scorning lover.

Daniel’s twenty-four. When’s his birthday? Oh god, I’ve forgotten when it is. I have to get him something nice! Twenty-four and naturally ambitious. At Daniel’s age, Anton wanted to make an impact on the business world. He shafed at his mother’s reservations. Anton pushed back, so Valerie Avakian turned Mirage Property Advisors over to him on his twenty-fifth birthday. It took Anton ten years to admit the grind of business was not for him. It was a relief when his board of directors politely eased him to the side. His mother’s hand was in that tabled motion. You had to admire the old woman’s Machiavellian pragmatism. Valerie Avakian was a master at the subtle power play.

Anton hoped he inherited that useful trait. His mother hardly micromanaged the empire she inherited. Still, Avakian Fisher Empirical grew and prospered under her iron fist. She had an eye for talent. She knew how to manage others gracefully. She usually managed her only son less gracefully. He could be difficult. She dismissed Anton’s passions. Anton is determined he will not make the same mistake with Daniel. If he has to, he will start an architectural firm for Daniel. Create projects for him all over the world.

“It has been a wonderful side trip.” Anton offers. “Just the two of us.” Dieter and Rolf of course, and that rawhide strip of a Tarahumara boy at the adventure park while Daniel ziplined. It was always Daniel now. The others never counted. Anton could not help himself, “Tell me honestly, you want to meet Dieter and Rolf in Mexico City, don’t you?”

“It’s not likely I would track them down!” Daniel laughs. Of course, Daniel does not deny the possibility. Mexico City will offer other opportunity-temptations. No doubt, Anton will fuck himself silly in Puerto Vallarta. The passage south from there would be full of fresh stories between them. This is understood. “You’ll be fine without me.”

“I can book the flight.”

“It’s only an hour and a half, nothing like this endless train ride. Copper Canyon has been ….”  Daniel’s words are cut off by I’m Gay DaBuDee singing off Anton’s phone. It runs three times before Anton slides his thumb across the screen.

“Anton Schroeder speaking.” The words come automatically, as Valerie Avakian coached her little boy on the landline. Anton is a study on the phone. A call is almost always some pressing business at Mirage Property Advisors, or it is Anton’s mother. When it is a friend, Anton doesVida Boheme (To Wong Foo, Thanks for Everything! Julie Newmar). When it is his mother, Anton does truculent-grudging Don Baker (Butterflies are Free). More Goldie Hawn’s, Jill Tanner character, in Daniel’s estimation. The old movie captivates Anton. When it is business, Anton is laser-focussed on the issue; crisp and direct. “Why are you phoning?” Anton interrupts his caller in his Wall Street voice.

Daniel looks at the scenery as he eavesdrops. Topolobampo is getting closer and the beauty of Copper Canyon is just an Instagram-SnapChat memory. “For fuck’s sake!” Anton mutters dangerously. “Go on,” he continues in a measured tone. “And my boat is safe?” This catches Daniel’s attention. He looks back at Anton. There is a hard set to his expression. “No damage?” Anton listens impatiently. Anton nods his head and glances over at Daniel. The conversation continues as Anton seems focussed on something just beyond Daniel’s ear. “I understand. No, that is perfectly fine with me. I appreciate the delicacy of the situation.” Anton’s eyes meet Daniel’s for the rest of the conversation. “Yes, I understand, thank you.” Anton rolls his eyes and dramatically drops the phone to his lap. “For fuck’s sake!” He repeats.

“What’s wrong?” Daniel asks soberly.

“The police in Topolobampo.” Anton replies. “My boat was boarded last night.”

“Is the boat okay? Is Kale alright?”

“I don’t know about the boat. I’ll have to see for myself. Ask me about Fourteen after I’m through with him.” This seems ominous to Daniel.

“Tell me what they said.”

“The moon is out! José, let’s not do this!” Raul is caught between his captain in the bow and brassy Leticia, who insists she will be the one to steer her father’s panga. He is caught between the determined-crazy couple’s overconfidence and the fearful consequences of this night’s misadventure.

“Niñita, you worry too much.” José pats the fishing knife on his hip. “Crecer algunas bolas. The sailboat is invisible against the shore. We will board her on the Starboard where the hull will shield us from the town.”

“Better at the stern steps.” Leticia suggests. “If the tender is in the water, all the better. We can tie it off before we board the boat.”

“Why would it be in the water?” José asks. “I want to board by the cockpit. If we go stamping across the deck, stern to bow, the maricones will hear us.”

“This is so bad!” Raul moans.

“They are going to hear us anyway.” Leticia reasons.

“If we can trap them in the Stateroom, we will have free rain in the cabins.” José assures them.

“But the best things will be in the patron’s cabin,” Leticia complains.

“What makes you think they are in the Stateroom?” Raul asks, despite himself. I am so fucked! He tells himself.

“If you were the Americano, where would you fuck Rafael?” José reasons.

“In the ass,” Leticia sniggers. “I want to get into the Stateroom. Will there be a safe? Will the boy know the combination?”

“He is just crew. He will know nothing. Maybe we push them off the boat while we look around. Hold them in the bathroom. Cut the engine, we use the oars now. Does everyone have their masks?”

“Rafael will know it is us.” Raul despairs. He never told the boy their plans, but Rafael was whip-smart. He knew he was being used. The outboard motor cuts off and the panga carries forward with its own momentum.

“So you think the little hada is going to cry to the police? Wear the mask, we say nothing out loud. Use your hands. Yolanda and Gerardo will swear we never left Gerardo’s place. We even made the recording to play for your mother.” José was so clever. They recorded a little party noise with the couple shouting in the background while Raul yelled he was staying late. Gerardo would play it for his mother on his mobile phone. In fact, he probably already had. Still, something whispered estás tan jodido!

The white stern light revealed the Zodiac was still hanging from its davits below the solar panels. “Oh man, the solar, we could take that too!” José is already selling parts off Surocco before he has set foot on the boat. He imagines it as a hulk set adrift and all its loot in the panga. What he really wants to do is put the electronics on his uncle’s boat. It is possible, he thinks. Just two teenagers as scared as Raul. “No more noise,” he warns his companions as Raul rows them closer. There is no movement on the deck, no lights, that’s good, José smiles.

The sound of a small engine cutting off wakes Fourteen. The lights are on, he assures himself. He has been careful. Surocco lies close to the shore, well out of the shipping lanes about Topolobampo. He is experienced enough to feel Anton’s ketch tug in the wind against secure anchors at bow and stern. The shifting tide has changed the motion, but all is well. She is not drifting and the night wind is gentle. Noise drifts across a harbor. Fourteen is immersed in the liveaboard noises of his new life. Coyotes in the desert, as he lay beside Keon King. There could be coyotes close on the shore, free of scorpions, he smiles smugly.

It is dark, the time hardly matters. They made love the second time. Before Rafael’s dissipated energy lured him off to sleep, Fourteen pulled him from the double berth. They quenched their thirst with juice and soda in the galley.

They played Blackjack at the table. One would deal five hands and act as banker. Chips flowed back and forth with their male conversation. Rafael lost steadily as he argued football against Fourteen’s gridiron. Fourteen confessed he had no particular passion for concussive sports. “How will you pay your debts?” Fourteen asked the bankrupt boy.

Rafael paid his debt against the gimbaled stove. He yanked the underwear back off of Rafael and took his pound of flesh. Rafael let him caress his soft cleft and knuckle his prostate and virgin anus. So tempting to force the issue and learn how Rafael would respond to Fourteen’s pushy cock.

Back on the bed, Fourteen stood over Rafael as the boy made an attempt to suck Fourteen’s hard cock. It was still too much. Rafael pulled off Fourteen’s need and jacked the cum onto his bent thigh. Two parallel impacts along the softness of his inner thigh. Fourteen ate himself without another thought. He lapped the dark hairs clean and moved to Rafael’s crotch again, needing the missing intensity of Levi’s evil or the fury John Cannon brought to bed. John Cannon could kill Fourteen, Elvis Parker too. Fourteen’s Bobcat-heat needed a cat fight like that.

Rafael was fifteen like himself, not so hard to make his tender cock stand again. This last fuck dragged out six minutes in a slow beat that ended with a sigh. The kid did good for his first time, Fourteen is worn out too, so what woke me up?

The hard bump against the hull brings Fourteen fully awake. Paint scratch! That is the first thought. The gentle bumps continued, then Fourteen hears a voice. There was no way Fourteen could feel the shift in Surocco, but he would swear he feels the moment someone invaded Anton’s boat.

Fourteen clamps a hand over Rafael’s mouth. The boy’s eyes fly open. There is a snarl of some sort from amidships. Their eyes share their alarm. Fourteen rolls naked off the berth and moves silently to the pilot berth in the gangway. His hand reaches under the mattress and comes back with the Beretta Nano in his fist.

Fourteen hesitates in the bulkhead, undecided whether he should move towards the saloon and galley, or back into the stateroom where Rafael lies watching wide-eyed. Something decides him. He arms the gun with a slow slide and goes toward the open hatch. “Son of a bitch,” he hisses at Rafael. Naked and armed, Fourteen snakes through the hatch onto Surocco’s stern.

Son of a bitch, the English echoes in the stateroom after Fourteen’s bare ass disappears onto the deck. Rafael is uncertain what Fourteen meant. It is too obvious that Raul and José are involved. Fourteen probably thinks Rafael is part of the plan. Perhaps he just meant the situation, Rafael hopes. He hears Fourteen’s bark above his head. Rafael can not remain below.

A figure in the long open boat, two masked figures in Surocco’s cockpit by the helm. Fourteen needs to act before they do some damage. “Get off my fucking boat!” Fourteen snarls tenor at the two intruders. “Get the fuck off this boat right now!” Yeah, there’s a crack in the voice. Fourteen tries baritone again in Spanish, “Te voy a disparar en la puta cara en cinco segundos: uno … dos ... tres ... cuatro ….”

José and Leticia look up from the cockpit. The damn Gringo stands on the aft cabin deck, buck naked, balancing on the gentle sway of the sailboat’s hull. The mass of a small gun is held steady in two fists. The boy is counting up. José raises his hands from the helm. “Just be careful with that.” The counting stops: not quite a Mexican standoff.

“What is it to you?” José asks. “This is not your boat. Just stand aside and you won’t get hurt.” He nudges Leticia and uses his chin to point towards the port side of the boat. José steps away from the helm, so the naked boy on the cabin roof and see his hand inching toward his fishing knife. “This is just business, no hard feelings.”

Fourteen jerks the Beretta Nano towards the figure in the open fishing boat, then swings it all the way around to the other side. He remembers how bad a shot he is with Levi’s gun. The report flashes out the barrel and echoes over to the lights of Sector Naval.

Rafael is slithering down the steps toward the water as Fourteen fires his gun. He pauses to look back. Who knows what that bandit José brought with him! Relieved, Rafael can see Fourteen’s sexy butt still flashing him from the deck. Rafael is useless on the stern. He slithers-alligator-silent into the dark water.

One in Leticia’s panga, the woman or Raul, Rafael is not sure. He breast strokes, heart-thumping over to the fishing boat. The seawater catches in his nose. The standoff continues above him.

José is twenty-three, no Gringo gay-punk teenager is going to intimidate him. “Fourteen? You are called Fourteen. Your little faggot prick looks like you are. You don’t have the balls to use that girl gun. You American’s, of course you have a gun.” José remembers Raul found a shotgun in the lazaret beside the helm. With that in José’s hands, this fag-boy will jump right off the boat. “Just take it easy. I will sit here and we will both cool down. Just cool it, or I will fuck with you. Maybe you would like that? Just let me look around and I will fuck you good.”

José bends toward the cushioned lazaret, talking calmly. “I’ll fuck you good and you can say there was nothing you could do. I get what I want, you get what you want. Insurance pays for the rest.”

“You,” Fourteen barks at Leticia, who has not made a move for the port side. She is frozen. The gun is unexpected. José said this would be very easy. The naked boy looks crazy. “Just get the fuck off my boat.” This in English again. Fourteen takes a deep breath. He has screwed up. Anton will be so mad at him. He cannot say what he wants in Spanish. It comes out in a tangle of words. “Look, dickwad. The last man who fucked me over took a bullet. I’m happy to do it again.” He holds the gun steady on José.

It is stupid to get yourself between two boats. Rafael’s father has told him stories. The panga is not a patrol boat. He is useless treading water by himself. Rafael slips unnoticed along the long fishing boat. Raul, It is obviously Raul, has made it easier. Raul stands on the open boat with his hands holding it close to Fourteen’s sailboat. His body language says he wants to push away from the confrontation on the deck. Rafael inches closer to the boy who wanted to use him for this purpose.

“Go toward the railing, slowly,” José stresses in his softest voice. “Distract him for a moment, talk to him.” José just needs a moment to retrieve the Gringo’s shotgun. “I wish you would lower that gun.” He calls to Fourteen. The gun wavers slightly.

“Eres un niño bonito.” Leticia sighs. The naked boy is cute. There is no denying that. The dangerous weapon shifts her way. At this point, all she wants to do is get off this damn sailboat!

Pretty Boy is definitely not the right thing to say to Fourteen. His grip on the gun gets firmer. He has fucked himself again, but there is no way he is letting Anton down. He has the long watch and these people are going to get off Anton’s boat. Fourteen is pretty certain he is about to make another bad mistake.

With a wordless prayer, Rafael gathers his inner hero and launches dolphin from the water between Surocco and Laticia’s panga. The weight of his left hand pulling down on the light hull shifts Raul closer to the water. Rafael’s right fist closes on Raul’s shirt. The unexpected attack tears Raul free from the sailboat’s side. As he pitches into the water, Rafael uses his legs to shove the panga away.

It is unexpected on the deck. Fourteen’s Beretta Nano wavers with uncertainty as everyone reacts to the distraction. Leticia acts first. With an unexpected cry, she dives off of Surocco to rescue her father’s drifting boat. José tries for the shotgun and Fourteen’s finger closes convulsively on the trigger. Levi’s gun barks a second time into the night.

The second report is too much for José. Abandoned by his girlfriend, the little boat floating away toward the nearby shore, he curses Fourteen. "¡Chingada madre!" He spits bitterly. "¡Hijo de la chingada!" Then José follows Lecinta into the water, leaving his toolbox and the bags behind. Fourteen’s Beretta Nano barrel follows him as he hits the water. "¡Vete a la chingada!" Shouts up to the boy on the sailboat.

“Fuck you too!” Fourteen screams with relief. He keeps his ground as he watches the two swimmers approach the drifting fishing boat. He is not satisfied until the engine starts and the pirates cross his bow in a curve. Fourteen’s gun is still trained on José as the angry young man gives him the finger. Then the shakes start.

“Jeremy?” It is a concerned voice behind him. “Jeremy, are you okay?”

Fourteen has been magnificent, but the gun is very frightening. Fourteen ignores Rafael and the drowned rat Raul following him onto the deck of the ketch. Rafael swipes the hair off his forehead and watches the Americano step slowly down from the aft cabin deck. The dangerous gun hangs limply in his hand. Fourteen slowly sits, head bowed. With a sudden convulsion, Fourteen lurches to the railing and vomits a torrent over the side. He seems to notice the gun in his hand. Like something too hot to hold, Fourteen flicks his wrist and the Beretta Nano drops into the ocean.

Fourteen drops his head between his knees. I almost, the rest is wordless. “I could have done it. Oh God, I would have done it again.” Fourteen shakes his head, needing the feeling he is going to black out to leave him.

Oh Elvis! It is not a name Jeremy Gates will ever forget. He cannot stop probing at his brief memory of the man, reconstructing every moment of their time together. How evil does a man have to be to warrant execution? Jeremy Gates knows he could not kill John Cannon. Could Elvis approach the bad Karma John built up? What was Elvis like in his before? What had Elvis’ now been like when he was not distracted raping Fourteen? Had he deserved to have all his possible afters stolen away by a hurt boy’s revenge. Fourteen needs to weep, but he is still overwhelmed by this possibility of evil in himself.

He had no idea who the strangers on the deck were, or what they must be like. He had less justification for ending their lives than he had in murdering Elvis. He murdered John with the same bullet he shot into Elvis Parker. Good on you, Sophie said with a conviction Jerem Gates could not share.

“You were magnificent,” Rafael tells him.

“No,” Fourteen replies, feeling as old as Levi Fisher. Is that what I am going to do? Go back to San Ysidro to atone for my sin? 

“Hey guys,” Raul interrupts Fourteen’s thoughts. Fourteen can hear a boat motor.

“Are they coming back?” Fourteen stares down into the water where the Beretta Nano fell. Even now, he wants it back in his hands. He knows he has been touched by evil.

“It’s worse. It’s my father.” Rafael comments sourly. “Estoy en un mundo de problemas.” He turns to Raul sitting dejectedly on the opposite side from Fourteen. “Hey, we really kicked your asses, didn’t we?” It comes to Rafael that Raul is wet and the pair of them are still naked. He climbs over the aft cabin and slides down beside Fourteen. “Jeremy, we need to get some clothes on.” He wraps his arm around Fourteen’s neck and puts him in a quick head lock. “We kicked ass together, didn’t we?”

While Rafael dries off, Fourteen gropes under the pilot berth mattress for the tell-tale signs that the Beretta Nano was on Surocco. His hand comes free with the box of shells and the extra clip. They go over the side before he takes the time to dress. The ketch looks shipshape. After tossing Raul a towel, Fourteen begins to carefully inspect the cockpit for damage. It helps to keep his mind off his approaching doom.

“Don’t worry so much, Jeremy. Everything will be okay.” Rafael assures him with a pat on his back.

“He was firing off that gun, man.” Raul puts in. “It got all cartel out here and it is going to get real now.”

Rafael turns on Raul. “Oh, the big bandit has something to say, ¡Vete a la chingada! Raul.” Rafael talks confidently. “Here is what happened. We came out with Jeremy on the boat, had some laughs, played cards. I fucked you.”

Raul gives Rafael the finger.

“No?” Rafael turns serious. “You were not here to rob a rico turista americano with your buddy.”

“He fired a gun, man!”

“What gun? Jeremy, do see a gun? Raul, did you hear a gun?” Rafael shoves Raul a little. “Firecrackers, maybe.”

“No man, there was no gun. José and Leticia were never here.” Raul bargains.

“I did not say that.” Rafael counters. “Veremos cómo se desarrolla. Everything okay, Jeremy?”

Everything was not okay, but Fourteen was prepared to endure the now, and work out the after. What mattered now was getting Surocco back to the marina in one piece. As long as it was there when Anton and Daniel returned, Fourteen’s mistake was his own problem. He appreciated Rafael’s taking charge. He appreciated the boy’s confidence. The day had gone to shit. He stayed at the helm, compulsively checking for scratches around the instruments until the naval boat hailed them.

“Prepare for boarding.” A gruff old voice ordered. “Lucy, you’ve got some slpaining to do!”

“Buenos días, Segundo Maestre Azueta!” Rafael calls back with less confidence.

Fourteen stands captain-going-down-with-his-ship at Surocco’s helm, arms folded across his chest. Raul is invisible-helpful, taking a line from the 52-foot Polaris. Rafael chatters manically with someone across the closing gap. Fourteen winces at the expected impact as the boats come together. Three blue clad sailors drop onto the deck of the ketch. The Armada de Mexico has boarded.

“Where is father?” Rafael has abandoned his confident tone.

“Your father is where he should be, estúpido. You are not.” Aba Azueta replies gruffly. The Petty Officer snaps out an order to his grim companions and they move dispassionately into searching the ketch. One starts with the storage on deck. Fourteen’s heart sinks as the other ducks down the companionway.

“Please, down wreck anything!” Fourteen begs anxiously.

The forbidding Petty Officer beside Rafael examines Fourteen with a practiced eye, then turns back to Rafael. “Your mother phoned. I learned about your nonsense. Mi muchacho sobrio y responsable! She reminds me.” Aba Azueta slaps Rafael up the side of his head. “The Captain’s pequeña sombra, oh what a fix you are in now!”

The sailor on Surocco’s deck ends his search at the lazaret beside the helm. He lifts the shotgun free along with a plastic shielded registration. Aba has half an eye on his efforts. The sailor hands the registration to his chief. They exchange a nod and a very slight smile, and then the sailor drops below to help his mate. Fourteen stands helpless, imagining-fearing utter chaos, and what secrets does Anton keep below? I’m so sorry, Anton! Fourteen’s guilty conscience sends the message east along the railroad track to find Anton.

“The ketch has slipped away from the marina. Oh Little Shadow, I think to myself, the horny little bastard has sailed for Tahiti with his American boyfriend.” Rafael grins at Aba, so he slaps the teenager’s head again. Rafael tries to hide his smile. Aba inspects the nervous Fourteen, as if to say, Was he worth it?

“So you anchor this boat across from the Station.” Aba continues his explanation. “Stupid me, I indulge your idiotez. He’s there, I say, not so little after all, some harmless fun, I tell your mother. Your father is away, I will watch you.” No need to tell Rafael’s mother the obvious,,, her perfect son is having sex with some passing boy. “So then what happens?”

“Nothing happens!” Rafael shrugs his slight schoolboy shoulders. Aba slaps him upside of his head affectionately.

“What happens?” Aba asks again.

“Nothing happens!” Rule of 3, Aba Azueta cuffs the stubborn boy another time. If they were interdicting some smuggler, the blows would be far different; the sailors below, less careful-considerate.

“Idiota, the gun, what happened here?” Rafael bites his lip. With a side glance to Raul, who sits dejected on the deck of the forward cabin, Rafael sketches out the piracy. “So where is the gun?”

“Jeremy dropped it overboard. It’s gone uncle, honest! Nothing happened!”

Aba nods significantly, “Nothing happened, three boys having a picnic on the sea. Get aboard, Romeo.” Or Juliet, Aba sighs. Aba has seen it all, delt with it all in the years he served the navy. Nothing new, and nothing that ought to lead to inconvenient consequences. “Go now!” He growls at his captain’s son. “God protect me from the young!” Aba mutters.

Rafael begins to move toward Fourteen. Aba Azueta shoves him back. Rafael gives up the impulse to hug his first man goodbye. He settles for a grin instead. “What a night!” There is his parent’s fresh wrath to deal with, but he knows this has been memorable.

Fourteen is too anxious to smile back. It was all so good before Raul and his damn friends appeared. Everything was ruined. Another shitty after to negotiate. The formidable old man barks at Fourteen to stay where he stands. He watches the next interrogation as he tries to understand what havoc the two sailors might be doing below. Raul plays no games with the Petty officer. He is babbling almost immediately behind his glasses. Raul slumps down gratefully on Surocco’s deck when the Mexican sailor is done with him.

“Show me your papers.” Aba addresses Fourteen coldly. Fourteen nods. He prepared himself for this part. He knows where Anton keeps the ship’s documents by the built-in desk in the Stateroom. Contingencies, Anton insists as he walks Fourteen through the ketch’s organization.

Aba frowns at the berth’s disarray. The sailor grins at Aba and points directly at Fourteen by the desk. Aba tosses his head to clear the Stateroom. The three move Chinese Puzzles to accommodate the sailor’s exit. There have been no words between the two sailors and their Petty Officer. If anything alarming had been uncovered, Aba would have known. His details are efficient, right down to the bilges.

Fourteen hands him Surocco’s papers. Aba examines the shotgun’s American registry once more, then barely looks at the sailboat’s papers, which he assumes are in perfect order. Aba hands them back to the nervous teenager. You can tell a lot by a person’s body language in these moments. Aba Azueta has boarded many craft. Watch the crew and you know what is happening, what some are trying to conceal. The American boy is very careful returning his absent captain’s papers to the desk.

The American boy was cautious with his patron’s expensive boat. He took no risks with it. Aba notices this. The Stateroom hatch is open to the night air, yet the berth is still ridiculous with the earthy musk and yeast of male love. “God protect me from the young!” Aba mutters to himself. He looks at the messy berth and then the youth.

One young man caught this way might blush crimson. Another having his way with a fifteen-year old boy might smirk defiant-insolence. Fourteen draws himself up a little straighter, the truant boy banished by this now. He shares his dignity with the older man. Yes, this is between Rafael and me, his body seems to say. Aba Azueta raises an eyebrow challenge. Wry understanding, why the suddenly flighty taciturn Rafael might be drawn to this American youth, beyond the obvious attractions.

“Nothing happened here,” he informs the proud youth. “My men will stay on board. They will stay until your captain has been informed and he has returned.”

“From Chihuahua, Copper Canyon,” Fourteen breaks his silence.

“Nothing happened, and you will not leave your boat. You will not see Rafael. You will vanish from Topolobampo like a pleasant dream.” Aba frowns. He should leave it at that. With a sigh, he continues. “Rafael is a serious boy, he works hard for his future and his parents put weight on his shoulders. It is lonely, you understand?” Aba reads Fourteen’s face. “A pleasant dream is a good thing now and then for a lonely boy.”

Daniel tries to keep a patter of inconsequential conversation going as they take a taxi back from Los Mochis. Anton is not brooding. You would not even say he sat beneath a storm cloud. His mind is on Surocco and the night time incident.

Two young Mexican sailors are loitering near the ketch when the partners carry their overnight bags down the dock. Anton pauses to speak with one, then the sailors relinquish their post.

“Is there going to be a problem with the authorities?” Daniel asks. He is helpless to his impulses. The younger one has caught his eye, very nice! The young sailor is about Daniel’s age. They share a fleeting flirtation. Daniel turns back to the approaching sailboat.

Fourteen is sitting stiffly in the cockpit. Despite the bright sunlight, his dark glasses are tucked neatly into his shirt collar. As soon as Anton’s foot hit Surocco’s deck, he stands up and reaches for the light pack he brought to Anton’s boat in San Diego. “I’m sorry.” He manages. When Daniel clears the light ramp, Fourteen shoulders his belongings.

Anton walks toward the bow, scanning the pristine perfection of his ketch. It gleams from Fourteen’s fresh attention. Impatient, Anton turns back to look at the young man. Fourteen is all dignity and shame wrapped up in teenage defiance-belligerence. He will bravely go to the gallows, Far, far better thing I do …..

“You’re sorry!” Anton’s reply is cold. “That’s not nearly good enough!”

Fourteen dips his head, stung by the rebuke. His eyes burn slightly, but he is not prepared to wipe his eyes in front of these men. He draws his breath in slowly, using this to steady him. He will head to Los Mochis, find his way to Antigua from there. You’re always on your own, Fourteen reminds himself. He nods his head, accepting that he just needs to keep moving forward.

“It’s not that easy, Kale. Daniel, take his bag!”

“Hey! That’s mine. I didn’t take anything!” Fourteen grabs for his bag when Daniel snags it off his shoulder. He has the new phone. That is all he took.

Anton looks around the marina, scanning the cockpit and stern of his boat. Nothing is out of place. He points to the gangway. “Down, now.” Furious teenager storms at him from beside the helm. It is a short test of wills, then Anton hops down into the cockpit. He slides down the gangway, quite certain that the young man will follow. Daniel knows his mood. Daniel might pitch Fourteen down the gangway head first.

Fourteen stands at the bottom by the galley. Daniel is at the top, so Fourteen moves to the long bench and sits down heavily. Anton Schroeder’s agitation keeps him moving about the clean saloon. He knows Fourteen has left it so. “You moved my boat!” Anton condemns him.

“I was careful!” Fourteen should have kept his mouth shut. As the words blurt out, he wants to snatch them back.

“You. Moved. My. Boat! You’re an adult, Kale! Grow up! It’s like you think it’s okay to act without thinking. Actions have consequences!” This all sounds uncomfortably familiar to Anton, even the tone of voice.

There are more words about this. Fourteen dips his head and stares at the deck between his shoes. Shane probably, Wade always, Jeremy Gates has not needed to endure this humiliating, self inflicted sort of now. It feels unfair, but he ducks his head and let’s Anton’s rage bear down on him. It is oddly comforting to know he still has Surocco wrapped around securely. He is not alone on the streets of Topolobampo as he was in San Diego.

“You brought a gun onto my boat.”

“Levi gave it to me. Sophie said I should keep it.” Fourteen winces. More things he should not say.

“Sophie,” Anton repeats heavily, as if he might lay everything at her carefree feet. There is a thoughtful silence. “You had a licence for this gun? Something to prove, at least, that it was legal?”

The silence drags on for too long. Anton watches Daniel while he waits. Daniel is probing Fourteen’s bike bag. He notices Anton watching him, and shakes his head. There is no weapon in the bag.

“No,” Fourteen finally manages.

“You selfish little bitch.” Anton whispers in horror. He thinks of all the Mexican ports he has passed through. “I could have lost my boat. Do you understand that, you thoughtless fool? Gun running, and I’ve lost everything. They might have confiscated her last night if you were not fucking the right boy. Firing off a contraband gun in a crowded harbor. Oh my God! You utter little fool. The boy was fifteen you idiot. Fifteen years old and you eighteen. You have the luck of the Irish, Kale Euler. You would be in Mexican prison right now if that boy’s father hadn’t wanted to keep your fucking his son under wraps.”

Fourteen just sits there frozen, head bowed. He feels miserable. It is not easy being Jeremy Gate at the moment.

“Where have you hidden the gun?” Anton asks. He looks over at Daniel. Daniel rolls his eyes. He has searched the boat for Fourteen’s inevitable stash. The small weapon must have been very well hidden. There is a bigger problem worrying Daniel.

“I threw it overboard, last night, after I chased the thieves away.” Fourteen looks up, pleading for understanding. I was protecting the boat!”

“And if you had left her moored to the slip, you would not have had to do that.”

“I know, I know! I’m sorry, I’m just,” Fourteen buries his head in his arms and rocks away the frustration, “I’m so sorry!”

Anton watches the young man holding his head. Fourteen stops rocking and he looks at Anton. There is a helpless shrug of his shoulders that recalls the first-impression adolescent dignity-shame wrapped up in teenage defiance-belligerence. We fuck things up, Fourteen wants to explain.

Anton has to smile slightly. The twitch helps to ease his tension. Fourteen sits Mia culpa submissive on the bench. My God, I’ve been there, Anton remembers. The times he endured his mother’s wrath for all his failings. Some like this too, he knows. Getting into cars he never should have, taking cars he never asked for. Lost weekends in his final year of high school. Getting people fired because he could not keep his pants on. Anton was a trial to Valerie Avakian. He had to smile a little. It was usually always about keeping his pants on.

We fuck things up, Anton takes a breath. Well, done is done.

“Anton,” Daniel intrudes on the tableau of contrite boy and grieved man. Anton looks at his partner. He takes the proffered ziplock bag and looks at it. In the silence of the saloon, Anton slowly places each small item on the table. He leans drained upon the table staring at what Daniel has given him. Somewhere, Valerie Avakian is smiling smugly at her frivolous son. Karma is a bitch.

“Oh God! This just keeps getting better and better.” Anton could weep. “You’re fifteen. Jesus wept Daniel, the little gun-running bitch is only fifteen!”