Date: Sun, 13 Oct 2019 14:20:54 -0400
From: MC VT
Subject: Inflorescence (Gay Adult-Youth)

Inflorescence
 ©MCVT2017  January 3, 2019

A tale of coming and becoming, journeys to wholeness on different paths
which lead to the same destination.

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Adult content, 100% fiction, Mb, MM, MMt, cd, rom, slow.
===========================================================================

Voice of an announcer blaring across the virtual racetrack filled with
screaming fans:

"...Past the last hairpin turn, and into the straight-away, here comes
Wallace the Wonder in his mini-van.  Will he pinch The Flash against the
outside wall?"

(Screech!  Bump!  Bump!  Squealing tires.  Bump!  Bump!)

"Flash's trying to take the lead, but -- but, who's that?  Camaro Cameron
swerves to the left and takes the lead over Yonis the Yankee in his
rocket-fueled VW.  Wait!  Diane the Daredevil reentered the pack with a
slick pass and...  Will she?  Will she?"

(Engines screaming, crowds roar, rock music blares.)

"She took the lead!  But here comes Wallace in the van, gaining on her and
he pulls in front of Diane.  What's he doing?  Wallace flipped on his right
turn signal?  What the heck's going on?  Palm open, he dropped his hand
outside the driver's side window to warn Diane that he's slowing?  Perfect
technique, but Wallace, but this is a race, not the off ramp to the Waffle
Shack!"

(Loud crack, boom, bumps and crashes, the crowd yells louder.)

"Yonis' car hit the wall.  Smashed to smithereens!  The fire crew is in
action.  Ferris' car has blown a tire, he's limping off the track.
Heart-stopping action today!  And what's that?  Ferris' car flipped --
going too fast to avoid Yonis' wreck and crashes into Cameron.  What a
mess!  What a race!  What's going on with the Daredevil?  She's
neck-and-neck with Wallace for the lead -- no, wait, Wallace has a slight
lead."

(Screeching and explosion, fire truck, sirens.)

"From our car cam, we see that Diane the Daredevil is surprised and
confused by Wallace' hand signal and turn indicator light.  She's a
highly-trained driver and by golly, she's slowing.  Have the drivers gone
bonkers?  Wallace jumps in ahead of the Daredevil and looks like he's
slammed the pedal to the metal and he's over the finish line by a bumper!
Congratulations Wallace!  Our hero Wallace won again and just earned a slot
in the intergalactic level auto races."

(Crowd roars as the national anthem blasts.)

...


You won't know my name; you know my car racing games.  I'm Terrence Ricci,
computer programmer and game designer.  You will know the name Michael
Biggs, and some of you may even be Bigg Boys.  Biggs was the social worker
that became my partner in the computer gaming wave that swept the world.
Yep, right time, right place, right men -- things fell together perfectly.
That perfection didn't come about easily.

...

Never denied I served time when I was young -- pinched dealing drugs.

I came from a large, urban area - raised in public housing.  You've heard
the story - single, working mom; childcare via tele or computer games.
Video games -- violence, guns, bombs, noise, car chases, half-naked women
and a stack of virtual crap as a prize -- nothing really, except a quick
ego stroke among the anonymous players.

This young gaming whiz figured he could transfer his skills to the
streets. I became a thrill-seeking bully and practiced riskier behaviors by
the day.  The games programmed me to a hard and fast lifestyle -- not good
for a fourteen-year-old boy raising himself.  Before long I found my butt
in juvie with older teens who wasted no time teaching me another brutal
game involving my rear end as the prize.  Painful as their lesson was, it
wasn't enough.  At eighteen I was out for three months and got caught
dealing again.  Had to serve two more years behind that idiocy.

The state sent me to a re-entry program -- a group home where I was
assigned a mentor.  He found a small, trial program to help me with two
years of training at the community college in exchange for picking up trash
along the beaches with a crew of city workers on the weekends.  Another
form of serving time, but it was a good deal for any training that could
springboard me out of the projects permanently.  At nineteen, I knew my
odds of going back to jail were good. I had to make a radical change or
learn to enjoy institutional life.

My hormones were demanding a sexual outlet outside the shower and dating
takes money; easy money I knew how to acquire, but too chancy.  If I was
caught as an adult, my time behind bars would triple.  It was time to man
up and carve another path to the Franklins.  I imagined a hot redhead
beside me in a convertible.  I took the measly job picking up trash and
started classes that fall with only a speck of hope, perpetually hard dick
and a head full of goofy fantasies.

On campus I got a career counselor.  Nice guy.  He gently guided me into my
classes with small steps.  I knew nothing about personality assessments,
career testing, campus life and all the paperwork involved.  Overwhelmed, I
had the campus map, room number and a comp book in hand on the first day of
classes.  Clueless, I copied the behaviors of the other students who seemed
smart and I listened.

Decided to go for computer programming.  Clean work, good pay and I figured
I get into a real life -- though I had no idea what that would look like.
Actively ignoring females, I accepted celibacy, aiming all my energy to my
studies.  I had to graduate with honors to get a job that paid enough to
support myself in style.  No OJT or internships.  I wanted the big bucks
from the git-go and that hot redhead beside me in my convertible on Lake
Shore Drive ASAP.

...

My second year I had several night classes.  Lots of older students on
campus in the evenings -- professionals earning their continuing education
requirements.  I was in the advanced spreadsheet class, the one everybody
hated.  The complex application was easy and quickly and I found myself in
the computer lab after class helping slower students.  One fella sat in
front of his computer complaining, beating his fists on the desk.

"What's wrong?"  I moved to the seat next to him.

"Where's all the stuff I just typed in?  Darn it!  I hate this program."

Grabbing his hand, I put it over his mouse and put the cursor in the place
on the screen that frustrated him, "Right click, use your bird finger."

He was quiet for a moment, then chuckled and did a right click.  The
information jumped onto the screen.  "That's magic!"

"Yeah, put the bird to work for ya' -- gives you more options."  How could
he have gotten this far in life without knowing about the right click?

During our break, the guy bought me a coffee and asked me to help him catch
up with his computer work -- he'd pay for tutoring and offered a sweet
deal.  He needed to earn at least a C to keep his certification to keep his
job with the county.  I smelled a possible job opportunity before I
graduated or a good referral.

That's how I met Michael Biggs, MSW, MFCC and my first real friend.

...

Through the rest of the semester I gained confidence in my studies as I
looked forward to my first real graduation but sweated my Lit classes -- I
put them off till the end of my studies.  I also found out how very lacking
my childhood was.  I'd never learned empathy and had little conscience -- I
had the mindset of a character in a video game.  Through my conversations
with Michael I found right and wrong were a scrambled mess in my mind.  My
early years were filled with virtual killing, looting, death, destruction
and the video game cut my options in real life by making me a
black-or-white thinker.  Everything fell into a life or death mode.  That
kind of thinking limited me.

Michael Biggs was a helper, "In your literature classes, it's about using
your imagination.  Reading takes you through the emotions and responses of
the characters in the stories.  Valuable lessons you may want to try or
avoid."  I started reading with more focus, noting how characters thought
and reacted to their situations -- I didn't have to suffer their
consequences, but I never got their rewards either.  Geez, I'd missed a lot
about life; there were more than predators and prey on earth.  I spoke with
Michael after our tutoring sessions, he encouraged me in subtle ways.

Michael was a little different than most social workers; he had a degree in
counseling and planned to open counseling service for families with
troubled children.  I'll admit he was good.  Had me turned in new
directions, I was becoming more than a street rat ready to invade Middle
Classlandia.  The man inspired me to expand my dreams and raise my sights.

We continued after the semester ended -- tutoring each other.  I learned a
lot about women from Mike.  He'd been married before and taught me that if
I thought money would attract the right woman, I was setting myself up for
a series of divorcing gold diggers, "Attract the right woman with the
quality of your character, you're going for partnership, not a
pop-up. Right?"

I'd never thought about it, and just stared -- couldn't think that far into
my future and wasn't sure if I would have enough control over my life to
make long-term plans.

Through this time, I introduced Michael to the video games.  He was
virtually killed off within the first few seconds -- never had a chance.
He kept at it, though did poorly.  We split a coke when he finally finished
a game with his character still standing.

...

After graduation, Michael helped me get on with a contractor with the
county.  For the first time in my life I got a regular paycheck.  Michael
explained banking and saving and encouraged me to find work on the weekends
to diversify my expertise.  As I temp worked across the city, I gained
confidence.  Strode the streets and hallways tall with pride in myself.  My
dinky little two-year degree and a ton `o grit allowed me to face the worst
IT messes in town.  Sometimes I smelled a hack-job, and simply upped the
security of the systems but noted the weak spots in the programming and
system design.

Those weekends I noticed a few redheads.  Saw the convertibles and the
glittery appeal of my teen fantasies tarnished.  That lifestyle would be as
risky as dealing again -- I could lose what I gained so far if I went back
near the hood life.  After reading novels about men who earned esteem in
their professions, I decided that's what I wanted; I wanted respect.  Since
I was in the high-tech field the money would flow my way -- investment
capitalists couldn't find enough opportunities and stock prices were
incredible.  Penthouse, Italian suits, suave and laid-back without hassles,
yeah.  A convertible?  A limo with a driver gave me a very satisfied
feeling.  I only needed to be the best. I'd give it a shot and if I fell
short, I'd still be ahead of the game.

...

I planned to work through two more years at the state university.  Making
money the clean way was relatively easy, but Michael opened his counseling
office.  He'd hit some snags -- not with his work, with his clientele.
Strangely, he asked for help.

"I need some different games for boys.  The families I'm working with --
the parents aren't consistent with rewards and seldom available to their
children.  The boys grab control in their families and terrorize them.  The
scamps are screaming, raging fiends at home and it gets worse at school and
on the playgrounds.  If we had a game that would consistently reward
positive behaviors and subtly teach them better ways to deal with their
lives, I think we could solve a lot of problems."

"Educational games suck."  I snapped.  "Boring.  Repetitive. Slow."

"Spice it up.  Speed it up -- I've been reading about subliminal messaging
and some new research on biological responses to stimulation of the
amygdala in relation to the pituitary and so forth.  If we can configure
the actions and positive messages on the screens to arouse the hippocampus
and the posterior cingulate, we may have a winner."

He was speaking Latin for sure.  Had to think about it -- my brain had
certainly been reprogrammed by gaming and it affected my life.  In simpler
terms, Michael explained he wanted kids to avoid what I'd experienced and
use games to build character, instill positive values, and help the boys
and their families in the process.

I didn't agree in the moment, but I knew if a game became popular, whether
it stimulated someone's brain or scrambled it, I'd be rich.  His words
tugged at my conscience and I realized that this could be an opportunity to
exercise my creativity, expand my skills, make the big bucks and do some
good.  I could always back out if it didn't pan out the way I imagined --
I'd simply corrupt all the programming and blame it on hackers.

...

Michael and I got a three-bedroom apartment and started a partnership,
informal at first.  We went to gaming conventions and scoured the net.  I
searched for game design information and games.  Michael searched for
undetectable neurological cues; sounds, colors, shapes and rhythms.  Game
design came easily and working his cues inside the games was a snap behind
all the noise and action of a car race.  We started small, but knew our
games would have to become more elaborate -- my design was made to expand
and adapt.  Every hour we weren't working our drudge jobs, we were creating
our game.  We started at the five to seven-year-old category of gamers.

Carefully avoiding any educational classification, we moved toward the
market in an indirect way.  Educators and big toy companies would inspect
us to give us a rating - they might find the cues we'd built into the
system, we had to guard our innovations for as long as possible.

Michael knew children's thought patterns -- every element of our design was
a two-fold process: Using a car race scenario, we began to elaborate on it
with a layered system.  Throughout the game, there were nanoseconds of an
image or a sound - neurostimulation; subliminal messages that redirected
thoughts.  As the game began, split-second pleasurable sounds were given as
reinforcement -- through the race, the messages were more intense, remained
undetectable to anyone who didn't have training or the equipment to find
it.  Players scores emphasized positive behaviors -- good sportsmanship,
helping others, and following signs and directions. Our noisy car race
would make deep, profound changes if we had the right combination.

Michael Biggs was realizing his dream of changing the behaviors of boys to
the benefit of them and their families.  I was having the time of my life
creating without bounds -- gaming and developing new tricks and turns while
finding new ways to cover the covert messaging.

...

Would the game work in real life with real kids?  Michael wanted to strap
electrodes onto the boys to record their galvanic responses to the hidden
cues.  That would look like taking a lie detector test, I nixed that idea
immediately.  "Pajamas!  I used to have a favorite pair of pajamas I liked
to wear when I played -- the stretchy kind.  We can put the sensors inside
pajamas!"  I went online to buy some stretchy pajamas.

Michael knew of a day care center in the barrio -- all kids from troubled
families.  They agreed to let us bring in our game for six boys to test.
It was my job to attach electrodes inside the pajamas.  Weren't so pretty,
but inside six pairs of pajamas I carefully glued small sensors.  They only
needed to last about an hour.

...

Michael and I took the afternoon off and met at the day care center -- I
was anxious to see how my design worked.  Getting six belligerent boys, who
would be paid fifty dollars to don the stretchy outfits and play the game
wasn't easy.  The pajama affair was chaos.  The boys said the pajamas
looked faggy; "queer crap."  Most simply refused.

One very small boy, I noticed, couldn't get into the stretchy pants fast
enough. He immediately began rubbing the fleecy fabric along his thighs and
torso grinning.  Another boy told me to go fuck myself -- he was turned
around by one of the child care providers, "Your mama gonna snatch you bald
if you don't get that money.  Put `em on.  Now!"  With a nasty expression
he got into the pajamas muttering vile curses regarding me and a farm
animal.  That kid scared me.

After that battle, I told the boys to put on the earphones then press the
"on" button.  Michael was taking notes and watching from behind the boys.
The room went silent as the boy's hands went to the keyboards and their
eyes went to the screens.  After forty-five minutes, they'd all completed
the first round of the game, and turned in their chairs, "Can we do it
again?  Are you coming tomorrow?"  That was a surprise.

They all wanted to keep their pajamas.  Snaking my hands up the legs and
arms of the pajamas to remove the sensors was an arousing proposition, I
found.  Great opportunity to add a little tickle.  This job wasn't always
zeros and ones and there were a number of adults standing around -- I kept
the finger play to a minimum though the boys seemed to enjoy it.  As I
packed the laptops, the boys wandered around asking when we were going to
come back so they could play again.  I looked to Michael.  Several boys
were gathered around him.  "You liked that?"

They shouted they wanted to play again, and started jumping around begging
him, "Please, please."

"Please?" I thought.  The frightening boy that alluded to my intimate
encounter with a syphilitic donkey was shouting along with the other boys.

The one small boy who liked the feel of the fabric on his skin was grinning
at me.  "Did you see my score?"

"Uh, I'll find it later.  Did you win the race?"

"I coulda done better'n that but it's hard to see my car."

"Wait a minute." I sat in front of the laptop, adjusted the screen so it
was slightly less than a ninety-degree angle and fiddled with the
resolution.

"Wait mister." He climbed right on my lap nestled his butt on my bend,
slipped his knees outside mine and brought my legs together wrapping his
tiny feet around my calves.  He clicked the start of the game and began his
next race at lightning speed.  Didn't take long for him to cruise the
finish line first.  "See, look! I need to be up here to see everything
better." He kept wiggling around tensing the muscles in his legs and back
-- my dick responded immediately.  I jumped up and kept my zipper against
the desk until I cooled off, looked down to see the kid grabbing his
package, giving it a few pulls and smiling.  "Are you coming back?"

"Ask Mr. Biggs" I told the wispy little second grader.

Had to grin as he clutched his excited little dick and gave it several more
tugs right in front of me.  "I really like car racing."

The test went well, usable information and kept the boys engaged, but it
cost us over a fifteen hundred with all the pajamas, sensors and the
laptops and compensation.  We still had to review the recordings from the
sensors.  I hoped Michael had to go back - the closer we were to sales, the
closer I was to my limo and driver.

Back at home, we reviewed the data, and tweaked the messaging behind the
game decided to test again at the same day care center.  We couldn't pay
the boys again but they hadn't asked for any more money.  They wanted to
play.

...

The next week met the same boys -- they'd gotten all the desks arranged for
us and stood by their chairs.  Each one was wearing his pajamas; I
carefully reapplied the sensors with safety pins.  We conducted another
successful test.  That small boy who sat on my lap thanked me and asked me
if I had another game he could play while I was gone.  The boy had the eyes
of a gazelle and oozed an absolutely charming innocence that blanked my
mind for a few moments.

After several months at the day care center playing the racing game every
week, mothers were calling, begging to get a copy of the game, saying the
boys loved it. Checking with the daycare center staff, the boys' behaviors
had improved, they seldom fought on the playground and finished their
homework without a war.  Had my game and Michael's messaging caused that?

...

Marketing would be a challenge -- the game was getting hot on social media,
but we had to keep things low-key to avoid scrutiny.

Decided to stencil a tie on the front of the pajamas.  The tie had a photo
of Michael's face and the words "Bigg Boy" on it in gold.  By altering
Michael's features slightly, I changed his image -- he became the ultimate
racially-mixed person on the ties.  Couldn't tell where he was from or what
his race was, and it worked.  Soon I was ordering the pajamas in bulk.
Boys of all races and ethnicities sent him fan letters, mothers were in
love with a man who could finally get their boys' behaviors into line.
They'd obviously made the connection between the game and the behavior
changes, yet no one asked about anything about our methods or cues.  They
were simply delighted with the results.

Fresh from the tanning salon and with lips full of silicon, Michael began
hawking our game, doing a soft sell at large child care centers around
town.  Simply by standing at the door with his video playing as parents
came in to pick up their children, he drew attention.  The price was right,
and there were videos of parents giving the game a glowing endorsement.
Soon, the net was on fire with "Bigg Boys."  We upped our prices.  Had to
rent a warehouse and hire packers and shippers to fill the orders.  Across
the nation boys are saying please and thank you, flushing the toilet and
putting the seat down, taking the trash out, doing their homework and
helping with siblings.  Secondary effects -- families were happier,
parental relationships improved.  Those results were hard to measure, and
our bank accounts reflected success.

...

We began working on the game for the next age group.  By simply making the
car race game more complex with more cars and a curvier raceway, more
messages were hidden with more sophisticated behavioral modification and
subliminal cues.  Those two years were actually fun -- adolescent minds
were fascinating as hormones began to influence the brain of the gamers.

It was during this time I developed a strange inclination: I became fixated
with details.  I didn't mind debugging my programming or checking for
security breaches.  It was the additions I made that drove Michael crazy,
"The kids don't need to check the tire pressure in the spare before they
start racing -- and take the hokey airbags out.  No one's getting hurt."
Michael constantly reminded me I didn't need to gild the lily -- I had to
keep the conscious and unconscious streams of messages going in unison.
"Why don't you get a girlfriend, or a hobby?  Put some balance in your life
-- you're obsessing."

After several months I found a hobby and stopped fiddling with the little
shit.  My fifty percent kept rolling in to my off-shore account while I
developed the third-stage game -- the hardest one.  This had to keep the
attention of teen boys who would rather watch porn - teens with their hands
on their rods or bullying their younger brothers and sisters to get out of
the room.  I knew that was the time when my hormones were pushing me to
seek larger realms to conquer and when I headed to the streets and the
wrong crowd.  This game had to be my very best.

It was.

...

By this time, Biggs up to his double chin in women; excited MILFS and foxy
dames.  From my old days on the streets, I knew too much attention draws
cops or worse.  Made me uncomfortable to be around him in public with much
flesh-toned bling.  So, I stayed in our new office designing and creating
new, subtler and stronger changes in the games.  Increasing hormonal
influences as the boys barreled toward manhood increased the numbers of
subliminal messages I hid.  Sure enough, we had the same success; the money
simply wouldn't stop coming.  Simply would not stop.

By this time, I'd gotten a penthouse apartment next door to Michael's.  I'd
learned to enjoy finer things, and stocked a wine cellar, attended the
opera and had a greenhouse with special lighting installed to raise
tropical plants to balance my life.  I chose the rarest.  Maybe I just
switched obsessions, I found myself searching for sable watercolor brushes
to dust my bromeliads and anthurium; gentle misting devices for my ginger
and ferns.  Still continued working, though seldom went out.  For some
reason, the excitement of the streets, the discos, bars and flashy
lifestyle didn't attract me any longer.  More than reclusive, I became a
fanatic about the plants and their flowers -- used their Latin names with
my eyebrow lifted when I conversed with the office staff about my Euclinia
longiflora and showed the photos of the stringy blossom as though it was my
first-born.

...

Michael called me one night, he was working on his third or fourth
pseudo-serious liaison and shoveling child support all over the city every
month.  I could only shake my head, but the social worker who'd parlayed
his expertise into a fantastic career was having the time of his life.

That night, he wanted me to babysit for him, "Just a few hours."  That
meant he was taking this week's `pop-up' cavorting in his Tuscan-style
bedroom.  I agreed; I had no plans other than cabernet while watching zany
Argentine soap operas without the sound.  In my brocade smoking jacket, I
met my twelve-year-old charge and escorted him to my apartment, showing him
around.  First thing out of his mouth, "Can we play racers tonight?"

"Sure."  I pulled a chair alongside his in my computer room.  "What do you
like most about the game?"

"Makes my dick hum -- I get a stiffy."

"What?"  I'd asked that question to the players often, but never heard this
response.  Most of the boys said they liked winning -- it made them feel
good, of course that was a compliment to my work.  Never suspected it
aroused a player sexually.

"You know.  My cock gets big when I play.  My Bigg Boy gets bigger."  He
grinned.

"Every time you play?"  I was perplexed.

"Yup, it's great."  He continued playing the game while I watched him, then
it dawned on me -- the subliminal messages were from a man, always in a
male voice.  Was this boy gay?  I left him to play with a box of tissues
close by and later examined the used tissues with a thorough sniffing
detecting a few drops pre-teen nectar.

...

The next day I brought it up to Michael.  "Why was that boy sexually
aroused by the games?  I thought we were suppressing hormones, like a mini
e-castration."

"Emasculate my Bigg Boys?  Heck, no!  We're desensitizing neurons that
stimulate the testes but just a bit.  Clearing out the chemical clutter so
rational thought can emerge.  Tossing a short delay to the neural pathways
to channel all that energy toward the greater good."

I had to think about that but it sounded like I was being buffaloed.
"Well, last night that boy was getting a hard-on from the game -- said it
happens every time he plays.  I think this may not work with all boys.
That boy -- is he gay?"

Michael laughed, "They're all just fine -- we've only modified behaviors
and reprogrammed a few neurons.  All our little crickets will find wives,
have families without all the belly-bumping and violent sports.  Let's face
it -- hard-ons happen.  His little pecker will eventually take a back seat
to his conscience.  My Bigg boys become big men, you'll see.  The kid
probably hasn't played the game enough to get the full results."

Well, that made sense -- we programmed for the greater good and growing
bodies had to adapt.  That information made me wonder.  What kind of
physical effects had the game caused in me?  Michael and I both played them
extensively -- I seemed to be losing libido.  Michael's libido was in
overdrive.  I let the hard-on issue slide -- just a quirk in one kid's
system I figured.  Couldn't figure out the difference between Michael's sex
drive and my lack of excitability.  Probably just natural variation.

Through the next years we continued refining and expanding our games.
Strangely, armies became defenders of the peace, streets were safer,
illicit drug use to salve the psyches of confused young men almost
disappeared, women flourished, and my off-shore account hit a billion and
kept climbing.

Damn funny that two jerks from a community college campus -- the guys on
the bottom of the totem pole could stealthily change the world, yet it
happened and we kept our techniques top secret as our Bigg Boys grew into
sane, rational leaders.  But the thought kept coming back, I couldn't help
but think that we were doing a kind of self-castration on the boys -- of
course the boys didn't know that their testosterone would be reduced by
playing our games. Hormone reduction seemed a small tradeoff for their
successes.

...

The time came to slow down.  This old game designer was burned out --
toasted potato-chip crisp.  My programming had to be debugged several times
by younger men, I forced myself to continue tweaking and checking the net
for new ideas.  My very soul felt empty; my favorite Tacca chantrieri died
from neglect without its rightful composting.  I needed to make a change,
and didn't know where to turn.

Michael's last nerve was sanded down past its myelin sheath by my moping
around the office.  After several months of acting a frustrated child he
pulled me aside and suggested I take a break -- a vacation.  Of course, I
couldn't and found a number of ridiculous excuses.  I'd done nothing but
work for years, sitting in front of a screen with my fingers on the keys.
The screen was my home, I was in control of everything at my computer and
online I had everything I needed quickly available.

Bodily, Michael took me to my apartment and sat me down with a bottle of
brandy and suggested I accompany one of our buyers to the orient on a trip
for a redesign of the pajamas.  Bigg Boy pajamas were considered a snappy
uniform for elementary school boys -- de rigueur on the streets.

"Time to get a life, Ricci."  He was serious.

...

Michael packed my bags and with my first passport in my hand at age
forty-one, I met our buyer, Buddy Sarisyan at the airport and we flew into
Tokyo, then on to southeast Asia.  After we settled in our hotel, the buyer
and I went out on the streets.  Buddy was from this nation, spoke the
languages and seemed to be related to half the citizens -- had contacts for
everything.  He was glad to be back home and wanted to show me all the
sites.  We walked the sidewalks around the hotel.

From my youth, I recognized the street trades, but there was so much more
here -- vendors selling everything, food stalls, magazine stands, and
plenty of women leaning against lampposts lip-licking and giving us flirty
smiles.  Taxis, scooters, bikes all whizzed by and the colors were unreal.
People wore bright gold and magenta, lime green and french blue -- far cry
from the black, grey and brown of the hood.  Music blared from the
different shops and stalls.

When night fell, bright neon and fluorescent bulbs lit the sidewalks from
the stores.  Wasn't too long before I was in sensory overload.  "I'm going
back to the hotel for dinner.  You visit with your family."

"Are you sure?  We can find a little `fuckie-suckie' if you want."  He
grinned.

"No thanks."  Seemed like anything was available easily.

"Not all the girls are girls, if you know what I mean -- pretty boys.
Lady-boys, if you'd prefer." Buddy whispered.

"No thanks."  I whispered back to him, staring at a youngster whose gender
was obfuscated behind makeup and a slippery red sheath.  Seemed she had a
few hairs above her lip...

Funniest thing about walking the streets -- didn't see any Bigg Boy
uniforms, the kids didn't have cell phones in their faces and only saw a
few computer screens in the shops and businesses.  These people lived off
line?

...

Traffic outside the hotel woke me the next morning -- horns blaring, lots
of cursing in several languages simultaneously, whistles, and people
yelling at each other. I closed the patio and went to shower.  When I
emerged, I found Buddy and a boy in my room.  Ready to start the day, the
young boy smiled, he was dressed in a bright yellow short-sleeved shirt and
blue shorts with sandals, book bag in hand.  "This is my nephew Kim.  We
have to drop him at school."

We left for a café.  Buddy's family ran the place, and were served
immediately in the small, dark dining area.  Smells of yeasty bread baking
and spicy sausages filled the air.  "What kind of school do you attend?"
The boy's school uniform had an unusual insignia sewn on the sleeve.

Buddy butted in, "I think you call it a `performing arts school.'  It was
established to keep our traditions strong.  Kim was chosen from all the
boys in the nation -- one of thousands.  He's a wonderful dancer, and sings
like an angel.  He stays with my family during the week."  The little imp
Kim grinned at me with a mouth full of pastry.

After we dropped the boy at his school, I noticed the incredible flora in
the city, "I'd like to visit an arboretum, perhaps a greenhouse, is there
one in town?"

"We can make that happen..."  He was focused on the thick snarl of cars and
scooters we had to thread thorough.  Buddy and I spent the day trudging
through dusty, offices speaking with sweatshop bosses and their managers
talking about fabrics, microfiber, meters and millimeters; polyester by the
ton, ribbing...  Thought it would never end.  After business Buddy
suggested a trip, "We'll go to the Huntley Plantation tomorrow.  Kim's
father manages the place.  Old French rubber plantation with a big
greenhouse.  Not the biggest plantation, but they are a working farm in an
area that wasn't destroyed during the war."

We picked up Kim at his school, old building surrounded by a high wall and
filled with other children in the same yellow and blue uniform.

...

Next morning early, Buddy hustled me to a truck.  Kim threw his bookbag
alongside my bag with several crates and bags and we squeezed into the
front seat of a small pickup truck headed to the plantation.  Early
Saturday morning and the traffic was still a full-on car racing game on
amphetamines.

Kim fell asleep on my shoulder as we sped northward from the flatlands into
the hills, then on the edge of the mountains.  The air became clearer;
cleaner only tainted by occasional smoke and dust when we neared villages.
At a cluster of buildings with roofs built with upward-curved eaves and an
open-air market, we stopped to pick up mail and buy a few things at what
looked like a hardware stall.  Then, we picked up knives, scythes and
several other implements that had been sharpened for the plantation
workers.  Couldn't help but notice an old bicycle gear plate and chain ran
the wheel where the implements were sharpened.  Again, life seemed to move
forward here without any computerized assistance.  I was starting to feel
uncomfortable -- would there be a cell phone tower where we were going;
would there be electricity to charge my phone?  A feeling of vulnerability
crept through me.

After drinks and sandwiches, we piled back into the truck for the last leg
of our journey.  As the sun set behind craggy cliffs, Kim jumped on my lap,
"That's our pineapple field, and we have cotton and cocoanuts..."  He
pointed out the mango and papaya trees and the stream that ran through the
area.  The foliage was dense and darkness soon surrounded us.  Buddy slowed
on a narrow, old road.

A small yellow light flickered through the trees.  We made our way slowly
up to the front of an ancient, three-story house -- must have been built in
the nineteen twenties or earlier.  A veranda encircled the lower floor.
Stepping out of the truck, my knees were stiff, but we unloaded our bags
and headed toward the smell of food.

I was grossly overdressed but shed what I could and joined the men on the
porch.  The earth was still giving off heat, sweat dripped and shirts were
wet.  Wasn't there a breeze?  Suddenly I realized there was no electricity,
therefore, no fans -- no air conditioning and I was stuck out here for the
weekend.  Oh, well -- Michael told me to get to a life.  I could endure a
few more hours of heat though doubted it would bring me anything but a
rash.

Kim's father was not tall, but a wide, strong man with broad shoulders and
a big smile on his square face.  I relaxed when I was offered a beer before
we ate.  I leaned back and sipped the slightly cool beer enjoying the
banter going on around me though I didn't understand much except a few
English words they used occasionally.

We gathered for dinner around a large ebony table under a chandelier that
boasted what looked like thousands of cut pieces of crystal and dined by
candlelight.  Sitting between Kim and Buddy, I was given a spoon after I
couldn't manage to get any food in my mouth with chop sticks.  The entire
family had a good laugh several times, and surprisingly, I wound up
laughing at myself often.  Each bowl was filled with tiny bits of sweet or
spicy food, steamy rice and sauces I didn't even ask about.  So many,
though.  Seemed like the food never stopped coming -- surprising meal in
the middle of nowhere.

Never realized how good it felt to be with a family -- proud parents with
good jobs, housing and relaxed smiles.  Kim's younger siblings got up and
cleared the plates while adults laughed and talked.  Kim's mother asked him
to sing for us.  Grabbing my spoon and using it as a microphone, he sang a
pop song -- something slow and sad, but his voice was clear and strong.  We
applauded as the young body bowed and grinned.

Complete darkness enwrapped the house, we carried small oil lamps -- looked
to be made from tin cans and string.  When we went to the veranda to cool
off, bundles of mosquito netting came out.  The children hooked their
hammocks from the ornate wood posts along the porch, making their beds.  I
was escorted to the greenhouse, "No mosquitos.  Many lizards." Kim's mom
told me.  Had to wonder how hot it would be in there.  Oil lamp in hand, I
took the finest suite on a French Plantation -- an extra-wide, net hammock
strung in a cool, verdant womb.

After stripping, I lay in the hammock and gave a shove to rock my sling.
Dreams, sensual and warm, moist skin, tension, friction, and a bliss state
into a drowning unconsciousness rolled through my body and brain.  Never
have slept so deeply and comfortably.  Woke up to find my pillow moist.
Had I cried during the night?  I felt refreshed and relaxed and watched to
a hummingbird hovering over my hammock.

...

Looking around in the dim light of the dawn, I examined old greenhouse
structure thick with mosses.  Instead of slick, straight metal frames
holding the glass, the original curved ironwork still held the frosted
glass shimmering with a patina of age and fitted into an elaborate pattern.
One end was a forest of orchids and flamingo plants, blooms everywhere.
"Incredible, just incredible," I thought as I stroked the trunk of a bird
of paradise that towered twenty feet above me with huge blossoms.  The air
was still, slightly damp and different -- couldn't describe the feeling it
gave me, but my head cleared and my body felt lighter as I breathed deeply.
Herbal scents and sharp smells twined through the sweetness of the air.
Full consciousness rolled into my brain as I heard noises outside.

The voice of Kim and his father came closer.  They came in, smiling and
tossed a pair of shorts to me, "Wear these."  I looked at Kim; his skin
seemed to glow -- his father appeared bronzed, standing behind his son with
his hands on the boy's shoulders.

"Breakfast is almost ready."  Kim grabbed my hand and pulled me along.  I
strode on weak legs from the complete relaxation, smiled following them to
the bathhouse.  It was an old, planked structure with a cistern near the
roof that caught rain.  Kim's father said it was built for a crowd of men
when the harvesters came through years ago.

The youngest boys were soaped and rinsed quickly and ran to the house to
dress.  Kim and his brother were soaped and scrubbed by their father, who
spoke with them softly as he washed them, kissing their cheeks occasionally
as he rubbed his soapy hand over their slick, wet bodies.  I'd never had a
father to wash me or speak with me that way -- a few quick moments of
intimate words and a manual check of their secret places, a few more
whispers, a few kisses on their ears and necks.  Unexpectedly tender
touches between them with the rest of us standing around scrubbing -- must
be a family or cultural thing.  Without hesitancy, Kim's father rinsed him
and told him to run on. The men stayed longer as they talked about their
schedules.

Kim watched me over his shoulder before he left as I stood under a shower
and pulled the chain for water.  He snickered and pointed at me, speaking
to Buddy.

"What is he saying?"

"Kim says you're a panda-man."  He just smiled, "Asian men don't have so
much hair.  You surprised him."  A nod and a wink to Kim and I went back to
rinsing feeling quite comfortable and actually enjoyed the casual attitude
about being unclothed among the workers.

Breakfast consisted of a thick rice stew with peppery-hot sausages and tea.
Couldn't complain -- the women were showing off their skills and it was
better than my pre-packaged gourmet oatmeal from the microwave.  Fully
awake, I felt a void open abruptly inside me.  My fingers were missing the
keyboard and my brain was searching for a rectangle filled with text and
photos.  My eyes scanned the veranda, the yard, the children; colors and
gentle movements as the sunlight played through the trees and onto plants,
"Slow down Ricci, get a life."  My brain balked for a few moments and I
took a deep breath remembering an incredible a deep sleep, delightful
shower....

...

Most of the men went to the fields.  I was left with the women and younger
children.  Taking a stack of bowls to the kitchen, I went to talk to them.
Standing beside Kim's mother and the gals in a spacious, old kitchen, where
small green lizards scampering the screens, patrolling for bugs, I asked,
"What is it about the greenhouse?  I slept so deeply.  Is there some kind
of special plant in there - some kind of strange herb?"

The women giggled and I smiled, hoping for information and tugged the
ponytail of one young girl.  Every woman here was beautiful-- no
photoshopping, no autocorrections, no makeup.  Do women really look like
that?

Kim's mother continued washing the rice, "My father lived with us until he
was very old.  He experimented with the plants, cross pollinating some of
the local herbs -- the ceremonial plants.  He brought a few from the Middle
East and I think some from Brazil.  I'm not sure what he was doing.  He
studied in Botany in France, then managed the entire plantation for years.
Everyone loved our Khun T�, he was a great man."  She smiled warmly,
"Kim was his favorite grandson - his first.  They spent hours in the
greenhouse together, sometimes stayed in there several days.  Talk to Kim
about what they were doing, he might know."

The girls giggled again -- I heard them clearly along with the sounds of
the water as they washed, insects buzzing outside the screen, the creaks
and groans of the old house.  My ears felt full.

...

Buddy left for the capital mid-morning; Kim, his father and I grabbed
burlap bags and trekked down the path into the jungle.  Up and down, around
boulders, we emerged to find ancient rubber trees in neat rows that ran
into the distance.  Still in a cool mist of morning fog, we passed through.
I noted the clever basins set into the buttresses of the trees.  At the end
of the rubber trees we walked downward from the grove toward the valley.

The day was still cool as the sun made its way above the distant peaks.
Bromeliads big enough for a tarantula's bathtub clung to ebony trees, small
streams with still pools revealed small spots of froth.  In the froth, each
bubble contained a life.  Almost microscopic yellow forms of coming
lizards.  Frogs croaked and birds announced our presence at every turn,
breaking the hush with their loud cries.  I think there were monkeys in the
canopy of limbs above us.  They hid, yet I felt as though we were being
watched.  Bugs and mosquitos weren't as shy.  Understanding came silently
from within me -- without narration.

Short, primitive dragon fruit trees grew in thick rows ahead.  We gathered
and ate as we moved on to several more acres planted in pineapple, we
searched for the ripest and stuffed them in our bags.  Short, sweet
bananas, and long, green plantains - we gathered, bagged and found
ourselves in the bottom land.  Cotton, low and lush grew, bolls still
green.  We came to a river -- not so wide where Kim and his father stripped
and jumped in from a small, flat raft.

The water ran slowly.  Since we left the house, no one had spoken a word,
only the sounds of the animals and breezes around us.  Kim swam to me
silently like a pup treading water.  One arm came around my neck, the other
went to feel the hair on my chest.  He smiled sweetly, then rubbed along
the thick stubble of my face.  His father called to him sharply.  Kim shot
a few words back at his father who took the boy out of the river and behind
a clump of tall cane.  I heard several swats, a few heated words between
them, then Kim came running back to the river with a frown and jumped in
the water, swam to the other side, sat on the bank and watched us.  Kim's
father only looked at me, "Such a precocious boy.  Forgive his disrespect."

Down through the valley our steps slowed with the heavy bags over our
shoulders.  Before we went to the house, we stopped on the edge of a large
garden gathering vegetables for the rest of the day.  Incredible how
generous the plants were offering their best to us.  We pulled daikon,
gathered tiny ears of corn, bok choy and squashes of several varieties --
Kim's Father taught me how to find the best and pick only the ripest.  The
sun, the soil, the sap from the plants we'd cut made strong, healthy
smells.  Our bags full, we left them by the kitchen door.  Didn't see the
women, but heard them in the shower as we passed.  Kim ran inside with the
women and didn't come out.  Kim's father asked me to accompany him to town
for supplies.  I deferred, "Got to rest before lunch."

...

The greenhouse was warmer with the sun, and I stripped, and lay in my
hammock calling back calm and dreams from the night before.  Small plants
in their pots bloomed around me, tiny insects buzzed; I watched, eyes heavy
and muscles tired. Letting one leg fall on the floor I gave myself a shove
and the hammock rocked me gently.  This was paradise, surely, my eyes
closed and I took a deep breath full of oxygen and sweet scents.

The hammock stilled as young Kim climbed on it with me, turning his head at
a coy angle and smiling.  He slung his slender leg over me and sat on my
belly.  I lifted my knees and he leaned back on them with his feet by my
sides as he hummed an ancient tune, looking upward.  Brown skin, smooth and
even, with tinges of pink at his hands, tiny nipples almost the same color
as his skin.  He had a small mouth, almost circular with full lips.
Closing his eyes, he rubbed his ankles along my ribs, just barely peeking
from under his eyelashes, I saw his dark eyes glance over my body.

His knees fell widely apart revealing a tiny package still bearing droplets
of water from his rinse with the women.

Had to smile and lifted one of his feet as he watched me.  Dusted it off,
and admired the pinks and browns, the smooth skin then I rubbed his sole on
the hair of my chest.  Slowly, gently I placed it on my cheek, over my
rough stubble and gently scoured his sole.  He grinned.  Brought the tender
toes and lightly rubbed them over my lips.  My tongue sneaked out between
his big toe and the next.  Watching his face, he gave me a slow smile.  He
placed his other foot on my belly wanting more.  For a moment, I thought he
was teasing me.  Felt like a dream as I watched his body relax, enjoying
the stiff beard of my chin and lips.  Instead of cooing, or giggling, he
sang a song, softly, couldn't understand the worlds, and he had the clear
distinct tones of a boy; I watched his ribs move as he gathered air for the
next notes.

A dream that was programmed inside me began running.  Like a foreign
computer application sneaked inside my brain evoking silent wonder.  Moving
his feet along my face, a sole on each cheek, his toes in front of my eyes,
I peeped between his toes as though through keyholes, watching a
seven-year-old singing privately to himself, eyes shut.  His head tilted
back as he hit higher notes.  Tiny muscles in his neck showed his quick
strain to reach a note punctuating the melody with dissonant sounds of his
language.  He kept his feet on my face as I moved one hand to the floor,
pushing the hammock into sway.

His song fell in time with the sway.

One foot left my face and went to the hammock.  He lifted his small rear
and pulled my soft member from behind him, smiling.  He wanted to play with
my body?  I watched, wondering how far he'd go.  Not one notion of sex,
nothing erotic, only a boy exploring a hirsute man.  Staying still, one
foot still on my cheek, I watched as his tiny ball sac flattened at the
base of my penis and his short, relaxed dick was ignored as his hands
lifted my rod.  He tugged at my foreskin and looked closely.  Must have
been alright, he kept his eyes downward.  One hand tugged at my pubic hair,
he pulled it to check the length.  That seemed to meet with his approval,
then with both hands on my soft rod, he gripped and squeezed lightly,
glancing at my face.  Couldn't move, only gave him a small nod.  He lowered
his eyes again to my rod, pulling my foreskin back, one hand still
gripping.  With both hands on my shaft, he gripped and began stroking,
watching my glans, feeling my erection filling.  Next to his groin my
appendage appeared monstrously large, coarse, ugly; a vulture next to a
tiny sparrow.

A drop of liquid rose from my slit.  His tiny finger came to touch it; he
licked his finger, glancing at me and continued revealing, then covering my
glans as he watched my slit ooze more heavily.

Strangely, my mind wasn't in a sexual mode, my body was responding to the
innocence of the boy's touches.  Enthralled, I continued watching Kim,
wondering what he was thinking and planning to do next.  One hand stayed on
my shaft, giving me half-hearted strokes while his right hand went to his
barely pistachio-sized balls; he pinched and pulled for a moment and I saw
his tiny, smooth rod standing up, covered with a dusty-beige hood.  He spit
on the pad of his thumb and rubbed it on his slit, pushing his veil back.
Hard cock in each hand, he raised himself on one knee and touched the tip
of his twig to my slit, rubbing my juice around our glans'.  I closed my
eyes, breathing deeply.  His hands gripped harder and stroked twice while
his right hand kept the tips our cocks touching.  This was suddenly highly
erotic, and not the hard, forced push of need, but a lulling moment of
enjoyment of our sensitive parts as one moment in something greater.

I knew what my body would eventually do, maybe he didn't.  That was the
moment I realized the heat on my scrotum was from his anus, his cleft.
Only had enough motivation to sigh and let him continue.

By this time, I'd felt a stream dripping from my slit which covering his
hand and made a wet trail down my rod.  He saw it and drew his tiny rigid
rod from my slit down my throbbing dick, across his hand in the trail.  I
heard him sigh several times and he pulled his cock a few times
nonchalantly as he directed my liquid down my shaft.

Slowly, he pressed my rod against my belly, still leaking.  Holding his
bird toward his navel, he leaned forward pressing our dicks together in the
liquid.  Cool air rushed onto my scrotum, drawing my balls upward as his
warm cleft moved away.  I was ready, though there was nothing rushed,
nothing pushing me toward release.  His hands came to my shoulders when he
leaned forward and he began pulling his body upward.  The sudden rub of his
rod against mine in the slippery moisture forced my mind into full-sex
mode, and my body didn't comply, I was so relaxed, ready to simply enjoy
more of this boy's body on mine.

My hand almost spanned his back as I pressed him against me and felt his
ribs, his spine.  Eyelashes fluttered on my chest as he made soft grunts
enjoying himself.  My semen would come soon, I could feel it moving around
and upward, I'd let the boy's short hunches bring it out.  I felt his body
quiver slightly, then heard the hum of an engine outside.  Kim's dad was on
the road heading to the house.  When Kim jumped up, cool air hit my rod.
He stepped back and watched five heavy pulses of cum jump on my chest, and
as my rod lay nestled in my body hair, still dripping as he disappeared.

Lazy and happy, I lay in the hammock and slept through lunch.  Woke late
and sat on the veranda fanning myself and watching the children play with
ribbons tied on slender limbs.  They made circles, chased each other and
made momentary games that brought laughter and more games without rules or
limits, without winners or losers.  Fluttering games without beginnings or
ends.  How simple; joyful.

Dinner.  Steamed chunks of fish with rice and a fermented, highly salted
paste, fruit and the vegetables we'd picked that morning.  Nothing like I'd
ever tasted before; the combinations of tastes, textures and smells were
balanced perfectly -- each bit a tad different and highly sensual.

Still, at times I'd find my eyes searching for a lit screen, and as the sun
disappeared the blackness enveloped us.  The only light was the small oil
lamps.  We sat them on an old wooden table and played cards into the night
after the younger children were in their hammocks.  As I walked back to the
greenhouse, I was stunned at the quality of life here -- no one to be
called to deliver the food, no movies, no commercialized entertainment,
nothing pre-packaged to induce further sales, only ourselves in an abundant
jungle.  Sure, I knew it was hard work living in an old house so far out,
and the family seemed to take their chores as physical chants, rhythmic
movements in the background of their lives fading in and out as the sun and
sky ruled their schedules.

...

With the small oil lamp in hand, I looked forward to the hammock that
night, strange dreams and sensual feelings came quickly.  Woke up to find
Kim next to me and the smell of our musk enveloped us behind the smell of
spunk -- my bed hadn't smelled like that in years, but I wondered.
Couldn't remember doing anything, and the boy looked too peaceful for me to
have disturbed him.

We had a wonderful shower with the men that morning.  Kim decided he wanted
to run his fingers through the suds in my body hair, up and down my torso,
on my pecs, I simply stood still though my erect penis was full and nodding
at everyone.  I took the soap and gave him a quick scrub, tickling and
asking him where his hair was...  Easily and naturally, I kissed his tender
neck and like I'd known the words all my life, I whispered that he would be
a big man one day, and he had to be careful watching for big snakes and
leopards as I stroked and rinsed, the same way like his father had done.

...

This would be my last day on the plantation; the thought brought
despondency.  All so easy and simple, no distractions, no irritations and a
deep satisfaction with life as it was.  Michael was right -- I needed a
control+alt+delete more than I knew.

Stayed in the greenhouse that morning simply inspecting and sniffing,
relaxing and dozing until Kim came announce lunch.  Looking up at the boy
in front of the frosted panes of sunlight, he looked like an angel. My
hands went to his shoulders and he leaned close.  I kissed him.  His lips
lingered and he kissed me with tongue.  I was mildly confused and very
pleased.

I sighed, Kim asked what I wanted to know about the greenhouse and his Khun
T�.

"Do you know what your grandfather was doing with the plants here?"

"We took care of the plants, kept them healthy.  Sometimes we trimmed them,
sometimes we put bags over the blossoms after we tickled them with a glass
rod..."  He led me by the hand to the end of the greenhouse where a narrow
wooden door was overgrown with vines and moss, "Tata's books are in
here. We kept notes on everything."

Took both of us tugging to get the old wooden door open, it was swollen
with moisture.  Inside we found five narrow shelves, each containing neat
rows of ancient composition books.  Carefully, I pulled out the first in
the upper left-hand corner of the closet.  "December, 1945..."  Sketches
and abbreviated names of plants, chemical compounds, drawings and notes on
pests, worms, and the dates of coming blooms on various plants.  He was an
excellent observer and it dawned on me -- the grandfather was a certainly a
Botanist but more than that...  I put the book back carefully.  These were
the treasures of this family.

...

After lunch, I went to the greenhouse, stripped, and with my cellphone and
only a little charge left, I walked the rows up and down, watching my rod
and taking deep, slow breaths.  Something in here swayed my brain, shook my
libido and reverberated down through my psyche in the most peculiar way.
My mind filled with relaxing thoughts, not clear, but a vague fulfillment.
As I shuffled slowly among the plants, my rod filled.  In front of me were
pots of odd lilies in bloom, didn't take long for me to leave the best of
Ricci at the base of the plant.

Peeking through the deep green leaves, I searched for a closed blossom to
find a seed or a pod.  Nothing there; most lilies are propagated by a tuber
or bulb.  Small woody herbs stood in pots here and there, I recognized
their smells from the foods I was served, and I continued examining each
one as I formed a plan to get a computer and scanner to the plantation when
I returned to the city.  The grandfather's notes may contain information on
this wonderous experience.  Whatever was making me feel this good would be
worth a mint in the frenzied cities where the video gaming mentality ruled.

Broken from my thoughts by Kim giggling from behind a ginger in full bloom.
His dark eyes glimmered, smiling, he ducked behind several large birds of
paradise, "Catch me!"  Forgot about my nakedness as I lurched through the
plants.  He disappeared; I could hear him breathing behind a salvia near
the hammock.  Being taller, I looked over the bush to see him looking for
me in the wrong direction.  From behind, I jumped and grabbed his slender
waist and lifted him up in front of me.  He laughed, filling the greenhouse
with boyish squeals.

I threw his body on the hammock and attacked his tender form in the most
pleasurable way -- nipping his neck and tickling his ribs, biting his toes
and chomping behind his knees.  Kim was a wiggly mess of laughter and
giggles, only providing me with the front of being offended.  When I stood
back, I was naked and hard.  Had to run to find my briefs and shorts.
Grinning, and dressing, I realized I'd never been tickled or enjoyed that
kind of play in my life and no virtual reality could touch this.

As I passed the lily where I'd donated my cum, I noticed the flower had
darkened, taken on a deeper vermillion cast, as though it were excited.
Life felt like an enhanced jpg.

...

As the sun disappeared behind the mountains and the sounds of the jungle
reverberated through the dark, I sat with the family dining on a number of
dishes.  Spiced to perfection and each one complimenting the rest.  With
all the courtesy I had, I asked to make arrangements with the family for
solar panels to be installed and a computer and scanner for preserving the
books in the greenhouse.  Kim's mother agreed to translate the texts from
French though she had studied History, she would get information into
usable form.  In return I'd pay her, or fund their children's tuition and
school costs.  She and Kim's father decided to take the funds for education
to avoid the taxes.

"You'll come back?"  Kim asked, his face bright with excitement.

"Yes, I'll be back."  Wanted to kiss him.  I only smiled.

That night Kim and his father lit a small lamp and we walked into the
darkness along the narrow trail through the jungle for our constitutional.
Night-scented orchids, Belle de Nuit, Jessamine, and even a Jimson.  What a
perfect place, the flora here seemed to govern the lives of the humans who
lived here instead of being governed by people.  Is that interdependency?
In my mind I saw the land being bulldozed for mini-mansions, trees cut and
boulders blasted into sharp angles of metes and bounds...

Went back to the greenhouse to my hammock and stripped again, it was humid
and sticky, but only a few deep breaths later, I was dreaming.  Woke to
find the boy next to me, breathing softly.  I woke him and we went to
shower before the other men came.  Intimate touches in the dim light
pre-dawn.  Crouching down with my balls and dick between my legs, he looked
and grinned.  I held him close to my chest, picked him up and rubbed the
suds on my chest with his slick form.  Scrubbed his small package and
between his legs to his hot cleft with my erect dick, slippery with soap.
Slow.  Breathtakingly slow.  Trembling, I sat him down.  Never had that
much of another person's skin on mine like that.  Wisdom flashed like a
neon sign through my head -- the screens had isolated me from the
sensuality of life.

...

Buddy and I went back to the capital on Monday morning early with Kim's
narrow butt on my lap as he pointed out the produce terminal, the big
open-air market, the local public school, temples...  Hair on his neck was
so fine, I couldn't see it, his slender legs and smooth knees, perfect.  No
wonder he was chosen out of so many.  Big, dark eyes, smooth, straight
eyebrows and lashes thicker than centipedes' legs.

Before I caught my plane, Buddy and I visited a computer store -- more of
his family.  This whole nation must be related.  We made the arrangements
to get the solar panels to the plantation within the month.  They would
check the area for a cell tower and an ISP.  Didn't flinch when I pulled my
credit card out, I was thinking about the incredible satisfaction and calm
I felt in the greenhouse.  That secret was in the old notes from the
grandfather -- I sensed it.  The calming feelings of the greenhouse were
entirely dismissed as I joined the melee at the airport and flew back home
to the same jostling crowds and traffic.

On the long flight over the ocean, I replayed my memories of the boy's skin
on mine, closed my eyes and breathed deeply.  Wasn't the same.

...

The solar panels changed the life on the plantation to a degree.  They had
one cell phone and I called it almost daily speaking with Kim's parents,
and on weekends, Kim himself.  He was doing well in school.  His French
marks were high, he was doing floor exercises and a would be singing in a
coming presentation at the school.  Yes, I'd be there, video camera in
hand.

An internet connection was the problem, but I loaded a computer, scanner
and all the junk that went with it, planning to train Kim's mom on how to
use them.  Chartered a private jet and landed at a small airport north of
the plantation avoiding the capital's traffic.  Packed thin clothes,
sandals and sun block, not much for myself.

The nation was in holiday mode for the entire month.  I brought gifts --
odd things like a ferrocerium rod, pencils and several sharpeners in bright
colors and shapes, tablets, crayons and coloring books, several bolts of
fabric with a case of needles, threads and scissors, a case of beer and a
ukulele.  Hard to shop for a household without electricity and the solar
panels would only store so much.

Because I was coming from the north, not the south, I took a convoluted
route in a rented car, asking directions by showing photos of the old
plantation on my phone.  Took me several stops to realize that most the
farmers and herders hadn't been outside the area before.

Kim's dad drove into the city that night for the big presentation.  Traffic
was schizophrenic, as usual. We found the school packed with reporters,
dignitaries, parents and families.  The singers and dancers were performing
on a stage erected in the playground and the halls of the school were
filled with artwork, calligraphy and costumes the students made.
Beautiful, fine hand work, beading and strange designs in intricate
stitches and shapes.

You have to understand that traditional theatre and dance in Asian
countries is an elaborate affair -- makeup, masks, detailed costumes all
carry meaning -- even to the colors each performer wore and where it was
placed.  Their plays with songs depicted their history -- everything had to
be in order to pass the history along correctly, Kim's mother explained.

The evening was hot, we sat in ancient metal folding chairs in front of
several musicians with odd xylophones and drums, several students were
interspersed with string instruments, some played with bows, some to be
plucked.  Instructors sat with them to complete the ensemble.

Starting with the youngest children, they trouped on stage with song or
dance.  Each group and grade level made their presentation.  The lights
dimmed and we saw a story presented in shadow -- exciting fistfight behind
the screen with a lot of back-and-forth between the profiles of the small
actors.  I didn't understand the humor; everyone around me did.  Then, the
stage lit and older children came out -- mixed group but obviously peasants
versus royalty.  Heated words were yelled back and forth, threats probably,
and a battle ensured.  I believe that was Kim climbing the bent thigh of an
enemy invader -- heaving him a pretend blow to the neck, and backflipped to
his feet then ran to the side of the stage with his papier
mâché sword held high in triumph.  Nudged his mother, she
nodded. The big, beastly warrior died a lengthy, loud death.  Victory over
the oppressors, the peasants won.  Gathering on stage, all the cast began a
song with Kim in the lead, though he was in makeup, I recognized his voice.
This was followed by what I could figure was a dance of pride -- something
about the skies smiling on the nation.  Abrupt stop then we all stood for
the national anthem.  Applause and bows, then more, then the teachers, then
the musicians, then more applause...

Took almost an hour for the performers to remove all the costumes and make
up, and finally Kim came bouncing out, "Did you see me?"  I showed him my
video camera.

Kim's dad grabbed him, "That backflip isn't part of the story."

"But it was good, right?"  He nodded and kissed his boy.

We left to celebrate at Buddy's house -- filled with people talking and
eating.  Small house and humid with the smell of spices and food.  My body
told me clearly, I needed to be in the greenhouse.  Too much bustle, I left
for my hammock as soon as we pulled near the old house.

...

Woke to find the kids were out of school for the month and the plantation
was filled with relatives.  The shower house was filled with men's bodies
and naked boys jabbering.  We were all quick that morning.

Finding someone slaughtering a goat or a pig was somewhat disturbing, but a
quick deed with all the parts of the animals quickly taken for a culinary
specialty, then the carcass being wrapped in banana leaves and buried in
the coals.  Forgot all about that as we feasted.

Several days I found myself with Kim and several other boys walking through
the rubber trees and down to the river for fruits and to swim.  Swimming
naked with a gang of boys?  Heaven, though they had other plans -- one of
them pulled up a woven net of bamboo in a funnel shape, then he drew up
another bamboo cage of fish!  They roughhoused and tried to drown each
other, playing hard then realized they needed to get back to the house.  I
watched, enjoying their frolicking.  Non-stop activity while extended
family visited.  After a week of celebrations, the relatives left and the
plantation quieted.

...

Finally got the computer up and running.  Kim's mother started scanning the
first several books from the greenhouse, glancing at the pages as she
carefully placed the opened pages on the platen.

"Have you seen anything interesting yet?"  By this time, my eyes didn't
seek out a screen to watch any longer; human forms caught my eyes as the
children and family went about their days, occasionally parrots or
movements of the animals in the brush.

"I've seen several things -- not sure what they mean."  She picked up one
of the books.

"Has he mentioned anything like marijuana, anything about oriental
poppies?"

"One reference to cannabis early on, not much.  No poppies -- nothing like
that.  There are drawings of chemical compounds.  Not sure what that's
about..."  She continued, then flipped through several pages in the third
book.  There was a drawing on the page, "Something unusual here -- it's
about the pollen."  She pointed to a drawing, "The anther on a
Solanaceae...  Looks like there was something unusual about the stigma
inside the blossom."

We looked at the drawing, "Solanaceae?"

"My mother wanted one by the back porch, they make huge, blooms that open
at night.  Khun T� said they were toxic, hallucinogenic."  She
pointed to the back door, "It's only about a meter tall with fuzzy leaves."
Back to the scanner while I stepped outside to see the plant.  Not very
showy during the day, a woody stem, fuzzy leaves and stems, closed
blossoms.  Closer inspection revealed a seed pod, about the size of a table
tennis ball covered with small spikes.  One on the ground had broken open
spilling out thin, black seeds an eighth of an inch or so across.  I made a
note on my phone and took a photo.

I kept my greenhouse suite; Kim was there to snuggle next to me every
night, I had a feeling he was sneaking out of his hammock, but no one said
anything to me.  As his body touched mine in the incredibly soothing smells
of the plants around me, I had to wonder if some kind of addiction was
developing -- either to whatever I was breathing or this boy.  Hard to
separate the two pleasures; hard to decide which I needed more.

...

Back home, I resumed working in the office with new vigor, surprising
Michael.  "Are you ready to do an overhaul?  We need to update the games."
He asked.

Smiling widely, "Let's do it."

He explained that we had to go back through all the games to update the
wording, different kinds of cues and alter a few minor things.  Detailed
work, and we sat with our small staff taking notes and I planned out the
work by the different sections and handed out the specific assignments the
next day.

...

Kim's mother sent the scanned books through the next year after we found a
way to tap into a net connection.  Only a few of the last few books had
drawings by Kim.  His Khun T� let him draw bugs and write his simple
notes in their curly alphabet.  Now, I had to find an organic chemist to
decipher what the compounds were about.  Not as hard as one might think, I
called the local program that helped guys from the pen get jobs after
release.

Took months reading through resumes for the perfect person.  Through that
year, I was humming along, and with the help of the translations I ordered
two more new plants for my greenhouse.  Even set up a hammock inside, and
couldn't replicate the effect of the Huntington Plantation greenhouse.

Finally found an organic chemist that needed work.  The chemist I hired was
an older guy -- Charles Strathmore, "Charlie."  Seems he left the back door
open at a large pharmaceutical company where he'd worked for years.
Several pallets of benzos disappeared.  The thefts were detected and
Charlie was pinned by the security system.  Wasn't released from jail early
because he'd finished his time or good behavior, older guys with
non-violent offenses were released early.  The feds didn't want to provide
extended nursing home care.  Charlie interviewed well, calm and obviously
well-educated, polite; curious about the little information I gave him.

Took him almost three weeks to get in the groove of working again.  I put
his desk in my computer room in my place.  He worked in the evenings.  Made
sure he had coffee alongside the scanned books and translations.  I
explained further about the greenhouse while he nodded and grunted.  Rubbed
his chin as I explained the sensations the plants elicited.  Sometimes his
eyes wandered as he thought -- old neural pathways reopened as he took
notes.  Finally got his motor revved as he began reviewing the translations
and drawings closely.  Some mornings I had to chase him out of my apartment
-- he read the translations all night.  He was a methodical man, and became
more interested as I held the promise of a cut of the profits if we could
come up with anything salable.  Charlie got hot into it and wanted a lab.
"Work out all you can here, and I'll see what I can do, but we've got to be
quick about any experiments."

"Why quick?"  He asked.

"You want to experiment with addictive substances, illegal drugs."

"Nothing in these the books that's illegal -- unknown but not illegal.
Nothing addictive unless a person is pre-disposed, and they'd get hooked on
anything."  He looked aside.  "Could you get a sample of air from the
greenhouse, maybe run an air pump then bring me the filters?  I think I
might be able to find the right combinations on the residue."

"Gotta think about it."  I continued working days overhauling the games,
and at night with the Charlie working all the while wondering how to get
access to a lab and the samples he needed.  Bunsen burners, beakers, all
the hoses and clamps -- the only place I'd seen that was in meth labs.
Neither one of us wanted to get near that.

Wouldn't have to worry about that too long though, I got a call from Kim's
mother.  The annual holidays were coming.  She asked me to come, "Kim's
jumping up and down for me to call you.  Do you have time?"

"Could I bring a friend?"

"Bring your friend, what's her name?"

"He's an employee -- wants to see the greenhouse."

"Ricci, you work too much."

...

Got into the capital a week before the holiday with empty suitcases and
slid through customs then to the car rental without problem.  We had a few
hours before Kim's school was out for the week and went shopping.  Old
Charlie, what a guy -- he scoured the open-air market for a number of
inexpensive items while I bought treats for the family.  Charlie was on his
phone for a while until we found an electronics store where he bought an
odd gizmo -- not sure what that was about.  There was a flower vendor with
fiery blooms.  I bought a bouquet of showy lilies for Kim's mother; coals
to Newcastle.

Charlie drove us out of the capital with Kim directing him toward the
highway north.  Beautiful afternoon, Kim's voice was high and excited.
Surprisingly, Kim turned in his seat and whispered, "Is Charlie your
boyfriend?"

Charlie chuckled, "He's a chemist.  Going to look around the greenhouse --
he works for me."  That made his face light with delight. His smile made my
chest thrum.

...

Only a few rays of sun came through the trees as we pulled onto the
plantation.  Kim's mother came out and welcomed us, then his father, who
didn't look pleased.  He glowered at Kim.  Kim looked him right back with
his eyebrows knitted.  Looked like a head-butting was about to begin, but I
quickly introduced Charlie around saying he wanted to look around the
greenhouse.  "He's been going over your translations from Khun T�."

In the kitchen, Kim's mother revealed the secret behind the hard looks
between Kim and his father: "Kim and another boy in his school have been
talking. They want to be castrated and form a pop group as kathoeys; pretty
boys."  She glanced at me, "Kim will love who he wants, it's his body, his
grace and his passion.  He's been chosen from so many -- perfect physical
structure for the theatre.  He sings so well.  If he's cut -- his future is
gone.  I've heard many of the kathoey grow older and commit suicide.  They
can't find work because they're treated like crazy people.  No one will
want him when he is old.  He will have a sad life, alone and poor -- so
many medical problems, so many doctors.  I cry for him and his father
screams and spanks him.  They're both so stubborn.  I'm afraid Kim's going
to sneak out of school and go to a back alley."

Rather alarming information, "I'll speak to him."

"Don't tell his father I told you.  He's already so upset."

At that moment, Charlie and Kim's dad came in for two glasses to sit on the
veranda and sip brandy until dinner.  I followed them and lit the small oil
lamps.  They spoke of the war years ago.  From what they said, it seemed to
me that this area of the world was always under one kind of invasion or
another.  I sat back and listened.  Kim's family were lucky during the last
war.  They had education and their elders had left the country during the
war, returning later, though it was quite different after the devastation
of the larger cities.  They'd lost many neighbors and friends.

Charlie leaned over and patted Kim's dad on his back, "Well, things can't
stay the same -- always changing, the wheel keeps turning."  Charlie
explained his father was stationed in the capital while he served in the
military and fell in love with the people of the nation, "We came back
almost every year on vacation.  Wonderful here, so relaxed outside the
city."

Kim and his siblings came beside us.  Charlie went to the car and brought
gifts, not allowing any marshmallow treats to be opened until after dinner.
The whistles and reed lutes were immediately put to use.

...

Wonderful, fresh dinner, and this time I took the bowls and sticks to the
kitchen with the children.  We tried washing the dishes -- it was a messy,
wet affair in the dim light of a few small lamps.  I hoped the floor would
dry before morning.  Went back out and took a lamp, "C'mon Charlie, big
hammock in the greenhouse."

"Sleep in the greenhouse?"

Kim's mom said they had an extra cot, "I'll get Kim to bring it."

Charlie said he wasn't going to sleep on a cot or in a greenhouse -- he
appeared hesitant, wary.

"I'm warning you, there's no mosquitos down there."  I told him.  By this
time, the younger children had already strung their hammocks and put up
their nets along the veranda.  Charlie noted that and nodded.  At the door
to the greenhouse, a rush of green scents billowed around us. I heard
Charlie breathe deeply.  Sitting the small lamp on the floor.  Naked, I lay
on the hammock.  Charlie stripped to his boxers.  Soon, we heard Kim coming
down the walkway, he dragged an ancient army cot -- it was only about
eighteen inches wide.  Charlie set it up and sat on it.  "Feels
intuitional.  I'll take the hammock.  Get up."

"We can both sleep on the hammock, you'll sleep so deeply, you won't know
I'm here."

"You smell funky."  He shot at me.

"So do you.  C'mon, trust me -- you won't even know I'm here."

Kim climbed on the hammock with me, and that drew Charlie close.  Kim
leaned, closed his eyes and kissed me lightly, "Are you going to video my
presentation like last time?  I'm going to be a warrior this year."

Kissing his cheek quickly, "I brought the tripod.  Now get back in the
house before your father finds you."  He took the oil lamp and scampered
out the door leaving Charlie and me in darkness.  We simply lay back on the
mesh, ready for rest.

Again, the scents of the greenhouse lulled me to a deep sleep, immediately.
Dreams came and I followed them through the jungles to the sunlight where a
naked Kim danced between the rubber trees -- his voice became smaller as he
pranced into the distance.  I followed him and the dream took a turn toward
his sensual explorations again, then me exploring his nubile form.  The
rest of the dream vanished.  Woke with that relaxed, almost weak feeling in
my legs.  Again, my pillow was damp and my pubic hair was glued in several
spots.  Charlie was on his side, facing away from me, snoring.

...

There were sounds outside, voices in the distance, "Charlie, get up.
Shower."  I shoved his shoulder.  He grunted several times and got up.  Met
the crew of men and boys in the shower starting their day.  Charlie had a
few words of the language; he greeted the men as he searched for the soap.
The younger boys were scrubbed first and ran away, Kim didn't want to be
washed, he stood to the side and scrubbed himself; wouldn't look at me.
His father kissed his neck and whispered a few words to him.  They were
still at a standoff over their secret.

I scrubbed and watched Kim, thinking about tactics to keep Kim from getting
clipped -- that thought was painful as I saw a surgeon tugging and snipping
his precious testicles and stitching the skin back tightly.  Had to wonder
if their religion required the body to be intact after death, and where Kim
might keep his balls -- did they dry them or keep them in kerosene inside a
jar on the mantle or what?  Morbid thoughts. I couldn't let his perfection
be destroyed.

That morning Charlie wanted to start in the greenhouse, but had to let our
smells disperse first to increase the concentration of any compounds
released by the plants.  I dressed quickly while he pulled several odd
things out of the car.  He had a small gas spectrometer, the kind drug
agents used at the airport, a bright pink nasal suction bulb used to clear
a baby's sinuses and a number of small bags and bottles.  Couldn't stay and
watch.  Kim and his brother called to me with the burlap bags and we headed
toward the paths to gather food.

...

While I was gone, Kim's mother rearranged the desk where she kept the
computer with Charlie's help.  Being older, he was offered more respect,
and the children thought he was something like a delightful troll after the
treats the night before.  They were busy inside the house.

Taking our usual route, Kim, his brothers and I looked forward to the
dragon fruit tasting, then on to the river.  In the cool water, I brought
Kim to my chest and gently fingered his tiny scrotum, "I heard you wanted
to take these off.  Bad idea, I happen to love them and the boy they belong
to."  I whispered.

Running his hand long my chest, he lay his head on my shoulder, "I will be
pretty -- stay a pretty boy and sing like a girl -- I like girly stuff."

"Sorry, you'll still grow up, and you won't be a pretty boy anymore, do you
know that?"

He kissed me and I leaned back, looking at him.  Tempting thought that he
would stay as alluring as he was in that moment, and I saw the future his
mother described.  "Don't do it."  He kicked away from me and swam to his
brother.  I got out, picked up our bags and tried shaking the coconut palms
for their nuts.  Two came down, one hitting my foot, dammit.  The boys and
I picked pineapples and coursed the garden for vegetables.

No afternoon nap in the greenhouse.  And in the hottest part of the day, I
found the coolest place on the veranda when Charlie came down. I briefly
described Kim's idea about wanting to remove his testicles, "He's a willful
child and his father is more than upset..."

Charlie only nodded.  "I'll see what I can do.  Can't go to the greenhouse
tonight, sleep on the second floor in the master bedroom. Hot up there, but
just a few nights."

..

Our day went smoothly, I actually held a hoe and found out how to use it in
the garden alongside the children -- lot of satisfaction turning around and
seeing a cleared path between the plants.  Don't know where everyone else
was, I assumed Charlie was upstairs on the computer with his notes or
preparing his equipment for tomorrow's sampling.  I strung one of the
children's hammocks and lay down for a nap to feel small child come sleep
next to me.  Gently, I swung the hammock as we dozed, listening to the
birds and the bugs in the trees.

Everyone appeared as the smell of dinner sneaked from the kitchen, I saw
Charlie talking to Kim and his father as they came down the wide stairs.
They spoke softly, and both had their hands on Kim's shoulders -- all
appeared calm between them.

Early night, the heat of the day exhausted everyone.  You can guess why no
one slept on the second floor of the house, no cross ventilation - it was
an oven.  Charlie pulled the mattress off the bed and onto the floor.  He
snapped the sheet over the mattress making a short breeze.  We lay down and
fanned ourselves in the dark.

"I hoed the garden today -- two long rows."  I said with some pride, "What
did you do?"

"I think I resolved the issue between Kim and his father.  Hope we're going
to stay for a few extra days, they're in the greenhouse tonight.  The boy
and his dad need their privacy."  He sighed.

"What happened?  Did you talk to Kim?"

"We were on the computer, reading about what happens with the kathoey.
Found out what happens after they're cut."  He went on to explain about
researching the surgery, the hormone medications and all the body
modifications, then the upkeep after the surgeries. Kim's father broke down
and cried over what would happen to Kim.  That upset Kim, he loved his
father.  "I don't think Kim wants to get castrated now.  Not because of
anything other than his father's love.  I explained how fathers prepare
their sons for the world and suggested they take their class to the
greenhouse."

"Class?"

"Didn't your father, you know, prepare you, teach you when you were young?"

"Didn't have a dad.  What was I supposed to learn?"

He chuckled, "Shoulda known."  Slipping his arm under my neck, and leaning
near, "Do you want to know?  Really?"

"Yeah."  I felt him kiss my neck.

He was quiet for a while, "Virginity, purity, innocence, and all that are
only romantic notions.  My father felt it was a crime to send a boy out
into the world with his innocence -- raising a naive child is setting him
up for a fall.  That fall could land the kid on his face for the rest of
his life, or it could get the boy bruised and beaten in a lot of ways.  My
father taught me about lust and love, and its place in life.  Dad gave me
perspective."

"How?"

"He showed me, gently, how love and lust are powerful forces and need to be
managed in a certain way.  We were given bodies that have evolved to help
us defend ourselves and the people we love.  Our bodies fit together for
comfort as a kind of reward for providing protection...  Silent lessons are
shared during that comfort.  Love is an exchange of tacit forces reinforced
with pleasure. You served time, the men there were rough, quick, brutal --
right?"

I nodded, remembering being held down and painfully penetrated a number of
times.

"Okay, those guys used their bodies like bludgeons, to frighten the other
men around them.  They lived their lives directed by fear, protecting their
own ego.  That mentality is their fall -- what will they ever have but
their empty hulks filled with angry, paranoid thoughts?  The intimate
comfort, that exchange of tacit forces humans need will never be part of
their lives."  He stopped.  We were quiet, I'd never heard anything like
what Charlie just told me, and wasn't sure.

"Do you understand?"

Couldn't answer yet intuitively I felt there was truth in his words through
the sincerity of his tone.

He kissed my cheek as his hand rubbed along my chest and he sighed.

"I'm not queer."  I told him clearly.

"Being coy or petty?  You asked for a lesson.  Teacher and student tonight.
Kiss me and tell me you love me."  His voice was gruff; his touch light.

I didn't.  I starting to feel uncomfortable, awkward next to him.  His hand
came to my face and he turned me toward him, "Kiss me.  Tell me you love
me."  Perhaps I was tired, maybe it was the heat and it was probably my own
guarded nature, I tried to turn away.  Charlie picked up his fan and began
licking my neck, cooling his saliva with the soft air.  He moved to my
chest, slowly fanning and licking.

"Relax.  Breathe."  He whispered.

Taking a deep breath, I letting my shoulders fall, I tried to relax.  I
felt around and found my fan and began cooling both of us.  He hummed for a
moment and continued licking and kissing.  When he came to my ribs, I moved
my arms, allowing the smell of my pits fill the air around us.  He hummed
again, and rubbed the rough stubble of his face on my skin working his way
upward to inhale deeply under my arms.  His face moved slowly, his other
hand came to stroke my skin, lightly and gently.  Trails of his saliva and
kisses cooled me as I fanned.  I felt something sliding inside me, like
petals opening, slowly pulling away, apart and my muscles lost tension with
every puff of air I felt; limp.

On his knees beside me, he stroked along my torso, touches just deep enough
to feel my ribs, my sternum, my clavicle, my hips.  He took my right hand
and placed it on his thigh, near his groin.  I continued to fan us lightly,
wondering what was next.  He paused, thinking, then lay his head down near
my hip, "Turn over, put your dick in my mouth."

When I lay the fan down, he picked it up and I put one knee under each of
his arms.  When my foreskin was at his lips, I felt the soft rushes of air
on my cleft cooling my ass.  The prickly stubble under his chin touched my
balls.  I stopped, and as I stopped, he breathed in quickly taking my thin
shroud of foreskin between his lips.  Warmth as his tongue explored inside,
poking my slit.  I heard him breathe deeply through his nose and hum again.

Mumbling, "I'm not sure..."

"You're sure."  He whispered.

My rod was half-filled.  Taking another deep breath; cool air rushing
gently at my ass, hot mouth with part of my rod being massaged.  "I'm
sure?" I wasn't sure of anything in that moment.

With small movements, I began moving my hips, feeding him my cock.  His hot
breath in my pubes felt odd, not uncomfortable, but foreign, like it didn't
belong there.  My cock told me it did.  The smell of his sweat, my sweat
rose around me as though it were an incense.  I breathed it deeply and
stroked further into Charlie's mouth.  The cool air of his fan stopped.
His fingers fiddled with my butt while he continued sucking.  The pad of
his thumb roughly rubbed my ass.  Jerked a breath. "No."

"Relax and breathe."

Didn't want to move with my full rod in his mouth -- so much pleasure, his
tongue moving and the sucking, the sucking felt like he was tugging at
something lodged deep inside me, something I'd never felt before.  It made
me want to pump hard, shove my dick as far as I could down his throat and
turn my balls inside-out giving him all my cum.

"Spread you knees."  He whispered.

"I'm not ready."  His fingers were at my hole.  He wanted further access.

"You've been ready for years."

When I'd lowered my ass to his liking, he wasted no time in penetrating me
with a finger, then two.  I stopped my short humps into his mouth to feel
what he was doing and moved my knees further apart, taking a deep breath of
our smells.  I felt his fingertips exploring inside me, touching and
rubbing.  My dick lost turgor.  I waited.

His other hand went to my balls, squeezing and tugging lightly, then
pressing strokes from my balls to my hole with his fingertips, he pressed
hard.  At one point, I felt a rush of sweat and my skin tingle. His tongue
began rubbing along the underside of my soft tool and he began sucking,
running the tip of his tongue round my glans, playing in my slit again.
Putting my head down on my arms, I sighed -- sweaty, sticky, smelly and I
couldn't move.

In my ass, his fingers kept moving, his massage between my legs continued
and I felt a small jolt at the base of my spine, it caused me to start
pushing my rod further into his mouth.  I felt my rod filling and a small
hum from his throat.  That caused me to near readiness, my abs clenched.  I
had to cum as far down his throat as I could, push myself, give him all I
had...  His fingers up my ass spurred me to hunch, a few tentative
movements at first till I heard him hum again, then full-on, hard.  I was
humping and feeling like a series of small explosions inside my gut.  The
explosions came more rapidly. Had to hump his face harder as he sucked more
deeply, struggling to breathe.

Pushed myself up, arms locked and hands splayed beside his head.  My back
arched, my thighs jumped and it started.  Wavering moans came from my
throat, I tilted my head back as my body surged scorching pulses of cum as
Charlie pulled. His fingers were rigid inside me, pressing firmly as his
hand came to my lower back pressing me into his face.  Several full-body
jerks and I fell on him and rolled to the side, pulling my dick from his
mouth and his fingers from my ass.  Soon, in the dark, I felt the cool
rushes of him fanning us again.

When my brain cleared enough to string several thoughts together,
"Priorities, bodies, comfort, romantic notions and angry, empty men ..."  I
was too blitzed to put it together, I took the fan from his hand and kissed
him, tasting my own cum.  Nuzzled into his neck, surprising myself, "I love
you."

Rubbing my face, and pressing me against his chest.  "I love you, son."

The next morning's shower was filled with song.  Kim and several of the men
were singing something I never heard before between the splashes.  Kim
washed his father after his father gave him his personal scrubbing.  I
couldn't stop grinning.  Animosity eliminated and I had to wonder what
lesson their privacy had brought them.  My head was still buzzing with the
intimate lesson I'd experienced.

...

Through those next few weeks, Charlie's lessons relaxed me into a calmer
place inside myself through unspokens of intimate exchanges.  The fall I'd
taken led me to avoid close relationships, opting for safe, online
micro-liaisons through videos made years ago by strangers.  Living in a
virtual world; vicarious thrills through fiction and shaky footage of
amateur actors.  Empty hulk...

Charlie, working with somewhat crude techniques, put himself and Kim's
mother in raincoats with hoods and cloths taped over the lower part of
their faces.  They donned plastic gloves on their hands, plastic bags on
their feet every morning before entering the greenhouse.  They were
numbering the plants and taking samples, storing residue and pollen in
notated, sealed bags, and recording notes from the spectrometer.  My job
was to carefully pour water over their raincoats and hoods before they
entered, then stand guard at the door to keep nosy children away.  The
children were extremely curious and called to their mother and Charlie,
wanting to see what she was doing if I didn't entice them with a cool dip
at the river.

Four days later, Charlie was satisfied with his samples and notes.  We
packed to leave.

Loading our bags with only the samples, Kim's dad took us to the small
airport north of town.  We stopped on the way in the village to pick up any
mail and to visit a friend.  Kim's father knew a kathoey who lived there.
We entered her small home on the edge of town.

Very small, only two rooms and sparsely furnished.  Didn't smell rice or
food cooking, and the woman appeared thin.  A heavy coat of makeup covered
her face.  There were a few words with between Kim, her and Kim's father.
Charlie and I waited in the car while they talked.  When they came out, the
kathoey kissed Kim, he came to the car.  Couldn't help but glance to see
Kim's father kissing the woman on her lips and stroke her cheek with a
smile.  Kim told me that the kathoey was once his uncle, his dad's brother.

...

Took a convoluted route home on private jets to avoid customs and finally
got Charlie back to work in the greenhouse inside my apartment.  He ordered
a six-thousand-dollar spectrometer, I didn't say anything as he really
hadn't asked for much after I couldn't find him a fully-equipped lab.
Something was happening with the information he found, and he took a big
chance.  He emailed a co-worker from the pharmaceutical company he'd worked
for years ago, an attorney, now retired.  There were an incredible number
of documents on his computer now.  Patent applications ready to be filed.

Charlie came in one night with a bottle of champagne.  "Let's negotiate."
I'll admit I needed remedial lessons when I could get it with him, but he
was as passionate about sleuthing around about the compounds as he was
about my lessons.  "Got to get it in order tonight."

We sat side by side looking over the skyline and I poured the champagne,
"What's out of order?"

"I don't like putting you over a barrel, but I will if I have to."

"Lay it out.  Did you find something?"

"What I found could shake the world."  He explained he'd found and
identified a number of compounds that were similar to what the
pharmaceutical company was working on for years.  They could never find a
way to stabilize the compounds; Charlie did.  The plants in the greenhouse
exuded them naturally and with a few modifications, they were ready to calm
anxious people, aide sleep and generally increase a sense of well-being,
wholeness.  "We could go several ways with this research.  I can replicate
the compounds with the right people and equipment for sales.  Nothing's
illegal in most parts of the world -- we could sell as an herbal supplement
or we could sell the formulae to the drug companies for an incredible
amount.  They could bury the information or slap an astronomical cost on
it."

He sipped his champagne, "Either way, you don't need the money, and I'm
paid well, I'd like to propose that Kim's family get the bulk of the
profits.  All this came from their generosity, the Khun T�, not us.
He did the most critical work."

Agreeing to that was easy.  Kim's family had been generous to me, but I'd
lose my ties with the family I'd come to love and that precious boy.  "I'd
miss them and going to the plantation."  I whispered.

"Wait for the rice to become nibbana -- let it cool off."  He said and
patted my thigh, "The cooler the mind, the better the decision."  He kissed
my lips, "Time for you to quit working at the computer, it broils your
brain."

...

I thought about all that the next few days, and talked to Michael Biggs, my
mentor and my oldest friend.  "I want to retire."

"Thank god, I thought you'd never toss in the towel.  I've been ready for
years, but wasn't sure if you were, and I didn't want to break up our
team."  We put the company on the market the next week, and no, we hadn't
revealed our gaming secrets and wouldn't.  Maybe the new owners would find
them.  That would have to take its own course.  After a number of calls,
Kim's parents, Charlie and I decided to take the herbal supplement to
market ourselves with the company based outside the capital.

With more money than I could spend in my lifetime, Charlie and I moved into
the village near the Huntley Plantation and opened a small café
because I couldn't figure out how to get the pastries I first enjoyed in
the capital with Kim and Buddy.  Found a storefront next to the market.
Very little income from that but we lived in the place we loved and enjoyed
a good life as undisturbed lovers.  Hired some of Buddy's family and the
kathoey to run the cafe while we continued researching in another area.
Took several months, and two lawyers to find the owners of the plantation
-- an oil company that had no interest in the family or the village, only
knew that funds from the lease went into their coffers on a regular basis.
When they thought they had a buyer, the price of the plantation
skyrocketed.  We shook our heads.

...

Weekends, Charlie and I spent at the plantation, enjoying ourselves and Kim
in the greenhouse.  He was almost thirteen and readying to apply to the
national ballet.  Yes, he and his father were close and very happy.  Being
the brash rascal, my dek chai kay came into the greenhouse with Charlie and
me -- giving us his own high-spirited lessons:

Kim had a penchant for Charlie's cock, can't say why.  It may have been
more about technique than size, I was slightly longer; Charlie's tool was
thick, dark and curved slightly to the left.  On the hammock, the boy loved
laying on my chest, his cheek in my chest hair and his arms around my neck,
leaving his well-muscled butt open to Charlie who straddled the hammock
over us.  What a production, certainly worthy of the national theatre,
Charlie would tease Kim, make him beg for cock.  Kim wiggled on my chest,
while I stroked him, all the while telling me he was scared of that big
Dragon Man.

"Dragon Man?  I thought boys liked dragons.  Why, I've heard dragon dicks
are magic, they sizzle and spark like fireworks.  Why wouldn't you enjoy
that?"  Kim liked me rubbing his butt and pulling his cheeks apart widely
for Charlie to touch his glans to the boy's excited ass.  We continued our
absurd conversation till Charlie had lubed Kim's tiny muscle thoroughly.
He'd begin by poking his hole lightly.  His balls slapped mine when he did
that, but he stretched out the anticipation by asking Kim several times if
he was really scared of his dragon cock.

Being young and constantly ready, "Hurry up, I want cum."

"Is that all you want?  I'll give you a mouthful right now." Charlie slid
his dripping slit up and down Kim's short cleft, teasing him further.  By
this time, Kim's rod was hard and twitching on my belly, a few drops of his
boy juice slipping out his slit.

Their play built their arousal by the moment.  When Charlie decided to get
down to business, Kim would grasp and pull the hair of my chest, moaning
and twitching while I stroked his back and kept his butt opened widely for
my favorite shaft's entry into that tiny hole.  There was always an initial
bit of wriggling on my chest as Kim found where he wanted to be.  That
caused his butt to get swatted a few times as Dragon Man grabbed his narrow
hips to get him back where he liked.  Man juice dripped for those moments,
as they quieted -- their fast breaths had drawn the scented air into them
to their brains.  Things became tender, quiet and gentle between them.

When Kim began cooing and lifted his butt for more, I knew that would
trigger Charlie's need to fill the boy.  Arousing to watch Charlie's face
over Kim's shoulder.  His anxious expressions and hard grimace then, that
worried look as his control was stolen by his need and his testicles
emptied. His passion during those moments lit him from inside making him
the most handsome man on earth to me.  Had to wait patiently and breathe
deeply as they entered their bliss.  Wait, wait...  It would come soon,
couldn't always predict when, but as Charlie shoved deeply and Kim moaned
and twitched, they'd come with a lot of noise and groaning.  Then my moment
came.

With Kim on my chest, and the weight of Charlie on top of him, I held my
breath and concentrated on release -- almost erotic asphyxiation.  I
released a long, full, hot load, moving my hips only slightly before a
fast, deep breath of sweet scents and lovers.

...

Strangely, on Charlie's sixty-sixth birthday, Kim's mother gave birth to
twins.  They didn't look like Kim's siblings, but lighter-skinned with
almond shaped, blue eyes.  It touched me deeply the way he held and loved
his boys, making me jealous at times, but more than jealous, a feeling of
deep sorrow came through me.  Why didn't I have a father to love me so
generously?  What would I have become with that love?  When I brought it up
to Charlie, he said that told me that comparing all we had to a fantasy was
would only bring more sorrow, "You lessen what we have by comparison.  This
life is all we have and more than we need.  Cherish everything around you
while you're here.  The wheel keeps turning, Ricci."

...

When Charlie's boy started school, he said he wanted to acquire the
plantation.

"I don't like the terms.  There's not that much land and the house is
ancient -- needs to be torn down.  They're asking too much."

"Ask the owners to give it to us."

"That's not how business works, are you addled?"

"I'll ask if you won't."  He did.

My Dragon Man wrote up a proposal to preserve the plantation as part of the
history of the nation -- sent it to the board of directors of the oil
company.  They accepted it and would use it for a tax deduction.
Immediately, I thought Kim's mother had something to do with this and was
sure about it when Kim's father moved to the village to live with the
kathoey.  Strange doings as I lived alone in the village while Kim's mother
and Charlie buffed up the image of the oil company by restoring the old
house and, yes, the greenhouse.  Threw a big, nasty fit when they wanted to
move the plants and they decided against renovations, only a few repairs.
"Leave the hammock where it is now."  It was a monument to tacit forces.

Every day I visited and found the old blueprints and specs laid out on the
dining room table -- instead of being invited to join in with them, I was
assigned to take and pick up the children from the school, spending most of
my days ordering supplies and searching for ancient hardware or the
artisans to recreate it.  Those duties weren't so bad, at least I got the
update on the swarm of men going over all the buildings and bringing things
back the way they were.  Elderly people from the village brought lawn
chairs to sit and visit, watch and remind the workers of how things used to
be.

Kim's mother called Paris and the French sent historians and documentation
specialists.  Khan T�'s books went to the library of the university
where he'd graduated to be available for a select few graduate students and
professors.  Charlie shamed the oil company and several tire companies into
large contributions as his twins grew.  Charlie enjoyed his boys following
him around with the workers.  We shared the twins in the showers making
sure they were clean and well attended to.  By this time, Charlie, Kim and
I informally owned the greenhouse, and it was busy every weekend with
teen-aged Kim clarifying his priorities.

...

By the time Charlie's boys entered school, the Huntley Plantation was a
jewel of the nation and a popular site.  Kim's mother only allowed visitors
two days a week.  The kathoey and Kim's father opened a bed and breakfast
alongside a hostel for visitors in the village.  Students from universities
came to see a working plantation built in the last century.  Kim, my Kim
auditioned and entered the national ballet school on the condition that he
be allowed to perform with the traditional theatre as well.

No one was wanting -- our herbal supplement was soothing millions of people
around the world.  Did they misuse it?  Didn't seem like they could, I
tried taking four of the capsules at one time and only peaked at my usual
level of satisfaction, peace and contentment and slept soundly.  It cooled
my mind which allowed Charlie's intimacies to become profound, moving
experiences that invigorated my spirit.

As much as I hated it, I moved back to the capital for a few years.  Bought
a house for me and Kim as he entered the professional arena as a
long-limbed, graceful dancer and still he was full of fire and spunk like
he'd always been.  Had to take care of that often.  Only got better when
other young dancers came by to visit.  I was able to teach them the lessons
Charlie taught me that hot night on a mattress on the second floor of the
old plantation.

Kim didn't allow me to think of that often, he began a new part of his life
as a part-time cross-dressing pop singer.  Was he beautiful?  So beautiful
alongside two other young men performing across the nation at up-scale
clubs in sequins and wigs, makeup and eyelashes.  I snapped photos and on
one I found that Kim seemed to have forgotten his panties for that
performance.  Had to examine it closely for those precious testicles I
loved.  My commando Kim -- I could only laugh, he was such a ham, and a
great performer.  My Kim took complete possession of any stage where his
feet landed.  When he toured with the ballet, I always packed several
bottles of the herb -- seemed to calm his brain helped him focus on the
discipline of being a beloved dancer.

...

Though I could have made more money selling the online cult of Bigg Boys
here, I didn't.  At first, I felt guilty for manipulating young minds, even
though we'd always used positive messages and many boys benefitted, I'd
separated them from real life by keeping them in front of screens for hours
getting those concepts implanted.  Bigg boys, and all boys need a father to
show them how to blossom into men.  In our way, Michael and I had taken
part of that role.  Car racing and subliminal cues only gave the boys a
partial message, the Bigg boys were only partially what they could have
been.  For years I was only partially the man I could have been.

...

My Dragon Man lived a long life, rich and full with his children and me.
Charlie was a father to me, late in coming and a lover, companion,
confidant - a lodestar on my path to fullness.  As he weakened, his earthly
walk slowed, and he told me secrets about a boy he loved so deeply and the
mistake of making a deal with the warehouse workers at the drug company --
he wanted to take the boy away from the city.  The boy was his son.  I'd
become the recipient of much of that love.

"Son, once birth happens, ageing and death follow.  The wheel is turning.
Birth is the cause of death and there is nirvana..."  My western brain
didn't understand the concepts.  Charlie passed in my arms, saying we'd
always be together.  I was sure of that, and I was ready as he passed into
a peaceful death, not in a far-away land.  He died in the private nirvana
we created between us.


Fin.


Inflorescence