Date: Sun,  8 Jun 2003 18:10:39 -0700
From: malou2003@hushmail.com
Subject: new manuscript

Be advised that in the following one will find graphic sexual depiction
between minors and adults. The story is fiction

Send comments to malou2003@hushmail.com but try to be nice. I'm a sensitive
SOB.

Michael Peterson

B Movie

Chapter 1

There were five kids in the cast, 7 and 14 year old girls and three
boys. Rudy Omecki, 9, was homely and chunky, equally adept at portraying
tough or pathetic characters, about all his appearance would allow in the
American movie world of 2001. Poor Rudy was as close to a boy I'd toss out
of bed as existed. The lead boy was the very talented Mark Crawford, a
handsome just turning 10 with great legs and a reputation for nastiness
toward lesser members of cast and crew. Actually, Crawford wasn't really
Crawford but Gonzalez or Rodriguez or something, rumored to be Columbian.
Finally, there was the absolutely gorgeous, blonde haired, blue eyed eleven
year old, couldn't act a lick but who cared, Steven Blake, the very reason
I lobbied so hard and pulled so many strings to be still photographer on
this film. Two Hollywood friends had assured me he was available. One, an
assistant director on two of the boy's previous productions, had `been
with' young Steven numerous times and promised to try to contact him so
he'd know I too was hootchy kootchy interested. Michael, my AD friend, said
Steven loved being sucked off and allowed slippery slidey, as he called it,
between the thighs though only from the front. Michael was convinced some
creep had done an unwanted rear door entry. He knew I'd be gentlemanly.

     According to Michael, sex with a film investor was how Steven moved
from commercials into the big time. He'd only been eight at the time. The
investor still saw him occasionally. Michael suspected Steven's mother was
aware of the dalliances. What was strange was the lack of rumors regarding
the goings on. After all, Steven had probably been with at least a dozen
different men over the years. Perhaps it was a sign of the times. Thirty
years before, all of Hollywood would have known. Very few would have held
it against him or any of the men involved. Certainly no one would have been
arrested.

	The movie also starred my old buddy, Millie Stuart, a slim, elegant
Brit ex-pat stage actress with the requisite high cheekbones and upper
class manners to match. Her parents were a Duke and Duchess and lived in a
huge, cold castle. Millie was impossible to fluster preferring to walk
away, head high, from situations that would have driven most humans raving
mad. Her home was in Los Angeles because there was a lot more money in
movies than the London or US live theater. She did occasional plays but
only short runs. Millie considered money a very important part of life. The
thought of living on a stage actress' wages appalled her.

When I lived in L.A., we hung out once a week or so causing rumors that we
were a `thing' even though everyone who knew me was either aware I was a
boy lover or thought I was gay. Millie had gone through four husbands and
was ten years my senior. We just enjoyed each others' company and had so
for well over twenty years including three of her husbands. I'd let my hair
down with her long ago and she accepted me for what I was, a refreshing
relationship in those terrible times for peds. Millie was always reminding
me to keep her posted in case there was a chance to watch my `deliciously
nasty fun'. She'd had a cousin who'd had a long relationship starting at
age 8 with a man who years later had been arrested for spelunking with
another lad. The cousin had paid for the lawyer who got the man off. Millie
considered the anti-ped climate ignorant, cruel and absurd.

	A year earlier, a totally unexpected inheritance from a man who had
saved and loved me as a boy, put me through college and promoted my career
as a motion picture still photographer, occasional photojournalist and
commercial photographer allowed me to leave the hard scrapple life of
Hollywood and retire comfortably in a saner climate for my kind. My modest
home was outside Tegucigalpa, a backwater Central American city with
services that worked most of the time, possibly the shortest international
airport runway in the world and, with patience, loving boys. I'd been
visiting there for years so knew the scene. And I'm part Latino myself, the
rest quarter black and half Irish, and speak the language, well, in a New
York Puerto Rican sort of way.

	Please don't get the wrong impression. The days of safe, easy boys
in Third World paradises are gone. Americans, mostly in the form of
missionaries and incredibly self righteous non religious `help'
organizations with the backing and blessing of the US government took care
of that. One must be very careful and, as I said, patient. The two special
friends I had at that time had taken weeks of us getting to know each other
before I was sure of their interest and discretion. With that out of the
way, they were great, far less inhibited than most US boys and incredibly
loving. Don't let the machismo crap fool you. Behind closed doors, latinos
love it all. I've never had a Central American boy tell me `Don't touch my
ass!'

Well, back to Millie. The only contacts we'd had over the past year and a
half were two trips back to Los Angeles, one to work a film, and half a
dozen phone calls she graciously made in deference to my `poverty'. She put
the poverty line at $100,000 a year, per household adult. I missed Millie
enough that I was happy to make the hot four hour drive to pick her up at
the San Pedro Sula airport and then the additional two hours to our
rambling tourist hotel out on the Gulf coast where the cast and crew was to
stay for the eight week shoot. She plied me all the way to the hotel about
my sexual adventures. It was a film that had to be made. Was I taking
notes? Pictures? Did the little darlings do it with each other or just me?
Why didn't I like the bigger boys? She always got to that sooner or later.

`Millie,', I grinned, `I'm five feet eight. They've gotta be smaller than
me or I'll feel inferior.'

Actually, My age range is rather broad, from really young up to sixteen
depending mostly on body hair. Once it starts growing under the arms, my
sexual interest drops fairly quickly though, like most, once I've been with
someone for a while, it can last well beyond that. Friendship, however,
frequently lasted for many years after my sexual interest faded. I've a
number of adult friends in the states, a couple in Asia and three in
Honduras with whom my relationships began when they were quite young. My
two boys in Tegucigalpa were ten and fourteen.

The filming locations were just off the Gulf coast in southern Honduras, an
area with plenty of thick junglelike woodlands and kazillions of
mosquitos. The production company brought in a Honduran exterminating
outfit that sprayed the film set areas several times a day. The film
company provided large fans that kept the nasty insects at bay in badly
infested areas. They were turned off when the cameras were rolling except
when wind was part of the scene. I knew what I was getting into so brought
along an adequate supply of an insect repellent I had found to be
effective.

Basically, it was the story of a jungle based biologist ex-pat who, when
his wife and sister were killed in a plane crash, became saddled with his
own three children, his sisters two kids and his cranky mother-in-law. The
original script had a six year old boy who ran around naked, something I
had looked forward to greatly. Then the casting director met Vicky and fell
in love with her. The nudity was written out but I must agree that she was
delightful, adding a new dimension to the film.

I wondered about the writer who had dared to put child nudity into a film
during an era when bathtub photos of one year olds were landing mothers in
jail.

The production company rented an entire twenty-four room hotel and its six
air conditioned and four non-air conditioned cabins. It was located miles
from a paved road, right off the beach in a lightly forested area next to a
humble farming village where most of the hotel staff lived.  The air con
cabins went to top production and acting personnel, except for Millie who
didn't want to be out in the `jungle' all alone. That attitude was, in my
opinion, what kept her from becoming an alcoholic. Even though she loved
getting tipsy, she flat out would not drink by herself. She enjoyed being
drunk as she could then say anything she wanted and later use the booze
excuse. That Saturday, there was no one but Millie and I plus the
cinematographer and his lighting guru. Both were very concerned about the
look the film would have and wanted a day to study light conditions at the
various shooting sites. Millie and I had the bar and restaurant to
ourselves, as well as the increasingly bothersome attention of the entire
staff. They kept trying to `serve' us even on the screened in porch where
we went to escape them. Away from the hotel was impossible due to the damn
mosquitos so we put up with the constant `what can I get for you's',
ignoring them as much as possible.

There was one member of the hotel staff, a busboy who hung near the kitchen
door, who I wished would come bother me. He appeared to be about fourteen,
very Honduran with tight curly hair, a huge pair of gorgeous eyes and what
from a distance seemed a nice body. When he finally did come over to clear
our table as we headed to the bar, my interest went way up. He stared me
straight in the eye with that `should I come to your room' look. As I stood
to leave, I whispered `two twenty-one' in Spanish in his ear. If I'd
misread his eyes, there probably wouldn't have been a problem. Hotels in
these parts are used to that sort of thing. The kid just wouldn't show up.

Millie was near drunk by 8:45 and went to bed. I had some books to read and
hopes for a visitor.

I was drifting off to sleep when the knock came at about ten. I leapt off
the bed, barely conscious, and opened the door. He stepped right in letting
his hand drag across my crotch as he went by. When I turned from the door,
he was on one foot, flipping off his second shoe. I sat on the bed and
looked into his beautiful eyes as he threw his arms up to take off his T
shirt. He reached down, eyes on mine, and tugged at my belt.  Words were
unnecessary. I stripped as quickly as possible while he lay naked on the
bed, five inches of very hard boycock bouncing over his groin. A slight
growth of fine pubic hair over his dick was the only hair on his body. I
hoped he like to fuck.

`Como te llamas?' I asked him after lying tightly by his side.

`Hector, y tu?' It was the first time I'd heard him speak. His voice was in
the middle of its change. It was lovely.

`Ray.'

He told me I had big muscles, which I did though through very little effort
on my part. Both my father and mother had them to spare.

`Thank you,' I said in Spanish,' you have a very good body too.' He was
flat tummied and rather normal, nice to look at naked. His skin was a
beautiful bronze, a hair darker than I preferred, sort of my shade.

He turned, pressed his body to mine and wrapped me in his arms. `Chimame,'
he requested. He wanted me to fuck him. He was gay. Hell, I had been
looking forward to him in me. I like a hot young boy like this humping away
in me, always have enjoyed anal pleasure. I've got a sensitive prostate.

"Next time,' I negotiated in Spanish, `you fuck me, okay?'

"Okay,' he replied, `but do me now. Do you have a condum?'

Of course I did, along with some KY. I covered up and greased up while he
lay anxiously on his stomach. He poked his plump, smooth ass up at me. I
wiped some KY in his crack, feeling the pucker as I went by. He'd have no
trouble taking me.

I lay on top of him and kissed his cheek. He put his arm around my
head. `Ya' now, he said.

I stuck my finger in his hole as a guide for my cock and slipped in. There
was no resistance, just a sigh from the boy. It had been months since my
last fuck. Neither of my two little lovers liked doing it so I'd had to go
find a hustler when this sort of thing was needed. Hustlers where I lived
tended to be older making it difficult to find one that I would enjoy.

The heat passed up into my groin. I lay still to enjoy the
sensation. Hector wanted to get going and started pumping his ass up and
down. I pulled out to my cockhead and slid slowly back in. The kid was
loose enough that between him and the rubber I was going to be able to
screw for longer than usual.

I kept my pace slow. Hector pulled on my head, turned his face and kissed
me on the lips. The kid smoked, a turn off for me when it came to
kissing. Rather than hurt his feelings, I lifted up and fucked harder. He
reached back with one hand and pulled me in hard. I slowed my pace but went
for greater depth. The moans told me he was loving it. I banged in harder,
bouncing him forward with each thrust, feeling the heat of his rectum up to
my balls. He raised his middle off the bed and pulled his knees forward,
giving me even greater depth. His moans became high pitched grunts. I
reached under for his cock. He pushed my hand away and instructed me not to
touch it until just before I came.

To let my fast rising passion subside a bit, I stopped like I was adjusting
myself, pulling his ass higher and moving my knees up near his. I wanted
both of us to have time to enjoy this. He wiggled his ass back and forth a
few times until I got back to fucking it, slow but hard, going for all the
depth I could. The grunts came back then, `harder'. I complied forcing him
to put his hands between his head and the headboard of the bed. I was
getting close. My legs quivered with each thrust. I felt the lightness fill
my abdomen and head. I grabbed his cock. He came almost instantly. The
muscle contractions of his sphincter set me off. I pumped the condom full
of male protein. He shot all over my bed then collapsed in it.

`That was very good,' he complimented me after we pulled apart. `Can I come
tomorrow?'

I told him I wasn't sure but I'd let him know. I promised we'd get back
together as soon as I could. He asked to shower and, after yanking the cum
dampened sheets off the bed, I joined him.

Just before he left, I suggested smoking was bad for him.

`Yo se' I know, he said and, after a quick look down the hall, slipped
quietly out.

I grabbed the sheets, washed the boycum off them and hung them over the
clothes closet to dry. I slept that night clothed on top of the bedspread.

Still photographer work is mostly sitting on one's ass. To be honest, I got
into it for the money. Photographers as a group often have to struggle from
job to job. As a photojournalist, I sometimes only earned enough to
eat. The serious money in commercial photography went to those with the big
studios and, as was the case with many of the better off photojournalists,
required a lot of lobbying and ass kissing, something at which I was
woefully poor. Still work provided six to twelve weeks of steady work with
most expenses paid.  With the right friends and contacts, one could do
quite well especially with the side portrait work I developed. Living
frugally though comfortably, arranging my vacations around overseas
assignments, building a stock of salable photos and placing them with the
right stock agencies, then taking advantage of film business types who knew
where to invest during the booming `90's all combined to build a solid nest
egg that provided at least a lower middle class income for the rest of my
life. And, on top of that, I still took the occasional still job or
assignment as photojournalist, though none of the dangerous stuff I'd so
enjoyed when younger. Finally, dear departed Bill's kind final gift tripled
my worth. At the still ripe age of 46, I was basically a man of leisure.

The production crew came in on a chartered flight Sunday midday and arrived
at the hotel by three. We had a dinner meeting at five that lasted well
into the night. Both the producer and director were determined that we'd
complete the project in eight weeks and expected everyone to do their
part. That meant the lighting, camera and grip crews would work their tails
off. The sound guys had it easier, but not as easy as the stillman. The
assistant director, an old friend, one of the group that thought I was gay,
grinned my way knowing what was going through my mind. He would hardly have
a free moment during the entire shoot. AD's were the workhorses, the
problem solvers, the go getters, the whatever was needed when needed. And
the first to be blamed if there was a time costing hitch. It's a job I
never wanted. The actors weren't expected until Tuesday. There was a lot of
prep work to be done before shooting began Wednesday at 7AM.

Sunday evening, the busboy came to our table three times during dinner,
replacing almost full water glasses with full and tableware with
clean. Once he even dropped a fork or something beside my chair. When he
bent over to pick it up, one hand felt up my crotch. Hector was
horny. Millie noticed.

`That young man is hot for your body, Raymundo. Have you been up to
something without telling me?'

I told her.

`Well, tell the poor dear you'll see him tonight. Don't just leave him
wondering.'

When Hector returned with more cold water, I asked, `A las diez?' At ten?

He glanced very shyly at Millie and said, `Si' then scooted away.

`You embarrassed him,' complained Millie.

`And you loved it.'

`Ah, Ray, you know me so well.'

Hector was prompt again. Latin Gays tend to be even more irresponsible with
time that the straight majority. This boy was probably not getting very
much so made the most of what was available.

`Please you do me again. I promise I'll fuck you tomorrow. It was so good
last night. Nobody fucks me like you do.'

The kid was a genuine `culero', someone who likes it up the rear. I was
surprised he wasn't entertaining some of the kitchen staff until I later
learned his uncle worked there too.

It had been great so I agreed. In fact, I was glad he asked and hoped he'd
do so the following night. I did request a little holding and fondling
before we got to the main event.

He wrapped me in his arms again and rubbed me up and down while pushing his
middle into mine, that hard cock slipping between my legs. He played with
my stiff six inches then, `ya?' He wanted to get it on.

This time, he wanted it frontal. His hairless balls and perineum were a
beautiful sight. I ran my hands over his smooth legs. He was never going to
be very hairy. Too bad he lived so far away from me. Entry was as easy as
the night before, the feeling as intense. We both watched my cock sliding
in and out that pretty hole. I ran a hand over his tummy. He gasped. I kept
it up. `Just don't touch my bird,' he insisted.  His hands gripped my
waist, pulling me hard into him with each thrust. I kept it slow so we'd
last longer. He moved his ass side to side, pushing my cock around inside
that mushy canal. I stopped to keep from going over the top. He moved his
hands to my shoulders, pulled himself up and kissed me with his lips and
tongue. The taste of breath mints helped but didn't completely mask that
stale cigarette taste. I was nice and returned the affection.

He dropped his head back to the pillow and said, `ya.'

I pulled out to the tip and plunged back inside him. We both grunted. I
felt him tighten his sphincter. He began moving his ass back and forth,
again running my cock side to side inside that hot, slushy rectum. I fucked
slower and held each thrust deep inside for a second or two but nothing was
going to stop the rising tide. I grabbed his cock as I throbbed. Two yanks
and he fired all over his chest and belly.  I couldn't resist finding out
how potent it was. I leaned down, my cock still buried in him, and licked
up a stream of his boycum. It was still sweet. One night, we'd have to do a
sixty-nine.

We showered each other and agreed to the following night at the same
hour. I told him that the day after wasn't a sure thing with the rest of
the cast and crew coming in but I'd let him know.

Monday, Millie and I did a tour of San Pedro Sula and the surrounding
area. Millie loved slumming. I took photos of her practicing her little
Spanish on shack dwellers in the shanty villages all around the perimeter
of the city. Tuesday, however, I wanted to be among the welcoming party for
the actors, especially pretty Steven Blake. I hoped my buddy Michael had
been able to alert the boy to the fun in store for him between the lips of
the horny stillman.

Hector arrived at ten again Monday night. The previous two nights had been
so great, I didn't request for a reversal of roles. Halfway through
screwing him, it occurred to me that I knew only this boy's name, age and
that he was a nephew of a kitchen dishwasher.

In the shower, I probed and learned a bit more. He was a second grade
graduate, never having returned to school due to his mother's poverty. He
had never known his father. He wouldn't discuss anything about his previous
sexual adventures other than to say that, yes, he had been fucked
before. Since I'd only be there for eight weeks and expected to be deeply
entangled with one Steven Blake, there really wasn't much I could do for
this lad other than to service him when I had the opportunity.

When I told Hector that the next evening was impossible due to all the
people coming in, he was very disappointed so I promised Thursday night.

Tuesday, the chartered jet carrying the actors arrived an hour
late. Immigration and customs personnel waited patiently inside the air
conditioned passenger lounge set up to receive the celebrities. First, I
saw fat Rudy, then Crawford but no Steven. I felt a despair build. Had he
been cut out? After all, his acting ineptitude would be rather evident
along side the brilliance of the Columbian boy, even Rudy. Then I saw
him. He had some huge floppy jungle hat on that all but covered his
face. Finally, he took it off. Beautiful, gorgeous. He was delightfully
tanned making his blond hair even blonder, his blue eyes bluer. God, he
radiated beauty. His hands were beautiful. I wanted him so badly! If
Michael hadn't clued him in, then it would be seduction, somehow,
someway. I was going to suck that kids peter if I had to sneak into his
hotel room and crawl over his mother. Yikes! His mother. There she was. No
doubt it was she because she was primping his hair mussed when he removed
that awful hat. She looked the type to loan her boy out to a horny producer
to assure nice roles and fat checks. I doubted she'd consider a still
photographer equally advantageous. Oh, Michael, I prayed, I hope you got to
the kid about me.

I ended up in a Toyota Coaster with the lead man, his agent, his publicist,
two also starrings, a woman with a bunch of cases who I assumed was in
makeup, Rudy and his mother and the protective social worker who made sure
the kids weren't overworked. The man must have had Watusi blood in him. He
was lean and at least six foot five inches tall. Steven and Mark along with
their mothers and teachers were in a Mercedes limo that still photographers
were rarely if ever invited to enter. I sat as far from the social worker
as possible. The male lead, who we'll call John to protect the not so
innocent, and I knew each other from a film and some of Millie's
parties. We discussed the difference between the heat of Honduras and that
of L.A. John felt L.A. was worse. He had a lot to learn but I decided to
let him do so via experience.

We arrived at the hotel at least fifteen minutes after the limos had
disgorged their passengers and they had disappeared into their abodes to
`freshen up' for dinner. Talentless though beautiful Steven Blake had
somehow swung a cabin. The exceptionally talented Mark Crawford was in the
hotel with the rest of us peons. Hollywood and justice have no bearing on
one another.

Dinner places were pre-assigned. My place was in the back with the
grips. Stillmen don't get no respect. I did manage to get a reasonable
angle on Steven's table and after eating quickly, went around taking
pictures, like photographers are supposed to do. I carried two digital
cameras and a couple of Norman battery packs with flash units. A grip
`volunteer' held the second `fill' light. As I shot the table where the
director, producer and main actors ate, the producer, a hardass but
accommodating red haired Israeli named Menahem Glos, introduced me. We had
worked easily a dozen films together and liked each other. For one thing,
we were both strong believers that film was still a far superior medium
that digital tape. And, we were both short.

`Everybody, this is Ray Molina, the still photographer, after me, the
shortest man on the set. That's why I hire him as often as possible. He's
the only one I can speak to without getting neck strain.' I was looking at
Steven as the producer spoke. He looked me square in the eye and winked. I
could have jumped over the table, no, done a forward flip over the
table. Michael, my beloved friend, had done it. I owed him a villa in
France. No, I thought, I owe him a photo of Steven Blake, nude, erect.

Trying to get control of myself, hoping I wasn't drooling or was about to
get an uncontrollable, clearly visible hardon, I grinned back and kept
moving and taking pictures. I was gonna lick that boy from eyelids to
ankles. The director hugged Millie and mugged for the camera. I shot him
between the eyes. Millie was already half tanked and nodding toward Steven
with a devilish grin. I glared through my smile but she kept rolling her
eyes and nodding. I moved away quickly. God, I was going to slippery slidey
my dick between those golden thighs. `Heaven, I'm in heaven,' I sang under
my breath while taking possibly poorly composed pictures of the famous and
not so. I didn't care. I was going to have sex with the prettiest boy in
the movies, maybe in the world!

The producer got up on a chair and gave another pep talk as desert was
being gobbled up. Then, individually and in groups, people started leaving
the dining room. Naturally, I watched Steven Blake. Sure enough, he slipped
quietly away from the table where his mother was having an animated
conversation with the associate producer and wended his way back to mine.

He walked up to me and asked' Can we have a copy of the picture you took of
us?'

I smiled and replied, `Sure, they're digital. I'll print one up tonight.'
That was a leading remark if there ever was one.

He leapt to respond. `What room are you in?'

My dick was swelling. `221,' I replied.

Without another word, he disappeared out the double doors to the lobby. It
seemed a good idea to get to my room and print up the photo so I excused
myself and walked out of the dining room, up the curved stairs and down the
hall toward my room. It was around the corner at the end, and so was
Steven. With blood pressure soaring and a bit short of breath, I reached
for my key as I hustled down the short corridor. Without a word, I let us
in.

`We gotta hurry. Mom thinks I went to the cabin' he said as he unbuckled
his belt alongside the bed.

I started to open my shirt. `No, like this,' he said dropping his pants and
pushing down his boxers. `No time.'

He reached out to my hand as he dropped back on the bed. My eyes must have
bugged out at the surprise between his luscious legs. Steven Blake was
pubing. He had easily four inches of very hard boycock, even a touch of
fuzz over the top of the base. He pulled me down and moved up on the bed so
my face was in his crotch. I let my hands slide up his sides under his
shirt and dropped my mouth over his dick. It was delicious, with a fullness
and hardness that got me immediately hard as he. He grabbed my head and
began pumping up from the bed. He moved my head side to side. `Move your
mouth around,' he whispered. I complied. He pumped faster. I revolved my
head though making sure I didn't scrape him with my teeth. This was a truly
great cock.

I ran my hands over his chest and strained, slick stomach and savored the
view of his luscious abdomen. He started grunting. When I shifted my hands
to his sides again, he reached over and pulled one hand back to his
stomach. He pumped now in jerking motions, slamming hard into my face then
withdrawing slowly. My air conditioner was off and the room quite warm. He
began to sweat, making his smooth flesh deliciously slippery. His breathing
grew as audible as his grunts. His entire body got more and more into each
thrust. His penis began to bloat. He let go of my head and grabbed my shirt
below the collar, tugging his shoulders off the bed. I was close to cumming
in my pants and planned how I'd run my tongue down between his thighs,
lubricating them for what I expected would be a quick intracrural
screw. Steven was going `unnnh' with each thrust, then a higher pitched
`uuunnnnnhh' as his dick thickened by what seemed another inch as he fired
his sweet little load into my mouth.

I started to raise up, keeping my lips in his pubic fuzz, waiting for the
last drops and final throbs. He sat up and wrapped his arms around my head
for a moment then slid off the bed, stood and pulled his pants up.

`Steven,' I pleaded, `just a minute more so I can get off too.'

He kept dressing. `I gotta go or mom will be looking for me'

`Tell her I was printing the picture for you. I can do it the minute we
finish.'

`Sorry, Mr. Molina, next time,' he said as he tightened his belt.

Before I could say anything more, he gave me a hug, stretched and gave me a
kiss on the cheek, and headed for the door. After a quick glance outside,
he walked quickly away without even closing the door. I was crushed, and
pissed off. My dick went limp.

I was still standing where Steven had left me when Millie rushed excitedly
into the room. `I just knew he was coming up here. That was quick. Did
something go wrong? What did you do? What did he do?'

`Jesus, Millie', I sat collapsing backward onto the bed. `The little
bastard just used me like a cheap whore. Slam, bang, thank you ma'am!'

`So tell me!'

`Christ! I was just an orifice to him. A damned glory hole. God, I'm am
pissed off.'

`Raymundo, tell me what happened!' She was getting as frustrated as me. I
told her.

She sat in the easy chair. `That was crude.'

`Crude, crap! He let Michael screw him between the legs lots of times. He's
knows damn well that we gotta right to our jollies too. The little bastard!
I've had kids who didn't want anybody `s dick on them in any way. Hell, I
appreciate them letting me suck on their wongs. I can understand that. But
this kid, Jesus! I mean I know I'm just a stillfreak but Michael's just an
A.D., he's no producer or anything. Shit!

"Then he up and gives me a hug and a patronizing kiss on the cheek like
'love you, ta ta' and rushes out the door.'

	'A kiss', mused Millie. 'Why, that's sweet.' She sat back in the
chair. `Now calm down or you'll have a heart attack. Maybe he was in a
hurry, worried that his mother would be asking where he'd been. He'll
probably make it up to you.'

I took a deep breath and replied a few decibels lower, `He damn site
better. One more scene like that and I'll short sheet his ass.'

Millie smiled. `I must say that I've never seen you so worked up over a
boy.'

`Something I didn't mention,' I told her as I cooled a little, `the kid's
pubescent. He's got better than 4 inches of dong. Menahem better finish
this shoot on time or he'll be dubbing the kid's voice.'

==============================================

Chapter 2

	Filming started at just about 7:30 on the button. I shot away with
my heavy blimped camera. Better explain a bit about my job. Whenever the
camera rolls, I take still pictures from alongside the main camera then
from different angles in subsequent takes of the same scene. If sound is
being recorded, my motor drive camera must be inside an insulated box
called a blimp that kills all camera noise. It has mechanical links to the
shutter release, for focusing and adjusting time and aperture. Of course,
nowadays, most of that's done by the new computerized auto-focus cameras
though we do have control if we want it. Menahem, the producer, as usual
requested film rather than digital so I used my Nikon F-5 in the blimp and
an FM2 manual camera for non-blimped shots. I like to control things myself
so my three FM2's are my most used film cameras. When digital pictures were
required such as with crew shots, events like the dinner the previous
night, I used Nikon D1X's, an expensive but really great camera that
produces darn near filmlike quality. I had a laptop computer and printer
that produced prints of pictures taken only minutes before. In my bag, I
had a copy of the photo of Steven, his mother and the associate producer. I
planned to give it to him when he arrived on the set that afternoon.

	At lunch, I spoke briefly with Menahem about 'suspicions' brought
on by his face and voice that Steven Blake might be getting ready to do a
voice change. Kids were reaching puberty a lot earlier these days. Menahem
said I wasn't the only one stating that concern. The screenplay writer had
said the same thing on the fight to Honduras. Considering that, as a matter
of fact, Steven's face showed very little evidence, the kind only an
experienced eye such as mine would catch, and his voice, though smooth, was
still very much soprano, I had to wonder what had convinced the screenplay
guy to make such an observation. I had a brief comical mental picture of
the two trying to make it in the cramped airplane bathroom then remembered
that they came on different flights. I also recalled that he was the one
who had put the naked six year old in the original script. I'd have to ask
my friend Michael back in L.A. if he knew the man.

Steven and the other four kids, their mothers and the social worker arrived
in two Mercedes Benz town cars. I gave the picture to Steven's
mother. `Steven said you wanted one of these'. She looked
appreciative. Steven put on a guilty smile. Perhaps his mom hadn't
requested it. Maybe the stillman screwed up. Steve's mom smiled at
him. `Why thank you Steven' she said pleasantly. I did a sigh of relief.

Mark Crawford saw the picture and gave me a dirty look.

"You didn't ask', I remarked then continued under my breath, `or give up
any nooky'.

`Can I have one of me?' piped up Rudy Olmecki from behind me.

"Sure enough', I turned and replied.

`And me?' asked Amy, the fourteen year old, `and Vicky?'

Vicky was the six year old dynamo who so inspired our casting director and
director that the script had been changed for her to be in the film. From
the expression on her pretty little face, she wasn't sure what was going
on.

`I'll print them all tonight.' I turned to offer one to Mark Crawford too
but he was walking off in a huff.

The towering social worker, who walked like he had a broomstick up his ass,
managed to stay close to the kids all afternoon, listening in to the
simplest directorial instructions, even watching the makeup man, an obvious
queen, when he touched up the sweat on the kids' faces and bodies. He was
someone to be aware of at all times.

Much as I tried, there was no inconspicuous way to speak to Steven nor did
he seem to be trying to communicate with me. I chalked it up to a
combination of the constant presence of mother and others and the
excellence of service the night before.

Back at the hotel that night, I printed up pictures of everybody at the
Tuesday evening dinner main table plus a few more including shots of Millie
and Bob, the A.D. I wanted Millie to see herself nearly embarrassing me and
herself.

Hector appeared at ten on the button. He was hot as a pistol. That one
missed night had him nearly sucking my dick into his ass. I had planned a
little foreplay. He wasn't interested. I did manage to drag it out for
nearly twenty minutes before he came violently, setting me off with
throbbing that seemed to roll up and down his rectum.

In the shower, he asked if I wanted to fuck him again. I pointed at my limp
dick and said, `too old.'

 In the morning, I took the photos to the makeup tent. Amy seemed quite
pleased with her hair. Before I could get to her son, Katherine Saavedra,
as I later found her name to be, Mark Crawford's mother, came up to me in a
huff.

`Why do you give pictures to all the other and...' She stopped as I handed
her two photos of her, her son and the producer.

`Mark never asked but I thought you might like one,' I paused for effect,
`or two'.  I smiled my most patronizing smile.

She responded with her best shit eating smile. `Uh, thank you, Mr. Molina.'

I love to do that. I'm nasty that way.

Noticing him watching us, I turned to tall Bernie Boston, the social worker
and handed over one of him huddling with an uncomfortable but pretty script
assistant. He was unprepared for the gesture but thanked me anyhow. I left
him halfway through his appreciation and handed three pictures to the
makeup man, well, makeup queen. He squealed delight and grabbed my arm.

`Make sure you get one of me working on John,' he cooed with a nod in the
direction of the lead man. Vinny and I had worked a number of films
together. He'd figured my scene early on when I made an unsuccessful play
for a twelve year old extra.

`Count on several,' I responded with my hand affectionately on his ass.

`Ta ta all', I said in imitation of the makeup queen while leaving the
tent, winking as I passed the ever vigilant Bernie Boston.

Boy was I lucky to be a really good photographer.

The next time I had contact with Mark Crawford, we were shooting a scene
with him, John and Millie, his film grandmother. He ignored me and
punctuated the act with comment that I was distracting him when I moved in
close for a shot of him and Millie. The director, accustomed to Mark's ill
manners, gave me a frustrated `please' expression. I moved a couple of feet
backward and pointedly and obviously aimed solely at Millie who commented
softly to Mark, `It's not smart to piss off the man who does film
publicity.'

The director caught her remark. `Come on people, a little professionalism.'

Mark looked for help but mommy wasn't there.


Chapter 3

The first week of shooting came to an end. Mark Crawford ignored me and
made no more remarks. He did manage to anger the makeup queen and a
lighting assistant he cussed after carelessly falling over a cable Mark
really should have seen. Little Vicky decided she didn't like him when he
dumped on her for mixing up some lines in a scene they had together.

We packed up and headed toward the vehicles that were to take us to the
hotel, Toyota Coaster busses for peons like still photographers, Mercedes
town cars for the VIP's.

I felt a nudge in the back. `One hour, your room,' said a boy voice as
Steven walked swiftly by with a script under his arm. That added spring to
my step.

He was very prompt. I was in my boxers. He noticed and grinned.

`How come Mark hates you so much?' he asked while unlacing his shoes.

`Beats me. Why do you think he hates me?'

"He calls you `that camera nerd' and said your picture of him at the dinner
made him look like a little kid." He playfully tossed a shoe at me.

I dodged it. `He is a little kid. I'll bet he's a lot littler than you,' I
said looking at Steven's crotch.

`And always will be', proclaimed Steven dropping his pants and shorts
exposing four inches of roaring hard on.

It occurred to me that I had no idea what his dick looked like soft, didn't
know whether he was or wasn't circumsized. He was. I noticed that his balls
were small for the size of his penis. `You've always had a big one, haven't
you.'

He threw his T shirt up in the air and jumped on the bed. `Yup.'

I laid back and pulled him to my side. `I take it we have more than five
minutes.'

`Mr. Boston is giving all our mothers a dinner party in the salon. We got
an hour at least.'

`Then I'm going to torture you with the slowness of my ministrations. In
this one session, I'm going to teach you more than Michael knows or ever
will know.' I raised his arm and licked his sweaty underarm, savoring that
delightful special salty taste only boys can produce. Morton should package
and sell at the finest gourmet salons. Steven giggled for a moment but
didn't pull away. After a few moments I slobbered my way up across his
chest, to his neck and chin. He raised his head and put his arms around my
shoulder and head. I mouthed his neck being careful not to leave a hickey
which would have been extremely difficult to explain. He rolled his body
tight against mine, threw a leg over me and gently humped his dick into my
stomach.

My tongue left a trail of saliva as I drifted down to his left tit. He held
me tightly but released his left arm as I worked my way toward that
underarm and more boy salt. After a few delectable moments there, I
slithered back to his breast and down over his abdomen, making sure to lick
and thoroughly wet all that tanned flesh before getting anywhere near his
white pelvis toward which he was nudging me.

I gently pulled my body loose from his and changed direction so my crotch
was up near his face. I circumnavigated his pubic area, passing my tongue
across his pubic fuzz and down to his wonderfully smooth thighs which he
opened as I dropped my head between them. I licked down past the tan line
the inside to his right knee, crossed over and went back up the left all
the way to his perineum. He tried to pull my head up to his certainly
anxious cock but stopped when I slid around toward his rectum. I took no
coaxing to get his knees up. His asshole was surprising clean considering
his last shower had presumably been the night before. He briefly moaned as
I stuck my tongue into his tight then gradually loosening hole. His knees
went higher. I reached my arms under his thighs and pulled his ass higher
allowing greater penetration. Steven held tightly to my shoulders. My
tongue went well inside him then fucked him in and out.

`You gotta suck me now, Ray. Please.'

It wasn't sure whether he was just that hot or worried that he was enjoying
the anal penetration too much. I obliged but quickly realized how close he
was. I held mouth full over him and slowly revolved my head, letting the
juices drop back a little. He allowed it but began pumping as soon as I
started a slow up and down motion. I rolled onto my back so he could fuck
my mouth. It also put his head directly over my hard cock. He dug his hands
under me and let his head lay on my boxer covered crotch. His thrusts
became harder, deeper. The groaning started, this time more of a `mmph,
mmph'. I ran my hands over his thighs and let my fingers drag across his
ass cheeks that were tightly closed from thrusting. That thrusting now
started from his lower legs and ran up through every inch of his body. He
was stiff as a board, neck to toes, each time he reached full depth in my
mouth. I felt each fibre of the muscles in his thighs. His body trembled
with each throb as his cock delivered the sweet boyjuice. I planned my next
move. It wasn't necessary.

`Your turn,' he whispered and rolled off me and onto his back, legs
spread. I dribbled saliva and boycum onto my hand and wet down my stiff
member. He clamped his legs on me as I dropped between them and hugged me
to him. It was nearly as good as from behind. I could feel his still stiff
pecker against me as I fucked away, slowly as that was all that was
needed. The warmth reached almost to my gut. He arched up to meet me. I
grabbed my T shirt and stuffed it under his ass. Wasn't nice to cum all
over hotel spreads. I closed my lips on his shoulder, pushed all the way in
and came.

`Can I use your shower?'

`I'll wash your back, you wash mine.'

I washed his entire body. He washed my back.

Sunday, Millie and I invited Vinny, the makeup queen, and A.D. Bob Stockton
on a boating outing out onto the gulf. The makeup queen suggested we take
along Bernie Boston and dump him overboard. Apparently, Boston didn't
approve of men wearing makeup making up his young charges. I suggested to
Millie we invite the screenwriter and ply him with booze and a few
questions to see how acquainted he really was with Steven Blake. His
comment about the boy's state of pubescence had raised my eyebrows. Ever on
the prowl for scuttlebutt, Millie went to him herself and informed, rather
than invited, him of the trip. His presence was required.

The `yacht' I expected wasn't what arrived. It had two masts with square
sails, a hull that hadn't seen a paintbrush much less maintenance since it
was built some thirty or fifty years before and a makeshift deck over a
makeshift wheelhouse that sat between the masts. The `captain' assured that
we had a motor if becalmed. He did have a large LP gas operated
refrigerator full of beer, gin and various types of soda. I was going to
have to keep an eye on Millie so she wouldn't fall over board.

Shortly after getting underway, Bob asked me aside if the makeup queen and
I were a `thing'.

`Oh, Bob, that hurts. You know I love only you', I answered and kissed him
on the cheek.

`Ask a stupid question...,' remarked the AD and took a long slug of his
Mexican beer.

Bob, as were Millie and I, was a stage historian of sorts. Turned out Myles
Mansford, the screenplay writer, was well versed too. We were a couple of
hours from the hotel and nearly out of sight of land before Millie and I
could weave Steven Blake into the conversation.

`The Crawford boy could be a great stage actor but Steven has the looks,
commented Millie.

Bob was about to answer but I kneed him into silence. He wasn't in on our
reason for inviting Myles.

`Perhaps with a good acting school, some encouragement on our parts. He
does enjoy acting,' said Myles.

`Have you seen him in any other productions, Myles', I asked.

`No but he read for a film I did a few months ago. I liked him for the part
but the director didn't think he could handle it.'

Millie, already half potted, had less compunctions about a follow up than
I. `Did you try working with him so he could handle it?' she asked.

The clueless fool stuck his foot in the mud. `I had him over to my place a
few times but it wasn't enough. He did try.'

I had to turn away to hide the guffaw that rose in my chest. Millie took it
in stride but left me helpless.

`So you couldn't get enough out of him?' she asked straight faced.

I spit gin and lemon soda all over my deck shoes but stayed bent over in an
attempt to hide my mirth.

Myles jumped to my side. Millie asked, `Dear, was it something I said?'

`No,' I struggled, `just swallowed down the wrong pipe.'

`Dear, happens to us all at times, doesn't it Myles?'

That did it. I went quickly to the head to hide. Myles looked after me with
puzzlement then a growing redness to his ears. Poor naïve Bob was the
only one who didn't know what had happened.

By the time I got back, stopping to pick up some Tortrix corn chips from
the captain's stock, Myles had turned the conversation to the differences
between stage and film makeup techniques. He had also switched from beer to
fruit juice and sandwiches. Probably wanted complete control of his
facilities. I began feeling very guilty and a bit angry at Millie for being
so forward. It was going to be necessary to reassure this poor man that we
weren't going to turn him into the morality police or Bernie Boston.

Back at the dock, I put an arm on his stiff shoulders. `Don't worry, we are
friends. I apologize for Millie carrying things too far. Bob hasn't any
idea what we were talking about. And Steven apparently is very discreet.'

`What do you mean by that?'

`C'mon, Myles, when I stupidly commented to Menahem about the possibility
of a Steven's impending voice change problem, he said you'd said the same
thing. And your reaction on the boat, wow. You really rose right to
Millie's bait.'

Myles stopped walking, deep into thought. `This is all very unfair. You are
making assumptions and how did you know about Steven's state of puberty?'

`Jesus, Myles, playwrights are supposed to have better imaginations than
that.'

`I don't think this is something we should be discussing,' he said and
walked away from me to the car.

Those were his last word to me for two weeks. The whole time I was worried
he'd say something that would hurt my relationship with Steven. But he
didn't.


Chapter 4

It was during Tuesday's shoot that Mark stepped over the line. When the
sound man asked for the third time for the boy to speak louder, Mark
grabbed the boom mike and shouted into it, `Is this loud enough?'

The soundman, a fiery soul himself if provoked, snapped off the headset,
holding his ringing ears. It was their third run-in. "I don't have to take
that shit from anyone, much less a snot nosed brat like this kid. Replace
him or me!'

`Break for lunch', shouted the director. `Get the kid's mother', he ordered
Bob who had rushed over.

Millie, who was not in the scene, but was up next, went to the recalcitrant
boy, put her arms around his shoulder and guided him to me, pulling us both
away from everyone else.

`Raymond, talk to this boy before Menahem has him on a plane for Los
Angeles.'

I stared at her. "Why me, he hates me just like most everyone else."

`I don't hate everyone. They just...'

That turned on my engine. I leaned over face to face with him. `Mark,
you're lucky Menahem wasn't here or, just like Millie said, you'd be outta
here so fast it'd make your head swim. You have managed to piss off just
about the entire production staff.' Arms crossed over his chest, he tried
to walk away but Millie dragged him back by the shirt.

I decided to try to be positive. It was hard for me to dislike any kid. I
took him by the arm and led him under a large tree where I sat us both
down.

`Mark, you are the most talented kid actor I've ever seen and Millie feels
the same.' I noticed she hadn't followed us to the tree.  `But acting
talent isn't all that is required in this business. Hell, nobody can be
more abrasive than me but I know where the lines are. I know when to
stop. Right now, you were mistreating one of the best soundmen in the
business. If Menahem or most producers have to choose between you and him,
you're gonna be the loser, no importa cuanto cuesta.' The Spanish `no
importa' slipped in because it was easier than its English
counterpart. Since I was speaking my native Spanish far more than English
those days, that type of slip happened a lot. I continued in Spanish
because it occurred to at the moment it might help to connect our common
heritage. Mark didn't seem to notice. I stopped to collect my thoughts.

`When you got here, everybody was ready to be your friend, to help you
along. That day when you hassled me about being too close, I was getting a
great picture of you and Millie, one that showed you working well,
connecting with one of the best actors in Hollywood. That's worth a
lot. But I didn't get it, well, that's a lie, I did but I was pissed off
enough not to print it. Now, if you want a friend, I'm willing to start
over and forget the past, nothing more needing to be said. But, you are
going to have to apologize to Ben and Frank and promise to be respectful,
use that word, to them as the professionals they are. I'll even take you on
the boat with Millie and us this Sunday.' I cringed at the blatant
bribery. It just fell out of my often poorly controlled mouth.

`I've been on lots of boats', he replied.

I despaired.

"How come I've got to apologize to him? Why was he yelling at me?'

I revived a little. `Mark, nobody yelled at you. You were speaking too
softly and he had to match your voice level with Vicky's. She's just
six. You're older and more experienced.' Without thinking, I put my arm
around his shoulder. The moment I did it, I expected him to yank away. He
didn't. `You apologize to Ben and Frank and everybody will know how hard it
was and a lot of bad opinions will change just like that. Whatta ya say?'

He looked over at Millie who was looking back hopefully.

`Okay, but...'

`No buts, Mark. Just do it like a pro. Head high. It's nothing to be
ashamed of. Admitting a mistake is what makes a man a man.' I pulled him
with me. That's when I noticed the director and most of the production crew
watching us. Mark kept his eyes to the ground.

My eyes found Ben's who still appeared upset. I gave him a pleading
expression and he softened. I saw Menahem headed our way. He stopped
alongside the director. We walked past director and producer and lighting
crew to where Ben sat with his recorder and sound console and Frank with
his boom. Mark's gaze stayed down. I took my hand away and nudged him
forward.

`I'm sorry', was hardly audible.

I leaned over. `Head up. Do this right. Don't forget the word respect. It's
a career saver.'

He sighed deeply and partially raised his face toward Ben. "I'm sorry. I
promise to respect, uh, ...' His shoulder heaved. The boy was about to cry.

Ben recognized it too, the big softy.

`C'mon, kid, lets have lunch.'

Menahem and the director showed relief. They both nodded appreciation my
way. I shrugged with a smile and rubbed thumb and forefingers together
indicating money.

Menahem smiled too and mouthed `Shit too'.

The afternoon was almost over when Mark's mother put in an appearance. The
children had long since returned to the hotel for their daily classes. She
spoke first to Bob, the assistant director. I saw him point at me. She
slowly walked my way, apparently deep in thought.

'Thank you for helping with Mark this morning.' She pursed her lips and ran
her fingers through her long black hair. 'I know he is sometimes
difficult.' She paused again. 'He told me you want him to go on a boat
Sunday with you and Miss Stuart. Is that true?'

'Sure, if that's okay with you.'

She didn't seem to know how to react to that but finally just said, 'Yes,
thank you. That is very nice of you. I will tell him to be a good boy.'
Again, she couldn't seem to think of what to say next. I had no idea how to
help her out, and was curious what she'd say next. 'He needs to bring some
food?'

'Oh, no, we have plenty.' I could have made her much more relaxed by
speaking to her in her native tongue but found myself enjoying her
discomfort. She created this brat.

'Okay, you just tell me what time and he will be ready.' She started to
leave but stopped again. I half expected a Columbo 'Another thing....' but
she said, 'He don't need no fishing rod or nothing?'

I wanted to laugh but said, 'No, we've got everything.'

She nodded and walked back toward Bob who'd been watching us. They spoke
for a minute. She nodded toward me a couple of times.

Bob joined me on the bus back to the hotel. 'Mark must have had a very
bright father because that woman is one evolutionary step beyond
cockroach'. He grinned. 'You going to take Boston to supervise?'

'I oughta make you eat your clipboard for even mentioning his name.'

Friday evening, Steven was waiting for the Coaster when we got back to the
hotel. Well, he was reading on the porch of his cottage but caught my eye
as I got off. He stood and walked toward the door making a subtle nod of
his head indicating that I should come over. Surrounded by crew, I looked
down at my feet then back up hoping he'd understand that as an
affirmative. Going back onto the Coaster claiming to have forgotten
something, I feigned a search until everyone had gone into the hotel then
scooted as casually as I could over to and into Steven's cottage door. He
was stark naked on the living room couch.

'Where's your mother?'

'It's Friday. She's having dinner with the other mother's and
Mr. Boston. Take a picture of me like this.'

'Jesus, Steven. Are you out of your mind?' I was genuinely surprised at the
naiveté of such a request. Even a kid had to know how dangerous that
was. 'If by some strange, weird chance that picture ever got out, any
career thoughts you might have would be over.' I admit that I was starting
to hate myself for such a counterproductive though wonderfully altruistic
rejection of such an opportunity. Steven Blake was a beautiful boy, as
beautiful as he'd ever be. I admit to having taken a lot of nude photos of
boys over the years. None had ever been a problem. Nah, I couldn't even
consider this. 'No way, Jose.'

'C'mon, Ray, I wanna have a picture of me like this so I can remember.'

'Remember what?'

'Look, all you guys are crazy about me so I must be really beautiful. You
don't go after Mark or Rudy or anybody, right?' He posed arms outstretched,
humping his hips so his flacid cock flopped up and down.

I put down my camera bag and closed the door I'd forgotten remained
open. 'You are certifiable, boy,' I said with a smile as I went to the
couch, picked him up and sat down with him in my lap. 'Yes, you are a
beautiful boy and all us guys are chasing after you because you are the
most beautiful, and you have nice breath.'

He hugged me and whispered in my ear. 'Take my picture and I'll let you do
anything you want.'

'That, my beautiful young friend, is a dangerous offer.'

He sat straight up and, with a serious look on his face, said, 'Go ahead,
try me.'

Was he serious? Would he roll over for me? There was nothing negative in
his eyes. I asked, 'How about putting my peter right up your pretty
behind?'

He smirked. 'No, not that. That hurts. But I'll do you like you do
me. Okay?'

I knew this was a bad idea. 'Where are you going to hide a picture like
that?'

'No, you give it to Michael. He'll hold it for me until I'm big. Okay?'

That showed some common sense, and maturity. 'And you're going to do
everything to me that I do to you?'

'Yeh, but you gotta do it just like last time. Don't worry, I took a
bath. That's why I only had my pants and a shirt on just now.'

The disappointed look on my face told him I'd have preferred him unwashed.

`Sorry, I'll stay funky next time.'

I lifted him off my lap and laid him out on the sofa. 'First, I'm gonna
close the curtains and make sure nobody's outside who might see the flash'.

The curtains were hung on a simple wooden rod so I had to take a chair to
each of the four windows that were in or off the room. Steven started
working his cock then stopped. 'You gotta take two, one like this and one
with it sticking up.'

I was wishing we were in a light tight place so I could do a real series on
this gorgeous lad. 'Okay, two.'

I set up one light on a shelf to bounce its light off the white ceiling and
held the other at arm's length. Test flashes weren't practical but the
camera's computer would do most of the work for me. And digital was
convenient in that the picture could be checked immediately. The first shot
was fine. Looking at the little screen in the viewfinder turned me
on. Steven worked his cock a few times and it rose to the occasion. As the
second flash went off, I wondered how enthusiastic he'd really be. 'Where's
the bedroom', I asked.

'Let's do it here on the rug. I beat off here last night after my shower.'

I was quickly naked and down beside him. The rug was prickly against my
skin. I picked him up. 'Floor sucks. Where's your bedroom?'

He nodded toward a door and in we went. Feigning Dracula, I went right for
his throat, opening my mouth wide and sucking it all in. He raised his head
to let me. When I got to the lower part of his wonderful flat tummy, I
stopped and lay back. 'Your turn.'

He giggled and went for my neck as I had his. 'Yeuch,' he exclaimed, 'you
need to shave.'

'Quit complaining and get to work,' I laughed and pulled his head back to
my chest. He tried my underarms for a few seconds then suggested, 'Let's
just do each other's cock.'

After a quick turn around, I pulled us over side by side, faces to cocks,
and chomped down on his boner. He felt mine up with his hands, sniffed it,
then opened up and took in the head, struggling to just use his lips and
not his tongue. I provided an example and slid up and down his pole a few
times. He gently thrust with his hips. I did the same and felt the warmth
of his mouth as he gave up and let me in. He managed to get it in
halfway. The sensation was utterly fantastic as it always is. A boy's mouth
is nearly as hot and slippery as his rectum. This was probably his first
time. Michael would be very jealous if he ever found out. I'd never tell.

I let him fuck my mouth, revolving my head hoping he'd do the same. He did,
moving back and forth at the same time. He was getting the hang of it. It
was hard to concentrate on his cock with the fantastic pleasure his slick
lips and tongue were providing. His teeth did scrape a bit every few
entries but I was far too happy and excited to be concerned. His pumping
increased in speed and length of stroke. The more excited he got, the
harder he sucked on my peter. I was getting close but didn't want to get
off ahead of Steven. I tried thinking about his pleasure to get my mind off
mine. I ran my free hand up and down from his bobbing head to between his
tender buttocks which opened and closed with each thrust into my mouth. He
didn't squeeze his ass cheeks closed like last time but allowed me to
caress his rectum. I considered wetting my finger and pushing it in but
decided not to press my luck.

He breathing became more pronounced. He moaned, this time muffled by the
mancock in his gullet. His thrusts became more violent, his crotch slamming
into my face harder than ever before, his hand on the back of my neck
yanking me to him with each thrust. I slid my hand deep between his legs
and squeezed his ass cheek from perineum to hipbone. My dick was ready to
fire. I didn't want to shoot in his mouth and turn him off for another
time. I ran my hand up close to be ready to grab it out of his mouth when
the time came. I gently rubbed his cheek by his lips to feel my cock going
in and out of his mouth. They were pulled tight around my shaft. Was he
enjoying it or was it just the passion of his own near orgasm? Whatever!

I was there. I pulled my hips back and grabbed my cockhead, keeping the cum
from coming out all over him. He was too wrapped up in his own passion to
notice. Half a minute later he slammed in, clutching my head to him as he
fired off his few drops of new boycum. After a couple of seconds, he slid
half out and pushed back in hard three times, waited, did it again then
held me on him. It was then that I noticed he was sucking on the side of
the hand gripping my peter.

Later, in the shower, he half asked and stated, 'I was good, wasn't I?'

I hugged him, felt his still hard cock against my leg and answered, 'Very
good.'

We dressed and went back to the couch. I let Steven see his two pictures in
the camera's viewfinder. He really liked them. I think he turned himself
on. He probably would beat off in front of a mirror from then on.

I sat and packed my gear. Steven asked hesitantly, 'How come you're taking
Mark on the boatride Sunday?'

'Well,', I replied uncomfortably, fully understanding the 'look at all I do
for you and you give gifts to somebody else' implications. 'It was a sort
of a bribe to solve a difficult situation for Menahem and all of us. Mark
has been better behaved since then. I didn't get the impression you liked
being around Mark. Would you like to go too? I would be extremely happy to
have you with us.'

'Of course. I'll be with you, not Mark.'

'Fantastic!' I felt quite good getting off the hook so easily. 'We're
leaving at about 8. Why don't you guys get along with Mark? What bugs you
about him?'

'Nothing special. He just isn't fun to be around. Everything's gotta be his
way. He even has his own teacher. And still gets lousy grades. You know he
flunked math and science?'

I didn't. 'If he's got a separate teacher, how do you know he failed?'

'His teacher told our teacher. Our teacher told Amy's mother it was 'cause
his teacher doesn't know how to teach very good. And Mark hates him
anyway.'

'Because he failed him?'

'Mark doesn't know we know he failed. He hates his teacher 'cause his
mother is screwing him. Didn't you know that? He's in Mark's mother's room
almost every night. I mean Mark really hates the guy.'

Child actors lived in a really weird world. Here was this kid having sex
with who knows how many men from the age of eight. Mark Crawford's mother
was ignoring her son for some half assed Hollywood teacher. 'Steven, why
don't you try to be Mark's friend. It sounds like he needs one. Maybe
invite him over to play or something.'

'Rudy invited him over a couple nights ago to play Nintendo and Mark broke
his control when he lost three times in a row. I don't want that kid
anywhere near my stuff.'

I left it at that.

The Sunday boat trip was a mixed pleasure. Because of Mark's mention of
fishing, I rented five sets of tackle and had the captain bring plenty of
bait. Millie wanted nothing to do with live fish and was somewhat teed off
with me for ruining her drinking to bribe Mark Crawford's apology to Ben,
the soundman. She became more sympathetic to the boy's plight when I told
her what Steven had said about the teacher and his mother. Then she
insisted on seeing the pictures I shouldn't have told her about. It wasn't
that she'd tell anyone else; her discretion was something I could always
count on, even in her worst drunkenness. She wanted copies and I had to
deny them, a very difficult thing to do with Millie who I knew would bring
this up for years.

The kids were hardly fishermen either. Both were bored after less than
fifteen minutes with no bites. We ate. Steven deserved credit for trying to
get along with Mark but the young actor lived up to his billing and left
Steven on the deck to pester the captain to allow him to steer.

We anchored off a small island and rowed the lifeboat ashore for a romp on
the beach. Millie and the captain went back under the trees with bottles of
gin, orange juice and an ice bucket. I wanted to take pictures of a wet,
tanned Steven Blake in a tight swim suit. I had a Speedo for Mark but he
wouldn't change into it. I was concerned he couldn't swim.

'The water's warm and doesn't get over your hips until fifty yards out.'

He caught that drift immediately. 'I can swim better than you. I just don't
feel like it.'  He stomped off to Millie and the Captain.

I stripped down right on the beach and put on my suit. Millie's hooting at
my nudity drifted over the waves. After I'd covered Steven and myself with
Nivea sunblock, we chased each other in and out of the surf and then swam,
well crawled and swam depending if we were on or between swells. Once we
were well out from the beach, I groped Steven's crotch.

'Bet you can't suck on it under water,' he challenged.

My complaint about the shallowness of the water only had him swimming out
farther and repeating the challenge. I wrestled him so I could pull down
his trunks and went under below him. His dick was hard already. I sucked it
in, salt water and all. He humped my mouth. I swallowed water and jumped
quickly to the surface gagging.

'Do it some more. I wanna cum in the ocean.'

'This isn't the ocean, it's the Gulf.'

'Whatever', he growled and pushed me down. I went down, well up, on him. He
was floating over me and fucking my mouth. There was no way I could hold my
breath long enough for him to get off. After about forty seconds my lungs
were bursting. I jumped back to the surface leaving his hard cock
wanting. He had another idea.

'Let me fuck you. I'll make like I'm riding on your back. Nobody will
know.'

Except Millie, I thought, she'd figure out what was happening before he got
inside me. 'You're not big enough. You'd never get in.'

I knew that was bullshit. I'd had kids with just three inches get off up my
rear. And I'd enjoyed their passion doing it. But in the Gulf of Mexico
with watchers? But, it was something I'd never tried before, a feather not
yet in my bonnet.

'All right, but keep it all under water.'

He got behind me and pulled down my trunks. His boner probed between my ass
cheeks but couldn't find the hole. I reached back between my legs and
guided it to the opening. He poked a few times, finally popping it inside
me, completely inside me, just about touching my prostate. It felt nice. He
held me by the hips and fucked away. I tried to play the role of man giving
boy a ride in the waves but wasn't sure how convincing I was. It was hard
to do with my ass pushed back so he could make maximum penetration. What
did Mark think we were doing if he was watching. I turned to see where he
was but couldn't spot him. Maybe he was still back under the trees with
Millie and the captain.

Steven was grunting louder than usual, a gluttural 'unnnh, unnnh' in
cadence with his thrusts. I wished we were on top of a bed so I could roll
over on my back and have him fuck me from the front and watch his beautiful
abdomen flex as he slammed his cock home each time. I reached back and
grabbed his ass with both hands. It was soft on the pullback but hard on
the lunge forward. This was really great. My cock was hard. He'd only have
to hold his breath for fifteen seconds to suck me off.  Would he...'

'Hey, what are you guys doing?' half shouted Mark's voice from perhaps five
yards away.

I whirled around, yanking Steven's dick out of my ass. What had he seen? In
this clear water, could he see that our bathing suits were around our
ankles? I splashed water at him in mock play. 'Hey, look who's decided to
swim,' I called back, splashing with one hand while trying to pull up my
now tight trunks that seemed to stick to my knees then thighs. I hoped upon
hope that Steven had pulled his up and would keep that roaring hardon well
below water.

''I wanna play too', insisted Mark swimming powerfully through the spray of
my splashing.

Play? I sure hoped he meant horsey and not, well, horsey Steven style. He
threw his arms over my shoulders as I was pulling up the back of my
trunks. My erection was long gone but the suit didn't cover everything
yet. I pulled him to me with my free arm still struggling with my trunks
with the other. A hand grabbed my suit and yanked it upward. Steven to the
rescue.

With both arms now liberated, I tossed Mark onto my back and swam around in
a semicircle while Steven splashed us. I still wasn't sure what Mark had
seen and half expected him to begin humping my back. He did but it was
`urge on the horsey' knee banging more than the other kind. I was kind of
sorry.

We played for nearly half an hour. I gave Mark more attention than the
certainly still horny Steven but winked at him in hopes he'd understand. He
shrugged his shoulders in acceptance of the emergency move. I wondered how
much he cared if Mark had caught more than he was letting on.

Mark was surprisingly physical out in the water, holding onto me even when
I had Steven on my shoulders. A couple of times, when on my back, he
relaxed and laid his head on my shoulder. I could have played longer but
realized that we'd been in the sun a long time and suddenly sunburned boys
wouldn't make the director very happy. And, I wanted to take some pictures.

Back on the beach, Steven was most obliging, doing anything I asked. He
even mooned me a couple of times, an act I did not request but which Mark,
now competing for my attention, followed both times with a longer and
greater rear exposure, all of which I photographed. After as many as fifty
digital photos, we made a fire under the tall palm and coconut trees and
cooked hotdogs and a fish the captain had caught. I had Mark on one side
and Steven on the other. At one point, Mark leaned his back into my side as
he ate his third wiener. I debated putting my arm around him but decided
that Steven wouldn't appreciate it.

Millie was on her best behavior though I had seen in her eyes, on our
return from the sea, that she knew what Steven and I had been up to and was
dying to here all about it. That wasn't exactly what I wanted to discuss.

The moment we were alone, I asked angrily, 'Why the hell didn't you warn me
that Mark was coming?'

She was unflustered, as usual. 'Dearie, other than fire a flare or send a
helicopter, what could have I done? I couldn't have shouted over the surf,
especially with you two lovers so far out to sea and so completely
engrossed in your, activity. And I certainly couldn't have run after the
boy, now could I?'

I sighed heavily. She was right, of course.

'So, tell me all about it, with plenty of details. I don't think Mark saw
anything, did he?'

I told her an abridged version of the truth. She didn't accept it.

'He fucked you good. Admit it, you liar,' she cajoled good naturedly. 'And
you loved it.'

'I told you he's got a big one for his size.'

I told her that I didn't know what Mark saw. He hadn't said or indicated
anything but he was awfully close.

After dinner, Steven was waiting for me in the lobby. The nod told me that
he wanted to complete the afternoon's interrupted tryst. I motioned
upstairs with my eyes and waited to see if anyone had seen him.

He was delightful, repeatedly pinging my prostate with the tip of his
wiener. We tried it face to face for a bit but he wanted to return to a
rear approach. I did enjoy the brief view of his tummy muscles flexing as
he thrust. After a prolonged climax, he allowed me a rear entry between his
beautiful thighs.

When Hector appeared a couple of hours later, I had to beg off. It wasn't
that I'd have been unable to perform, I just wanted to keep for the night
the physical memory of sliding between Steven's slick thighs and feeling
his plump buns press into me with each plunge. Hector was very
disappointed. I wondered if Myles might enjoy his attention but decided it
might be best to wait until he seemed more comfortable around me. And, for
I all I knew, this kid might have been over his age of interest.

Monday morning started off badly. Bernie Boston, walking like that
broomstick has been stuffed even further up his ass confronted me on my way
to shoot the first scene of the day.

'Mr. Molina, I understand you and Ms. Stuart took the Blake and Crawford
boys out on a boat yesterday.'

I stared up at him, waiting for whatever it was he really wanted to say.

'Is that true?'

'Mr. Boston, what exactly is it you want to know?'

'Just what I asked.'

'Just that?'

'Well, and why, and with whose permission.'

'They sound like questions you ought to ask their mothers. I'm on
call. Bye.'

That had the effect I shouldn't have wanted but did. He ran in front of me.

'All the children on this film are my responsibility. Any activities with
them have to be cleared with me.' He was not accustomed to being tossed
away like a wet Kleenex. I wasn't going to take any shit from him. I didn't
have to anymore.

'Look, Mr. Boston, sir, mothers, in my book, have more authority over their
children than social workers.'

'Why did you just take the boys?'

There it was. I replied the wrong way, the worst way. 'Because they're so
much cuter than girls,' I said with a wave of my limp wrist.

I knew that was stupid as I was saying it but I'd put up with these candy
asses for twenty years. On the set, I went straight to Bob and told him
what happened.

'It was dumb, childish, Bob, but I'm just so sick and tired of having to
put up with their little girl shit. If it's a big problem for you and
Menahem, I'll walk away.

Bob said he'd talk to Boston and see what if anything he planned on
doing. I went to work.

The kids were in most of the scenes that morning. When Mark came out of
makeup, he saw me and came over. He was very friendly.

'Can I see your camera?'

I offered him my empty mechanical Nikon film camera. He looked through the
viewfinder and tried to focus. 'Everything's blurry.'

I asked him and he told me that he had a small autofocus digital camera but
it was back in Los Angeles. I sat on an equipment case and pulled him into
my lap where I slid the camera back and forth between our eyes and taught
him how to focus. He quickly learned and was up and focusing at the near
and far.

'Can I take a picture?'

'Better use this.' I pulled the small digital out of my bag. 'With this one
you can see the picture right after you take it. And it focuses by itself,
like yours.'

He aimed at the sound crew. Ben noticed and waved. I showed him how to
bring up the shot on the LCD screen. I sat back down and he sat beside me
looking at his work.

'Can I take another one?'

I noticed a stern Bernie Boston watching us. I never learn. 'There's
Mr. Boston. Take his picture.'

Mark glanced at the social worker then looked elsewhere. 'How about that
house?'

Trying not to laugh too obviously, I looked over at Boston and shrugged my
shoulders. He was not a happy camper.

Mark spent most of his between scenes time with me and Millie too when she
appeared bleary eyed on the set. I told her about my encounter with Boston
and my provocative response.

'Don't worry, Raymond, Menahem's in charge of this circus.'

Steven saw us together but, as usual, didn't approach. He'd have done well
back on the Times Square scene of the `70's.

==============================================

Chapter 5

Much as I was enamored with lovely, cooperative Steven Blake, I was
developing a soft spot for the problem plagued Mark Crawford. Our boat and
swim trip was an eye opener. Mark had shown a desperate need for
attention. Then came the story of his mother's games with his teacher who,
despite his obvious incompetence, she kept on because he was a good
fuck. Her very bright son had failed his last grade due to the man.

Perhaps in my copious spare time I could tutor the boy a bit. First,
though, I'd have to make my peace with Bernie Boston, the children's
uptight, nosey social worker.

`Look,' I said on meeting him at the day's first shoot, `I'm sorry for
being so testy with you the other day. I know you were just doing your
job.'

He said nothing.

`I understand Mark Crawford isn't doing well in school.'

`I'm not at liberty to discuss his educational situation.' The broom handle
was fully in place.

`Well, do you mind if some of us work with him on his studies?'

`I'd rather his teacher did that. He's qualified.'

That put me over the edge. `His teacher's qualifications are very
questionable. His very bright student failed his grade.'

`You don't know that. Anyway, it's none of your business.'

`I thought you were here to see to the children's best interests.'

`Anything else, Mr. Molina?'

I shook my head and walked over to Bob ready to pour out invective but he
was deep into preparations for the next shot. I wanted to find the
assistant producer but had to wait until the shot was over.

Millie ambled to me, bored as she had nothing to do that day. I told her
what happened.

`You better be careful with that man. He can cause you a lot of trouble and
would love doing it.'

`Still, I'm going to talk to Menahim. I'm sitting around with little to do
and I'd love to help that kid with his schoolwork.'

`Ray, you're the most transparent pervert on the face of the earth. You
just want to get into his pants.'

`Maybe, nah. You know I care about kids like him who are being screwed
over. Steven and Hector are taking care of my physical needs.' I had to
stop and ask myself if I was really interested in Mark's reasonably good
body. The answer was masked in a cloud of anger and self righteousness
generated mostly by my tiff with the social worker.

I decided on another tack. `All right, you speak with Menahim about
teaching the boy. You'd love it. I'll bet anything he's a fast learner. And
maybe what you do in a few weeks will point out to the powers that be that
the kid needs a real teacher instead of his momma's stud.'

`That's a nasty thing to challenge me with, Raymond. You ought to know
better.'

It sounded like a yes to me.

What she did do was speak with the producer about rumors on the set
concerning the boy's school problems and incompetent teacher. Menahim
showed her a letter from Boston, the social worker, insisting that I not be
allowed around any of the children except in my capacity as still
photographer. Our producer knew what my reaction would be and was too much
the coward to show it to me himself. He was fairly sure I wouldn't slug
Millie so gave her the job.

I took the letter straight to Mark's mother and asked her in her native
tongue, `Are you aware of this?'

She read it then asked in Spanish, `Why did he write this?'

`Everybody on the set has heard about Mark's school problems. Some of us
have a lot of free time and I get along best with him. I offered to help
your son with his schoolwork. Boston is being a bureaucrat. Would you like
me to help him with his schoolwork?'

It may have been the less stressful discussion in her own language but she
seemed friendly.

`Mark doesn't like to study is his problem. I wish everybody would not talk
about him. I think they are jealous because he is the best actor among the
children. But he likes you. Sure, you teach him if you want. Maybe he will
study more.'

`You need to tell Boston that this is your wish.'

`I'll tell him right now. Mark is studying now with Andrew. I will tell him
to take his books to you this afternoon when he goes to work.'

As I walked out, I told myself that no matter what, I had to stay out of
this kid's undies. Bernie Boston was going to be looking for anything to
nail me.

Sure enough, when Mark arrived smiling, already made up, carrying his book
bag. I'd checked and knew we had half an hour before he was needed on the
set. I had to be there for a shot in a few minutes but could come back in
short order.

I had him read. He sat close beside me and read quite well. I kept an eye
out for Boston. He appeared with the two girls but didn't look my way when
I was looking.

I pulled out a math book and tossed a few multiplication problems at my
student. He did fine. From the book, I asked about sets and adding
fractions. He understood a bit about sets but, other than what they were
when related to pies, he hadn't a clue about how to use
fractions. Geography and history were worse. I love history and it related
well to geography so I decided to start with that and got right into why
the pre-revolution American pioneers headed west and what they found.

Shortly, he had to go rehearse for his scene with John then I had to shoot
it. We managed to get a fair amount accomplished considering all the
breaks. Best of all, Mark seemed to get involved.

The next day, we continued. Mark had done the reading and addition of
fractions I requested and knew what we'd gone over the day before. I felt
like I was doing a great job. But Mark was still Mark. As the week went on,
he sort of played hooky spending longer than necessary in the makeup tent,
disappearing with the claim he was learning his lines then, `I don't feel
like studying today. I already did all morning.'

Worse, Steven was a little bent out of shape over all the time I was
spending with his child co-star and was less cooperative on top of the
sheets. That didn't mean he was disinterested in having sex with me. Steven
was one very horny boy and would have done it twice a day it that were
possible. No, it was back to intracrural screwing from the front and that
with his hands behind his head, the old `Forty-Second Street stretch' of
the Times Square hustlers of the 70's. All that set back my new goal of
getting in his back door. The plan had me rimming his sweet ass again but
he wouldn't even spread his legs so I could run my lips down his perineum
while sucking on that delicious four inches of boyhood.

A new strategy that got Mark into a learning groove and provided more
attention to Steven was needed. I brainstormed with Millie in a corner of
the hotel bar. There was little doubt she wouldn't want to do what I had in
mind for her: being the history and geography teacher for a boy she loved
working with as an actor but found personally to be a pest.

`I, dear, am not a nanny,' she said as a refusal.

`Millie, you've never tried it. Teaching a kid with the brains is a
joy. And, this is the easy stuff. I'll handle the more tedious lessons.'

`What makes you think he'll be more responsive to me who prefers grown men
for company than you who can relate right down to his level?'

`That, Millie, is part of the problem. I have a hard time getting kids to
do things they'd rather not do because they don't see me as that much of an
authority figure. You, on the other hand, old and overbearing as you can
be, scare the bejesus out of small people.'

`You see, you can be just as overbearing as I. And what, dear, do I get out
of this, if I do it.'

This was the challenge that had to come. There had to be a tit for her
tat. But, for once, I was prepared. `I'll figure a way for you to watch
Hector and I get it on.'

`Oh, how delicious, though I'd rather watch you and young Steven with his
growing protrusion.'

`So we have a deal?'

`I suppose so but how often am I supposed to try to educate the little
monstrosity?'

`We can alternate; you one day, me the next.'

Another Sunday was coming up. I really wanted to do something with the boys
but had Boston to be concerned about. The only way was to invite the
mothers along. Another boat trip was about the only option outside of going
to San Pedro Sula, a long, uncomfortable ride to a city that had very
little to offer. Steven's mother agreed to come but Mark's claimed to be
occupied. Still, she virtually ordered me to take her son along. I guessed
she saw the opportunity to have the day alone with her darling teacher.

Hector was waiting for me when I got to my room at ten fifteen. How was I
going to arrange for Millie to watch us without Hector discovering her and
possibly going into hysteria? He got my mind off it by finally fucking me
for a change, and doing quite a nice job of it. We did it face to face so I
got to watch him at work. He had, in fact, quite a nice looking body. His
tummy muscles became beautifully pronounced with each downward plunge then
went nicely soft as he withdrew. He kept me right on the edge of orgasm for
the longest time then gently massaged my cock just before he came, getting
me off at almost the same moment as he.

`You like that?' he asked in Spanish.

`Si, encantó,' I answered.

I told him that the next day was impossible due to a cast activity I had to
attend. I almost invited him but decided against it. Steven's mother might
not understand my relationship.

The boat excursion worked out quite well. There were eight of us: Millie,
Myles the BL scriptwriter, Bob the A.D., the continuity gal who came hand
in hand with married Bob, Steven and his mother, Mark and me. The captain
had a better idea of what we wanted to eat so was prepared with an improved
menu. We went to a different island or another side of the same one. I had
no idea where we were.

On the way, Millie and I spoke to Mark about our new tutoring
arrangement. He looked warily at Millie then shrugged his shoulders.

Steven, Mark, Myles, who seemed over our little tiff, and I played in the
water while the rest sat about drinking, talking and drinking, especially
Millie.

Twice I caught Myles with his hand in Steven's bathing suit. Both times I
reminded him about Mark's presence. The first time he acted surprised. `You
haven't had him yet?'

`Of course not,' I answered wondering if he had.

Steven and Mark got along reasonably well. They weren't exactly best
buddies but there were no harsh words or looks. Steven's mother asked me to
help her son with his schoolwork as I was doing with Mark. In fact, why
didn't I work with the two together seeing as they seemed to be friends.

I knew better. `They're different levels in school. Where is Steven having
problems?'

`Well,' she said then paused, `not really anywhere but he can always get
better.'

Lame bitch, I thought. It seemed she just might be aware of what was going
on with her son and the men in his life and wanted to extract something for
it. So, I might as well take advantage.

`It'll have to be in the evenings. I can come two or three nights a week to
the cabin or he can come to my room.' Whatever she chose, Boston couldn't
legitimately complain, or so I hoped.

She'd talk to Steven and see what he wanted to do.

We got back just as the last of the light was warming the Western
sky. Millie was so smashed, I had to help her all the way to her room.

As I ate dinner with Bob and the continuity gal, Hector watched ruefully
from the kitchen door. I ignored him and felt guilty for it. Right after
desert, I went to Myles room.

`Have you noticed the bus boy with the big eyes?' I asked.

`Of course. Is he available?'

I went back to the dining room for a second desert and mentioned Myles room
number to Hector.

At breakfast, Myles sat at my table. `I think I want to live here at the
hotel forever.'

Monday afternoon, after their first take, Millie led Mark by the hand to
her trailer for their first lesson together. I saw them briefly during
three shots, in which they had connected quite well, but they disappeared
before I had a chance to ask how things were going.

Steven was having a less successful afternoon. There was a scene during
which he had to turn to Millie with a worried expression and say an
important line. He flubbed it a half dozen times in a row. Even the usually
unflappable Millie had frustration on her face. The director stood, tapping
his clipboard and sent all of us off while he worked with just Steven and
Millie. After fifteen minutes, we were called back and the scene
re-shot. The line was okay but his expression was horrible, nothing like
what the director wanted. Three takes later, the director said `print it'
though I knew it wasn't what it should have been. I was glad Mark wasn't
there to see what happened. His mere presence would have upset poor
untalented Steven more. And Mark almost certainly would have said something
making a bad situation much worse.

When teacher and student finally came to me late in the afternoon, Mark was
smiling.

`So you two got along wonderfully?

`Yeah,' answered Mark, `she's a better teacher than you.'

I looked at Millie suspiciously. `What did you teach him, professor?'

`Just what he is working on in school, that nasty colonial insurrection
against the good King George.'

I looked at Mark. `She did tell you that the Brits lost that one, didn't
she?'

`We're just when the colonials started shooting at British soldiers at
Lexington and Concord,' he replied.

`Did she explain why they were shooting at them?'

`Ray, Mark has to prepare for his next scene. You can discuss that
later. Go, Mark. I'll join you in a moment.'

`Millie!'

`Don't worry. He's just receiving a more balanced view than the one in his
book. Now, to more important matters. When do I get to watch one of your
perverted acts?'

`I'm still not sure how to pull this off.'

`Did it ever occur to you he might not mind me sitting there watching? I
won't be intrusive.'

`Oh brother, I'll have to think about that. Well, I can beat around the
bush with the idea. We're not on again until tomorrow. I connected him with
Myles last night.'

She cooed and looked around for Myles. `Millie, Myles is not me, doesn't
know you like I do. You must not say a word. I'll pass on his
remarks. Okay?'

`I don't know why I put up with you, Raymundo.'

Steven passed me on the way out of the dining room that evening and
whispered, `cabin'. I skipped desert and was there minutes after he
left. The darling was naked but still soft on the couch, apparently in a
good mood, a surprise considering the tough day he had had in front of the
camera. Perhaps his mother mentioned that I'd be tutoring him too. And, of
course, he must have seen Mark going with Millie that afternoon. He was
either over his jealousy or taking a different tack.

I stripped quickly. My buttons were all opened before I reached his
porch. I stopped and looked at him. Only a table lamp across the room lit
him obliquely. I'd loan him my small digital camera with its flash and he
could tell anyone who asked that he was taking pictures. The view was just
too luscious to pass up. `Don't move,' I told him.

I rushed back to my bag and pulled out the D1X and a flash unit. The flash
with a slave went on a shelf, pointed at the white compressed board
ceiling. The slave is a sensor that sees any other flash going off and
fires the flash unit it is attached to at that same instant. I put a small
flash on the camera and aimed it too at the ceiling. I made sure all the
curtains were fully closed then closed the doors to the other rooms. Steven
reached for his flaccid penis.

`Don't touch it yet. It's beautiful the way it is.'

He cooperated delightfully while I shot enough photos that I ran out of
memory in the camera: a few with him on his stomach, a couple close-up bust
shots and finally several with him hard.

`Do you realize how beautiful you are?' I asked sitting on the couch with
his head in my naked lap.

`Of course I do. You tell me all the time.'

We moved to his bedroom and pulled back the spread. He wrapped himself,
arms and legs, around me and let me kiss right up to his mouth but not on
it. So, I slid my tongue from his ear down to below his chin and ran my
mouth over his soft neck. He pulled me tightly to him. When I looked, his
eyes were closed. I licked to his left tit then pushed his arm up and
licked his underarm. He'd remembered and not bathed. The boy salt was
delicious. Steven grabbed my head and held it so I stayed for a while.

I slavered my way back to his neck then over to the right tit and
underarm. He pushed my left hand down to his crotch. He was stiff as the
bedpost. I fingered his soft balls in their fluffy sack the let my fingers
run down his perineum. He opened his legs allowing access to his anus. That
excited me.

I slowly turned my body and licked my way down his tummy, along those
wonderful valleys that led to his cock, skipped his cock, sucked in his
balls for a minute or two, the released the individually and sent my tongue
onto the mound between his legs. Steven wrapped his arms around me and
hugged. Did that mean stop or don't stop. It didn't really matter. As long
as his legs were open, I was going on.

I diverted briefly to his silky thighs, wetting them down good, then
preceded south toward his hole. He shivered when my tongue touched the
tender flesh at the opening. His legs opened wider, his knees went up
providing better access. I shifted my body down and planted my tongue right
at the door, gently nudging it open. There was a slight smell and taste of
unwashed boy bottom, and the heightened risk of amoeba in a week or two,
but I knew where I wanted to go. I pushed the point of my tongue into the
pucker. Slowly, the muscle relaxed, letting me in. Steven held me tighter
still. I forged ahead, straining the back of my tongue as, with repeated
thrusts, I gradually pushed well inside. Then, all of a sudden, his hole
relaxed completely. I splipped in as far as I could. I fucked him with my
tongue, thrusting repeatedly as he tried to open his ass further and pushed
my head into him. Was this boy fuckable? He'd said I was too big, that I'd
hurt him, but I doubted that very much. He was large back there.

The strain on my tongue grew, becoming almost as painful as the feeling
inside his butt was erotic. I pushed in a few more times, enjoying the feel
of the soft, mushy flesh inside then had to withdraw. He dropped his legs
and pulled my head to his bloated cock. The moment he was inside my mouth,
he fucked slowly but deeply, his entire body involved. I ran my hands
inside his thighs, slipping my right index finger down into his
crack. Again, his legs opened. The wetness allowed the tip of my finger to
press inside his rectum. He made no attempt to stop me. I pushed slowly
inward, right up to the knuckle. He pumped hard into my face. His sphincter
grabbed me tight. He fired off sweet boycum into the back of my mouth. My
buried finger could clearly feel the throbbing. I massaged his cock from
inside his rectum. He went `Unnh' with each new pulse.

The moment his throbs lessened in intensity, I pulled out my
finger. Keeping it in can sometimes be uncomfortable after orgasm. I wanted
to get off too.

Steven was still breathing deeply and holding on to me. Keeping my mouth on
his cock, I slowly turned my body around then nudged him onto his
stomach. He didn't resist. What did he think I was going to do? My plan was
between his legs. It was hard to believe he might allow me to actually fuck
him in the ass after just getting off. His hole had shown itself to be
large enough to accommodate me. I had KY in my bag but it was far away in
the living room and I didn't want to break the spell.

I climbed over him and dropped my hard dick down between his legs. He
didn't say a word. I decided the only way to find out what was on his mind
was to ask.

`Steven, I asked softly in his ear, may I put it inside you or would you
prefer if I just did it between your legs.'

He was silent for what seemed like the longest time. `Just go in real
slow.'

His concern forced me to get some help. `I better put on some lubricant.'

I slid quickly off the bed and rushed into the living room, grabbed the
bag's strap and ran back, all the while fumbling inside the bag for the
white tube. I kissed him on the shoulder when I found it. Kneeling up
behind him, I applied a liberal amount on my cock and a gob between his
legs.

My cockhead went straight to his pucker like it was radar guided. I pushed
gently then stopped. `Tell me right away if it hurts.'

`Mmkay,' he muttered.

I nudged further. The head poked in sending a warm rush through my
midsection. Hector was great but this was a whole different
situation. Steven was an eleven year old beautiful boy who had been
refusing other men even between the legs entry. Here he was, out of the
blue, taking me right up his hot little rear. After a few seconds, I pushed
in another inch or so then waited again. Steven reached back and pulled my
butt forward, into him. I obeyed and felt that incredible wet fleshy warmth
engulf me, right up to my balls. He was hardly tighter than much bigger,
fourteen year old Hector. Again, I paused to let him get used to six inches
of wong invading his anus. He yanked on my ass twice so I began fucking,
slowly. I wanted to lie on top of him, feel his skin against mine, but was
afraid to do anything that might alter his mood even the slightest.

Inside Hector, it took me, fucking as slowly as I was Steven, as much as
ten minutes to get off. That wasn't going to happen here. My juices were
already boiling. I stopped occasionally to let them cool off. Steven laid
quietly, his one hand back on my ass cheek, occasionally nudging me on if I
stayed still too long. For me, the rests were almost as great as the
fucking. Being deep inside a hot, tight boy's ass, especially if I knew and
liked him, has always been my greatest pleasure.

Steven arched his ass up and pulled on my rear. I pushed full inside him,
slid out to the tip then pushed slowly back in about five more times. There
was no slowing now. I felt the warmth spread throughout my body and the
dizziness come over me. I fired my sperm deep inside Steven's colon,
pumping him full of my seed.

When I finally softened and slipped out, Steven turned to me and said,
`suck me'.

I obliged. He came in about half a minute, amazing considering he had had a
full blown orgasm perhaps six or so minutes before. I lay behind him and
cuddled him in my arms. He held my arms in his, resting his head on my
upper arm. I'd never seen him so affectionate, wanting so much to be
held. I began to suspect something was wrong.

`Do we have time to take a shower?' I was concerned about his mother.

`Sure, mom won't be back `til after ten.' It was just approaching eight
o'clock.'

We showered, washing each other's backs, dried and dressed. Though we
barely spoke, I did get the impression the difficulties he'd had on the set
that day were bothering him far more than one would expect from a kid who
faced that situation regularly. I'm sure he frustrated directors and actors
all the time due to his lack of acting skills. Of course, it was worse on
this movie with him working beside the extremely talented Mark Crawford.

When we sat on the sofa, he sat apart from me but slid right up against me
when I gave him a gentle tug my way.

`So it was a hard day. I'm sure you've had worse. Tomorrow will be better.'

`No, it won't.'

`Why not?'

`You know.'

`What do I know?'

`Anyhow, this is my last movie.'

I hugged him a bit tighter. `Oh, I doubt that.'

`You're a nice guy, Ray, but you're full of it. You've seen my dick and
balls. In a few months, my voice will be changing, my face will be
different, I'll be getting bigger. I won't be a little kid any more. I
already have hair on my penis and a lot more is gonna come. None of you
guys are gonna wanna have sex with me any more. And I'm a lousy actor.'

I almost disputed him but realized that wasn't what he needed. I leaned
close to his ear. `Steven, you are going to be a beautiful teenager. The
girls who buy tickets to the movies are more interested in looks than
acting ability. And I'm sure you're a better actor now than you were a year
ago. Experience is a great teacher. And, believe me, I'll be interested in
having sex with you for some time to come, and so will Michael. Sex with
you is more fun not just because you're prettier, and you are and will be,
but because I like you very much and enjoy being with you even when we're
not having sex.'

He turned his head and looked up at me. `When are we together when we're
not having sex?'

Ouch! `Well, right now, the boat trips and there'll be others.'

Neither of us said anything for at least a couple of minutes. I was unsure
what to say and he seemed content to stay wrapped in my arms. Then, `But I
don't want to be an actor any more. Everybody is always getting pissed at
me because I can't act like Mark or even Vicky. I saw the look on Millie's
face when I screwed up how I was supposed to look at her.'

`Don't you ever worry about Millie. We're best friends. She tells me
everything and hasn't once complained about you.' A thought occurred to
me. `Steven, did you let me in here,' I touched his rear end, `because of
how you felt today?'

He nestled in against me. `No, I don't know. But it was okay.'

`Just know that I never want to do anything that hurts you or bothers
you. Okay?'

We cuddled for another hour, talking about acting and other careers that
could be of interest. He thought photography might be something he'd
enjoy. I promised to show him how to use one of my cameras and let him take
some pictures.

My career in photography was launched exactly the same way, by a boy lover
taking me to a park where he taught me the basics of how to take pictures.

At nine-thirty, I was with Millie in the bar. She was half potted after a
drinking session with Ben, the soundman. After Ben went off to his room,
she admitted having had some drinks with Myles too.

`You didn't say anything?'

`No, but we discussed sexual preferences.'

`Did he admit anything?' I asked.

`Never directly but he did tell me how beautiful Steven was and what a big
penis he was growing, and revealing details about a few others. You
wouldn't believe who he's obviously been with.' She mentioned the name of a
recently hot box office draw.

`I've always figured he was making it with some people. He didn't mention
our boy Mark?'

`No, but I'll bet you could get him undressed,' she remarked

Without too much detail and nothing about the anal entry, I told her the
gist of what Steven had said to me that evening.

`Well, dear, he really is a terrible actor. Once he loses his looks, which
will apparently happen quite soon, he's right, no one is going to hire
him. You shouldn't mislead the poor boy. The teen movie types are no longer
in demand. Maybe for television. There are some pretty terrible child
so-called actors there. No, he's right, this is likely his last fling in a
major role. The casting couch won't be as helpful any longer. The older he
gets, the more boys will be pitching their wares.'

She reminded to ask Hector if he'd mind her watching him get planked. It
was going to be an interesting discussion and depended how much macho this
gay boy had in him. This would, I remembered, be the first real discussion
we had ever had.

The following evening at ten, Hector knocked. As we undressed, I asked how
things were going between Myles and him.

`He is a nice man but you do it much better than him. He is so fast. He
must suck me after he finishes.'

I fucked him then, after cumming, my dick still up his ass, I asked.

`Did you ever let anyone watch you having sex?'

`Oh, no.'

`Why not?'

`That's crazy. You want someone watching you?'

I pushed my softening cock in tight so it couldn't slip out. What came
immediately to mind were the sex shows another boy and I had put on for men
like me back when I was eleven. We'd been paid well. And, I'd enjoyed
them. However, the enjoyment came from being able to have sex with a boy I
found very attractive, quite erotic. As an adult, the idea of an observer
wasn't very appealing at all. But, I had an obligation. So, I made an
offer.

`Well, someone wants to watch us doing it and is willing to pay you, uh,
twenty dollars for it.'

`Who knows I come here?' He was worried, then, `that woman you are always
with, Miss Millie. She's the one, isn't she? I remember that night you told
me to come to your room and she was there looking at me.'

`So, will you do it?'

He thought it over. My dick, still securely buried inside him, started
getting hard again. Somewhere in the deep dark recesses of my twisted
brain, I must have been remembering those wonderful sessions with long
blonde haired Georgie Shannon, my first real love.

`Okay, for twenty dollars, but just once.'

`Want me to fuck you again?'

`Now?'

`Mmmhum.'

`Oh yes.'

He didn't leave until nearly eleven. I slept like a baby.

At breakfast on the set, I told Millie she needed a twenty dollar bill to
buy a ticket to see what she wanted to see.

`You bribed the little dear. How unethical.'

That morning in her trailer between shots, I told her about my days as a
Times Square hustler, everything I could remember. Of all my friends, only
Michael knew that part of my past. It felt wonderful recounting it
all. You, dear reader, can learn all about it by reading `Never Say Never,
Nothing Is Forever' the story of my first eleven years of life.

Millie was fascinated. `You were never arrested or bothered by the police?
They must have known what you boys were doing there.'

`I suppose some of them did. I heard of a few of the kids getting busted
but all that ever happened was they were taken home and their parents told
what they'd been up to. That was probably worse than going to a
reformatory. I never heard of anyone going to juvenile court over it.'

`So, how many men do you think you serviced over the years.'

`First, it was less than a year and I never really thought about how many
there were. Maybe thirty, forty, maybe more.'

`What did you think, feel while you were fellating those hairy beasts?'

`Getting them off as fast as possible, I suppose. And getting my money.'

`But you loved doing it to Georgie. Did you do other boys?'

`I had a close friend, Cholito. God, I really loved him. And another named
Kenny, a year or so older than me but still just a boy. I think he would
have become a boy lover too if he hadn't gotten himself killed.'

`Do you think that's why you are the way you are, have this very strange
sexual preference?

`Not at all. I was after boys as far back as I can remember, long before I
got anywhere near an adult penis. What I am I'm sure is basically genetic
like being gay or heterosexual. I believe there are two basic and
independent sexual orientations, gender and age. One can be heterosexual
and like children of the opposite sex or adults their own age or older and
the same with homosexuals. I doubt upbringing or even long term situations
during childhood have any bearing.'

`Well, that's quite a statement. You've done your homework?'

`Absolutely. I read books, studies, spoken with friends of all sexual
persuasions and thought a lot about why I'm the way I am, what might have
influenced it. Guys like me come from all kinds of backgrounds, families,
you name it. Every time I thought I'd found a common thread, a bunch of
exceptions popped up. A majority of us do seem to have maturity problems,
social problems but they're probably the chicken, not the egg.'

Mark was a more enthusiastic student that afternoon. After a round of
fractions and plant cells, I reminded him that some of the British had
never dealt well with the loss of lower North America.

`Don't worry,' he said, `I know who won.'

I gave him a quick hug. He, to my surprise, gave one back. Other than the
horseplay in the water, it was the first time he had been physical with
me. It was very nice.

At dinner, Millie got into age bracket preferences. `Tell me the truth now,
how old was the youngest boy you ever slept with?'

`Six.'

`Six, my. What could you possibly do with a six year old?

`'Not much,' I grinned.  `I was six too.'

`Oh Raymond,' she sighed. `You know what I mean.'

`I think he was seven. It was in Savannah, Georgia. He came with his
brother whom I'd met at a weeklong evangelical Christian gathering I was
covering for one of their magazines. The older boy was eleven and was
fascinated with my cameras and lights. He begged to take some pictures then
asked to see the results. His parents okayed a trip to the lab. On the way,
he asked if I could develop my own pictures. He wanted to photograph his
girl friend naked. Remember, this kid was part of a hard core evangelical
group. I'd always figured them as breeding grounds for horny children what
with all the prohibitions. Still, it was a bit of a surprise. I asked him
if he was doing more than seeing her naked. After I assured him that I
wasn't really into all the puritanical crap his parents preached, he
admitted he had actually screwed her and that his seven year old brother
had too. I asked if he beat off. He admitted that too. So, I figured that
here was a kid that wasn't going to tell anyone anything so I pitched
him. He agreed to trying a blowjob back at my hotel. So we dropped the film
off and rushed over.

`Once inside, he was shy and slow but finally dropped his pants and raised
his shirt. I sucked him as only I can and he got off. After he got his
clothes back in place, he admitted it was pretty good. We went back to the
lab.

`The next day he asked me if we could do it again. So, we did the same
routine except he got naked for me. The day after, he wanted both of us
naked but it turned out to be just boyish curiosity. He'd never seen an
adult naked. And, he had me get him off twice. I asked to stick mine
between his legs and he let me. I caught the cum in my hand but the boy was
dying to see it come out. I had to promise that the next day, I'd let him
watch it shoot.

`Now, the day after, he brought along this gorgeous boy he says is his
seven year old brother. The kid was an absolute doll, even had a great,
tough little body. I was worried he'd told this very young kid but he
assured me his brother was absolutely trustworthy. The boy smiled a lot and
back at the hotel, was out of his clothes before his brother saying, `me
first. Me first.'

So, I did him first. He took a while but had one great climax.'

`Boys that small can't climax,' insisted Millie.

`Oh, Millie, babies in the womb climax. The machinery is there from the
beginning.

`So, this little doll gets off and wants me to get off between his legs
like I did the day before with his brother. Well, his brother still wanted
to see it come out so I lay on the bed on my back and put the little
brother on top of me after wetting him down between the legs with
saliva. The big brother sat on his brother legs, held his hands in front
and rubbed my cock each time it came through. When I came, the sperm shot
up on the little one's belly and chest. Big brother first rubs it all over
little bother then rubs his crotch on his brother's middle telling me how
slippery and neat it feels. I did him in the shower and got off between his
legs again. Friday, we did a repeat performance. Saturday, he and his
family went back to somewhere in the Midwest. I never saw him again but
he's one I'll never forget. I've got pictures of them both back in
Tegucigalpa.'

`You've pictures in your house? Isn't that dangerous?'

`Nah, they're mostly on CDRoms and encrypted. You want to see them, don't
you?'

I promised a visit to my house when the film was over.

`Now,' she said leaning toward me, `to things of greater importance. What
time do I arrive at your room?'

`I'd say before ten, before Hector.'

She was there at nine-thirty. We arranged a chair across from the bed,
eight feet from where the action would be, far enough away to not be
obtrusive but have a good view.

Hector arrived at ten as usual. Millie remained very quiet. Even so, Hector
took his time getting undressed. I too felt very inhibited. Millie had seen
me briefly bare at beaches and my house in Los Angeles but never putting on
a condum and greasing up.

Hector lay flat on the bed, his face away from Millie. I climbed on from
below and pushed a bit of KY into his crack. I pulled his rear up for
entry. He resisted briefly but then let me. My cock slipped in easily as
usual. To keep him up, I grabbed the pillow and stuffed it doubled up under
his crotch, with hopes he wouldn't cum into it.

Knowing Millie's eyes were on me, it took a lot longer than usual. Now,
that obviously wasn't all bad. Slipping in and out of that fourteen year
old ass was wonderful. Gradually, Hector got into it and wobbled his butt
side to side, taking me and keeping me right on the edge for the longest
time. Glances out of the corner of my eye found Millie's eyes glued on my
cock going in and out of Hector. I even turned my head to catch her
reaction but I don't think she saw it.

Finally, the climax overtook me. I had to collapse on top of Hector as I
pumped the condum deep inside him full of my juice. Remembering quickly
that I had an audience for the first time in thirty-five years, I pulled
out and rolled Hector on to his back. His cock beckoned. I licked his
tender hairless balls a little then went down on that luscious fat cock. It
only took a minute of sliding up and down his shaft to release his
orgasm. I reluctantly took my mouth off his cock so Millie could watch the
explosion. Hector fired his liquid at least a foot and a half into the air
then onto his stomach. Unable to resist, I took him back into my mouth to
get the last of his sweet young cum.

Millie was mesmerized. I wondered if her ancient twat was wetting the
chair.

Hector and I retired wordlessly to the shower only to turn and see Millie
in the door watching us bathe each other.

Hector earned the twenty bucks Millie cheerfully though wordlessly handed
over.

Her only comment after Hector left and she followed was, `you really ought
to get that on film, my dear. It was rapture at its finest.'

=============================================

Chapter 6

Wednesday afternoon, Mark and I sat under a coconut tree, well away from
the film set, working on the multiplication of fractions. Steven and his
mother approached. She looked very solicitous.

After some fumbled greetings, she asked, `Can you start with Steven
tonight? I've arranged for dinner to be delivered at seven.'

Mark was looking at me more intently than Steven's mother.

`Sure.' I smiled my best shit eating smile. Steven appeared ready to laugh
but didn't.

`What,' asked Mark after his co-star had left, `are you going to do with
Steven?'

`His mother thinks he needs a tutor too.'

`Why? He says all he gets are nineties and hundreds.'

I told him part of the truth. `Peace, my young friend. Some mothers get
jealous when they see someone getting attention their son isn't. So, I'll
get some free food and enlighten Steven with some of my vast knowledge.'

`You don't pay for your food here.'

`Ah, caught again. You are one very quick small person. I need to be more
careful. The truth is that you are so much more intelligent that poor
Steven and such a good student that shortly you will be passing him in
everything academic so, in order that he doesn't fall behind, I've got to
tutor him too.' I hugged Mark who giggled. We continued his education.

Pointed comments by Amy and Rudy followed by leading questions from Vicky's
and Amy's mothers forced Millie and I to invite all the kids and their
mothers out to the island that Sunday. Menahem agreed to pay for the food
after first appearing unsympathetic over the situation we'd gotten
ourselves into.

`You know you can't take one or two with taking all of them,' he remarked
with his heavy Israeli accent.

The boat captain was concerned his not so seaworthy boat couldn't handle
the fourteen of us. There were supposed to have been fifteen but, once
again, Mark's mother chose to stay behind, this time citing a headache. Bob
suggested that he and the script doll didn't have to go but the captain
went with greed over his best judgment and urged them to come. He got paid
by the person when there were more than six.

The gulf was a mere foot below the rim of our craft. The motor strained
mightily even with the help of the boat's filthy sails. The sea was calm. I
hoped it would be that way for our return.

In the water, seven year old Vicky did all she could to monopolize my arms
and back giving Myles full sway with Steven. Unfortunately, he ignored Mark
forcing me to try to balance Vicky's voracious desire for attention and
Mark's growing jealousy. Fat Rudy, also wanting to be played with, took
turns tackling Myles and splashing me. Amy, our fourteen year old starlet,
had her eyes on Steven. Much to Myles chagrin and Rudy's joy, she
challenged the budding adolescent to a swim out into deeper waters and he
quickly agreed. Myles got to wrestle with a boy who weighed almost as much
as he.

Vicky finally tired and went to mommy on the beach. Mark and I tried to
outdo one another in underwater distance swims. He was really quite good,
holding his breath far longer than I could. That had me wondering if he'd
been underwater watching Steven humping my rump when I didn't see him the
previous weekend. We ended up on the beach searching for strange seashells
and talking about pirates who might have come to these shores. He was
fascinated with the possibility that pirate treasure might be found and
looked for signs such as man made rock formations or caves. We just found
more shells.

The kids ate with their mothers except, of course, Mark who ate tight by my
side. Myles sat with Steven and his mother who seemed a bit annoyed by his
presence. Millie and the captain drank more than ate.

Mark seemed a bit melancholy. `My mother's a real bitch,' he mumbled.

I looked down at him, now leaning into me. `Why do you say that? She had a
headache.'

`Bullshit. She's in bed with Andrew. I wish I had a father so he could kick
his ass.'

`Look, kid, life's a bitch, not your mother. I didn't have a father at home
either, just a bunch of sisters. There's nothing you can do about it so
just try and forget it, do the best you can.'

After a pause, Mark asked, `What happened to your father?'

`He made me and that's about it. He was never around. I knew him but he was
more of a problem than anything else. He sure wasn't a father. And I'm
okay. You'll be fine too.'

`Still isn't fair. All of them got fathers.'

`All of them have fathers,' I corrected.

He ignored the correction. `Your mother have a lot of men coming around?'

`My mother, Mark, well, some.' I'd almost told him my mother was a part
time whore, which she was. It was how she met my father.

`Well, did you like it?'

`I never saw them.'

Mark looked up at me, searching my eyes for what I really meant. He was a
bright kid, wiser about the things of the world than one might expect.

`Your mother a prostitute?'

Caught. `Yeah, sort of.'

He sat up. `Well, was she or wasn't she?'

`Not all the time, but a lot, yeah.'

`She gets mad if I ask, but I think my mom was one too, back in Bogota. My
father was an American she met there and got her a visa to come to
California. Where's your mother from?'

`Puerto Rico.'

He returned to leaning against my side. `Shit, we're both bastards.'

`Nah, you've got your father's last name. That makes you legitimate.'

`Unh unh. My last name's Saavedra. My agent called me Crawford. And my real
name's Marco Antonio, Marco Antonio Saavedra. It's on my birth
certificate. I'm a fucking bastard.'

`Careful with the fucking, these folks don't like that kind of talk.'

`I know. I'll bet you said it a lot when you were a kid.'

I chuckled. `My mother said it more than me.'

`My mother says `puta' more and she's one.' Puta in Spanish means whore.

Screw what the assemblage thought. I put my arm around the boy. I knew a
lot of what he was going through. A friendly arm was something I needed
then too. But I got lucky and found a wonderful surrogate father who turned
my messed up life around, got me educated and into a decent life. This kid,
his great talent notwithstanding, would probably end up on drugs then
either dead or miserable in a series of lousy, nowhere jobs. For a moment,
I wished I could take him in, change the tragic direction of his life.

Reason edged its way into my thoughts. This was a tragedy that was going to
happen and there was little I could do about it. I was a respite on his
road to hell. The best I could do was try to help him deal with the crappy
reality of his life and pull himself up by his own volition. But that would
require a strength I doubted this poor boy had. I pulled him closer and put
my other arm around him.

The voyage back to the mainland was an adventure. The motor failed. The
wind that moved us along was a mixed blessing. It also created swells that
rocked out frail craft making it creak loudly and rocked us far enough side
to side that waves of water poured in. Everybody baled, most with out
hands. There was only one bucket and a couple of plastic bowls. The captain
handed out the eight life preservers he had to the five kids and three
mothers. Vicky's mother said she was an accomplished swimmer and had been a
lifeguard. Rudy's mother began to panic. Millie calmed her with assurances
that wood boats like this never sank and her life jacket was absolute
protection for her and her son. I knew that was only half true.

I just wanted to hear that we were nearing land, any land. Rudy vomited
over the side setting off a chain reaction. The script doll was next
followed by Steven's mother then Myles. Millie rolled her eyes at the
chaos.

Needless to say we did get back or I wouldn't be telling you about
it. Menahem was livid when he heard and prohibited further sea trips until
after the film was in the can. Then, `you can all die or be maimed as you
want.'

Hector cooled my cockles quite nicely that night.

================================================

Chapter 7

Thursday afternoon as I was letting Steven and Mark take pictures of a
caged parrot a vendor was trying to hustle, a Toyota Coaster came on the
set loaded with five suited men and two nearly suited women, one each
black. Bernie Boston went to meet them then introduced one woman and a man
to the associate producer. They flashed ID that looked official, like cops,
to me. The A.P. walked quickly to the director who said something
angrily. Boston got on his cell phone. The four men who had remained at the
vehicle, walked off in pairs looking around. The woman stood scanning the
area.

My friend Bob, the assistant director, went to the man and woman who had
spoken to the associate producer. They produced walleted ID for him as
well. He shook his head as he spoke then walked back to the director who
threw his clipboard on the ground.

I told the two boys to go to their trailer and stay inside. Bob confirmed
my worst fears. The FBI had arrived accompanied by two psychologists from
the California State Department of Welfare. They wanted to interview the
children. Minutes later, Menahem roared onto the set in his rented Toyota
and went straight to Boston. The man and woman approached him but he
ignored them. I got close enough to here `...stay in San Pedro Sula until
our lawyers are here. For now, I want them off my set and away from my
people and you too. Get the hell out of here. I am going to make a formal
complaint about you straight to the governor. Now go! Now! Away!'

I'd never seen a man any angrier than Menahem was at that moment. Boston
sensed it and literally backed off from him. The FBI agent flashed his
ID. Menahem batted it into the grass. `This is not the United States. You
have no authority here. This is my set and I want you off it right now!'

The agent picked up his ID and walked to the Coaster. All got in but the
vehicle didn't move. Menahem called his security people who walked over,
hands on holstered pistols, waving their free arms at the driver telling
him to drive away. Everyone was watching. Menahem started toward the
Coaster. The driver cranked up his motor. Boston got in quickly and they
drove away.

Menahem took Myles, scriptwriter and boy lover, by the arm and walked him
over to his car. They spoke for a few moments then Myles got in the
car. Menahem and the director huddled then Menahem drove off.

`Okay, called out the director, back to work. We've got a movie to make.'

On the way back to the hotel, Bob told me that our visitors had tried to
rent rooms at our hotel but were told it was full. Boston had told the feds
there were four empty rooms. There were but they were being used for film
equipment and supply storage as were the two unoccupied cabins. Menahem was
calling the production company to arrange for lawyers to be send down
immediately. He was also contacting the Honduran lawyers who had made local
arrangements. They were at the hotel by dinnertime and huddled for over an
hour with Menahem, the director and the A.P.

The director addressed us in the dining room that no one had left except
the children who had been ushered off to their cabins or rooms.

`Mr. Boston, who will no longer be a part of this shoot, has made claims of
abuse of the children by certain members of the crew. The allegations are
completely untrue. Four FBI agents, a federal prosecutor and two California
state psychologists are here to investigate. We don't believe they have any
right to do so here in Honduras but we are awaiting legal advice from Los
Angeles. No one is to speak to anyone outside this crew about anything to
do with production or anyone else involved in this production. Is that
clear?'

He looked about the room, his eyes pausing on me, confirming my suspicion
that my name was on someone's list. When Hector came to clear my table, I
stared him in the eye with a very serious look and shook my head. He nodded
understanding.

Millie dragged me to a corner of the bar but Menahem pulled me away from
her into an adjoining room.

`Ray, no bullshit. You do something with Mark Crawford.'

`Menahem, no bullshit. All I've done with Mark Crawford is teach him
fractions and some botany.'

`What about those Sunday trips?'

`I know what you're getting at. Absolutely nothing sexual has gone on
between Mark Crawford and me.'

`And Myles and Steven?'

`How am I going to know that? But I've seen no indication that anything
did. What's Myles saying?'

`That you have to ask him. For now, stay away from all the children. I only
want their mothers near them when they are not shooting. Understand?'

I agreed and he led me back to Millie where he gave her the same order.

I looked for Myles. He was nowhere to be seen. Millie and I found Bob.

`Myles has a record of being arrested for child molestation in nineteen
seventy-eight. He was released but the case was never dropped.'

`Jesus, Bob, that's twenty-two years ago.'

`No matter, the authorities are looking for the boy, man, who was
involved. They want to talk to him again, see if he's now willing to
testify. This is serious.'

`What's Myles saying about all this?'

`He denies having done anything with Steven. Menahem is going to talk to
both Mark and Steven tonight. We'll see what they say. I don't think we'll
be shooting until this is settled. Nobody's going to able to concentrate on
their work. Menahem's going crazy. We're losing over seventy thousand
dollars every day we don't shoot. Insurance will cover part but no all.'

Millie and I finally found Myles in his room. He'd been crying.

`Twenty two years. Mickey is thirty-two now with a wife and three kids and
a good job. This could ruin him. And me.'

`Do you think Mickey will tell them anything?'

`No, he won't want to but they could threaten to tell his boss, his
wife. They don't care who they hurt. I wouldn't blame him if he turned on
me.'

`Myles,' I asked kneeling at his side, `did you do anything with Steven?'

He started to cry again. `Yes, twice. He insisted.'

I knew how horny the boy was. I turned to Millie. `Someone has to talk to
him, tell him just to deny everything and that will be the end of it.'

Millie asked Myles, `What about Mark? Did you do anything with him?'

He cried harder. I was shocked. Mark took time to get close to. I'd never
seen the two together. `Just once, but not here, in Sacramento, last year,
at a hotel.'

`Millie, I'll speak with Mark. You see Steven, but away from everyone.'

I doubted Myles slept at all that night. Breakfast was an erratic affair
since no one had to rush off to the set. One of the psychologists had been
seen going to Menahem's cabin a little before nine. No one knew what had
transpired. I worried our producer had made a deal for interviews of the
kids so production could get back underway. Menahem had been assured by
everyone that nothing had happened. His concern over losses might overcome
his caution. He didn't know these people as I did. I had to get to Mark and
get Millie to Steven.

Mark spent the morning in his mother's room with his teacher. Steven was
with the others in a lounge downstairs with their teacher. I waited in the
hall near Mark's room about when I expected he'd be coming back from class.

`I'm not supposed to talk to you,' he told me.

`Then just listen. I know about you and Myles in Sacramento. He told me
because he trusts me. I want you to trust me too. These people here to
investigate are not very nice. They will lie, tell you Myles already
admitted something to them, anything they can to get you to say
something. You have to just say nothing ever happened period. Don't add
anything. Don't even admit to having known him or anyone else here before
this filming.'

`I'm not stupid. Tell Myles don't worry.'

He went into his room. I walked away feeling better but not secure. People
like these would take the most innocent remark and build a case around
it. I hoped Millie was having success with Steven.

That afternoon, three lawyers from Los Angeles drove up to the hotel in a
rented Mercedes, not the best vehicle to give our Israeli producer
confidence. At least they were Jewish. A Honduran was with them. They all
went to Menahem's cabin.

Millie found me in the bar where I was using gin and bitter lemon to soothe
my nerves. `Steven says not to worry. He's been through this once before.'

`Really, who was involved.'

`Raymond, we didn't have time for a conversation. What did Mark have to
say?'

`The same, less experience. I think he'll be all right. I'm worried about
Steven. He flusters easily.'

`I told him he can just say nothing happened and then refuse to speak
further with them. I expect Menahem will have a lawyer with him during any
interviews. I'm still not sure American police can force people to answer
questions here in Honduras.'

`I'll bet you they find a way.'

They did. Basically, the California authorities told the production company
chiefs in Los Angeles that if they ever wanted to use children in a film
again, Menahem had to cooperate with the feds. Everyone on the crew was to
be interviewed that weekend. We were all to have lawyers present.

The children's interviews were held in their rooms except Steven's in his
cabin. I'd have given anything to have been able to bug Steven's place
beforehand. Everyone else was questioned in one of three rooms off the
dining room. I hoped they wouldn't question hotel staff. I didn't see
Hector keeping his cool. None of the men looked Hispanic so it wasn't sure
any of them spoke Spanish.

At dinner, Steven winked at me. Apparently he'd done well. Mark, however,
didn't show up. I sat in the dining room with Millie until after eight in
the hopes he would arrive but he didn't.

Two feds questioned Millie Sunday morning.

`God, what awful people,' she exclaimed afterward. `They just came out and
asked the most horrible things about you and Myles and Vinny.'

`Like what?'

`Did Mark seem upset after a tutoring session with you? Did Vinny's hand
wander where it shouldn't when he was making up any of the children? Did
Myles take Steven off anywhere on our trips to the island? And on and
on. Terrible people. The lawyer cautioned them every time they made
innuendos then finally stopped the interview. Fortunately, he has it all on
tape so they can't deny what they said. Terrible, horrible people.'

I wondered how other's had fared under such questioning. Had they been able
to resist saying things that could be misconstrued, twisted.

Then came my turn.

My interview wasn't until four thirty. They were sweating me. A black FBI
agent, the white federal prosecutor and the black psychologist were there
along with a stern company lawyer who admonished the questioners that he
wouldn't allow threats, intimidation or harassment. Two tape recorders were
set up, one theirs, one for our lawyer.

I guessed the racial makeup was deliberate to disarm future claims about
racism since I was a quarter black myself.

They got my name, age and address. I gave my old L.A. address, not where I
actually lived in Tegucigalpa.

`We were under the impression you lived in Tegucigalpa, Mr. Molina,' said
the prosecutor.

`Just visiting. My permanent address is the one I gave you.' I had no idea
who was in the apartment at the time.

`What can you tell us about the relationship between Myles Mansford and
Steven Blake?'

`Not a thing. I haven't seen any evidence one exists.'

`All right, how about your relationship with Steven Blake?

`He's in the movie and, at his mother's recent request, I've helped him
with his algebra a couple of times, in the presence of his mother.'

`He's never been to your room?'

`I remember he came once asking about some pictures I took of him and his
mother and everyone else at the first full crew dinner.' Were they guessing
or had someone seen him.

`And Mark Crawford?'

`Same except I've been tutoring him for a few weeks.'

`Why are you tutoring a ten year old boy, Mr. Molina?'

`Because he needs it.'

`You are a pedophile, aren't you?'

The lawyer held up his hand before I could make a nasty retort.

`I thought I was clear about harassment. That question was made to
enflame.'

`The agent piped in. `Well, you are, aren't you?'

I pushed the lawyer's hand away. `Actually, if you weren't such as asshole,
I'd more likely be interested in our pretty ass.'

`That answer your question?' asked my lawyer.

The agent smiled.

`Look, Mr. Molina,' continued the agent, `or is it Hoolihan. We know all
about you. We know you like little children ever since grade school. What
was her name, Cindy?'

`Miss Peters still alive?' I asked. She was our school social worker back
then. She hated me. `Yes, Cindy and I, we were seven and deeply in love.'

`Then you took care of some boys in the Bronx Juvenile detention center.'

I smirked. `You guys really need to do your homework. They raped me and got
locked up for it. I was eleven.'

`Did you enjoy it?'

`You mean the torn anus or the broken ribs?'

The lawyer broke in. `Other than childhood memories, do you gentlemen have
anything else pertinent to ask?'

`We're just starting,' answered the prosecutor.

`According to Mark Crawford, you tried to force yourself on him twice, once
in your room and once on a trip to some island.'

I shook my head. `You guys are pathetic. That's bullshit and you know
it. Mark Crawford was never in my room.'

`We can do without the profanity, Mr. Molina, `sneered the prosecutor. `By
the way, what is it, Molina or Hoolihan?'

`Molina.'

`Aren't you Ray Hoolihan's son?'

`Not according to my birth certificate.'

`Now, back to Mark Crawford. You are denying that you ever had any kind of
sexual relations with him, here or anywhere else?'

`Not here. Not anywhere else.'

The agent jumped back in. `Didn't you work for your father as a burglar?'

The lawyer interrupted again. `I don't think that's germane today.'

`Well, Mark seems to feel that you touched his private parts,' said the
prosecutor. `He had to push you away.'

`Again, bullshit and you know it.'

`Mr. Molina, ...'

`Gentlemen, Mr. Molina has answered that question quite clearly, let's move
on.'

The agent re-entered. `I don't know, Mr. Hoolihan or Molina, ...'

I lost my cool. `You got some kind of obsession about my mick nigger
origins, Mr. agent?'

`Watch what you say to me, boy.'

`I've always thought red neck niggers were the worst combination.'

The prosecutor put his hand on the agent's arm. `Counselor, you better tell
your client to show some respect or...'

`That's a two way street, sir. Now, do you have any pertinent questions?'

`You seem to have a lot of sex in your background,' said the agent, `what
with you mother being a whore and...'

`Sir!' said my lawyer loud enough to stop me from saying anything, `this
interview is over. Mr. Molina, don't say another word.'

The agent didn't stop. His correct speech slipped back to the ghetto. `We
know what you are, Hoolihan, and you're going to jail. How long is up to
you.' He walked up to me, much too close. I stepped forward, pushing him
back with my chest.

`You, asshole, don't know shit about me.' I pushed him out of my way and
turned toward the door. He grabbed my arm. I punched him square on the
nose, sending him into the prosecutor then onto the floor, semiconscious,
blood dripping onto his white shirt. The prosecutor stepped back as I left.

The lawyer snatched up his tape recorder then chased me across the dining
room. `That was really stupid, Molina. You just struck a Federal officer.'

`No I didn't. He's just a tourist here. Anyway, he pushed into me and
grabbed my arm. He's got no right to touch me, or talk about my family.

	Millie was also angry with me but sympathetic. `This will probably
cost you your job.'

	`Screw this job. I'm retired, remember, on a fat pension.'

	Menahem tried his best to look as stern as the lawyer but finally
smacked me on the shoulder. `You knocked the son-of-a-bitch out? Oh, I wish
I could have done that... Our lawyer shook his head in dismay.

	`Gentlemen, these are federal officers. This is a very serious
matter.'

	`Why?' asked Menahem. `All the children say nothing happened. Ray
was defending himself in a country where that man is nothing. So where is
the crime?'

	`This will continue back in the states. I'm sure they will
re-interview all the children when they get home. And they are definitely
going after Mr. Mansford for the nineteen seventy-eight business. And there
will be repercussions for the company.'

==================================================

Chapter 8

	The replacement social worker, an older black man who had to use a
cane due to a bum leg, got to the set Monday afternoon. Not much had been
accomplished. Our director shot items that didn't need any serious
acting. Bob was out with the second unit shooting backgrounds and close-ups
that didn't involve any of the actors. The new man, Howard Johnson, yeah,
like the restaurants, came looking for me.

	`Ray, he said after introducing himself, `I am really sorry about
what happened. Boston is an ass. What you and Miss Stuart were doing for
Mark is wonderful. I worked a film a year ago with him and that boy has got
some real problems. I tried to talk to him a number of times but it just
didn't seem to do any good. But here, it sounds like he's been behaving
himself and improving academically.'

	This all sounded nice but being a pedophile makes a guy very
paranoid. After all, they ARE out to get us. But the man did sound sincere,
like he did know Mark. I withheld judgment until I saw how Mark reacted to
him and I got to know him better.

	With a couple of pleasant exceptions, everyone's attitude toward me
became no more than civil. The feds had made it clear to everyone that
Myles and I were child molesters.

Even Bob, the assistant director, a friend of nearly twelve years, tried to
avoid prolonged contact. Menahem, Vinny the makeup queen and Millie were my
only true friends on the crew. Even the hotel staff became less friendly
except, of course, Hector who smiled self consciously when he cleared my
table. Myles was gone who knows where so I took the full brunt of
everyone's need to be visibly against child molesters.

	It seemed prudent to ask both boys' mothers if they wanted the
tutoring to continue. Steven's mother thought maybe not and walked away
without another word. Mark's mother, though not enthusiastic, wanted me to
continue.

`Mark told me you didn't do nothing to him. But just teach him, nothing
else.'

	That night, Millie and I were the only ones in the bar. There had
been several others when I arrived but they were all gone five minutes
later.

	`Cowards,' said Millie. `These people are all cowards. The ones
who've known you for some time know you'd never hurt a child. I am
disgusted. And we have four more weeks to go. I'm not sure I can work with
these people that long.'

	`Well, I sure don't need this shit. I'm going to Menahem tomorrow
and tell him to find someone else post haste.' I motioned to the barkeep to
refill my gin and tonic.

	`You know, I've got pirate DirecTV and watch CNN a lot and try to
catch some of the network news programs. And I go on the internet
occasionally and read news affecting people like me on a couple of the boy
lover websites. It is absolutely insane what they are doing. Men are
getting multiple life sentences for completely consensual sex with a boy
while a guy can murder his kid and be out on parole in eight or ten years,
and have no trouble getting a job. If a boy lover ever manages to get out,
he's put on a registry at the local cop station so they can tell his
neighbors who he is and where he lives so they can keep their kids
away. And forget a decent job. This guy in Ohio wrote in a notebook in his
bedroom fantasies about torturing little girls in his basement. He never
acted on his fantasies, didn't take the notebook out of his house. He was
on probation for something minor but his probation officer could check out
his bedroom. The P.O. stumbled across the guy's fantasies and the man ends
up with eight years in prison for what amounts to thought crimes. I've got
no record for anything since I was eleven years old and that was supposedly
expunged and these motherfuckers can come here, in a foreign country, and
wreck my life. Christ, those people are evil lunatics! I may never go
back.'

 	`Millie held her glass up. `Here's to Cuba, Iran, North Korea and
any other country with the chutzpah to stand up to the Americans.'

	I clinked her glass and said, `Here, here.'

	Menahem was already in a bad mood when I arrived.

	`I'm going to make your life easier, Menahem, I quit as of
Saturday. Have Maurice send someone down sooner, and I'll be gone sooner.'

	`No you're not! Those sons of bitches are not going to tell me how
to run my production. We are going to have a meeting of everybody at lunch
today. Anyone not happy can leave. I'll shoot the whole damn thing over
again if I need to but we are going to do this as a team. You just take it
easy.'

	At the midday buffet lunch, Menahem made sure everyone was there,
even the children. He stood, stubby legs spread, on the dessert table
between two large bowls of fruit.

	`I am very angry at all of you. Almost all of you are natural born
Americans. I am an immigrant, not even a citizen, like Millie, and we and
Vinny are the only ones who have stayed friends with Ray Molina. This
morning, Ray came to me to quit for the good of the film. I told him no
way. In the United States of America, I was led to believe, a man was
judged on his acts, not what others said of him. Some very bad people have
come down here to this beautiful country and said some bad things about Ray
even though the so-called victims say nothing ever happened. There was
absolutely no proof he did anything wrong. And you treat him like shit. You
should be ashamed. I am ashamed for you.

	`Well, this is my production and it will be done my way. Ray Molina
is my still photographer. Anyone, anyone, who cannot work and work well
with him, may leave right now and that includes actors as well as
production crew right on up to director. If I have to wait for
replacements, rehearse them and re-shoot most of the film, so be it. I bet
some of you who have known me and know how tight I am with money will find
that hard to believe but you better believe me. I came to America to make
movies but also because I believed in what it stands for. This bullshit is
not it! You have one hour to decide and don't give me any crap about
contracts. You know what I can do.'

	He jumped off the table, came straight to me and shook my hand. `We
filed suit against all of them this morning for slander against you and
Myles and for disrupting production. The lawyers have it all on tape. They
don't really believe we can win but we will make them worry. So you don't
worry. If it's just you and me and Millie and Vinny to start over, that's
what we'll do. I like Honduras.'

	Bob was the first to come to me. `Shit, Ray, I don't know what to
say. I know you better than anyone here but Millie. I'm really sorry.'

	Frank the sound man was next along with his boom guy. A couple of
grips were the only others to make formal apologies. Our esteemed director
never spoke to lowlies like me anyway.

	Mark appeared mid-afternoon with his biology and math books. I
walked us under a tree and sat down. Mark stood in front of me fiddling
with his books. `I told them you put your arm around me on the beach that
day. I never said you touched my privates. They said that and made me sign
a paper that said that. If I didn't they said it would all be in the
newspaper and I'd never be in a movie again. Mother said I had to sign too
but they made her say it.' There were tears in his eyes. `I don't want to
be in any more movies. I didn't want to do any more on this one but mother
says we got a contract so we have to. Are you mad at me?'

	I was mad, really mad at the bastards who had caused this boy so
much pain. I pulled him down to me and hugged him. `I'm mad at them, not
you. You were great. Let's study.'

	Myles called in that night from a hotel in San Pedro Sula where
Menahem had put him so he couldn't be questioned. He was afraid to return
to the U.S.

	`Well, don't,' I told him. `You're a writer. We've got the
internet. You can do that anywhere. Screw `em.'

	He told me he had investments that would sustain him for the rest
of his life, not fabulously but reasonably well. His concern was his
passport. It would be up in a few years. He doubted they'd let him renew
it. Worse, embassies were considered American soil. If he walked in one and
there was a warrant out for him, they could grab him right there and take
him back.

	`So wait a while and see what happens. From what you told me,
there's a good chance your ex won't say anything that'll hurt you.'

	`Don't believe that. You saw how they are. And this isn't over. The
lawyer said they will re-question the boys when they get to the states. You
better be careful too.'

======================================================

Chapter 9

	No one left the cast or crew. Not everyone was as friendly as
Menahem would have liked but by the end of the week, we were working
together almost as well as before. Steven's and Amy's mothers didn't speak
to me but Rudy's and Vicky's did. They and the new social worker even had
lunch with me a couple of times.

	Mark told me Howard Johnson was okay, just always telling everyone
`to be good, be nice to each other and all that.'

The old man told me he was an ex-athlete who'd played football too long and
damaged his right knee one too may times. He'd been scheduled to take this
film from the beginning but had prostate surgery when his PSA shot
up. `Saved my life. I hated them sticking their finger up my ass. PSA was
all I allowed. It all gave me a new perspective on what's important and
what's not. They can stick their finger up there any time they want now.'
He laughed at that then said, `I probably shouldn't have told you
that. Boston wouldn't have been here to cause all that ruckus if I'd let
the doctor do a digital exam a couple years ago.'

	That was sad but water under the dam as they say. I was already
planning to look into becoming a Honduran citizen. I was sure the Americans
would try to block it but I had enough money to pay my way past that.

	Thursday night, Hector knocked on my door carrying a tray with a
gin and tonic, my drink. Clever boy, I thought. It was good to get back in
the saddle. I sipped while I fucked.

	Sunday, Millie and I planned to go to San Pedro Sula to see Myles
and talk over his plans. I would be weeks if not months before there was
any news from California.

	Mark wanted to do something with me on his day off. He said his
mother would allow it. I didn't want him to think I wasn't interested in
him as much as before so I told him the truth about what I'd be doing that
wouldn't allow us to be together.

	`Why can't I go with you?'

	It was a logical request. And Myles would sure be glad to see him,
hear direct from the boy what he'd been asked and what he said. It occurred
to me I hadn't asked that same questions.

	Mark replied, `I just told them I didn't know him except in the
movie and when we went to the island.'

	`What about on the island?'

	`I said he played with us in the water a little but that was all.'

	`Whatta you mean played in the water?'

	`Nothing, just splashed us and threw us in the water. I said he
never touched my privates. They didn't believe me but he didn't, not at the
island.'

	`And that was all?'

	`They didn't know nothing about Sacramento so I didn't say
nothing.'

	`Anything,' I corrected.

	`Anything.'

	So, after getting written permission from his mother and the okay
from Menahem and Howard Johnson, we took Mark along. He sat between the two
of us, leaning on me, rather than sit in front with the driver. We spent
some time going over plant structure with the science book I'd insisted he
bring along.

	Myles was holed up in a small but very nice hotel on the outskirts
of the city. He had cable TV and internet access for his laptop. He was
very surprised to see Mark. I had to show him Mark's mother's letter of
permission to reassure him we weren't all going to get busted for
kidnapping.

	`Does she know he's here with me?'

	`Well, no, but Mark's proven himself to be able to say only what
needs to be said. He gave you a clean bill of health when they questioned
him. They know nothing about Sacramento.'

	Myles rushed to Mark and hugged him. I noticed Mark didn't hug
back. That raised the specter that Mark may have lied to me, had said more
than he admitted to the feds. Or maybe just didn't like Myles after he'd
shunned him for Steven at the island.

	After pleasantries, Millie took Mark for a tour of the city while I
spoke with Myles.

	There was no news about the re-investigation of his nineteen
seventy-eight case. A friend had spoken to his ex-lover who assured him he
would never say anything to hurt him. We both weren't sure how he would do
under the pressure we felt sure would be brought to bear on him and his
family.

	`It might be worth your while to hire him a lawyer,' I suggested.

	`My friend who spoke to him is a lawyer and will be with him for
any questioning. I hope that's sufficient but I'm not sure.'

He was worried about the risks of returning to California.

`Then don't. Central America is amazingly easy to stay in. In all my years
living and visiting here, I've never had any official type ask for my
identification or passport. The only time you need your passport is
crossing borders or cashing checks. The checks you can get around by
running the money through someone else.

`I know a man who's been here illegally for nearly thirty years. He married
a local and his business is in her name. He never leaves the country but
he's happy just traveling inside Honduras. Better still for you, you're a
writer. With the internet, you can write from anywhere in the world. I'd
get my money out of the states if I were you.'

`A good bit of it already is and my lawyer is moving the rest. I've enough
now to live the rest of my life somewhere reasonably comfortably. It's so
damn hot here.'

`Hell, then go live in Guatemala. Since you don't have to make a living,
you can stay in the city where it's roughly seventy-five degrees every day
of the year.'

`How about boys there?'

`You really have to speak the language and get to know the culture pretty
well but in time you can do there what I've done here. There are no
hustlers or anything like you'd find in the Far East.'

`Is it easier in Honduras?'

`Not really. I have the great advantage of being a native Spanish speaker
and looking like I belong here. You are definitely white so it will be more
difficult but, in time. Be patient.'

`How much time?'

`Depends on you. Like I said, you've got to speak the language then, a few
months getting to know some people. If you genuinely are being a benefit to
the kids, their parents will be fairly open to a relationship. I cover my
boys' education, clothing. I help them with their schoolwork, take care of
medical and dental needs, keep them walking the straight and narrow. My two
were prime gang material when I found them. The older one was already
smoking and selling marihuana and he was just eleven. He'd never been to
school. Working with a small private school and tutoring him a lot myself,
he's going to graduate this year from sixth grade at fourteen. I'm proud as
hell of him.'

I suggested he visit Guatemala, El Salvador and Costa Rica until the film
was finished. Then I'd help him settle somewhere until he knew which way
things would go in California.

	`Or maybe I could go to the orient,' he said.' I've friends in
three countries there and the sexual climate is more relaxed. Central
America is a bit too macho for me. They don't like us very much.'

	`True, so you don't advertise. I get along fine where I am. I've
got my kids and Honduran friends to socialize with. I joined a photography
club and teach courses to some people who appreciate it and do some
interesting stuff. I'm going to look into becoming a citizen.

	`You best do it fast. The lawyers told me the FBI is sure to
question the boys again once they get back to California. Steven Blake
isn't Mark Crawford. They'll break him.'

	I was afraid of the same thing. His mother's attitude had me
concerned Steven had admitted something to her.

	Myles plan for the time being was to lay low and wait for word from
company lawyers and his lawyer friend in Sacramento who was in contact with
his ex lover.

	The four of us had a long, delicious lunch in a four star hotel
then walked around downtown people watching more than anything. San Pedro
Sula is not much of a tourist attraction. At three, we left Myles and
headed back to our hotel, two grueling hours away. I had to forego my plans
for math instruction when Mark fell asleep on my lap.

==========================================

Chapter 10

	Mark behaved very well that week, doing all the homework I gave him
and not making any remarks or grimaces at Steven's screw ups in front of
the camera. Steven, on the other hand, worried me immensely by avoiding eye
contact and staying away from me when he was on the set. It seemed more and
more likely he had said something at least to his mother.

	Monday, I put a lawyer contact in Tegucigalpa on the trail of my
Honduran citizenship. He explained that five years of residency was
required but he'd see if there was a way around it. I told him that if
money would solve the problem, I could probably swing enough.

	Friday, Mark threw a curve ball that knocked me for a loop.

	`I want to stay here and live with you.'

	I smiled though my mind was racing over all the reasons he'd make
such a request. Did he care for me that much?

	`Mark, I'm afraid your mother might not agree.' Was he afraid to go
back to the states because of statements he'd made to the feds?

	`Don't worry. She'll say yes.' Was he expecting to end up in the
newspapers when he testified against me or Myles or both?

	`Mark, mothers don't just give their sons away, especially to a man
who's been accused of what I've been accused of.' I almost said child
abuse, a term that really pissed me off when applied to consensual sex.

	`She's gotta say yes or I can put her in big trouble.' Did she rent
him out or something?

	`Mark, kids are supposed... What the hell are you talking about?'

	`For one, she's a illegal. That guy who married her so she could go
to California got paid five thousand dollars by my grandfather. I got a
letter he wrote her that says that.'

	My opinion of Mark as an innocent kid took a sharp turn. `You've
planning to blackmail your mother?'

	`And she only gets teachers for me she likes so she can fuck
them. This guy isn't no teacher anyway. He's using some other guy's name
who really is a teacher.'

	I didn't bother correcting his grammar this time. My head was
whirling. Where was all this heading? `Mark, you better slow down a
bit. You...'

	`I don't wanna go back there with her. I hate her. I don't wanna do
no more movies. I wanna be like other kids, normal.'

	From the diabolical manipulator to the poor little kid. Mark
Crawford was a very complex, unhappy little boy plotting a route to
imagined happiness with nice Ray Molina. And I, of course, would be charged
with international kidnapping if he had his way. He'd end up in a foster
home, unhappier than ever. I tried to explain it to him.

	`Mark, what you are asking is impossible. In the first place...'

	`You gotta. If you don't, I'll tell then what I saw at the island
when you and Steven were naked in the water and I'll tell them that you
touched my privates.'

	I was speechless. The little bastard was blackmailing me too. Could
he do that? Would he? I stood up and walked away from the tree we'd been
sitting under. This little bastard! I turned at him, fury in my eyes. `You
little manipulative bastard!' I knew it was the wrong thing to say but my
mind was on autopilot and reacting as it would have back on my home turf of
Hell's Kitchen, Manhattan, New York City. `You've got it no worse than I
did when I was your age, no, better. You've got money. I ate shit every
day, had to worry about getting beat up on the street...'

	Mark rushed to me in tears. `I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'll never say
nothing bad about you. I was just saying that so you'll let me live with
you. I love you.' He wrapped his arms around my middle and cried
uncontrollably, a cry no kid actor could fake.

	The roller coaster had taken another turn. He loved me? I sat down
in the dirt, pulling him with me. It suddenly occurred to me that we were
only fifty or so yards from the set. I turned. Everyone was looking our
way. The director had his hands on his hips, his clipboard lay at his
feet. I waved my hand that everything was okay. I dragged Mark back to the
tree and sat us down. Bob was looking at me with his hands spread. Mark was
in the next scene. I forgot the onlookers and turned to the still crying
boy.

	`Mark, calm down. You've got a take in a few minutes.'

	`I don't wanna be in this stupid movie. I hate movies. I hate
acting.'

	`Mark, there's only three more weeks, maybe three and a half. You
can't let all these people down especially people like Millie who really
cares for you..'

	Steps approached. It was Bob. `Is he okay? What's wrong?'

	`Frustration,' was the best I could come up with. `Can you do
something else before his shot?' Mark was still sobbing.

	`I don't know. Is going to be okay?'

	I shrugged. Bob muttered `shit' under his breath and returned to
the set. The director was going to be very angry. I doubted Mark would be
able to act any more that day.

	Howard Johnson watched from behind the lighting crew but seemed
content to let me handle whatever was going on.

	Mark and I went back and forth on the issue but he seemed
determined not to live with his mother, to stay with me, the only adult
that `ever really liked me'. I explained the problems of his living with
me, the danger of charges – he'd get his mother to make a legal document
saying he could stay with me – the different culture – he was
Columbian and spoke the language – I was a bachelor not used to taking
care of anyone else – he'd learn to cook and help with the housework
– and the possibility that I might become a fugitive if Steven said
anything against me – `He's not going to say anything, he told me.'

	Another surprise. `What did Steven tell you. He won't even look at
me.'

	`He can't. His mother thinks you did something with me and told
Steven if he gets anywhere near you she's gonna tell the cops she heard us
talking about sex we were doing.'

	That was one load off my mind. Dear Steven was protecting me. How
he would do under the intense questioning and pressure he and his family
would face back in the states was an entirely different matter. My only
hope was that the production company would provide a very protective lawyer
who would not allow such tactics.

	Right then I had to deal with a very unhappy boy who effectively
wanted to run away from home. Somehow, I had to convince him his life was
not as bad as he thought, that leaving what he had could easily result in
something much worse. The logical approach would be to push him away, make
him think I was too unpleasant to live with but that could have a most
negative result. It was very likely that, if angered, Mark would at least
tell the feds about Steven and me at the island which they in turn would
use to turn Steven. No, I needed to walk a very fine line staying his
friend but still turning him away. Complicating that was my growing
affection for this troublesome lad.

	Walking always helped me think clearer. I told Mark to wait and
went to tell Howard Johnson that I wanted to go for a walk away from
everyone so I could have a cogent, undisturbed discussion with Mark.

	`You don't need my permission for that. He being difficult?'

	`You've no idea.'

	He smiled.

	I took Mark's hand, which gripped mine, and we headed into the
trees off to one side of that day's film site.

	`Mark, let's look at your situation. You live with a mother who's
more interested in the men in her life than you. Right?'

	`Mmhmm.'

	`But she does take care of you, feed and clothe, educate you
without help from anyone.'

	`Unh uh. She's got a maid that cooks and cleans everything and it's
my money I make doing movies.'

	This was going to be difficult.

	`She's got you in school in Los Angeles, right?'

	`I don't go to school, just these lousy tutors that don't know
nothing.'

	`Anything.'

	`You know what I mean.'

	`Say it.'

	`Anything.'

	I was stuck, had nowhere further to go with that train of
thought. I went ahead anyway.

	`When I grew up, I went to a regular school. In my first five
years, I failed once and had just one really good teacher. The rest were
pretty crappy. Anyway, they had too many kids to teach us properly. The
woman I had in second grade was terrible. I passed because I was smart and
the material relatively easy. My mother worked until night. Most days I
only saw her in the morning and a just before I went to bed. When she was
whoring, I hardly saw her at all. She was asleep when I got up and out when
I came home. My big sister fed me and the food was terrible. Until I got
lucky when I was eleven, I never had more than two pairs of socks and they
stunk. My shoes were sneakers so my feet froze in the winter. New York got
really cold. My apartment was either too hot or too cold. Where I lived
there were gangs, drugs, fights all the time. It was a hard life.'

	`So what's all that got to do with my mother?'

	`Bad as you feel your life is, there are lots of kids who've got it
a lot worse. You've got a nice home, food, clothing and a great future as
an actor. You will be very rich one day if you stay with the movies. The
only problem you have as I see it is your education and I think there's a
way we can fix that.'

	`And I hate my mother.'

	`I thought I hated my mother too but I really didn't. I send her
money and gifts all the time. She was a bitch but she was my mother and, in
her own strange way, she loved me very much, just like yours loves you.'

	He shook his head a few times. `She likes those men more.'

	`I doubt that.' My plan regarding his education was to talk to
Howard Johnson and see what pressure he could bring on the mother to get
Mark into a regular school when he wasn't working and force her to put him
in the studio classes when he was, just as the other kids on our film were
doing. If she wanted a lover, quit the pretense, hire one. She had the
money. Mark had to be getting at least a hundred thousand a film. He was
both good and had plenty of fan clubs. He was certainly discussed a lot on
the boylover chat sites.

	`Mark, I want you to give me some time to try to improve your
life. I've got some ideas...'

	`But I want to live with you.'

	I stopped and sat down against a fallen palm tree. A gentle tug
brought Mark into my lap. `Mark I do care about you, a lot. And I'd love to
have you with me. But I travel a lot and, look, they are not going to let
you live with me.'

	`Who's they?'

	`The authorities, California Department of Child Welfare or
whatever the hell they call it, the cops. Mothers just can't put their
children with someone ...'

	`Why not? She can send me here on vacation and I can stay. Who's
gonna know except her and us? And I can go stay with her when you're away.'

`And what about school?'

`You can hire a tutor and he can go with me.'

`I thought you wanted to go to a regular school.'

`Shit! I want to live with you, not with my bitch mother!'

He hugged me. I hugged him back.

That night, I spoke to Millie about my predicament.

`Don't ask me about this,' she said with a wave of his elegant hand. `You
are the boy lover. Take him in. Isn't that what you people do?'

She was smiling but I heard the seriousness in what she said.

`Millie, to be honest, I don't know if I could handle a full time son. I'm
too set in my ways, too independent. Crap! I'm being ridiculous. His mother
would never allow it and I certainly don't blame her. Her son's famous. My
God, this is her son we're talking about. No, what has to be done here is
she's gotta make her peace with Mark, start putting him ahead of her
lovelife. Christ, she can screw all she wants and still be a mother. I'm
going to talk to her.'

`Be careful, Raymond. If she finds out her son wants to leave her for you,
she will hate you and probably want to cause you all the trouble she can,
and, she can.'

	Saturday morning, Howard Johnson stopped me after I'd shot half a
roll of the day's first scene.

	`How'd things go yesterday with Mark? He didn't look too happy.'

	`Mark hates his mother, the world, his teacher, his life,
acting. He said he wanted to quit the movie. I doubt he was serious about
that. He's much too good at what he does not to want to continue. We had a
long talk. I'm not sure what we accomplished but he says he'll do his best
today.

	`What do you know about his family situation?'

	`Probably less than you,' answered the social worker.' Just that
his mother hires boy friends as teachers.'

	`Doesn't anybody check out these guys' credentials?'

	`Sure, why?'

	`It might be worthwhile checking this clown out. He doesn't even
know the material much less how to teach it. On second hand, wait a
while. Let me think about this. We don't need any more blow ups on the
set.'

	Mark pulled me aside before the last shot. `What are we gonna do
tomorrow? I can go anywhere you want.'

	My plans were for a day of relaxation and thought. Millie suggested
we go for a walk down the road in front of the hotel. I couldn't think of
any activity suggestions for Mark. The other kids still didn't want him
around. There was really nothing for him to do.

    	I wondered what the village kids did on Sundays. In the kitchen, I
asked the staff. They had heard the same stories as the film crew and were
immediately suspicious until I explained I was looking for something for
one of the kids to do. Hector, the dear lad, said they played futbol,
soccer, and he'd be happy to take the boy to play with the others his age.

     	Millie thought it a reasonable solution. We could go along and
watch from a distance and talk as we pleased.

	Mark wasn't thrilled by the suggestion. `That's what kids do in
Honduras,' I told him. `In places like this, there's not much else to do.'

	He agreed so the next morning after Hector had finished his
breakfast cleanup, the four of us went into the village to a lumpy,
makeshift soccer field with bamboo goal posts. The boys were of all sizes
from Mark's age to perhaps fifteen or sixteen. They eyed him as an
inconvenience until he piped up in Spanish that he could be a portero, a
goalie. That worked. As he was heading to the goal area, I saw a couple of
the early teens looking at him and muttering between themselves. One of
them shouted with a heavy Spanish accent, `Mark Crawford'. Mark turned and
the kids high fived each other. Within minutes, the whole bunch was crowded
around him. Millie and I stayed on the sidelines, sitting on a tropical log
along side the field.

	`The fickleness of fame,' sighed Millie. `I've been around since
the dinosaurs but they all know this ten year old.'

	They eventually got to playing soccer. Mark was scored on three
times in about fifteen minutes and asked to be replaced. As a defensive
player, he fared better, quickly getting into the physical body on body
play. Hector was playing too but spend more time getting out of the way
than participating.

	Millie and I tried to talk but got too wrapped up in watching the
game and how Mark adapted. I'd been sure he was going to end up in a
quarrel if not a knock down, drag out fight within the first few minutes
but, for whatever reason, he seemed to be enjoying himself. To be sure, the
Honduran kids were showing some deference to the celebrity in their midst
but Mark got knocked on his ass a few times. The others had always helped
him up.

    	Twice, breathing heavily, he came over and sat with us. The others
laughed at his lack of stamina but accepted what they certainly wouldn't
have from one of their compadres. Each time, after catching his breath,
Mark returned. The third time, after about forty-five minutes of play, he
was too worn out to continue. I gave him a fifty lira note, worth about
five dollars and told him to go buy sodas for everyone. They dashed off
leaving Millie and me alone.

	`So, dear, what are you going to do about your wannabe son?'

	`Well, sure as hell not taking him in. He's gotta go back with his
mother. You and I have got to convince him that is what must be done. You
know there really isn't any other alternative. I'm no good to him in a
U.S. prison and there's where I'd be if I kept him.'

	`Why are you so sure of that?'

	`Millie, we've been over this. Let's say I take him in. He stays
for a while then goes back up there to visit. The feds will grab him for
sure and put him through a grinder. They'll break him. You know I'll end up
in bed with him. Hell, he'd be jealous of Danny and Luis, my two kids,
because they'll be making it with me and he'll want some of the same. The
feds'll break him, you know they will.'

	`They might break him anyway if he goes back with his mother. Our
lawyers are sure they will question all the children again the minute they
hit American soil.'

	`That's not a sure thing. They'll have lawyers to protect them.'

	`He sounds very determined to me. I just don't know how you are
going to dissuade him,' she said, her head in her hands.

	`I'm still planning to speak with his mother. It's really her
responsibility to straighten all this out. I just don't know what to say
yet.'

 	`You better be careful what you say to her. You don't what her real
concerns are.'

	`What could they be? She's the kid's mother, she's got to have some
feelings for him. And, he makes her a lot of money. She'd be in some cheap
barrio apartment if it weren't for his acting abilities. The last thing she
oughta want is for him to be anywhere but with her. It's the same reason
she shouldn't want him saying anything about me or Myles to the cops. The
gutter press would eat that story up. It would be a career ender for
him. They might even take him away from her.'

	Mark didn't come back for half an hour then just to ask permission
to go on a boat with some of his new friends. We were delighted and told
him to come back to the hotel when he returned. I gave him a hundred liras
to buy lunch for him and the others then told him to be sure not to mention
boats to anyone in the film crew. Menahem would be furious.

	Millie and I took our walk down the road, not getting back until
almost three. Mark had not gotten back and the kitchen was closed until
five. We were hungry so went to a village store and bought Tortrix chips
and juice. Hearing the sounds of children's voices from the direction of
the soccer field, we returned and found Mark again playing soccer. He ran
to us when we approached.

	`We're winning thirteen to ten,' he declared then trotted back to
his team that had just scored again.

	Monday afternoon, Mark had a difficult scene in which he had to
argue angrily with his film older sister played by Amy. There were half a
dozen different shots involved. No more than three takes were required of
any one. Mark was brilliant. When the scene was complete, he received a
round of applause from everyone, including Amy.

	That night at dinner, Menahem raised his glass in a toast to Mark's
`inspired acting' that day. Everyone joined. Menahem offered Mark a glass
of champagne which he took a slug of like it was Coke. He shivered and
shook. The assemblage laughed. Mark left dinner beaming, proud and happy.

	Hector made me proud and happy at ten.

Tuesday morning, feeling I was prepared to do so, I went to speak with
Mark's mother, in Spanish.

`I don't want you to think I meddling in your family affairs but Mark is
insisting he wants to come live with me here in Honduras, something we both
know isn't possible. I have no doubt that you love your son very much.'

`Did he say I didn't love him?'

`Well, you know kids when they get angry about something, they say things
they don't really mean.'

`So he said I don't love him. Well, it is he that doesn't love me. You
should hear how he talks to me. You must tell him he must talk to me with
respect. I'm his mother and he must do as I say.'

`Did you try to sit down and talk to him, tell him how much you love him?'

`You cannot talk to that boy. He never listens. I do not know why he
listens to you. He does not listen to his teacher either. You must tell him
if he does not listen, then he cannot go to class with you any more.'

I wasn't as prepared as I thought. She was getting worked up. I wasn't sure
if it was frustration or just ignorance or that she really didn't care
about Mark, just his earning potential. It seemed best to stop and promise
to speak to her son.

When Mark came that afternoon, he was angry I'd spoken to his mother. `Did
you tell her I said I didn't love her? That's what she said and now she's
really pissed.'

`No,' I sighed, `I told her you were upset and that the two of you needed
to sit down and talk.'

`I can't talk to her. She doesn't listen to anything I say.'

`That, my dear friend, is pretty much what she said about you.'

`Well, that's bullshit! Every time I try to talk to her she starts telling
me how hard she works for me and that I don't appreciate anything she does
and blah blah blah.'

`Sounds like you two need a referee.'

`Well, it's all her fault.'

He hadn't brought his books so I decided we'd do botany by observation. I
had to stay close to the set so I'd be there for all the takes. He wasn't
involved that day. What I ended up doing was letting him take pictures of
plants and some of the crew with my digital camera. He quickly forgot his
mother and anger at me.

That evening after dinner, I sought out Howard Johnson in his room. On the
way, I considered how lucky I was I hadn't sex with this boy as I had with
Steven. Were it the case, it would have been far more difficult to deal
with his problems.

I told Howard of the negativity from both sides of the family toward
finding even a modus viviendi.

`You ought to be in marriage counseling. Then you'd see how difficult
things like this can get. At least these two won't try to kill each other.'

`We hope.'

`So you want me to try and talk to them? That's outside my job description
here.' He smiled.

`I'm betting you've got a lot more experience at this than I do.'

`I'll tell you what. I'll talk to the mother, you work on the boy.'

We discussed strategy. I was tempted to tell him of Mark's stated desire to
come live with me but that worried me on two counts. First, although he
hadn't made it such, it would be breaking a confidence with Mark. And it
just wasn't something I wanted this representative of the state to know
about at that point.

===============================================

Chapter 11

Wednesday afternoon, Mark brought his books. He didn't mention his mother
or staying with me until late afternoon after he'd done his last take and
we were waiting to be taken back to the hotel.

`I'm gonna tell my mother I want to live with you.'

He said it very calmly. Was it a thought, a threat or a statement of
intent? I wasn't sure how to react. If it were just a thought, it would
best be left alone. If it was a threat or his intent, it needed to be
discussed. I risked leaving it alone. It was a bad choice.

Just after eight that evening, Mark's mother came storming to my room.

`Did you tell my son he could come live with you?' she asked angrily in
Spanish.

`No, I did not and he may not.'

`Then why is he saying you said he could live with you?'

`Because ten year olds get romantic ideas that are completely
impractical. But he wouldn't have ideas like this if you would just sit and
talk to him, and listen too to what he has to say.' I was a bit pissed too.

She stood in front of the door looking at me, her mouth closed.

`Look, Miss Saavedra, I am not a family counselor. There are probably
things a family counselor could suggest that are better than what I can
think of but it just seems to me that neither of you listen to the
other. Why not just sit down and listen to whatever he says for a
while. You are the adult. You need to be stronger than him, calmer,
smarter. Ask him to tell you why he is so angry and then just listen. Maybe
once you know what he is so upset about you can figure a way where you two
can live more happily together.' I hated my choice of word but that's what
came out. Then came the punch line.

`He says he will put me in jail if I don't let him live with you.' Tears
were wetting her mascara.

My stomach tightened. Fear was the probable cause.

`Please sit down.' I motioned her to the chair by my desk, the only one in
the room. I had to play dumb even though I was sure I knew what the threat
had been. `How is he planning to do that, if you don't mind? I won't tell
anyone.'

She rubbed one hand with the other as though she were trying to get off
some ground in dirt. `Just something about me and immigration.'

`Are you illegal in the U.S.?'

`A little, I don't think so, but why is he talking like that?'

`Look, Don't worry about that. I'll talk to him but you have to too, like I
said, listen to what's bothering him.'

`And,' she paused, `he is saying other things bad about me. Maybe it would
be better if he lived with you for a while. I don't want a son who is
blackmailing his own mother.'

Now my stomach hurt. It was serious. She was genuinely intimidated by his
threats. Everything he had said was probably true. She was illegal and was
providing false identification so her lovers could come on as teachers and
who knew what else. It had to be really bad for her to be so willing to
give up the cash cow that Mark was for her, unless, of course, she was
already rich enough. I tried quickly to guess how much Mark had earned over
the past couple of years. He'd been in five or six films, as principal star
in two I knew of. What were they worth, a quarter million each, more? I
didn't know whether he had done any commercials other than a few when he
was six and seven.

`Let me talk to him in the morning. And, please, let him talk to you.'

She argued a little about how impossible it was but finally agreed to
try. I rushed off to Millie's room.

`I told you,' she argued. `She's a money grubbing bitch living off her son
and treating him like a bothersome mosquito. Take him in. Be a real boy
lover.'

`Millie, it would probably get me tossed in jail for the rest of my life!
Then what good would I be to the boy? Anyhow, I don't think he'd ever rat
on his own mother. That's the stuff of fiction. Ten year olds just don't do
that sort of thing. I'll talk to him.

`Do you think I should discuss this with Howard Johnson?'

`Good grief, no! He'd be required to report it and then you'd have a whole
bunch of Bernie Boston's on your back. Heaven's no.'

`You're not giving me any solutions, Millie.'

`Go back to your room and I'll be sure Hector comes up to service you. Then
you'll be able to sleep and your head will be clearer in the morning.'

`Never mind, I try a good hot shower.'

I don't know whether she was responsible, but Hector did come up. I really
wasn't in the mood and had to fake orgasm, the first time I remember that
happening since being an eleven year old Times Square hustler trying to get
off in the huge asshole of an adult customer. I took another hot shower but
didn't get to sleep for hours.

	A knock on my door awoke me at five-thirty, half an hour before I
usually arose. It was just starting to get light outside. I pulled on my
pants while the person knocked again. It was Mark.

	`I'm not going to school today. That guy isn't even a teacher. I'm
gonna stay here and watch television so let me have your key so I can come
up here after breakfast.'

	I wanted to smack him on the head and tell him what an idiot he was
but the fog cleared fast enough that I didn't. He apparently was right
about his so called teacher. `So why not just go with the others to their
class?'

	He had to consider that. `'Cause they won't let me. I'm not
registered with them.'

	Frustration took hold. `Mark, Christ. Look, you can't just do
whatever pops into you looney little head. Why the hell can't you just sit
down and talk to your mother like a normal kid.'

	My brain answered before he could open his mouth. He definitely was
not a normal kid.

	`'Cause she don't listen to anything I say. Anyhow, I told her I'm
gonna live with you.'

	`And you tried to blackmail her! She came by last night crying.'

	`Fuck her!'

	I almost did hit him. He saw it in my eye and backed away. "I don't
care if she's everything you say she is and more. She is your mother and
you will not say things like that in front of me or you and I are over. Do
you understand?'

	It worked. He nodded, fear clearly in his face. `Now sit down and
listen to what I have to say.'

He sat in the chair. I paced.

`There has to be a way for you two to talk this out. God, I'm tired of
this. Okay, we'll do it right here and I'll be in charge. You'll talk and
she'll listen then she'll talk and you'll listen. You just wait here
and...'

He had his knees up under his chin, arms wrapped around his legs, tears
pouring down his face.

`Christ, now what?'

`I'm sorry I made you mad. Please, I want to live with you. I want you to
be my father. Please. I don't want a mother any more, just a father.'

It should have melted me but it only made me angrier. He was asking me to
risk going to prison for the rest of my life. When the authorities found
out he was living with me, and they surely would, there would be an
investigation. He would have met my two boys and learned about our sex,
something he knew anyway from my foolish open water tryst with Steven. I'd
be dragged back to the states as a child sex tourist and Bernie Boston
would have his sweet revenge. This was insane. Then it got worse.

`Anyway, you have to,' he said softly, still sniffling, `or I'll tell.'

I ripped down a picture and threw it against the far wall. Mark jumped but
didn't let go of his legs. `You gotta and she's gotta,' he said still
softly.

I tossed the room key to him and walked out, down the hall and out of the
hotel. I was alone. The Coasters hadn't arrived yet. My camera gear was
back in the room. There was no way I was going back after it. I walked out
to the road and kept going. The Coasters passed me. I turned onto a dirt
side road between humble wood houses. One man was revving up his beatup,
incredibly noisy little motorcycle, backpack slung over one shoulder,
heading off to work. At the end of the road was a path that headed out into
farmland. I followed it. I have no memory of what went through my head for
probably the first half hour of my walk. Finally I saw a man plowing behind
a pair of oxen. I stopped and watched him. I was intensely jealous of his
heterosexuality. For all the problems of his poor existence, none included
being blackmailed by a ten year old because of his sexual preference. He
was fucking normal. I was a fucking pervert, an outcast of society. Jesus,
I needed to get my hands on a fucking gun and blow my fucking head off, get
this shit over with!

What would happen if I just packed up and went home to Tegucigalpa? How
would the kid react? Would he accept defeat and go home too or would he let
vengeance rule him and destroy me, his mother and ultimately himself? I
feared the latter. Mark Crawford Saavedra was a very unhappy, angry little
boy who wasn't likely to listen to reason. And this wasn't going to affect
just his mother and me; he'd probably refuse to continue with the film less
than three weeks from completion. How the hell could I turn off this boy's
anger? Get him to go home with mama? I knew then he wouldn't. He had made
up his mind, had made very serious, very credible threats against his
mother and me. He would follow through.

I sat at the base of a large cypress tree. One option was Guatemala. I
could cross the border easily without registering. I'd seen others do it. I
could ship my things to a friend there and cross over wearing peon
clothing. Looking like a native was a huge advantage at times. Like Myles,
I'd put most of my money where the U.S. government couldn't get at it or
trace it back to me. That was what I had to do.

I looked at my watch but it wasn't there. What time was it? Had everyone
left the hotel? It had to be after seven. I walked back to the main
road. The Coasters were gone from in front of the hotel. I went to my room
forgetting I didn't have a key. The door was open. Mark was inside, face
down on the bed. He sat up the instant I opened the door, jumped off the
bed and ran to me. I pushed him away.

`Sorry kid, you've crossed over the line.'

I walked to the dresser and started taking out my things. I could feel Mark
watching me. I knew he was trying to think of something to say, a threat
that would force me to stop. I pulled down the suitcase from on top of the
clothes closet and opened it on top of the bed.

`Please don't go,' he almost whispered.

I ignored him. I had to get out of there and fast, get away from the
madness this boy had created. I heard someone in the door. It was Mark's
teacher, another problem.

`Mark, what are you doing here. You're supposed to be with me in class.'

That was bullshit. It wasn't eight o-clock yet. Class was after breakfast,
around nine.

Mark ignored him, standing by the bed, facing the floor.

`Mark, you...'

`You go away,' shouted the boy. `Anyway you're not a teacher! It's not even
your real name!'

The man looked at me with a strange expression. It wasn't fear or anger,
no, it was contempt for me. He turned abruptly and walked away. I hurried
my packing. Mark closed the door and locked it.

`Give me the goddamn key, Mark,' I ordered hand out.

`He dropped it inside the front of his pants and stared at me, a
combination of fear and dare on his face.'

`Look, kid, get it through your head. You're not going anywhere with me. I
take you and I'll get busted sure as shit. I just go and I gotta shot. I
just disappear. Now gimme the goddamn key.'

He didn't move, just stared at me, his mouth partially open like he was
going to say something.

`Fuck you, then. I'll kick the motherfucker open.'

I continued stuffing clothes and other personal things in. I put my laptop,
portable printer, their accessories and my two flash units inside my
backpack then strapped on the stands and tripod. Mark moved in front of the
door. I could see he was thinking hard and fast but still didn't say
anything. Did he understand that it was over, that he'd been defeated, that
he'd gone too far?

`I'll do anything you say, just don't go. Anything. Please don't leave me.'
He was breathing like an asthmatic in the middle of an attack.

I tossed my backpack over one arm and across my back then twisted my other
arm into the far strap.

`Please. Anything.'

I put my camera bag over my shoulder and reached down for the suitcase.

Mark collapsed like a marionette whose strings had suddenly been
snipped. The way he fell, I knew it was real. I stood over him, debating
with myself, wanting to step over him and leave, get away.

I couldn't.

I put the camera bag on the floor, picked up the limp body and carried him
to the bed. God, he looked so frail, so helpless lying there. I took off
the backpack and sat on the edge of the bed unable to take my eyes off
him. I put my head to his chest and listened to his heart and lungs. They
were working fine. Why couldn't his mind do the same?

Someone tried to open the door. They knocked softly.

`Mark, Mr. Ray?'

It was Mark's mother. I slipped my hand into the forbidden zone and felt
his soft, tender penis and balls before finding the key. I'd never touched
this boy but he was more of a threat to me than Steven or Hector.

I let his mother in.

`What's wrong with him? He sleeping?'

`He fainted but he'll be okay.'

`Why did he faint?'

`I was leaving.'

She looked around, saw my things packed to go. `Where are you going?'

`I don't know, back home.'

`You taking him?'

That snapped me into focus. I looked at her like she'd just pissed herself.

`You cannot leave him,' she insisted. `He must live with you or we will
both go to jail. He told me about you and Steven and he will tell the
police, too. You must take him.'

I couldn't believe the utter tranquility with which she said those
things. The phony teacher appeared behind her. She switched in English.

`I'm gonna tell Mr. Howard Johnson that my mother's sick an' I gotta go
back to Los Angeles and you will be taking care of Mark. I'm gonna write a
letter and get it notarized. An' he just stay with you. Later, I send you
his birth certificate so you can put him in school. He do a movie, we go
fifty fifty. You need something else, you tell me an' I get it for you. I
don' wanna go to jail and you don' wanna go to jail so we do like he
wants. I go to La Ceiba now and get my letter notarized. I come back in a
few hours.'

And she was gone, the door open, the hallway and my head empty.

The boy had a great teacher. His mother was a psychopath.

I stepped back from the door and sat on the end of the bed, on top of
Mark's feet. I leaned forward and pushed them from under me. They were
limp. I turned to look at him, to see if he was coming to. Mark was out,
his face relaxed. The most diabolical child in the world can look
completely innocent when he's asleep. This boy was anything but
innocent. Every fiber of my being told me to pick up my things and get the
hell out of there.

I reached for my camera bag and put the strap over my shoulder. When I
turned to pick up the suitcase, my eyes and mind went to the boy lying
peacefully on the bed. Was he really okay? I put the suitcase down and
walked to the side of the bed. He seemed to be sleeping. His breathing was
quit normal. I nudged him on the shoulder. There was no response. I tapped
him on the cheek.

`Mark. Mark.'

Nothing.

I began to worry. How long did fainters stay out? My recollection was
seconds, at worse a few minutes. Mark had been out for at least ten
minutes. There was a clinic in the village. Should I take him there?
Perhaps cold water would awaken him.

I put down the camera bag, took off my backpack and went into the bathroom,
returning with a half full glass of water. I sprinkled a few drops over his
face but nothing happened. Concerned and exasperated I pulled his head to
the side of the bed and splashed most of the water across his face. He
pursed his lips and squeezed his eyes. I put him back on the bed. He
smacked his lips and opened his eyes, looking straight at the ceiling. He
raised his arm to wipe his face.

It was time to go. I picked up my backpack, tossed my camera bag over my
shoulder and picked up the suitcase. In the doorway, I stopped and looked
back. Mark was up on his elbows watching me. It wasn't sure he realized
what was going on.

`Ray?'

I turned and walked down the hall. Everything seemed to be moving in slow
motion, like I was walking through shoulder high water. Millie was coming
up the stairs.

`Raymond, you're leaving?'

`Oh, Millie, you've no idea what's been going on here. I've got to get out
of this asylum now.'

She walked up to me and took my shoulders in her hands. `Stop for a minute
and tell me what has happened. Please. Sit down.'

There was a chair in the large hall at the top of the stairs. I sat down,
still holding the suitcase. In a few words I told her all that had
happened. `Millie, if I take him in, they'll get me sooner or later for
sure. If I go, I've got a chance to disappear and maybe the kid will
finally understand he's got nothing to gain by saying anything about me or
his mother. It would destroy his career too. He'd end up in a foster home
or with some other money grubber who cared even less than his mother, if
that's possible.'

Millie looked to my left. I followed her gaze. Mark stood leaning against
the wall at the entry to my hallway.

Millie said, `Mark, go back to the room, now!'

Mark said, `Don't let him go, make him stay.' His voice cracked. I turned
back so as not to see any more of his tears.

Millie waved him away. `Raymond, let's look at this carefully. If you take
him in, and do it with full authority of the mother, for summer vacation
let's say. I don't think anyone can do anything about it.'

`If Steven breaks under questioning in California..., well, that really
wouldn't make any difference in the long run. But, Millie, let's say Boston
or someone like him goes looking to question Mark again. They'll sure as
hell want to know where he is.'

`His mother can say he's in Columbia with family so he won't have to go
through all that. I'm sure she'll agree to that.'

`Millie, that boy is as much a psychopath as his mother!'

`I don't think so and neither do you or you'd be out of here by now. You
want to take him with you. Admit it to yourself if not to me. I know you,
Raymond. A child is need has always had a friend in you. A better idea:
keep him until the film is finished. Just that. It will give you time to
think and him time to prove himself one way or the other. Nothing's going
to happen before people go home. And, God knows, Menahem will appreciate
it.'

`Menahem! Jesus!' She was right. Nothing really was going to happen before
the children went back to the states. The only ones leaving for sure were
Mark's mother and his phony teacher.'

`Oh, Millie, this is insane.'

Mark came rushing out of the hallway and fell over my knees, his arms
trying to wrap themselves around me. My arms involuntarily went around
him. What was I going to do with this miniature Jekyll and Hyde? Why
couldn't I just dump him on the floor and walk away. It was the sane,
intelligent, practical thing to do? What kept me in that chair? Fear? Love?
A complete lack of common sense?

Millie stood back, her arms folded across his chest. None of us moved for
what seemed like an eternity.

Maybe what held me there was the warm feeling of a little boy cuddled up in
my lap, holding on to me. A boy lover's dream. Did I care for him or was it
just the old needs for boy flesh and affection?

Finally Millie asked, `Bob wants to know if you'll be able to work
today. Mark has three scenes this afternoon.'

`I, we'll try to be there for lunch..'


=============================================

EPILOGUE


The film was completed almost on time. Mark did a credible job through to
the end. Steven's voice got a shade lower. Oh, how I missed his body!

Menahem gave me a five thousand dollar bonus.

Myles ex-lover Mickey refused through his lawyer to speak to the police but
did send them a written statement that he stood by what he had said in
nineteen seventy-eight. When the police went to his job to talk to his boss
and fellow employees, the lawyer made a formal complaint to the court. They
refused to interfere. Nonetheless, his fellow workers and boss were of no
help. When a social worker tried to interview his children, the lawyer had
more success with the court and the action was stopped.

Myles lives in Vietnam now where he still writes screenplays. He tells me
he has a boy living with him supposedly to teach him Vietnamese.

Steven finally came to my room one morning toward the end of filming when
he should have been in class where Mark was now studying, too. He told me
what Mark had told me weeks before, that his mother told him to stay away
from me, threatening if he didn't to claim overhearing discussions between
Steven and Mark about sex with me. Then he kissed me on the mouth and ran
back to class.

The next time we had sex was a year later in Tijuana, Mexico to visit with
Michael and Millie without entering the U.S. He was several inches taller,
his voice was an octave lower and he had a brush patch over and under his
five plus inch wong. He fucked me that time. Mark, along on the trip, sat
figiting during the half hour we were in the room down the hall from where
he, Millie and Michael were waiting. I reminded Steven of his concern that
none of us would be interested in him once the hair came in.

Although he had been right about the end of his film career, he had been in
a couple of commercials and was looking forward to being an agent.

The production company lawyers came to an agreement with the Justice
Department to drop their suit. The children were not to be approached in
any way regarding Myles or me or any other member of the cast or crew
involved in the Honduran shoot.

Bernie Boston was made a supervisor and became very interested in Michael
Jackson.

Millie came with Mark and me to Tegucigalpa after the rap party. She stayed
for two weeks during which she drooled over all my pictures and movies, met
my two boys and managed to stay sober.

Mark's mother air freighted me his birth certificate, all his previous
school papers, medical records, clothes, his digital camera and a box full
of train sets, remote controlled cars, two Nintendos and other toys that
were heavily taxed by Honduran customs. About a week later, she sent me a
letter by courier. His agent had another film. She'd split the profits with
me. Mark gave me the agent's name and phone number. My new son was adamant
that he didn't want to do a film at that time but would consider one when
school got out. His agent wasn't very happy. `Turning down offers isn't
good for his career.'

`Tell them he's just ten, worn out and needs some rest and normality. See
what you can do around late September.' The Honduran school year ended in
early October.

`Where are you calling from?'

`A very restful place where Mark can be a normal boy for a while. Don't
worry, he'll be a better actor for it.'

I enrolled Mark in the same school with my two boys. There was a lot of
wariness between them for a while but things settled into a kind of armed
truce. In the past, I'd often made love to Danny and Luis together but with
Mark around, it was almost impossible. A few times when they stayed over,
I'd wait until Mark was well asleep and awaken my boys for some frantic
lovemaking. Then, one evening, Mark asked, `When are you gonna do sex with
me?'

To be honest, my feelings about Mark were very mixed, even contradictory. I
did care for him, deeply. Was it love? Certainly not at first. He was an
enthusiastic student, becoming a reasonable cook as promised, helped my
maid clean up the kitchen and kept his room somewhat well ordered. He got
along fairly well with the local kids and was playing on a soccer
team. Most nights, he climbed into bed with me cuddling up, kissing me good
night. But there was no way to shake the memory of the threats, of the
certainty that he would have done exactly as he threatened.

The sex came almost naturally the next morning. He'd nestled into the front
of me, his butt right over my crotch. We both had our normal early morning
hardons. There had been comments about them, even flicking touches but
nothing more. Mark rolled over until he was face to face with me, his body
pressed tight against mine, his stiff cock against my stomach. He slid his
arms around my neck and kissed me on the cheek, then lightly on the lips.

`I love you,' he said. `Can we do it now?'

I knew full well what `it' was. Before I could agree or disagree, he
reached down and took hold of my cock, gently running his hand up and
down. I was in the middle of a furious debate with myself about daring to
do anything with this boy. But he'd been with me for nearly three months
and had been a good son, generally obedient, certainly cooperative. There'd
been no serious altercations. We'd discussed things when he resisted
something I said to do or not to do, always coming up with what I found to
be a functional solution. Everyday at one time or another, he said he loved
me. I'd never been able to say those words exactly back to him, skirting
them with `care for', `like', `enjoy' but never love. I honestly hadn't
felt it would have been true. Fear was still one of my feelings about
him. But there in bed that morning, he seemed so much a boy who sincerely,
really did love me. I kissed him back and we made love.

	One of these days, I tell you how it went.