Date: Sun, 22 Nov 2020 22:25:55 -0500 From: MC VT Subject: Strength and Luck Strength and Luck ©MCVT2017 August 24, 2020 Saga of a family man, a boy and a lot of luck. Border and Yucatan exploits bring men closer. Close in on Nifty with a generous donation: http://donate.nifty.org/ 100% fiction, adult content, Mb, MM, MMM, inc, oral, anal, mature, rom, danger, long read. ===================================================================== Learned to keep my lips shut, my spine straight, feet placed at shoulder's width and stone-faced. Eight hours a day for forty years. Prison guard at the state pen in Otay, retired Captain Ross, secured the vocational unit for the last ten years. Proud man, me. Wife and three kids, wonderful home, absolutely wonderful life. Two girls and a boy, all healthy, strong, all well-educated professionals. My house wasn't big, a nice stucco bungalo, on half an acre outside National City--big yard that was filled with kids every afternoon when I came home. Earned plenty to support us in fine style, but my wife, rest her soul, she held a poverty mind-set being from a poor area in Oaxaca. She led us across the border monthly for decades, Mexico subsidized staple foods. Continued her routine alone now. Sometimes my son Bradley tagged along. He was my favorite child, became a handsome man. Tall, dark, green-eyed with a strong jaw and wide shoulders. He was mas que apuesto, like me. Every girl in his high school wanted to date him. ... Early summer, I crossed the border for my Tijuana jaunt. Parked, grabbed my cart, off to the supermercado. Meat, rice, Jumex, loaded up on Oaxacan cheese. Rosa Venus, and tissue. There's a system to shop in Tijuana. Locals go out of their way to help when you show respect--humility is the key. Seasoned shoppers dress neatly, speak softly. Loud and brassy attracts a pickpocket. Tijuana's crowded; cops are few. ... Finished at the big store, unloaded my cart in my trunk. Second stop is always the open-air market near the Zona Rosa. Near La Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe, I passed the fortune-telling canaries; novena candle vendors. Saw several families in their wedding finery. Stepped inside the worn doors of the church and dropped a few bills into a small donation box for their street-kid shelter. Sat and watched a quick boda. Bride in white, groom in a sport jacket. Not Tijuana's elite; working people. They were ecstatic in their borrowed and re-fitted attire. Parents sat on the front pew, aged beyond their years from hard labor, they'd survived rough times with few social services. For that reason, family unity is strong. The spirit of the Mexican family is solid, tempered through the political regimes from the Aztecans till today. ... Outside the church, crowds filled the streets. Only a two more hours of sunlight. Costumed mariachi troupes unpacked instruments, adult entertainment and night life trickled into the plaza. Colored lights, women with dark red lips and heavy mascara appeared as sellers left. Children offering chicle would leave, their older siblings would appear alongside adults leaning against the buildings, tempting the servicemen. Prison guard hears it all, sees it all, knows it all and it's as old as time. I ignored the vice to finish my tasks. ... Into the old, covered market, dark and humid I drug my cart through the mists of the soups and fried foods. Smelled the cilantro, onions, pineapples. Cruised around for a while enjoying a Fanta. Needed to pee and found the tiny, ancient restroom through a maze of hallways among stacks of crates. Followed the smell of over-scented cleaner signaling its location in the storage area. In front of one of the oldest urinals in the city, I relieved myself, recalling all the things I needed to purchase. "Cocoanut bars, pineapple, oranges, kilo of tortillas...." Carried my own handwipes, cleaned and left. Off to the side of a stack of plastic-bagged piñatas I heard muffled sounds and someone stomping, "Nnn, nnn, nnn." Came from a crowded storage space, boxes stacked everywhere. Pushed the bright tissue paper shapes of piñata's aside gently and looked; dark back there. Moved closer, caught the shape of a kid was calling me from the shadows. Stood about four feet high, big enough to help his parents work, I had to wonder why he was back there. Closer, I noticed his odd facial profile. Closer, I saw a strip of cloth tied tightly over his mouth, pulling tightly into his cheeks. Didn't hear or see anyone else around, "M'hijo--qué pasó?" I tugged loose the rope that held wadded paper towels in his mouth. Looked to be very young, skinny; no threat. "`Yuda me." Help. "Venga." I wasn't staying in the shadows, he had to come out. "No puedo. `Yude me." He grunted that he couldn't come out. "Las manos atadas..." "Hands--what?" Pushed my cart ahead of me in case I needed to trip someone, saw his hands were tied behind his back. He struggling, twisting his shoulders and leaned forward. This child was bound to the electrical conduit with nylon cording. Got out my pocket knife and looked around. We spoke softly as I carefully cut the cords while he said something about being pulled away in a crowd. "Vamanos--la iglesia." I'd take him to the church--they have that shelter. "No. No." He didn't like the idea at all, said something about a priest, "de incognito." "Tu familia--donde?" Where's your family? "Voy a huirme." Said he's going to run away? He rubbed his thin wrists, looking around. The dim light showed the boy's eyes. They weren't dark, they weren't blue, gray or green, but a brownish-gold color. His features weren't indigenous, but perfectly--well, I couldn't say what but they were perfect. Not cute or child-like, he had a serious face. Almost mature features, more like a young adult. Oddly, his hair was the same brown tone of his eyes. Skin was smooth, even and clear, but the color seemed to be somewhere in between all the skin tones I'd seen. He was gorgeous. Whomever tied him here didn't want to lose this beauty, he'd be worth a mint to a trafficker. "Oh, yeah? A donde?" Where you going to go? "Tabasco." He was ultra-confident, or he didn't know where he was. Tabasco is near the Yucatan. We were on the other side of Mexico. "La cathedral. Ven." I reached out to grab his hand; the church had could fund him a bus ticket back home. He pulled back, "No. Salgo en la noche." Ah. He was going to leave under the cover of darkness. Alone? He'd wouldn't last two minutes in the Zona Rosa. We continued our conversation, with my bumbling Spanish; the boy was scared and confused. Damn, I didn't have enough Spanish to understand him as he gibbered on, then tears rolled down his face as he kept mentioning his mamá and papá. ... Voices whispered at the end of the hallway; footsteps approached. Grabbed the boy up against me and squeezed us both against the wall in a narrow, murky corridor. Stinky, moldy, heard mice skittering, "Silencio." I whispered, holding his thin body between my chest and the cinderblock wall. Voices came closer, only our eyes moved. We stopped breathing, listening. Through our thin shirts, I could feel his ribcage, his heartbeats. Rapid flutters against my chest. Sounded like two men and a woman were at the conduit, saw the cut cords and began cursing someone named Villanueva. They looked around, for a moment. Then we heard a whistle, loud voices. They ran between the stacks of boxes. A door slammed shut. We stayed still. Immediately rapid footsteps neared. Two cops ran in, radios buzzing, searching around the area. Yelled into their radios calling for backup, I guessed. They looked around nearby, unconcerned after seeing no one. Took their time in the baño and walked back outside. We stayed still. The boy tired and grasped spindly arms around my neck, legs around my waist and lay his head on my shoulder. He tried to calm himself holding his breath, felt his tears as he wiped his face against my shirt. Held his head against me; I was afraid as he was, maybe more. Quiet. We listened. How would I get us out of here? Inside my cart was an old burlap bag to keep groceries from slipping thru the wire caging. That would work. Broke a sweat when several vendors came through, a man with a hand cart heaving crates of mangoes nearby. We stayed still until he left. By this time, I was damp with anxious sweat. The boy looked up at me, gave me a worried look, his lips wiggled. I didn't understand until I felt a warm spot on my stomach, through my tee shirt. I looked at his face, he was grimacing, and turned his head away as his bladder emptied, spreading pee between us. We stayed still, our chests in warm wetness, then it began cooling at the edges. Felt strange, smelled slightly of popcorn. He shivered, lay his head on my chest again. Crying silently, he was embarrassed, ashamed. Leaning my cheek on his hair, I rubbed him lightly signaling it was alright, I wasn't angry. Market vendors were packing up for the day, they were busy. Several meandered around and grabbed a few boxes, brought a few more. My arms and back ached holding the boy. ... When things quieted again, I pulled my cart open, grabbed the bag, pointed. Got him in, seated, tucked the top over his head and I emerged back into the melee of late shoppers. Bought my produce, tortillas and noticed bunches of mamoncillo, dropped them in the bag to the boy. Carefully placing my parcels around him I pushed my cart to the cathedral. Doors were padlocked. Damn, but the kid would have probably run away. Quickly loaded my trunk. Thought about leaving the boy with the cops, maybe another church was open. Both bad ideas the more I thought about it--I didn't know anyone I trusted. Now, could I sneak him over the border, keep him safe until I found a place for him? The boy being so strangely beautiful, I could be pegged as a trafficker myself. My badge was in my wallet, maybe that would buy me out of a questioning; border crossing would be packed, customs wouldn't check too close at this hour. I'd risk it, the kid deserved a chance after being hauled cross-country, tied and gagged. Instead of crossing the border, I drove to a gas station, filled the tank. Before I left, I shuffled my groceries in the trunk, "Vamos cruzar la frontera. Shhh." He nodded, resting on the bag, looked exhausted. Mamon seeds scattered around him. Lines of cars at the border were exceptionally long. Edged slowly to the US side, and smelled an extremely foul whiff of something. Looked between the cars, maybe someone had thrown a dirty diaper. Didn't stop stinking, I believe it came from my trunk. I turned on all the vents and opened the windows. Turned out to be a lucky stink. The customs agents waved me through after I groaned, rubbed my belly, "Aye! Too many chilaquiles today." As I drove the freeway, I devised a plan. I'd call Bradley. My Bradley until he was snapped up by this guy Saturnino Saenz. My son supported the free-loading mooch. Strength and Luck Part 2 Turned into my drive as the sun was setting. I couldn't just walk a kid into my house, I'd lived alone for three years. Carefully backed in, shut the garage door. The boy was tired, quiet and began crying as he got out of the trunk, carrying a full load in his britches. Took him to the back yard and got the hose. He didn't like getting naked, standing out in the dark; I ordered. Muttering as cold water dissolved the mess, he was irritated with me, grumbled. Marched him in the house when we had the worst rinsed off. "Donde estamo'?" He didn't know where he was. "Mi casa--California." Got him one of my tee shirts and a pair of socks and put him in the shower. He yelled and turned away from me when I started washing. I saw why, he was bruised on his rear and legs, dark spots on his shoulders. Appalled, as I squirted the shampoo in his hair and found him a toothbrush. Soon, he was out and exploring the house while I left a message for Bradley. Fixed dinner while the boy watched me. His eyes were dull; distracted, I imagine he was recalculating his location, what would happen next. Girlish red lips took everything on his plate, the little elf wanted more. Reloaded his plate, watching those tiny fingers picking at pineapple spears, hot-dog burrito, cheese. He was a hungry boy, wanted more milk and another hotdog; I nixed the pastries, his tummy bulged tightly. Found the Spanish channel on the tube. The boy was dozing on the couch in a few moments. As I loaded the washer, I noticed the boy's dirty, worn shoes didn't match. One was a size larger than the other, laced and tied with a pink lace. Saw a tiny white triangle inside the larger shoe, a bit of folded paper. Tugged it out. Inside was folded a ten-peso coin and a St. Christopher's medallion. In blurred pencil, "Fuerza," underneath, "Suerte." Strength. Luck. Checked the boy's feet, they were the same length. Called my son, left another message. He worked with the feds as a security consultant. Maybe he had a friend in an agency or knew of an international child-find service. Wasn't about to call the church, that damn Father Esteban might be there. ... The boy's name was Kele, he said. He found Bradley's old room still filled with toys, books and began exploring the old toys, books and high school regalia. Bradley showed up around nine with that man Saturnino, "Niño, stupid name. Aren't you a grown man?" "Not Neen-yo, Nee-no. You know that, you ol' fool." Nino shot back. "Weird name--your mother into astrology? Curandera?" Made the booga-booga with my hands. That got a dirty look in return. They brought cartons of Chinese food. When Kele heard them at the door and ran through the house. We found him hiding in back of the garage closet. "Ven, Kele!" Come out! Kept calling to him until Nino sang softly: "De Colores--de colores, es el arcoiris que vemos lucir...." No response. Nino continued, "Y por eso los grandes amores...." I heard the melody before, understood few words, a well-known children's song in Mexico. Nino sang softly, reaching his hand out. The boy stirred slightly and emerged. "Pio, pio, pio...." Bradley and Nino stared at the boy's unusual coloring. Kele came to me, wrapped his arms around my thigh and hid his face on my hip. I rubbed his head, "Me hijo, Bradley." Pointed at my son. "Nino." Pointed at the mooching shrimp next to him. Nino came out of his surprise at the boy's coloring, knelt nearby. The boy just turned his head away. "Tienes hambre?" Nino asked. Food got the boy's attention. We had a second dinner. Kele was more animated with Nino to speak with. Seemed the boy came from a farm near the Yucatan. Kele sat on my lap eating fortune cookies while we spoke softly. Wasn't long before the kid's head wobbled, eyes kept closing. Bradley tucked him in. "Snatched, hidden, humiliated and relocated during the past few hours. Do you think you can find his parents? He needs his family." I asked from the sink. "First I'll give him a checkup. We'll be by tomorrow afternoon, bring tamales de elote." Nino replied. My heart skipped a beat, my favorite tamales. "Bringing a doctor?" Nino got up and put his nose almost touching mine, "Happen to get a heavy envelope last month? One with fancy script? That was an invitation to my graduation, donkey-dick. I'm a Physician Assistant now." He muttered a few things in Spanish, giving me the stink eye. "Oh, now you're a fake doctor." Sure, I got the invitation, but didn't want to be around him or his family. Looks heated between us until Bradley pulled us apart, "Why don't you like me? I've never done anything to you." Nino seethed. "You stole my son. Snatched, him. You're all like that--steal what isn't tied down." "Racist pig, I can see why he left!" ... Next day Kele and I left for the big store: shoes, pants, shirts and treats. Kele let me know he was very bored until we passed the girl's clothing. Wanted to ask why he was fingering the frills and bows, but didn't have enough Spanish. Back at the house, I went into Bradley's bedroom and brought back a book filled with drawings of animals. Kele could read, and tried sounding out the names of the animals in English. Started naming the things I knew in Spanish that were around the house; "Ray-loh, clock." Kele repeated, proud of himself learning new words. ... My Bradley and el mini-medico came with tamales, I cooked up arroz con pollo. Dinner went quietly until we finished. Nino took Kele into his room for an exam. That didn't work. Kele yelled, he wanted me with him. Sitting on the side of the bed, Nino opened his laptop, and his black bag. I took the boy's shirt off. They spoke softly as Nino explained what he was doing, looking in his ears and eyes. Kele stayed between my knees, encircled by my arms. Had to take off his jeans. Kele didn't like it, did my best to be reassuring. Damn, the boy's groin was bruised, red marks on his tiny cock and balls. At this point, I had to appreciate Nino, he was gentle as he touched and spoke with the boy. Kele didn't answer his questions, just burrowed his face in my arm. Nino gave me antibiotics, vitamins for the boy. "He's small for his age, not a serious problem. Lay off the junk food, take him outside to play, exercise. More exercise in your life wouldn't hurt." Nino glanced at my waistline. "I'm not fat, that's my storage unit, tonto." ... In the living room later, Kele explained hiding with me and began talking about his home in Tabasco. As best I could make out, Kele's uncle left him with a man dressed as a priest. The boy described the priest in detail, down to the shoes he wore and a tattoo under his left ear. Bradley opened his computer, searching for photos from Tabasco. We decided to get the boy back home ourselves, bypass the bureaucracy. The parents could come get their son at a border crossing. Kele recognized a few of the buildings from the El Triunfo area. Nino got as many of the specifics as he could from the boy including names of several family members along with the number of the highway he rode on his way to school. Wasn't long before Bradley and Nino began making calls, sending emails while I put Kele in bed. He looked happy and tired, "Go home?" He asked. I kissed his hair. "Espero." Hoped it wouldn't be long, his parents must be frantic. When I came back out, Nino told me they were leaving for El Triunfo as soon as he heard from his cousin in the Yucatán. They'd find Kele's family and make arrangements for the boy's return. "Good. I want to see his family's faces when we bring him." "Dad, who's going to take care of Kele? He can't come until we know it's safe. Keep him here." Bradley was adamant. Saturnino was always trying to get between me and Bradley. Scheming jerk. ... Next night, Bradley came over early, brought books and toys for the boy. Still transfixed with the boy's coloring, he brought a bright crimson hat with a gold star on the front, fluorescent yellow bike shorts and matching shirt. Kele had to wear those. Nino came in late with his satchel and took Kele's hand. Another exam? I wondered why. At Bradley's old bed, he stood between my knees again, watching. "Take his shorts off." The boy stood, nude being examined along his ribs, his spine, knees and feet. He calmed when he was sure he wasn't going to be hurt. Nino squeezed his muscles, felt along every bone and joint, tapped his belly, making notes all the while. Then vaccinations. Kele understood and took them quietly. "I have to see his rear; he could have been filmed." Nino whispered. Kele refused to bend over my knee naked. Nino took the boy in his arms, spoke softly, asked what happened "en transito." Appeared the boy was treated roughly, shoved around. He'd been punished severely at one point. Nino carefully explained about "mean people" and "nice people." Without the details of porn or sex trafficking, he told the boy we were trying to get him back with his family in a healthy state. "Did the mean people hurt your bottom?" Nino asked softly. Squinching his eyes almost shut, the naked boy jumped to the middle of the room, began swinging his arms, kicking at the air and yelling. He jumped on the bed behind us, ran behind the closet door, moving like a ferret around the room. Dark hair flew as his face contorted, grimaced, screaming words I hadn't heard before. Spindly legs kicked the air a few more times and then calmed, became very small, near the floor. Suddenly he jumped, "A-a-a-ye!" On one leg, the other leg flew and a small foot hit the air at the same height as the boy's head. He showed us how he defended himself. Skinny fist raised upward in victory, he stated, "'Ca!" Never! Kele was very satisfied with his demonstration, smiled proudly, hands on hips, arms akimbo. The kid used a surprise kick to someone's groin after scrambling around evading his captors. Probably the reason he was beaten. Nino nodded, "Qué valoroso!" He took the boy in his arms and hugged him hard, kissing and tickling him. Then he asked the boy if he ever ate, drank or slept while he was with the mean people. Kele was smart, he said he only slept in the van and didn't eat or drink what he was offered because mean people give you drugs. That explained why he was so hungry, when we met. "Wait here." I brought the shoe and the medallion, coin wrapped in paper. "Whose shoe is this?" The boy's face fell into a worried look, "...chica, ella lloraba, `tonces fue llevado." A crying girl slipped her shoe on him before she was taken away, taking one of Kele's shoes. Kele didn't see her face, only heard her crying when she left. This boy survived to tell an extraordinary tale. ... Bradley waited for me in the den, "Why don't you like Nino? He's intelligent, professional, a gentleman and he's a great partner. Give him a chance, please." Bradley stroked my face, "You know he applied to manage the street clinic in Mission Beach? We're lucky I found him." "If it weren't for men like him, you'd be married with your own family. That's what I always wanted." "You still don't understand. No one can make anyone gay. Now what are you going to do if we get married?" Bradley grasped my left hand softly, fingering my wedding ring. "Ridiculous." "News flash. Gays marry now." My son was getting snippy, probably came from being around Nino. That next night, Kele and I were given orders: Stay home with the phone on while Bradley and Nino went to El Triunfo for a week. ... Made a point to have a good time while they were gone. A pink glow colored Kele's face as he ran through Balboa Park playgrounds. We watched telenovelas, wrestling. Ranchera music filled the house, Kele became bouncier. Charmed my neighbors though he didn't say much around them. Acted shy--he couldn't understand what they were saying. My two daughters in Escondido caught wind of Kele and sent a bike, a skateboard, balls and equipment, all the fun things I'd bought their kids through the years. Hard to keep Kele in the house, he had to try everything. Nino called Kele every day from the Yucatan. I noticed when they talked about Kele's family, in particular an uncle, Kele's face became serious, anxious. Photos came. Photos of his parents, brothers and sisters made the boy touch the screen as though he were caressing them. ... At fifty pounds and almost fifty inches, Kele was gorgeous, learning how to swim in a tiny red suit. He didn't want a haircut; I'd learned how make ponytails with my daughters. Now he'd yell at me, made a lot of noise in the house; laughter, snippets of songs, hollering at the wrestlers on the tube. Mischievous, but not mean, he was one-hundred percent boy in full-play mode. At the end of the week, we met Bradley at the airport. Lizard-face stayed in the El Triunfo area for a few more days. ... At the house, Kele had to show Bradley all his new toys. Up and down the street, Brad on the skateboard, Kele alongside on his bike. Stayed outside in the yard with the soccer ball till dinner. As we ate, Bradley brought out a packet of papers with a passport. Wank-stain Nino took the liberty of obtaining falsified paperwork from a defunct adoption agency abroad. Got school records, everything; said a man owed his family a favor. I didn't believe that for a minute. The jerk probably sucked every dime from Bradley's bank account but I'd hit a wall thinking of how to legitimize Kele for school. Glanced inside the passport, name read "Kele Saenz," underneath the photo I took of Kele while he was eating his first dinner with me. That shit-for-brains, Saturnino--he used his last name! "Dad, we're buying rings. Next December, big boda at Sis' house, unless we can use the yard here." "Kele's my boy, he should have my name, our name. Kele Ross--sounds great." "It was quicker, and he's still ours. I'll be Saenz-Ross." "He could have asked, that greedy ass. Stole you, now Kele." "Later, when you calm down. Breathe, Dad." ... Bradley stayed with us for several days. It was great. My son finally got a little brother; showed Kele the horned toads, coyote footprints, took him to the canyon to see the hawks. We went to the pizza place for arcade games. Nights we three snuggled together on my bed. Kele usually fell asleep, we enjoyed the hours being close. If Bradley would come back home, my life would be perfect. ... Through Nino's calls we found out where Kele's family lived, also found out they sold him. Nino's phone call brought some strange information: the boy only had one uncle, and that was the uncle who handled the transaction with a man dressed as a priest. My brain spun for a moment--they sold their beautiful boy? Something didn't sit right with me. Wondered if the parents were in a hot box; was this a forced sale? Looking at the entirety of the situation and what I'd heard on the news, I tensed. "Get Nino back here now. If there's any dirt flying in El Triunfo, he doesn't know what he's doing." Strangely, Nino didn't fly back, but took busses, called from the capital, "Meet me in Tecate." We waited on the dusty street eating paletas. Met a subdued Nino, unshaven, wearing a guayabera. "On the bus in drag?" Just had to razz him. Nino said nothing, kept Kele close, they whispered in Spanish all the way home. ... Kele was loaded with energy after we stopped for burgers. Rode his bike around the yard again and again while we sipped sangria, watching the boy rear up and practice slide-spins in the dust. "Are Kele's family impoverished? What are they like?" I asked Nino, taking an indirect approach. "From what Santos and I saw..." Nino explained that Kele's family had a nice home, a number of hectares in production--sugar cane. Spacious farm, with plenty of everything, it appeared. Polite people, healthy, clear-eyed agriculturists. Farming family like millions around the world. Nino paused, "I don't understand why they'd sell a child. Everyone clammed up when I mentioned a golden-eyed boy. They told us Kele was gone forever. His mother began crying, the father told me to leave, stop the questions. He said the cops couldn't help; don't bother them again." Nino needed educating: "I can't tell you why they'd say that unless they were signaling you about problems in the shadows. Sounds like coercion. Any family selling their children has problems, if not money--it's something else. They're living under threat; can't speak about it because have no protection if they did." Shook my head, "Criminal minds--constantly looking for an opportunity, or making one." "What?" Nino was clueless. "Did you see any reason they had to sell a child?" I leaned toward him. "Not at first glance. Maybe they had debt, but they could have leased a few fields." Nino replied. "It's not about the family, but opportunists. When certain personalities come together at the right time in the same place, bad things happen. Greed, super-egos, control, delusional thoughts and usually drugs in the mix. Destroys people and now this family." Nino stared at me. "I'll talk to Kele." "No, you won't. He's had enough trauma." ... Later that night I explained what I learned in corrections: "Some guys are cognitively immature. Think like children all their lives, immediate gratification, clingy, manipulative; easy to spot. Other guys are constantly on a power trip, physical intimidation until they meet their match. A few have a grudge, life never treats them fair enough, when you get that kind of guy, he's sneaky. He'll recruit the immature ones, the unstable guys and the bruisers to do his dirty work but he'll turn yellow in half a second and lie if he's cornered. Drug use exaggerates all their problems. "Desperate people do desperate things. Don't go down there again, either of you." I ordered. "They have other children." Nino stared at me. "Can't save the world, bubba." Nino hated the name "bubba." Strength and Luck Part 3 That fall, Kele started school. Baggy shorts, bright shirts, long ponytail, and his English was much better. He liked his classes. Kele's birthday came in October and he had a party at school, a sleep-over at Bradley's and the big blow-out was in my backyard with a piñata, both my girls, all their kids. Took a lot of photos, videos, everyone had a grand time. Played games, adults raced with kids laughing, piñata swung and exploded with candies and coins. I was so proud of my family. Everything was going great until Bradley and Nino announced their engagement with wedding at the end of December. Ruined my whole day. ... Sunday, I lay in bed looking at photos on my phone with Kele. Reminded me of years ago when Bradley was young. My son and I always read the newspaper in bed on Sunday mornings, playing around while the smell of chorizo and tortillas, eggs and coffee filled the house. Told my wife it was our "man time." As a child, Bradley played a game with me--reciprocal tickles. He loved being naked and stroked; an enjoyable game. Speaking softly, surprising touches and rubbing, I explained his body, how it would grow to be like mine. He wouldn't return the favor at first, but willingly let me kiss his body, lick and suck his boyhood while he gasped in pleasure. He finally agreed to hold my balls while I pulled one off. I explained my juice, my semen. Didn't like the taste of it. "It's good. That's what you tasted like before you were born." Through the years, we went further. He enjoyed pleasing me, licking and sucking on the end of my rod, but I had to smile when I came. Hard trick, but I managed. I loved him more than I ever imagined I could. Those days were golden, warm until Bradley mentioned our "man time" to Father Estefan. Damn priest chastised me about taking personal liberties with my boy, even had the nerve to say it was incestual. Later that jerk Esteban told my boy that nobody knew if god's son was queer, "We just don't know. Texts of his life don't mention many women around." Counseled my boy to be a good man, follow what he was taught and things would work out. I considered that sacrilege; Bradley didn't. ... Distracted from my memories when Kele asked me to send a photo to his mother, "She has to know I'm okay--Mamá worries. Please?" He lay on my chest and kissed my neck. "Sweetie, I don't have her address or phone number. Let's close our eyes and send her love with our hearts." "No. Mamá needs this picture--she's worried. I know she is." He wiggled around, sat up with the I'm-so-pitiful expression as he wrapped the sheet over his head and held it at his chin looking all the waif. "Please?" "Let's call that damn Nino and ask." "Not supposed to say `damn.'" Kele the word-cop told me. "Okay. Let's call horse-face and ask him." I wanted to send some nice printed photos por avion to the family, labeling the envelope, "Pay in full." Postal services were sketchy in the hinterlands, no one would steal a bill. "Wait for the holidays." Nino advised; we'd send photos with gifts. ... That next week, Bradley and Nino came over later with a big bag of tamales de elote, softening me up for something. "Dad, we want to have the wedding here, in the yard. C'mon, Mom would have wanted it." Bradley tried to guilt me into hosting his wedding. Well, I softened up that night as we looked through the old photos of my wedding. I was a handsome groom, and my darling bride was ecstatic. Both families attended, huge affair. They didn't find out till later that tiny Bradley was hiding under all the fluffy fabrics my sweet bride wore. Though an early child is shameful to some, I was proud. I wanted the stability of marriage, wanted children, a home. To me, I was the luckiest man in the world--nothing disgraceful about my family. My family gave me strength. Bradley's persistence told me I couldn't stop the inevitable gay marriage. "Nino's family coming?" "We're going down to Merida for a second wedding with them." Nino winked at Bradley, "Honeymoon on the beach." "Nino, I've never met your family. What are they like? Do they hold jobs?" Surprised to find that his father had a flooring business. His crews lay marble floors, maintained them in the government buildings, museums. His mother taught at a private school. His cousin Santos was with the customs agency, worked the office. All professional people living in Merida. I felt a little easier about him, "Don't you have any brothers or sisters?" "Mom said I was enough." He looked aside, "I think she couldn't have any more but I've got plenty of cousins in Guerrero." I looked into the faces of Bradley and Nino, their expectant expressions, "Alright, guys. Get it all organized so I know what to do." I relented. Kele wanted to go to Merida honeymoon with them so he could visit his family on the way. "I'll show you where everything is. There's an iguana living near the barn..." "Stay with Ross. You can't go until you're twenty-one." Nino explained. Not sure if Kele fully understood that, he agreed with a frown. ... Holidays neared; Nino's parents sent him tickets to fly into Merida for several days before the holidays. Maybe it was my guilt for implying his family was shiftless, "I'll go with you. Love to meet your family. We'll take gifts at the farm from Kele." I needed to check out Nino's parents, make sure they weren't heavy drinkers. ... First of November, Nino and I left for Tijuana airport. Got through easily; I passed through the metal detectors with only a few moments of delay. Mr. and Mrs. Saenz met us in Merida, spoke about as much English as I spoke Spanish. Hugs and kisses for their Saturnino, polite, formal handshakes for me. We hustled outside to a taxi. Coursed the old colonial city on narrow streets, buildings painted bright colors, the air seemed clearer. Out to eat, home to eat, wine, more food, I had to pace myself. Over dinner, I met cousin Santos, the one that went with Nino to visit Kele's family before, "Have you been to El Triunfo lately?" Cousin Santos' face darkened, "Not unless I have to go. I'll drive my truck tomorrow; we have to hide the gifts in produce boxes. We won't stay any longer than we need. Roads aren't safe, and I'd suggest you keep your mouth shut. You sound gringo." "It's that dangerous?" "Small police force, half are on the take. By the way, I'll bring another shirt, you look too clean." I knew what Santos meant. "Nino, wear a flooring uniform." "Is there anything to watch out for?" Mexico is a well-developed nation, laws, courts, rights; it was that risky in El Triunfo? "Snakes, lizards..." He thought for a moment, "The usual... Drunks can be a problem, but look for the signs of drug use, sales. Don't dawdle, and if there's anyone in the house who isn't family, be careful what you say. There are repercussions if the cartel thinks someone's going to snitch." ... The next morning, Mrs. Saenz begged Nino not to go. I watched them arguing while Nino's dad quietly slipped a 642-Airweight in the pocket of my jacket. Had to turn aside and inspect it. S&W .38; sniffed it, seemed like it had never been fired. "Loaded?" He nodded, "Be careful, that's my boy and my favorite nephew." Had to whip out my phone and show him pictures of Bradley with Kele. "This is my Bradley, and the kid--it's his family we're visiting." Pointed to Kele's photo. "Your son looks so much like you and the boy is beautiful. Nino told me you snatched him in Tijuana." Mr. Saenz commented, looked away. What an insult, "I kept him from being trafficked out of the country." ... Santos, Nino and I left before dawn. Only people on the rural roads were truckers and workers. Too quiet, not enough activity. Distressing thoughts, I focused on the road. The closer we got to El Triunfo, the more we were scrutinized by the locals. No smiles, no waves, people glanced at us to see if they needed to run for cover. No church bells, no music, not even a mongrel dog barking. Had a feeling we were in the middle of cartel territory and on our own. Took the small revolver out, checked the cylinder--five rounds. Nino watched, "It's not that bad." "We don't know what happened since your last visit." Slipped it back in my pocket as his face blanched. Santos glanced at us, kept his eyes scanning the rearview mirror, left, right. ... Off the asphalt and onto the dirt road to the farmhouse. No horizon, tall cane lined the road, birds cries above the patter of the leaves in the breeze. Drove for several kilometers till we came to the house. Wet with sweat, we got out and looked around. Nino was right--nice older home, painted white, screened porch, flowers, a few tools leaned by the side door. Signs of life, but felt like the place was abandoned recently. Not the sound of a human or animal near but a funny smell, bitter, strong. That wasn't the smell of cane. Santos, and Nino circled the house. I stood at the door of the truck, watching behind us. "Mamá! Papá!" Nino called, then began singing, "De colores..." He continued singing and went to the back of the truck, started unloading the gifts, putting them on the porch. Went back to the cab, brought out a large manila envelope, slipped it halfway under the door. Photos of Kele. Turned to us, "Vamanos." Nino's face was tense. We got back in the truck as a teen appeared from the tall cane. "Vayan, por favor." Please, leave. He waved toward the road and tucked himself inside the cane again quickly. "Is there another way out of here?" Santos' sweat dripped down his face. Back wheels threw dirt in a rush to leave. "No. Hurry." Nino was shaking, the place spooked him. Headed back down the dirt road to the highway, almost there. At the last fencepost we stopped to turn when a panel van slowed as we turned onto the highway. Three ugly faces studied ours for a moment as they turned onto the dirt road to the house. Was that a tattoo on the man in the passenger seat? "Hit it, Santos." I yelled. His truck flew sixty, seventy-five miles an hour back to town. ... "We need gas." Santos' shirt stuck to his body with sweat, his hands gripped the wheel. Almost in town, he saw a Pemex station, pulled in. Nino went inside to pay. Old gas pumps, this was taking a long time, I looked around. While Santos pumped, Nino came from the station. Quickly, I got out, pulled Nino into brushy forest growing surrounding the station. "Don't stand out in the open." Got a funny feeling something was about to go down. Buzz inside me grew stronger at the same time I remembered my training, "least movement for the most impact." Calmed myself to watch, analyze. Took Nino behind the building, into the scrub, trees and circled back around to watch Santo's truck until we could leave safely. Santos filled the tank, went inside, looked around nonchalantly for us. Came back, stood by the truck drinking an orange Fanta. My feet needed more information before they moved. Within a few moments, the same panel van pulled in almost behind Santos' truck. The three men got out to talk to Santos, two carried their rifles over their shoulders brazenly--like they owned the place. Guess they did with AKAs. One man held a manila envelope. The one that held the photos of Kele, he began yelling at Santos, shoving him around, pointing to the envelope, obviously asking where the boy was. Santos shook his head, palms out, I knew he was telepathically begging us to come help him. "Stall `em Santos." I thought as I watched, "They don't want you; they want Kele." The driver of the van pushed Santos up against the side of his truck, jammed his fist under his chin, ready to crush his larynx. Nino started, I held him back. "Wait. They aren't sure what they're going to do yet." Long moments in the heat as the three men squeezed Santos for information. Santos begged to be let go, saying he knew nothing of any boy--no idea who they were talking about. The men opened the side of the van. My plan just appeared in the shape of a red, plastic box. Whispering, "Nino, they're going to take Santos. When I say, you grab Santos--get behind the station." Nino and I sneaked closer to the van through the brush. As the men got into the van, they tried pulling Santos along with them. He fought back, yelling, but he was held firmly between them at the side door. Suddenly clear-headed, I waited till Santos yelled again loudly begging, screaming, praying. He struggled harder, trying to kick. "Stall `em Santos, just a few more seconds...." They had him at the opened door of the van. "Move over Santos, give me a clear shot." Just a few inches, my site was fixed on the red box. Waited, held my breath. Perfectly still, waiting to see red again, I steadied myself, I'd only get one chance. Santos still had that glass Fanta bottle in his hand, he twisted, leaned to the side, pulling away from one of the men and threw it. Probably signaling us; it shattered on the pavement. The three men glanced away from Santos. The half-second opening I needed. Grip, squeeze and I hit the gas can behind the driver's seat. Jumped down by Nino. Immediately, the smell of petrol fumes wafted. Waiting till their hands were shoving Santos around, trying to get the gas can out of the van... Grip, squeeze, shot again. I winged the man at the passenger door to Santos' left; the thug fell away holding his arm. The second man let go of Santos and ran around behind the van for cover--he'd just left his AKA in the van. The driver glanced around, slammed the side door shut, jumped in the driver's seat and started the engine. Coward, he was going to leave his friends? Not today. Two bullets flattened two tires. One round left; the situation became more complicated. Nino saw his opening, Santos stood outside the van, unsure which way to run. Nino ran, grabbed his cousin's arm. They ran behind the building. The van would move soon, but not far, had to focus on a double hit, if I could get one. Driver revved the engine, began rumpling away as the flat tires slapped the pavement. Van moved about forty feet past Santos' truck before the driver realized the entirety of the situation. I could hear him cursing someone--did he say Villanueva? When the van moved, I got a clear shot at the guy who ran behind it. Incredible; my jaw dropped. I didn't have to fire. The guy must have thought we were undercover Federales; and he was unarmed. Lay face-down hands stretched forward on the pavement. Complete surrender. The driver saw his compa on the ground. He'd just lost all his forces, the engine revved again and the van lurched forward about a hundred feet to the shoulder of the road. Never thought about backup, I looked to the left to see we weren't alone. Two men ran out from the station. One held a strip of plastic bags knotted together, he was tying the one man's hands and moved to the wounded guy; kicked him a few times before he was secured. At the same time, the older man, ran toward the van screaming curses, pistol in hand. Unfortunately, he had a lit cigar in his lips. "Stop!" I ran to pull him back. Too late. Ba-a-a-am! Cloud of flame and black smoke at the van. The cigar smoker's body flew backwards, landing him flat on his back by the edge of the bush. I didn't bother to go to the driver, couldn't get near enough. Silence but for the van burning, popping and crackling. Grabbed a fire extinguisher from the pump area and tossed it to the younger man. "It could blow when the gas tank gets hot--keep flames away from the pumps then get behind the building." He nodded, seemed to understand me. Nino and I dragged the two henchmen to the side of the station, I watched for the driver, but he was probably dead after the explosion and now the fire--I didn't want that to happen. The older man and his son were screaming into their phones. I scanned the area for any other problems. The younger man joined me at the highway stopping, redirecting traffic from getting close when sirens wailed from the distance. Firetrucks came, immediately they hosed the van and pulled it aside. A cruiser came to take the one guy, an ambulance came for the man I wounded. Nino tended to the owner of the gas station, he had a knot on his head from being thrown, but he stood tall with a wide smile. Wore his bandage as a sign of his victory, "Today, we won." His son was equally proud, they were tired of paying bribes to stay in business. ... "All this over one little boy." I whispered to Nino and Santos as we entered the police station. "Say as little as possible about the kid." Santos answered, he looked rattled, but relieved. Police interrogation: Santos, Nino and I said nothing of Kele, but that we were delivering gifts for a friend, just a goodwill jaunt from Merida. We'd acted in self-defense in what we thought was an attempted shakedown, robbery--we weren't sure. I explained that when we saw the van and the men with rifles, Nino and I hid in the scrub thinking the guys would leave, but they didn't. "I got a feeling they were up to no good and hit the gas can hoping they'd be distracted to give us a few moments to leave or get Santos into hiding with us". The interrogators were leery, asked why I had the gun. "Snakes and lizards...." Stared back at him, stone-faced. Santos, Nino and I stayed in a small, hot cell for two hours while we were checked out, they brought the drug-sniffing dogs to Santos' truck. Our conversations were monitored, I'm sure. When we were freed, we were given our wallets, passports with courtesy, "Qué pasó?" I asked our jailer. "Videos." He explained in broken English that the station owner and his son had brought the security camera footage of the incident at the Pemex station. The videos proved our stories credible. Our papers were in order, and after all the bureaucracy, we met with the captain. Looked like a darker version of me. I flashed my badge, he smiled, "Thanks." "I wasn't looking to kill anyone. Now I have to live with it." "He had time to get out." The capitan leaned forward, "The driver of the van was a local kingpin. Terrorized the area, has meth labs on several farms. He was the brother to the man who owns that farm where you took the gifts." The man who burned in the van was the same man who sold Kele? I almost stopped breathing, glanced at Nino. We signed all the forms; they already had all of our information and didn't seem too disturbed about all that happened. It was just another day with the cartels to them. "Could we go out to the farm again? We weren't able to meet the family earlier." I asked. We left in their patrol car. This time, the officer got on the bullhorn and called the family, told them they didn't need to be frightened tonight. ... The escorting officer informed Kele's father about the death of his brother. The man only thanked him without any change of expression. In front of the officer, Nino discretely explained I had a grandson who wanted us to bring gifts to a family he'd known long ago. Nino described Kele's loving home--my home. He talked about a man who loved his son deeply, and loved his golden-eyed grandson even more. Nino spoke of me as a fine man, and a good father. Kele's parents nodded, smiled in unspoken understanding. Sweaty, hot, tearful, Nino pulled out his phone and sent the photos to Kele's mother's phone. He made me stand with the family and snapped a photo for Kele. As the flash lit our faces, I felt it. Why hadn't I seen it before? Jealousy masked my thinking. Nino's heart, his love for family was as strong as mine. Had to keep a straight face as recalled how I'd treated Nino, the names I called him and how cruel I'd been to my son's lover. Now, standing in the middle of a family who had only a virtual, golden-eyed son, we shared cool well water and hugs while they passed a card around writing notes, a gift for my grandson. Their pain of loss was clear as was some surety for their Kele's future. Strength and Luck Part 4 Back in Merida, Mrs. Saenz paced with worry until we arrived. Poured tequila shots for us as Santos and Nino began relating our day. Mr. Saenz asked Nino and Santos to draw a map of what happened, explain it clearly. They discussed the events till midnight, repeating what happened until their trauma calmed. I apologized to Mr. Saenz for the confiscation of his gun, "Fine weapon, accurate for a snub-nose. Could I get you another?" "I can get another pistol, not another Santos. My Nino, I couldn't go on without him." He took his son down the hallway. Mrs. Saenz picked up the shot glasses, "Their private time." I went to bed when Santos left but couldn't sleep, still overloaded on adrenaline. At the airport the Saenz' agreed to come for the wedding and we left. During the flight, reality of the situation surfaced inside me. We all could have died several times yesterday. ... Nino and I agreed not to tell Kele what happened, his immediate family was safe for a while. I had a few photos. Kele had his card with loving notes from his family and seemed pleased, though Nino and I were still stunned, saddened and silent. At home, the holidays started off slow, a cloud of sorrow took residence inside me. Bradley called, asked if he could take us to the Posada in Old Town. He always loved the songs and candles, wandering around en masse. We trudged Old Town with the crowd, lots of music, costumes. I became tearful, thinking about a boy child born into poverty, harsh conditions, wandering through life to a brutal death. So many children... sharp, pointed thoughts cut through mind. Couldn't shake them. Those dark thoughts kept funneling back to my hatred, my jealousy. How could I have been so harsh with Nino? I'd hurt Bradley with my bitterness. ... The holiday dinner would be at my daughter's house. I still hadn't done a thing to celebrate, Kele asked why we didn't have a tree. Where were the pastries and all the treats? Demanding boy. Took him to the big store, let him pick out candies, gifts for my daughters and their kids, decorations.... Music, twinkling lights, all the bustle, my misery lifted for a while. Came home to find Bradley and Nino cooking dinner. "We need a tree." Unpacking the car, "Kele wants Christmas." Bradley took Kele with him to find a tree. Sorting things in the fridge, I told Nino I wasn't going to the church-- "We're taking Kele for late mass. Welcome to join us." "No, I mean I'm not going to confession. Don't need a third party to ask you to forgive me." "Huh?" I stood near as he rinsed mangos, "What did you do?" I turned him to me, "All the names I called you, all the insults. I thought the worst of you since we met." Took a deep breath, "I apologize." Hard words to say. Stuck in my throat, hung in the air between us. Afternoon sun came through the window, reflecting off the water in the sink, Nino glowed in the soft light as he stared, then, his hands came to my arms. He pulled me to him. Chest to chest. Closer. I smelled his cologne, his hair, he rubbed his face into my neck. "Forgiven." He took several sharp breaths, like he was crying. "I'm sorry, I've given you as much hatred." Jerked a quick breath, "Forgive me." Embraced, we stood there, the sunlight warming our skin, he lay his head on my chest, his hands caressed my back. Soon, I felt his tears on my neck; my eyes burned. "Forgiven." He leaned back and I looked down, both our eyes were red-rimmed. My hands held his head as I studied his face. Handsome man with onyx eyes, warm brown skin, full lips. I kissed him. He didn't pull away. He kissed me. His tongue brought a salty-sweet taste; tamarind candy he liked. Held his head firmly, eyes closed, enjoying a strange sensation. Another man's stubble scratched around my lips, his breath quickened, or was it mine? Closer, his hands gripped my back pulling me hard against him. He shifted his weight and I felt our hard cocks rubbing together. I stepped away. Nino opened his eyes and turned back to the sink saying nothing. Now I had to apologize to Bradley. Went to the shower, got off. Toweled dry and had to pull off again. Damn, I was thinking about Nino. Nothing else, only kissing him. ... Kele came in with Bradley, they couldn't find an evergreen. Instead they had a big olive tree in a tub sticking out of the trunk. Wouldn't fit through the door. We decorated it by the drive. I unboxed the ornaments while Kele decorated. Bradley hung tinsel and garlands. Extension cords in place, Kele turned on the lights at dusk. We brought our plates outside to eat. Quiet Christmas Eve, a little off-kilter, good to be together without rancor. While Nino got Kele ready for bed, I stood next to Bradley washing dishes, "I'm over it. Nino and I made peace today. No more insults." "Since you came back from El Triunfo, I noticed you both were more respectful. That means a lot to me." Considered another confession, but we poured brandy, listening to music, reminisced. Nino fell asleep on the bed with Kele. I told Bradley to stay over. ... In bed with my Bradley was what I needed. His smell, his muscular build, even his breathing was music to me as breaths ushered back the memories of him on Sunday mornings. "I miss you." "Kinda miss you, too. Hard without Mom here." Silence. Deep breath, "I kissed Nino today." "Hmm." Bradley didn't seem concerned. "Not a cheek kiss." Stopped, waited. Silence. "Not enough love on earth." Bradley turned to me, got close, kissed my lips lightly. "Nino told me what happened in El Triunfo, every detail. You were great, but you always were my hero." A few kisses later, his hand went to my rigid cock, "Let's back up to pre-Estefan." My son took me in his arms, a grown man now. "Damn him." Caressing my face, kissing my neck, "Get past it. He's our officiant. Left the parish, works at a different church." Nuzzling into his neck, I grabbed his rear, stroked his back. "Been so long. I miss you, want you were back here with me." My son shoved my legs apart, knelt between my knees, "Can't come back, but I want to return some of the favors you showed me on Sunday mornings, remember?" He smiled, "Will you let me?" "I'm not queer." Grabbed me, held me close, kissing and rubbing his hard cock against mine, smearing his precum all over my groin, my torso. Never that hard before, hot and streaming juice, he kept rubbing my rod along his heated shaft. My hips wouldn't stay still, I needed to feel him; sweating, found my legs wrapping around his hips. He moved away. On his knees, he looked down. "Not yet, Dad." His head went downward, my face cooled, sweat on my chest evaporated as the heat of his mouth took my rod. Deeply, slowly, but I was already in frenzy, only a few sucks, licks, before the head of my dick met resistance. The back of this throat--felt so good, I pushed. Deep. Started cumming, not the usual release. Excited, making strange noises, he pulled and I shot pulse after pulse of myself slid deep inside my son. Can't say I remember much more than the most exceptional cum of my life. Only remember falling asleep feeling like I was floating until the next morning. ... Lay in bed listening to the guys make breakfast at dawn. Planned on staying there till Kele came in. "Go pee, and come back." He hid under the sheets. Came back to find all three in my bed, hot coffee and Kele dropping pastry crumbs on the sheets. Nino had a bright white box tied with a gold ribbon, he handed it to me. "Sorry, I just didn't feel like gift shopping this year." I apologized. Kele opened the box for us; two matching tee-shirts with "HERO" on the front. "They're for dinner at Sis' house today. Get dressed. She made menudo." By the time Kele and I were dressed, Nino and Bradley had tamales, ate de guava, and two gallons of tepache packed in the car. What a day, games, gifts and all kinds of food. All the kids played together, running down to the park. Nino seemed particularly pleased, kept smiling at me, finally feeling fully accepted into my family, I guessed. At home, Luis Miguel ballads played softly as Nino put Kele in bed. Limp boy, he fell asleep in the car. Bradley took me in his arms and we swayed with the music. "Nino and I have a gift for you--he has to give it to you." "If he's gonna give me a flu shot, I don't need it." "No, but a shot of bourbon sounds good." Bradley poured eggnog into double shots. "I want to sleep with you tonight, okay?" "Love it." I needed to be next to Bradley again. We went to bed, "Like last time?" Bradley didn't answer. He undressed for me, pulling down his briefs, letting his thick rod bounce out, slinging precum over the sheets. Flat stomach, little hair but a thick, dark bush on his groin. Gorgeous man. "I love you, Dad." "You're the best gift I could have." Nino quietly came in the room; I felt his weight on the bed. They sandwiched me between them, body to body to body. Rock hard, all three of us. Brain surge--this was my gift? I felt Nino's hot shaft along my butt. "I'm not queer." I slurred. Bradley sat up and put a pillow across his straining rod, "Put you head near my neck, I want to watch. C'mon, lay back on me." He tugged my arm. Tired, half-drunk, unsure, but moved to his chest, glancing at Bradley. "I love you." "I know, just relax for your gift." I lay face up, head near Bradley's neck while Nino pushed my legs apart and dripped oil on my rod--cool, startling. He looked at me, smiling while Bradley told him how we enjoyed each other years ago. Erotic how Bradley explained our times together, made all of us harder, aroused to the max. Had no idea Bradley felt the things he described--his admiration, his fantasies. As a boy, Bradley was in awe of me, my body, my work, he'd wanted more intimacy as a teen. Just couldn't bring myself to after Esteban called me a perv. Catholic guilt stopped me. Thought I couldn't get much harder when my boy explained how he fantasized about mutual blow jobs, with me. Described using his fingers as he imagined me penetrating him.... Nino didn't stop stroking, gripping, my cock. I couldn't move, couldn't speak for all the sensations rushing through me as Nino worked my cock watching Bradley's face. "I'm not queer." Squeaked out. "Nothing queer about you." Nino smiled, nodded, lifted my balls, applying more lube behind my legs, inching toward my hole. Fingers explored my cleft. Clenched shut hard. Nino just smiled, continued rubbing while Bradley explained how I licked and sucked him. That made me hotter, hearing how he remembered my tongue tickling his slit, my son explained how I caressed, kissed, sucked gently.... Nino leaned over and sucked my glans, stuck his tongue in my slit as my hand stroked my rigid tool. My hands went to his hair, touched his cheek, rough stubble. Nino's eyes watched mine as he licked, sucked while his finger squirmed to my hole. I froze. Uncomfortable for a few moments, then it started feeling peculiar, not painful at all. When my juice filled my shaft, it was sucked away quickly by Nino's ready lips. My body trembled, with something incredible happening inside me. "I'm not queer." Between speedy breaths. Nino closed his eyes, sucked and pushed his finger further inside me. "Tell him to stop. I'm not queer." I tried to grab Nino's wrist. Nino shoved my hand aside, pulled my erection deep into his mouth. "Lover, Dad's screaming and kicking saying he's not queer." Bradley chuckled so softly I couldn't hear him clearly for my heartbeat pounding in my brain. Nino only glanced, lifted my knees as his eyes went to my groin. When he was on his knees, I understood why Bradley said, "Not yet." Nino wasn't big. Uncut, average, narrow girth. I was about to get fucked--as a gift. "Not queer...." Too late. Nino's shaft was at my pucker, pressing hard. "Uhn." One of my son's hands was on my chest, the other at my face. "I love you, Daddy." That always melted my heart, and my butt was feeling strangely full. When was it going to hurt? Every stroke, I waited. I needed more but couldn't tell him. The in-strokes made an incredible sensation more intense. Took a deep breath trying to sort this out, but I couldn't; didn't care anymore. Grabbed my rod and began stroking with Nino, looking up into his face. For an instant, I saw his father's face, but couldn't stop; balls tightened, ready to cum. "More." "Lift your butt." Bradley whispered and grabbed my knee. Everything inside me changed. Deeper and that strange, rich feeling spread through my entire body; skin tingled, face heated. "More." Bourbon-fueled word slid from my throat. Pummeled my guts, Nino was fast, moving everything around inside me. Orgasm was closing in, pushing everything out of its way, I focused on that release; it was sneaking closer. Nino's sweat hit my chest, my face. My own juice splattered. Damn, I was cumming already, I could smell it. Almost didn't feel it hit. Kept on jerking while Nino kept rubbing inside me; cum delayed. When Bradley held my other knee and pulled it back tightly, it hit like a tidal wave, hard. Shaking, trembling, moaning Nino was pumping me empty, my whole body was hollow and filled at the same time. I kept jerking, moaning. Had to stop, and couldn't--compelled to ride this to the end, the very end--almost, almost... "Ahhhh!" Nino stopped, looked down at me. His face went blank, mouth dropped open, eyes wide. Stomach flinched a few times, then I felt it. Hot cum inside me. He moved a few times, a few more pulses, still in his orgasm till his eyes rolled back and he fell on me. Sweaty, sticky, I took a deep breath. "I'm not queer." Nino's dick slipped out into a puddle on the sheet, the feeling of being suddenly without him made me wonder. Strength and Luck Part 5 Caterers. They're too bossy. The crew came out to inspect the yard for the wedding. I called my daughters to come deal with them. They were on the same wave-length about motifs. I took all the kids to the beach. My girls helped clean the house, readying for the Saenz' visit when I got a call to expect one more. Santos was joining them. Great, but that kicked Kele to that dreadful hide-a-bed for several nights with me. As the nuptial neared, I wondered what I could possibly get for a gift. Nino and Bradley had everything. The answer came to me as I folded towels. ... The Saenz' arrived. Kele and I treated them to lunch at the Prado, a walk through the botanical garden and by the lily pond in Balboa Park. Back at the house, my daughters came to meet everyone. Dinner on the patio, enjoying the evening as the kids ran to the canyon. For those moments, life was perfect. What more could a man ask? All my kids were doing well, happy families. I had it all, I thought. ... Bachelor dinner the night before the wedding, Kele and I wore our HERO shirts. I thought bachelor parties were all-male yet we were greeted by some outlandishly sexy drag queens in very tight, scant clothing. Santos ogled, Kele was in awe. Mr. Saenz guffawed. The "entertainment" roamed the crowd making everyone look a fool, double entendres, blue jokes, silliness with fans and feathers. Bradley introduced all of us, and I had a good excuse to leave early, Kele and I were tired. Mr. Saenz stayed, Santos came with Kele and me. House was dark and quiet, Santos slipped Kele onto his bed, went to shower. When he emerged, he stood near the kitchen, "Which bed?" He wouldn't allow me to disturb Kele, but joined me on that damn fold-out couch. Mrs. Saenz was sleeping as we whispered in the dark. Discussed the Pemex station incident, "Santos, you got a lot of nerve staying cool. Bought me time to get a good shot when you tossed that bottle." "I was sure you were close by but I was terrified, thinking I was going to get hauled off. You remember the captain in El Triunfo? He moved, works outside Merida now. Kele's family sent their kids out of the area to relatives, farmers sleep in a communal house. They formed a security patrol themselves before the next cartel takes over. You gave them time to organize themselves." "Yeah? Good for them." "The captain knew about trafficking the kids, nothing he could do about it without getting killed. Told me the family wants you to make Kele a citizen, they don't want him to be deported back there. Then--get this, he says he can get you the paper you need. Kele's parents will be grateful to relinquish parental rights to Nino." "That's the only paper we need to make the kid legal." I thought, "Call him, get that paper." Santos picked up his phone in the dark and texted the captain. "I may be back in the area later. Applied to work the Otay crossing, not so hectic." "Let me know if you need a place to stay." He leaned over and kissed my cheek, "Thanks, I will." "I'm not queer." I thought, taking a deep whiff of a man next to me. Smelled good. ... Mrs. Saenz woke us up with coffee. "Levántate dormilones!" Get up sleepyheads! "Rehearsal at ten." I told Santos as I jumped up, took Kele in the shower with me and let him run through the house in his briefs while I shaved. Caterers were already at the door when my daughters pulled in. Within moments, tables surrounded the olive tree which was filled with white doves and twinkly lights, gold ribbons. White crepe paper fluttered, tables were stacked with cakes brightly decorated with every color. Nino, Bradley and Mr. Saenz pulled in at nine-thirty looking like they were out late. Just as I found a peaceful spot away from the chaos, here comes Estefan the Accuser. Older, a few more gray hairs and wearing a deep purple shirt with his collar. No need to hold any anger against him, I was in an easy mood with the festive atmosphere. Shook hands. Before long, we walked through the ceremony. Crowds began showing up, music played, chairs were in place, day was heating, excitement building. ... Nino and Bradley went in to dress, Santos and I joined them. As they combed and brushed, I handed them a small box. "These are for you." Inside a ten-peso coin on a thin gold chain and the St. Christopher's medal on another. "What's this?" Bradley inspected the coin closely, "Ten pesos?" "A crying child had these in her shoe. She slipped it on Kele before she left. Have to think these kept him safe until he found us. The note they were wrapped in read `strength and luck.' Kele fought and survived. Incredible strength and unbelievable luck with these in his shoe." I cried. Not for joy, but for that girl. My heart sent her love wherever she was. "I wish you two the same." Music started and we stepped in time toward Pastor Esteban. What a fine wedding. Kele he wore his yellow bike outfit. I held his small hand, and my daughters and their families walked alongside. "I do's" done, the party began. Merriment continued into the evening, drinking, eating, dancing. Crowd broke up as caterers began gathering their things. Nino's family took a flight out that night taking the happy couple with them. Soon, only Kele and I were left to wash a few dishes and hit the sack. Strength and Luck Part 6 Still proud, yes. Proud of changing my attitude, backing off my rigid, black and white thinking. Shades of gray expanded my family. Proud when Santos moved in; proud when Kele became a citizen. With three men helping, I was able to enjoy Kele as he became a golden-eyed teen. Kept my Sunday morning "man time" with him and now Santos. Takes a strong man to make changes, lucky to have patient people around me. Life became relaxed, easier. At some point during those years, I saw that my pride in myself was a good thing yet the pride others took in being with me was better. End Strength and Luck