Young Fénix
Rebuilding after disasters. This tale includes males of questionable lineages in intimate liaisons.
Characters
Mitch Cabin owner/business manager
McCleary Neighbor
Rojas Laborer
Mattias Laborer
Emilio Laborer
“Nob” Friend
Location: San Diego and environs
This tale is fiction, all characters and activities are solely from my imagination. (Adult content.)
Young Fénix
“9-1-1. What’s your emergency?”
“I’m at the Redrock lookout. Highway ten-seventeen, DeAngelo Forrest. There’s a fire….”
“Are you safe?”
“Yeah.... To the east, there’s smoke rising….”
“Is anyone injured?”
I’m sure his ass was still smoldering. “Ma’am, we didn’t build a fire. The smoke is about two miles away, toward Abrisco Canyon. Looks big.”
“Hold.” Phone was silent a few moments, “Forest Service notified—”
“Thanks.” I hung up, looked at the kid beside me, “What’s your name again?”
“Tomás.”
Tomás and I went back to El Cajon. As he got out, he gave me his phone number, “When you need to clear the south side of the road, I’m ready.”
“I’ll remember that, sweetheart.” Gave him a wink and he jumped out of the truck.
...
After the wildfires I got a bargain on five acres with a burnt shell of a single-wide. My plan: clear the trailer, build and rent a cabin. Trekked to Alpine every weekend with my tools.
Spent my vacation removing the charred debris. Always brought a friend. If my “friend” wasn’t in the bar, he was waiting in front of the convenience store. I knew them, they knew me and my temporary-employment benefits. Who needs the hassle of dating when I could get muscled labor and a hot body for a few extra bucks?
Second year, I supervised the construction of a two-room cabin. Metal roof and treated-wood siding, screened chimney cap for the fireplace. Cleared the area, landscaped with ice plant and rosemary. Couldn’t let my nest egg fry in the next fire.
The sweet smell of the pine needles’ decay hadn’t returned yet. Smoky odor permeated the area. Hopeful green shoots came up here and there. I figured five years would green up the area again if we didn’t have another burn.
…
Furnished the cabin by sending all the boxes to my neighbor McCleary, then hauling them to my cabin. He had a load of ancient tools, odds and ends I used to decorate, permanently affixing them to barn wood bolted to the wall. Underneath the rustic display were several items that fit well: first aid kit, fire extinguisher, sand bucket and can of bear spray.
We heard reports of bears, cougars; whatever survived human encroachment had to be tough.
…
Euphorbia, yucca, succulents I planted between the rocks around the cabin, nice gravel pathway to the returning trees and down to the hillside. Dogwood here and there. That was my third year. Still smelled smoke occasionally and all my planning and the plants were taking hold. That brought all the neighbors over to see what I’d done.
My closest neighbor was an older man who’d lived in the hills all his life. His place was about a quarter mile away across a deep arroyo. McCleary was a good guy, trustworthy, quiet--stayed to himself usually.
At work, I got a text from McCleary asking to come for dinner on Friday. Took off early. Met McCleary on his porch, hot grill filled with steak, corn in the husk, skewers of vegetables.
“Look-a here.” He took me around the back of his old house where the fire destroyed most of the trees, showed me lines staked out with string on the hillside’s gentle slope. “Got the idea from you. I’ve been using the binoculars, watching you work.”
“I went on the state website. Keep the insurance cost lower.”
“Yeah, I ordered the information,” he showed me a stack of pamphlets, “I’m going heavy with the ice plant on the slope.”
This wasn’t news, why did he invite me for dinner? We ate, watched the lights come on across the hills. Only about seven neighbors nearby—couldn’t see their places before the fire. Could now. “Gonna install a pool?” I asked to get the conversation started.
“No.” He started, “I need some help like you hire to get the terrace built and filled, gonna put a drainage system in it. Can you send over some of the guys you get?”
“Day laborers? This weekend?”
“Yeah, I think three will be enough. Get some strong men, we’ll get the walls set this weekend. Already gott the concrete and sand.”
Well, he didn’t have the right fittings for the drainage system so I made him a deal. I’d bring three guys next weekend if he had the plans drawn out clearly and all the supplies. “Where’ll they sleep?”
He hadn’t thought about that but said he’d make a place.
…
Glad for an excuse to come back the next weekend, June was hectic in the North Park equipment rental center I managed.
Stopped in El Cajon that afternoon—not many workers standing by the curb. Found three guys willing to spend two days in the hills digging and hauling. Clear-eyed with clear skin, they seemed healthy, sober.
Called McCleary, he had all his supplies, took a pic of his plans and we negotiated their pay, lodging curbside. Something odd about this troupe of workers, their Spanish was different. Found they were from Colombia. Rojas, Emilio and a friend named Matías, Matt for short.
My Spanish isn’t so great, but the three were amenable to the plans and pay. They said it was easy work.
...
At McCleary’s, the older of the workers, Rojas, shook his head. When he saw the slope and reviewed the drawings, he said the sides of the terraces would cause deep erosion. More paper came out, more drawings—this guy showed more expertise than the usual guys the way he showed how to divert heavy flows of water.
I looked up the word on my phone, “Are you an engineer?”
“Geologist. Studied mining.” Rojas carried himself straight, with confidence. He appeared to know what he was doing.
“McCleary, just hand the job over to Rojas. They’re the pros.” Had to wonder why Rojas was doing day labor, but figured he needed cash like the rest of the laborers. Remembered hearing about economic problems down there recently.
…
Went to my cabin, pulled on my shorts and began moving charred tree trunks from the roadside; saw a lot of activity over at McCleary’s.
Next day, several trucks came and went, lot of noise across the arroyo. End of the day I took a pitcher of tea and bag of ice, curious. Astonished when I saw what they’d accomplished. Bottom terrace installed, tapering neatly to the sides, drainage installed, gravel set in. McCleary was beaming as he wheelbarrowed soil to fill in behind the wall.
“Professional work. Are they going to be finished on Sunday?”
“Rojas and his son are staying over till Wednesday. The other guy, Matt, wants to get back to El Cajon.”
Had to inspect their work. Rojas and Emilio showed me around. The younger man, Emilio, explained with gestures why the terrace wasn’t straight, but in irregular curves, “Mas natural…”
Emilio had a beautiful natural curve behind his zipper as well.
Outstanding craftsmanship and Emilio was one of the most beautiful boys I’d seen in a long time. Without his billed cap and heavy work shirt, gorgeous. Slender with a square face, full lips and wide eyes, big and golden-brown. Hair wasn’t black but brown and wavy, with small, wispy curls at his hairline.
…
Wasn’t long, here came the neighbors to inspect. “Rojas, these folks aren’t going to let you leave after seeing what you’ve done.” I told him with a wink, pointing at my palm. He understood the sign for cash.
Mindy from down the road interpreted as Rojas explained the terracing. Matt looked away, stepped back. Emilio stayed quietly to the side. Odd dynamics among this group, not the usual friendly banter.
…
Sleeping arrangements were cramped at McCleary’s, I took Matt home with me, he could use the folding cot.
He stopped on the porch and sat, I asked if he wanted a beer; he nodded. Returned, and from the threshold, I saw he was counting out a huge wad of bills.. Huge—bigger around than his bicep; put a rubber band around it, tucked it into a plastic bag and stuffed it inside his backpack.
Didn’t want a startled response, I stepped back, shuffled my feet and stepped onto the porch. Matt took the beer and we had several more. From what I could gather Matt was disgruntled with the Colombian government. He had to leave though I suspected something else drove him northward. He mentioned Liberia, Costa Rica. Said the three were robbed there and had to flee on foot. Odd he had all that cash after being robbed.
“Walked across Central America?” I asked, pointing at my feet, “Nicaragua, Guatemala, Honduras?”
He nodded, “Salvador—no. Belize—no. Costa Rica, Nicaragua, Guatemala, Mexico, yes. Thirty-seven days.” Gestured with his fingers that they’d walked, then added the sign for thumbing a ride.
“How long have you been here?”
“Estados Unidos? Three days.” He held up three fingers.
“Where are you going?”
“Los Angeles, much work.”
“Emilio and Rojas, your family?”
He looked to the side, shook his head and uttered a few curse words I recognized.
…
Matt finished working the weekend, and I took him back into town on Monday morning. I let him off near the freeway, that’s what he wanted.
Glad to get rid of him, something didn’t set right about his story.
…
Every weekend I was at the cabin I stopped to visit with McCleary to get the news.
Someone let Rojas and Emilio borrow a truck with a camper on the back in exchange for laying a patio. Rojas and Matt went from one house to the next working small jobs. Rojas found himself a small crew of local laborers he used to work on the bigger projects that summer. His English improved and rebuilding sped forward.
Emilio was more outgoing, smiled when he saw me. Everyone knew them, and in our ways, the Alpine citizens protected them from deportation—they were a great team, treated well.
…
That fall, Rojas and Emilio moved closer to town, supervising installation of sprinkler systems, and repairs. Parked near the hardware store, stayed to themselves when they weren’t contracting more work. I got Rojas’ cell phone number and found out he stayed every Thursday and Friday with McCleary--their days off.
...
Called Rojas on a Wednesday, told them I was coming up on Friday, “Stopping at the butchershop. Get McCleary, Emilio and we’ll feast on Friday night.”
“Would you mind if we parked the camper at your place a while? McCleary’s always finding another job for us.” We worked out our plans and I took off Thursday before a long weekend.
...
From the road, I saw their camper didn’t see them. They’d found a shady spot to park near the edge of several pines.
Turned the engine off and rolled down the drive to the cabin silently. No one around, noticed motion in the camper. Why were Rojas and Emilio in the camper? I told them where the key was, they were welcome to use the shower and the kitchen, sit out back in the shade.
Put my bags on the porch. Walked near the camper, music played, voices spoke softly, the motion continued. “Popi, Popi, mas….”
Sounded like a hot fuck going on. Rhythmic sway to the camper, grunts; I stepped closer. Faint mewling, skin slapping skin; I boned, balls tingled. Closed my eyes and imagined hovering over the kid, balls-deep and shooting off. The smell of teen cum wafting… licking it.
This was not my concern, I sighed, hauled the groceries inside. Sat outback cooling off when I heard them come to shower. They showered together, soft words as the water ran. Rojas came looking for me as a naked Emilio ran back to the camper, “He forgot his clothes.” Rojas chuckled, smiling.
“We got wood for the grill?” I smiled, thinking of what they’d been doing.
“Plenty.” He began telling me about installing several more terraces and constructing sheds from kits. Said he found good work in the area, thanked me again.
“Seen Matt lately?” I asked.
That stopped him cold; serious look on his face, “He’s back?”
“Thought you two were related.” Offered him a beer, poked around for information.
“I’ll be glad if I never saw him again. He’s another Colombian, but no relation.”
Emilio came around the corner in jeans he’d cut off and a tee shirt in his hand. “Hey, I got sodas, bring the chips.”
…
We built the fire up, waved at McCleary across the canyon and soon the smell of rubbed pork roast filled the air, potatoes and onions roasted in the coals. Music played and we started a card game as the sun set. Interesting conversation, Rojas said he was applying for citizenship.
After McCleary went home, we continued the conversation:
Rojas said he might need to find a sponsor for Emilio.
“Apply together, he’s your son, right?”
Conversation stopped abruptly. I hit a nerve; after a few moments I told him I’d consider sponsoring Emilio, but only if the kid got back in school. “Might have to stay with me for a while to get his paperwork in order.”
Rojas said he’d think about it. Got a feeling he wasn’t letting the boy get any further than a few feet from him, so I suggested a local charity that helped with citizenship.
…
Stayed awake all night wondering about Matt, Rojas and that gorgeous Emilio. Didn’t detect any trafficking. Remembering Matt’s big wad of bills—how’d he get that much crossing Mexico? None had tattoos or any indication of gang activity, and no drug use I saw. Then I got the feeling that none of these three were related at all--the friction was between Rojas and Matt. Emilio was roped into their conflict somehow.
Couldn’t figure it out, but I scrapped around my office at work and found an old laptop, ordered a learning program on CD and took it to Emilio the next weekend. “English classes. Tell me what you were studying in your last math classes?”
“Algebra. Geometry.” I could get a workbook.
Rojas watched closely, nodding from beside the boy. “Thank you, thank you very much. Emilio is a bright boy.”
The next week I took him a set of watercolors, brushes and paper, and a kazoo. Basic education needs met.
Emilio asked if I could find him a bike. I did. Yeah, I’m a sucker for a good-looking boy. Rojas kept an eye on me, though. No flirting allowed as we adjusted the seat.
…
Dry and hot in the summer; winters get a few days of rain, and temperatures are cool, not cold. Woulda loved to have had Emilio keep my feet warm, but he was still in the camper with Rojas.
Holidays came, I planned to invite Rojas and Emilio to have a nice dinner. Bought cookies and a gallon of cider.
McCleary told me they left. Saved their cash, bought the camper, finished their work and thanked him. They left saying they’d be back later. No other info.
Surprising turn of events. Surprising that I saw Matt among the workers standing on the corner in El Cajon. I went around the block to avoid him seeing my truck.
…
Next spring, the cabin looked great in the morning mist, comfortable and inviting. Took photos, posted them online, checked the costs for comparable units. Got a few bookings, not many. Needed something glitzier, something to draw the renters who wanted a more enticing getaway location
Hedges around an inflatable hot tub, turfed path--McCleary came to supervise with a six pack of Tecate and a bag of limes. Yeah, he had to check out the hot tub himself and was a happy camper telling me Rojas and Emilio would return soon. .
Anchor-bolted two iron rings over the headboard of the bed for the discriminating renter who knew what they were about. Hammock. Wifi was easy to install. Ceiling fan, firepit out back with Adirondack chairs. Blew the bucks on those upgrades and they drew more bookings.
I needed more word of mouth advertising.
...
Rojas came back with Emilio the next July. Didn’t say anything, seemed like he got eyebrows shaped and a little nippy-tucky around his face—shiny pink scars half-hidden his sideburns.
Both said their paperwork was in order, showed Arizona ID and green cards. Noted Emilio’s ID said he was nineteen years old. Emilio looked younger, no beard, narrow shoulders… confusing.
There was something else: where’d they get the money to shove their citizenship through the system so fast? Seemed like it would take tens of thousands, but what did I know?
…
Wrangled a fully-clothed photo of Emilio by the hot tub. That stirred more interest when I posted it in the local gay paper.
Pride weekend coming up, I printed out business cards with a photo of the cabin and all the info, “10% Pride Discount.” Still paying for the upgrades and the cabin but more than that, I was hoping to find myself a date--not a day-labor lay. I held a good job, had a cabin in the woods, employed, maybe my luck would change.
Business, I knew. Transactions I knew, and I wondered if I could overcome my apprehension and shoot a direct hit at a hunk. If I sensed a rebuff coming, I’d hand him a discount card and say I’d up the discount if the guy was really into “wildlife.”
Tacky ploy, but I’m not a jock or an Adonnis--just a plain vanilla queer man. Not bad looking but on the edge of homely--an inhibiting condition. Couldn’t find it in me to be flashy and loud, I was reserved in my socializing after being burned enough times to know I didn’t belong with the pretty boys. Easily forgettable, too easy; that’s me.
Have to up my game any way I can--10% discount was a start..
…
Pride Parade was full-blown chaos: crowded sidewalks, crazy costumes, all kinds of gear. Balloons, kids--streets were packed and it lasted hours. Looking for small groups of men, I slipped beside them and got the same response as I handed them a card, smiled and gave them a short sales pitch. They stared at me, then my shorts and turned away.
Shoulda worn a third sock.
....
Came across a cluster of transgendered folks, cross-dressers, I wasn’t sure it was a mixed crew. Handed out several discount cards. A tall blonde in a red dress asked about the cabin, where exactly it was. She knew about the fires and asked me about what I’d done to the cabin. We chatted. Alongside her was a serious-looking “fatherly” type with a flattop wearing a short sleeve, plaid, polyester shirt and khakis. Drab by comparison. We had a nice conversation about Alpine and the area and she penciled a few notes on the card. .
I was relieved to find polite conversation after all the snubs I’d received so far. Asked them both to Hillcrest, “Cold beer?”
Didn’t have the guts to ask, and didn’t have the vocabulary but it seemed like the six-foot blonde was a male, though dressed and presented as a woman. This man in the flattop was her father? Lover? She called him Nob. Hadn’t expected this, but Nob and all were comfortable, atmosphere was festive.
Sun went down, partying continued. Crowds began going from bar to bar. The three of us joined in. Took pics of them with dozens of friends. Nob and Blondie seemed to be very well known..
Around midnight I found myself at a table full of revelers. Music blared and I was half-snockered. I couldn't remember where I parked my car till I found the transit slip in my shirt pocket; couldn’t remember taking the bus.
Suddenly, pressure on my thighs, darkness in front of my face. Someone on my lap?
“Thanks, popi.” Whispered into my ear, face nuzzled into my neck and a slender, cool arm wrapped my shoulders. Couldn’t see much, but it felt good, smelled flowery, sweet.
“Thank you for what?” Right hand grabbed him, left hand checked for a package. Small but there under some kind of strapping.
He giggled, “My English.”
Leaned back, “Emilio?”
“Shhh. Tonight I’m Emmie.”
“Are you alright? Where are you staying?” He stood, pulled me up and took me to the dance floor. In a shiny blue sheath and a short, straight bob wig, Emilio appeared almost Asian. He continued whispering as we stepped slowly, grinding our groins.
“I stay with the trannies--they hide me.”
“From who? Matt?”
“No, Rojas. He’s so possessive--I can’t have any fun. Makes me haul bricks, ruined my nails.”
“He’s your dad, supposed to lead you in the right direction.”
“Matt’s my first dad.” He whispered.
“First dad?” More baffled than before, but that beautiful boy was in my arms. “Stay over?”
…
Hornier than the brass section at the San Diego Symphony in the cab. “Slow down and go around the block again.” Spent quite a bit on the two mile ride home.
Later, the boy got my best shot. Not sure if it was sweat or tears falling from my face as I slipped my ecstatic rod easily into him. Dreams came true. Tight, hot, gorgeous boy with too many eyelashes and reddened lips looked up at me and grabbed his cock. A few minutes later, I blew--froze feeling the surges of cum. Brain was spinning, pumping my entire load inside him. He smiled, pulled me to him and kissed me.
Since I wasn’t at my peak performance, I had to lay back and take more of his sweet torture.
...
Next morning was better after aspirin and breakfast. The kid called me his “miel,” his honey. Never had a pet name before. He asked why I was single, I had a cute butt.
“Just too plain.”
He roared with laughter, “Too plain? Only the superficial guys, the vain men are plain. So repetitive, one is just like the other. You’re mi miel.”
Had to take him back to bed and stayed there till past lunch. Slim, thighs, defined, tight glutes, narrow shoulders. Strangely, I found he was a tender boy, affectionate and loving.
“You showed me your ID from Arizona, said you were nineteen....”
“I was fourteen.” He kissed my nose to distract me, tried to pull away.
“Tell me, is Matt really your dad? Who is Rojas?”
“They’re both pimps--we’re not related.” He told me of his leaving Medellin, “It got too dangerous to stay. I went to Cartagena. Hungry all the time, I had to find work quick but all the jobs were taken. People fought for sweeping jobs… nothing left in Cartagena now. I met Matt working the curbs--at first, we both tricked to get the money for passage. Then, we worked through a hook-up site.
“That’s how we met Rojas--he threatened Matt and took our savings. My easiest way to get here was to tell them both they could sell me on the side while they picked up work.” He hesitated, “Both got greedy and fought over every peso. I told them we needed to leave, not stay and fight over the almost worthless money.”
“You know Matt had a huge roll of cash….”
“Rojas paid him off after McCleary paid for the terracing--bought me to get rid of him for good. Matt rolled the other laborers for their cash, lots of guys looking for him.”
His tale went on about crossing Central America, that part was true. Emilio didn’t seem concerned about the stigma or legality of anything, just getting out of Colombia for good.
“How did you get away from Rojas and get here?”
“Remember that bear spray--under the tools? Rojas kept sending me to McCleary to blow the old man and a few of the other neighbors. I worked two jobs and no pay. Packed a few things, waited for Rojas to come in the camper. After I sprayed him I ran to the highway. Hitched a ride to North Park. Found a gay bar and waited outside for a regular-looking guy to ask for help without getting hassled. He took me to the drag bar. Found the trannies and I’ve been hiding with them. They dress me, tell me I’m a pretty girl.”
“You are.”
Young Fénix
Epilogue
Bookings picked up at the cabin, and I was able to pay it off and use the equity for a small house in La Mesa, between work and Alpine. Then I had to sweat through a community meeting with the trannies to pry Emilio from their safe haven. Very possessive about their “Emmie.”
Nob was confused about being ditched at the bar but relieved that Emilio was safe. He came through like a champ to help the boy. Together, we got Emilio back in school and on the path to legal citizenship. All went well for two years when Emilio graduated, he wanted to go to Los Angeles, become a spa-starlet.
By this time, I’d recognized a streak of spontaneity in the boy. When he changed his mind, he immediately acted on his new ideas. Hard to keep him focused, impossible to get him to plan further than the next weekend. When I hit a wall with Emilio I called Nob. Being retired Navy, he didn’t mind screaming orders and laying the guilt, I mean he smeared it all over the kid’s conscience, otherwise he doted on the boy.
This was happening in my home, strangely. Couldn’t kick them out, I had an informal commitment to Emilio yet he was more hard headed by the day. Came to the point I was calling Nob daily.
Nob moved in on weekends at first, and I noticed “Top Care” brand clutter growing in the bathroom that stayed during the week.
...
Came home to find Emilio tied and gagged on the floor one afternoon, I almost blew my stack. “What’s going on?”
“He’s going to apologize and pay me back!” Nob wore a stern expression, eyes flashed, lips twitched. His face was scarlet.
Emilio hadn’t had much guidance in the past, he made stupid mistkes but tying the kid? “How much did he take?”
“Two hundred in cash and my gift card for Ruth’s Chris, that’s another hundred.” Nob had a fierce look, I knew he’d accept no excuses or cash from me. “Punishment! Your boy just asked for a good, hard spanking.” Nob went to the kitchen and brought back a spatula. “Hold him down. This boy’s going to learn a lesson.”
Emilio was trying to holler but Nob was louder--gave him a hellacious dressing-down about gratitude, respect plus the fact that any crime could land him back in Colombia. The retired Recruit Commander lifted the spatula to redden Emilio’s butt. Emilio’s eyes were wide, then squinched shut, readying himself.
“Nob! Stop it! You’re acting like--like my mother!” My mother ruled with the switch.
“Your mother?” Insulted and inflamed, he stepped toward me with the spatula lifted, his hand reached out. I dodged but he landed several swats on my thigh, buttocks as I ran to the patio. Kinda excited me, poor Emilio got five, square and solid on his butt.
Detecting a grin, Nob gave him five more.
...
Wasn’t allowed to untie Emilio. Nob checked his watch, “He’s thinking about his criminality and the repercussions of deportation.” We ate dinner with Emilio watching. I was upset; Nob remained cool, glancing at the boy and showing he was still holding the spatula.
Finished with our meal, Nob got in front of Emilio, with a bowl of ice cream. “Want some? Sorry, inmates don’t get dessert. Their only delight is shoving their toes into their crusty socks every morning, people stealing everything, getting cursed and shoved around all day. Makes this punishment seem like absolute heaven.” He sang a ditty about boys in jail come out to fart silently. “But no one would want you around, gonna have problems in the future with a trail of hard time behind you.” The spatula waved in front of Emilio’s face again.
After dinner, I went through my email and checked for bookings, avoiding inciting further fiasco. Emilio was still tied, quiet as Nob took him to the shower. No yelling, only soft murmurs from the bath behind the running water.
They both came to bed with me after another chat in the kitchen.
“Nob, I believe Emilio had few choices earlier in life--it may have altered his decision-making skills. I’d prefer we consider counseling.” That came from my human resource training.
“Jesus, Mitch. I had to get his attention or he’s going to get worse. I already apologized for my anger but not for the lesson.” Nob’s storm had passed, Emilio’s fit of desperation and fear dissipated when Nob told him she would always have his back and a place for the kid.
...
When Emilio snuggled up to Nob and me, it suddenly struck me. Two men in my bed? Two men in my bed at the same time? Couldn’t think of how to ask until my inner-salesman stepped forward. “We need to seal the pact that Emilio’s walking the straight and narrow.”
Emilio laughed, grabbed my tumescence, “Am I on the straight and narrow?’”
I think that’s what he said and we slipped into the most incredible and the first orgy of my life. One, then the other; side, back, front, I was a limp, sweaty mess when I called my assistant manager saying I wouldn't be in the next day while Nob moaned behind me.
Spent the rest of the night trying to calculate the distance between studs in the wall behind the bed--might have to install some hooks or iron rings. My butt was still warm and tingly where I got those swats; felt good.
...
Couldn’t stop Nob from dressing like retired navy and he was handsome, in a vintage sort of way. Wide shoulders, flat abs, big smile and that mercurial temperament.
Nob had “anger issues.” Fixed that quickly--when his anger rose over trivialities, I grabbed my keys, “Have to go police the cabin, Commander or should I get the spatula for you?” That cooled his anger and heated his libido.
...
After a few years, Emilio became a citizen, enlisted in the navy with a friend. Sad, him leaving, good that he would travel the world. Looking back, Nob and I had worn the hustle out of him, neutralized his desperate thoughts and set him on the path to a bright future.
Nob and I stayed together. I’d never know the deep currents that moved inside him that brought his anger. Maybe I’d eliminated the need for the rages. They didn’t happen often; our companionship was rich. Kept renting the cabin and bought McCleary’s place when he left and installed a small pool for ourselves and Emilio, his friends.
...
Fledgling when he began, Emilio rose from the ashes of a failing nation. Again and again, he’d survived to take wing, to survive. When things were tough in my life, I imagined my dark-haired Phoenix, my Fénix--my Emilio. So small, so young to migrate so far, I imagined him taking a deep breath and heading upward into the unknown, and finally to me.
End
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Young Fénix