Date: Wed, 21 Aug 2019 03:25:31 +0000 From: destabilizer15 Subject: "Young Lovers," Chapter 38 Chapter 38 I'd never been much good at photography. From the time as a kid when my Disneyland photos were all out of focus or cluttered and uninteresting I'd suspected that, whatever the knack was, I didn't have it. I remember my friend showing me some of the pictures he'd taken in just his first semester of high school photography. I concluded right then that, unlike him, I had no knack for knowing what would make a good photo or how to compose one. However, I was to learn at Young Lovers that, up until my time on the island, I'd just lacked the proper motivation. Once I'd been on the island awhile I'd begun to send dispatches back to my editor, but they were all text only, because I knew my photo skills were terrible. At first he had seemed satisfied, but soon he had suggested they might benefit from some visual illustration. His suggestions became less delicate as time wore on. I seem to remember his most recent words were, "Send me some fucking pictures or video or this story is going nowhere. Don't be such a stubborn prick." Or something equally tactful. So, late the next afternoon, I decided to set out with my trusty cell phone to attempt some photography. The daily rain had passed and the warm air felt fresh and less humid than usual. As I walked I reflected a bit on the time I'd spent that morning with Parker. Despite the obvious appeal of a nine inch erection right next to me as I awoke, he and I hadn't begun our morning with anything sexual. We mostly just had a good talk, punctuated by a sweet shower in which we had both washed each other tenderly. I was pleased that he felt good about starting school. He had been surprised -- almost shocked -- at how nice everyone was to him. "That never happened to me before," he said, looking slightly baffled. "And my teachers seem good too, sorta." "When I was a kid I remember the nice kids were always the girls," I replied. "The boys were either assholes or just into themselves and their video games and stuff. But here there aren't any girls." "Girls weren't -- well, really they weren't that nice to me either, there was this one girl, Sandra, only she wanted everybody to call her SONdra, like she was all rich or something, and she sat behind me one year, it was fifth grade, or wait, maybe sixth, yeah, sixth, and whenever I would, like give the teacher an answer out loud or something she'd always give this little mean laugh and her and this other girl next to her, Morgan, they would say mean things about me, pretending to whisper, only I could hear, and I think they wanted me to hear them, and they would call me names too, she would call me `Porker,' even though I wasn't fat, well, maybe a little bit chubby, I didn't get my growth spurt yet, but not--" Suddenly Parker noticed my frown, and stopped, mid-word, looking like a startled deer. "Am I here, Parker?" He stared at me, eyes wide. "When you go on and on like that I feel like I'm not here! Like you don't notice me, you're just in your own world! Do you think your guests are gonna like that?" "Um, no . . . " There followed brief lesson from me on the rudiments of making conversation. Parker soaked it all in while continuing to look shocked and embarrassed, as if horrified to realize how much he had being doing wrong, and that everyone had known but he. I knew I had to finish on a positive note. "So back to how nice everyone was. I was thinking maybe it's not because they're always such nice guys -- maybe it's that you've changed. Maybe you don't come across as a a guy to make fun of or pick on any more. Right?" "Well, I dunno, maybe." "Sure! In the first place you have a great body, cool clothes, fantastic hair, and nobody remembers you from the days when you didn't. Plus, you're more self-confident, I'm sure -- I mean, I've noticed that you already act more confident in just a few short days compared to how you were at the airport last week. That's what good sex will do for a guy!" "Really? I -- I don't get how sex -- I mean, what does that have to do with it?" "When a guy starts having sex it does something to him. He knows he looks good, knows people want him, want to fuck him, want him to fuck them -- it changes him! He walks different, he smiles different, he talks to people different. It's like he knows he's got that power -- think of it as, you could say, the power of the snake!" "The snake?" "Yeah, the snake!" I cried, suddenly thrusting my hand into the crotch of his jeans and gripping the bulge there. I drew my face close to him, grinning broadly. Embarrassment, pride, amusement, and uncertainty chased each other over his open, expressive face. Finally he gave a crooked, awkward smile. I leaned in and gave him a tender kiss, while giving his cock a little squeeze. "So you got any plans today?" I asked, breaking the kiss. "It's Saturday, so no school, you know." "Yeah. I'm s'posed to meet with this guy Marco. He's gonna talk to me about, you know, being a, um . . . " "A fuckboy?" Parker blushed. "Um, yeah." "What time?" "He said nine." "Well you better get going -- it's ten to nine and you're only half dressed, your hair's a mess, you haven't brushed your teeth . . .!" "Oh, yikes," Parker exclaimed, bolting away from me and rushing into the bathroom. "Bye, Parker!" I called on my way out to breakfast, shaking my head. Now, several hours later, I was on my way to the gym, where, since It was a Saturday, I knew I could find plenty of sweaty, titillating flesh on display. I figured that our readers would go for that all right, no matter how bad my photo skills were. Sure enough, there must have been forty boys milling about, and the room was filled with the sounds of banging weights, loud shouts, and the particularly hair-curling vulgarity that teenage boys seem to specialize in. Perhaps it was a requirement of Gino's, or maybe just the natural exhibitionism of boys who want to show off their bodies, but every kid in the room seemed to be wearing as little clothing a possible. The sweat-shiny backs, flexing biceps, and knotting bellies all around me certainly suggested I'd have no trouble at all illustrating my next installment with some photos which would please the eye of our readership. (Even the self-righteous, "gay sex should only be for adults" crowd, though of course they'd never admit they looked.) Scanning the room I recognized Jack and Rondol, Bryon's buddy Omar, and Nilai, the Sri Lankan-American hottie in Cu's poker group. But my eye was caught by a solitary boy on a weight bench near me. Long, flat torso, long, flexing legs, long, thin arms. Though he was probably about my height he looked even taller because he was so slim. He had a pleasant small-featured face, now tense and determined as he lifted, with floppy dark brown hair and thick black glasses. Judging from the complete absence of facial hair and how small the sweaty tufts of hair under his arms were I pegged him at a tall fifteen. I was later surprised to find he was a few months shy of his eighteenth birthday. Butch really was a miracle worker. The boy made another upward push of the weights, teeth clenched and eyes closed, his back arched and his hips thrusting upward in short, tight gym trunks -- he was hot as hell. I instantly imagined him thrusting those hips up at me, only nude and with an erection, searching for my hand, my mouth, my cock . . . I had to have him. "Hi there," I called, approaching him as he finished his set. The boy slowly sat up on the bench and peered at me. "Hi." He didn't smile or seem particularly pleased to see me. "Can I take your picture? You're really hot." I gave him my best smile as I held up my phone. He ran his hand quickly through his hair. "Um -- what for? Who are you?" "I'm a journalist here to do a story on Young Lovers." I held out my hand. He slipped a long-fingered hand into mine for a second and grasped it rather limply. "Mike," I offered. "Zach." "So can I?" "I guess so. Should I smile?" "Well, maybe for one quick one." I peered through the lens and his serious expression suddenly transformed with a beaming smile. He sat up straight, posing. As I checked the photo I'd just taken it looked very much like that -- posed. "Mainly I think I need something more natural. Why don't you just continue your workout and let me work around you? Just pretend I'm not here." "Okay," he said faintly, the smile disappearing. He lay down again on the bench. He began lifting again, and I knelt and took a couple of pics to get his abs as they tensed, and the little bulge in his shorts as he lifted his hips slightly. I moved to get a better angle and snapped his long, sexy legs as they flexed. I drew close and took one that showed his small biceps knotting, the veins on his forearms standing out, the sweat-matted armpit hair. I took closeups of his face as he concentrated, gasping slightly with each lift. I must have shot at least three dozen photos. The boy stopped, lifted up on one elbow and then, as if I weren't there, stuck a hand down the front of his trunks and scratched himself. Then he looked up at me, and there was a question in his face. "Hey, do that again," I urged, raising the camera. "What?" "You know, scratch your balls." I thought he might express surprise at my request, or give a self-conscious giggle, but it was almost as if he'd expected it. He lay back down on the bench, closed his eyes, and began sliding his hand slowly down his long abdomen. He slipped just his fingertips into his shorts and left them there. I snapped the photo, and he slid them down a little more and stopped again. "Oh, that is hot!" I cried, snapping him first at a little distance and then from just a couple feet away. The boy licked his lips and plunged all the way inside his shorts, dragging them down enough to expose an inch of pubic hair. "Oh, man!" I exclaimed, still clicking. "You've got a knack for this!" Keeping his hand down his shorts the boy twisted a bit on the bench, arched a little, eyes squeezed shut, simulating masturbatory pleasure. He licked his thin red lips, then bit his lower lip as he worked his hand around inside his shorts. Who was this kid? I continued clicking. "Hey Zach," I finally said. The boy opened his eyes and looked at me. "Have you ever modeled before?" He shook his head. "I thought about it though." He gave a knowing little look, as if we shared a secret. His hand moved slowly inside his shorts. "I think you're a total natural in front of a camera. I'd like to get a few more shots of you, maybe in another setting. What do you think -- are you up for some doing some more posing for me? Maybe outside?" A hesitant smile stole over the boy's face. "Sounds good." He gazed at me then, and there was something I couldn't read in his face. A short time later we had located a private spot where the main lawn sloped slightly upward toward the wall of jungle at the rear of the resort. The dense green might be a perfect backdrop, I thought. There were two benches there, set at angles to each other. "OK Zach, why don't you lie down on one of those benches. That's it. Now let's imagine a little scene. Let's say you're alone, stretching out, catching some sun. You're thinking about your lover, who's far away. And let's say that, as the sun warms your body you start feeling horny for him. Or would it be her?" He looked at me blankly. "Him." There was something in his voice I couldn't quite place. The wisp of an emotion. I wasn't surprised that Zach said "him." The boy wasn't exactly effeminate but there was a suggestion of something graceful, perhaps girlish in he way he moved. "Cool. So you're alone on the bench, lost in your fantasy. OK?" The boy gave solemn little nod. He poked his glasses up higher on his nose, and I realized with a start that part of what made him incredibly sexy to me was the contrast between his dorky schoolboy glasses and his lean, sweaty, nearly nude body . "Now just take what I said and do what would come naturally, and I'll see what I can grab with my camera. Remember, I'm not here." The boy lay down on his back, one leg drawn up, and closed his eyes. As I clicked the camera on my phone he slowly slipped his fingertips over one small nipple and rubbed it gently, his long agile fingers moving tantalizingly. His lips parted. He gracefully drew his hand down over his long belly, flat as the deck of a boat, then caressingly upward, then down again. He slipped his hand over the front of his shorts, and began moving his fingers very slowly, very slightly, over what he found there. I clicked my phone every few seconds, as it seemed every moment caught a subtly different pose, a slightly different angle. Over and over he massaged, gripping a little more firmly now. He gave a soft gasp and for the first time hunched his hips up into his hand. I caught a great picture of him as he twisted just a bit, arched his head back erotically, and flicked his tongue over his lips. For the first time I could see a definite erection grasped suddenly, tightly, almost desperately between his thumb and fingers. He hissed between his teeth, swallowed, twisted again, and slowly caressed his cloth-covered organ with a long index finger as he gripped it. The boy continued slowly masturbating for another couple of minutes and then, just as I was about to suggest a different pose, he seemed to read my mind. The boy eased off the bench, stood up and faced me-- tall, elegantly slender -- and then bent backward, stretching his thin, sinewy arms above his head, eyes closed, easing his erection-packed shorts at the camera in invitation. My God. I took more photos as he obligingly held still. Then he turned and knelt on the bench with his back to me and began caressing his ass through his shorts. His head was thrown back, his butt jutted out, and he moved his long-fingered hand around and around over his ass. His movements were slow and languorous. Either this boy had watched a lot of porn or he just had a natural eroticism about him. Or maybe both. He hooked one thumb in the waistband of his tight shorts and drew them and his underwear down a few inches, exposing the top of one asscheek. He caressed his butt inside his shorts, then shoved them down farther, so one whole cheek was exposed. His slowly caressing fingers kneaded his flesh gently. I was frankly amazed at this kid's natural feel for titillation. Now the shorts were almost completely off him. His butt was rather flat, not perky like I prefer, but it was nice and small, and as he slowly hunched it back and forth he drew a long middle finger up and down the crack of his ass. I kept snapping photos but was less and able to concentrate on focus and camera angle, so caught up was I in wanting it to be my fingers, my tongue, my cock caressing that lean body. Still on his knees, head rolled back, he shoved his shorts all the way to his knees. He rubbed both hands slowly over his light brown cheeks. He continued to languorously hunch his hips back and forth, simulating slow, hot sex. Then he gripped both cheeks, his finger tips in his crack, and pulled his ass open, then closed, then open. God I wanted him. Finally I couldn't take it anymore. My phone forgotten, I stood behind him. I could smell the scent of sunlight on his bare skin. "Zach, can I touch you?" I asked quietly, so as not to startle him. He turned his head and looked at me solemnly. Up close I could see something -- almost a melancholy -- hidden in his face. "Are you sure?" He held my gaze. Why did he say that? "I don't know what you mean. You're very hot, so yeah, I'm sure!" "Won't it sort of mess it up? The photography?" "I don't exactly see what you're getting at, but I've got a million pictures of you already." "You're not . . . " he looked down uncomfortably. "It's OK, Zach. Spit it out." "Well, no offense or anything, but you're not really, like, my type." "Ah." "I mean, you're handsome and stuff, but -- I don't know . . . " "Hey, I get it, man!" I patted his shoulder. "People make sex too complicated. If you're hot, you're hot, and if you're not, you're not, right? No need to justify it! I mean, you probably get sick of having to do stuff with guests that don't turn you on, especially if you're not even in the mood, so why would you let somebody feel on you when you're not into it and he's not even paying for it? It's cool." He smiled thinly. "Thanks." He pulled his shorts back up and turned and sat. The hyper-erotic mood had passed. He was now just a boy on a bench. I'd broken the spell. "Can we just talk then?" I asked, sitting next to him, keeping a little distance. He looked at me, sadness now plain in his face. "OK." He didn't sound enthusiastic. "I can be a good person to talk to as well as have sex with," I said, trying out a smile I hoped was reassuring. He just looked at me. I decided to take the plunge. I made my voice as tender as I could. "I see something in your face, Zach. I think it's sadness, maybe. Or loneliness." This stunned him, his mouth gave a bitter little twist, and I could tell he was suddenly about to cry. I reached out and caressed his neck. That did it. He made a little choking noise, turned his body away from me, and began sobbing silently. After a second he drew his long legs up so he was curled into a ball on his end of the bench. A wave of pity washed over me. He had pulled away as if he wanted to be alone in his grief, but it's not my style to sit by while someone needs comforting, even if he denies his own need for it. As unobtrusively as I could I scooted toward him and placed an arm gently over this shaking shoulders. Then I began gently caressing his neck and massaging his shoulders. He ignored me but didn't pull away, so I kept it up. I caressed his soft hair a bit. After a minute of this I scooted even closer and then very gently pulled him to me. He resisted for a second but then suddenly collapsed against me and began sobbing more loudly, his shoulders really shaking. "Whatever it is, just let it out, baby," I murmured in his ear. "That's it . . . yeah." The boy cried for a couple of minutes. I continued to hold him gently, occasionally caressing his neck or fondling his hair. Eventually his sobs subsided. I tucked my phone in my pocket, stood and took one of his hands. "Come with me." He looked up at me, his eyes red, his cheeks wet. "Let's go somewhere and talk," I suggested softly. After a moment he said, in a low, clear voice, "OK." There was a spot I had heard about just a little ways into the jungle. I had never been there but, leading Zach by the hand, I easily found the path near the back of the weight room where it led into the trees and out of sight. I had heard a couple of boys refer to "the fuck meadow," and Johnny had told me how to get there when I'd asked him and Joon about it. It was apparently a little open area in the forest where boys sometimes took their guests -- or each other, I gathered -- for a little al fresco sex. I figured if it was private enough for sex it would do for an intimate conversation as well. And if sex with Zach happened to happen -- well, one did have to let nature take its course, after all! It didn't take long to find it. The path twisted and turned and then suddenly, there it was. The "fuck meadow" was hardly a meadow -- more a little clearing less than twenty feet wide, a kind of bower, but it felt very sheltered and private because you had to push your way through a screen of lianas and giant palm fronds to enter it. The jungle floor was fairly level there and, with the exception of a couple of thick roots, the space was mostly carpeted with grasses, their somewhat smashed state attesting to the frequency of visitors to the spot. "Have you been here before?" I asked the boy as we entered the clearing. "Once." He didn't sound enthusiastic. "Getting fucked?" "Yeah," he answered softly. "We're here to talk, not fuck," I said firmly, eying him meaningfully. I found a soft-looking spot and sat. Zach seated himself on a lumpy root. I looked at him. He looked at me, then dropped his eyes. "So what is it, Zach?" I made my voice soft and tender -- which was actually how I was feeling, in spite of the erection pushing against my shorts. The boy was silent, staring into space. I was about to speak again when he said, in a small voice, "They're kicking me out." "Huh? Who -- what do you mean?" "They don't want me anymore." "Young Lovers? They're, like, firing you or something?" "I don't know," he said, suddenly emphatic, gesturing with disgust. "Maybe they're just bluffing. I don't know. I'm just -- I'm sick of it." His face was sour, hurt, angry. "Tell me about it. I want to hear all about it." The boy gazed at me a moment, then picked up a little stick and began poking the ground aimlessly with it. I waited. Finally, I said, "I can't believe they wouldn't want someone as hot as you. What did you do? Did you cuss out a guest or something? Get in a fight with kids in your dorm?" "I didn't do anything!" he whined. It was obvious he wasn't telling the truth. "You know, I don't want to sound like I'm not sympathetic, but I've gotten to know Marco and Evan pretty well in the weeks I've been here. They don't seem like the type to--" "You don't know!" he suddenly shouted at me. He rose to his feet. "Shit, you're not gonna believe me either! Shit! You're all against me!" With that the boy turned on his heel and stomped out of the clearing. I was stunned by this sudden vehemence, but fortunately had the presence of mind to act. I jumped up, ran after him and grabbed him with both hands after he'd only taken dozen or so steps. He tried to jerk away but I held him fast. He turned and glowered at me. "Let me go!" "No." He struggled harder. "LET ME GO!" I held his skinny body easily. "Not until you tell me what's really going on!" He tried to glare, tried to intimidate me with his frown, but I could tell his heart wasn't really in it. Suddenly his tense shoulders dropped, the anger drained from his face, and he dropped his head. "All right, I give up," he murmured, a bit melodramatically, I thought. "Come here," I ordered, and walked him back to the clearing, my hand gripping one lean bicep. "Sit here," I ordered. "On the ground?" he protested. "Yes. A little dirt won't hurt your cute butt. On the ground." Zach seated himself with distaste on the grass in front of the root where he'd been sitting. I sat down so that he was facing away from me. "You didn't want me to touch you before, but I'm gonna touch you now. Close your eyes and keep your shoulders relaxed." With that I pulled him backward between my knees and began to massage his shoulders. As soon as I dug my thumbs firmly into his warm flesh he gave a soft sigh, and I could feel his resistance melt almost immediately. For several minutes I worked on his neck, shoulders and upper back in silence, slowly kneading, stroking and caressing. Though Zach was slim his muscles were firm and springy. When I made my hands into claws and began massaging his scalp he groaned and leaned back farther, almost into my lap. Surprised, I pulled him against me. "Atta boy, " I whispered. "Just relax completely. Be good to yourself. You deserve it. I can tell you're a good boy, Zach." A few seconds later he was crying again, his shoulders shaking. I never stopped massaging him. Eventually he was still. After another minute I stopped and slid my hands down his chest. I brought them together over his heart and rested them there. "I want to know your story, but not if it's too upsetting to you. I'm not about making people feel bad. I'm happy just making you feel relaxed and cared for a little bit. We can talk a little or a lot or not at all. It's cool." We sat in silence. I could feel his heartbeat under my palm, light and quick. His body felt relaxed, but obviously he was still stirred up. I stroked as soothingly as I could down his belly, up over his ribs, across his chest, and down again. I gently kneaded the muscles of his upper arms. I worked his shoulders a little more. "OK, I wanna talk," he finally said in his soft voice. I slid down off the knobby root to sit on the grass next to him. "And I want to listen," I replied. "No judgments, no criticism, OK?" The boy turned to me. His face suddenly looked exhausted. "They told me they want me to leave because I didn't want to do it with -- some guests." "Mmm. One or two guys weren't your type?" "Well, it was -- more than that." "Hmm. Has it been awhile since you -- you know." "Yeah. I haven't done it with a guest in -- awhile." "Really." He nodded. "And they're mad about it," I offered. "Well, not mad. They're trying to be all calm about it. But I can tell they don't like me. It's the way he talks to me. Marco, I mean. 'Well, Zach, I guess you want to pick all your own guests yourself!' And, `You know, Zach, maybe you should start your own boylove business where you can call all the shots.' So sarcastic." I resisted the urge to point out the obvious, that sex with men was the deal he had agreed to at some point. Instead I said, "You sound very frustrated." "I am!" he exclaimed, staring at me in distress. "So . . . tell me this. When did it all start?" Zach found another stick to fiddle with, scratching it repeatedly against his bare knee. I watched him silently until he was about to draw blood. Then I clapped my hand over his and stopped him. "Don't," I said. "Why not!?!" he demanded, his face suddenly twisted with unrecognizable emotion. "Because . . ." I replied, "because you're too beautiful to ruin." He gave half sigh, half sob and threw the stick onto the ground. I put my arm over his shoulders, caressed his hair a bit, and waited. "It's been about two months," he finally said. "Two months?" "Two months, three weeks, and two days." "That sounds pretty specific. Something happened two months, three weeks and two days ago?" He nodded, his face awash in pain, his words caught in his throat. He could only say, "Yeah." I waited. "Todd left." His voice sounded dead. "Todd?" "Yeah." A long silence. "The guy I was . . . seeing." Ah, I thought to myself. I took a chance. "The guy you're in love with." Zach's body went rigid then, his eyes squeezed shut, and he inhaled through his teeth. "YES!" he hissed. "Yes, yes, yes! And they don't care!" "My God, Zach, no wonder! No wonder you don't want to do it with anyone else! Todd is -- your man, huh? You belong to him! Don't you?" The boy looked at me, relief and wonder in his face. "Yes! That's right! I can't -- I just can't make myself do it with anybody else! Not guests, even if they're cute! Not guys in my dorm! Nobody!" The full extent of Zach's grief was just now hitting me. "And on top of the thing with Young Lovers, you've lost -- the man you love!" The boy wilted into my shoulder and began sobbing. "Oh, Zach, baby, that's so hard, I know." I gripped his shoulders firmly while caressing his hair with my other hand. As he wept the boy grabbed me with his free arm and hugged me to himself. "You been crying a lot lately, haven't you?" I whispered after a minute. The boy nodded vigorously, sniffed, choked, and raised his head to look at me. Tears streaked his cheeks. "So, tell me about . . . Todd," I said gently. Zack wiped his nose with the back of his hand. "He's -- he's handsome, he's sweet to me, he's mature, like somebody's dad, so confident, so . . . " The boy was overcome with sobs again. After a minute, caressing him again, I asked, "How long did you guys know each other?" "Ohhh, man . . ." the boy's voice quavered. "OK, it wasn't that long. He was here for just a week at first. We were together every day, every hour, almost. I never even went to class -- I totally forgot about school. And then, cuz he was so crazy about me, that's what he said, he wanted to be with me longer. So then he extended another week. It was the best two weeks of my life. I wanted it to last forever. Then he had to go. But . . ." he looked at me pleadingly, as if I could say something to confirm his heartfelt hope, "he said he'd come back." "Mmmm," I stroked his neck, looking deep into his eyes, wanting him to feel my understanding, my heart. "He's gonna come back as soon as he gets the money together, he wants to take me with him, to go live with him. And everybody says he won't, they say he was -- he was using me for like a fling, like somebody to just hit and quit. But," he sniffed and wiped his nose again, "I know he'll come back for me. He -- he loves me, I can tell!" Zach's face was so open and vulnerable now, his big grey eyes so wracked with hope and trust and, yes, fear too, it just broke my heart. I knew what it was to have someone leave who you loved more than life itself. I knew what it was to try to convince yourself he was coming back. And, yes, I knew what probably lay ahead of Zach, because I had gone through it myself. The long days waiting, days empty of life and meaning because the one who had made life worth living wasn't there. The constant email searches, the quick phone checks, always hoping, always disappointed. Lying in bed at night trying to think hopeful thoughts before falling asleep, trying not to worry, trying not to fear the worst. And then, as days turn into weeks and weeks into months, waking up slowly, painfully, to the hard cold truth. He isn't coming back. And then the even harder truth. He really doesn't love me after all. Oh yes, Zach, I know about it all, all right. I know what you're going through. And I know something you're too young and innocent to know. He's not coming back. They never do. All these thoughts rushed through me as I allowed my eyes to fall into his. I didn't try to stop the tears that began to trickle down my own cheeks. I didn't say anything to try to stop his tears from flowing either. Finally, wordlessly, I allowed my forehead to fall forward and gently press against his in sympathy, in wordless alignment of my old, old grief with his own. ************************************** It was hours later and Zach and I were still together in the clearing. We had talked and talked. There had been more tears, more secrets shared -- mine as well as his -- and even a brief chuckle or two. Finally we were both talked out. We lay side by side, his head on my shoulder now, looking up at a nearly full moon peeking through the jungle canopy. It seemed completely natural, after all he had shared with me, all he had entrusted me with, that a boy I had not known at all a few hours before seemed to be completely comfortable lying in such a casually intimate position. "You'll be OK, you know," I finally said softly. "Eventually." Zach said nothing. I stroked his forearm with my fingertips. "I know it's hard. But you don't want to get kicked out. If you do, how will he find you? I mean, what a terrible irony -- he comes back for you but you're the one who's gone now." He pulled up onto an elbow and looked at me. "You've gotta cooperate," I continued. "You've gotta do it -- for Todd." The moonlight showed me confusion, then resignation chasing themselves over his face. An urge hit me. Would it work? Had something shifted inside him after all his tears, all his words? I reached up and caressed his head. As I scratched his scalp his eyes slowly closed. I spoke in a whisper. "That thing you said earlier. About me not being your type. That was bullshit, wasn't it? That was just how you kept me away from you." His eyes fell into mine. He nodded slowly. I licked my lips. "Kiss me, Zach." He was motionless for a long moment. Then, slowly, he lowered his face to mine. I closed my eyes and felt the soft brush of his lips against my own. I looked up at him. "Again." He swallowed. "I don't know if I -- can do this." I raised myself up then, gently grabbed his shoulders, and slowly pushed him downward onto his back. Very deliberately I removed his glasses, folded them, and placed them on the grass as far away from us as I could reach. Then I leaned over him and carefully brought my lips to his. As I nibbled gently I let my hand begin to caress his belly, his chest, his shoulders. I toyed with one nipple, just as he had done earlier to himself. I felt relief and gladness as he began nibbling back, responding to me. I kissed him more firmly then, eased my chest onto his, and slowly slid my hand over his ribs and down onto his hip. Then, after a pause to let him get used to what I was doing, I tucked my hand under his butt and, kissing him harder, gripped his ass aggressively, feeling the little muscle tense as I squeezed it. Suddenly he gave a groan, his arm went around me and gripped me hard, and his body pressed against me. "Oh God," he gasped, suddenly kissing me wildly. It was as if something inside him had finally let go. I held his hips against mine, continuing to kiss him, continuing to knead his clenching, hunching ass. "Yeah, baby," I murmured in his ear, nibbling, kissing, sucking back as urgently as he. For a couple of minutes we both went like a house afire, but I wasn't content with just kissing him, however passionately. I wanted more, and I was betting he did too, whether he knew it or not. I slid my hand up to the small of his back, then back down inside his gym shorts, and drove my index finger into the crack of his ass. As he gave a little gurgling noise I found his tight pucker and pressed. "Oh, God," he gasped again, his ass clenching tight against my finger. "It's been so long, hasn't it?" I whispered, beginning to rhythmically press and then release and press again. Zach gave a soft little moan. I could feel the rigidity and heat of his erection against my hip. I withdrew my hand then, brought it around between his legs, and gripped his organ firmly. "Mmmm," I murmured, trapping his cloth-covered penis between my thumb and the second knuckle of my index finger and, firmly pressing up and down his cock, stroked him over and over. "Oh!" he cried, writhing at the unexpected pleasure. "It's time, baby. You deserve this," I murmured softly in his ear. Rising to my knees I tucked a thumb into each soft groin and drew his shorts down over his erection. In the dim light I could just make out a nice 7-incher, slender just like the rest of him, rising from its dark nest. With no further preliminaries I bent and began vigorously licking and swirling my tongue over the glans. Zach gasped and thrust his hips up to me. Inwardly smiling with delight I determined to give this boy a blowjob that would make up for all his weeks of abstinence. For several minutes as he writhed and gasped I sucked and kissed and squeezed and slobbered, using every trick I had ever learned to give him pleasure. Part way through I stopped and slid upward so I could whisper in his ear. Remembering what an exhibitionist he seemed to be, I murmured. "You're so hot Zach. Your cock is so beautiful. Just feel my admiration for you." The boy's eyes were closed -- all he seemed to be able to do in response was moan. Chuckling to myself I slid back downward to continue my ministrations, nibbling his nipples and gnawing his belly as I did so. The head of his cock was somewhat smaller than the shaft, and so as I worked it was easy to swallow him more and more deeply. Before long I was deep throating him all the way. The boy began bucking his hips and grabbed me urgently, his fingers digging into my shoulders. I held his surging hip bones, my thumb in the velvety little hollows above his groin. Suddenly his cock seemed to lengthen and I knew he was right there. Quickly I drew off him and gave his cock a little squeeze, to hold him off just a bit. I felt a drop of pre-cum drool over my knuckle. "What do you want, Zach?" I cried, caressing his little balls. "I'll give you whatever you want!" "Just - ah - just suck me!" he cried, writhing in my hands, eyes closed, teeth gritted. With that I clamped my lips around his cock, sucked with every bit of force I could muster, and thrust my mouth down into his groin once, twice, three times -- and that was enough. Before I could draw my mouth upward from his wiry pubic nest he jammed his hand against the back of my head and held me down. Realizing this was it I struggled to squirm my tongue against the side of his hot shaft, trying to give him every last bit of pleasure. "Ah!" he gasped softly. "Ah!" His ass jerked straight off the ground, slamming up against my face, and I could tell he was starting to cum. Though I would have loved to taste his cum this was what he needed, and I realized, as he surged against me again and again, gasping with each thrust, that I was happy to let him fill my guts with his juice. Finally his hips dropped back to earth. Slowly I drew my lips up his cock, and, clamping my lips behind his cockhead and then squeezing extra-hard against his glans as I withdrew I was able to press a last big drop of cum out of his cock. I savored its thickness as I slowly swirled it around in my mouth and then swallowed it. I slid upward to lie next to him and kissed him gently on the cheek as he lay peacefully, eyes closed, recovering. I allowed my hand to slide to his crotch and find his sweaty balls and caress them very gently. After a couple of minutes he turned and looked at me. It was a little too dark to read his expression. I waited. He turned and stared up at the night sky. "Did you promise him you'd save yourself for him?" I whispered. He turned to me again. "No." "Did he ask you to?" "No." "Then you know what I think? I think that if he really loves you he wouldn't want you to sacrifice this pleasure. I think he'd want you to enjoy something as natural and healthy as sex." Zach looked away again. After a moment I asked, "Do you love him less now?" The boy turned to me quickly. "No!" There was emotion in his voice. "I just -- I mean, this was all I had to give him! He, he spent all that money to stay with me, and I couldn't give him anything back! I thought --" He choked up. "You thought that it would be more special if you had sex only with him! I know, I get it! I used to think that way too!" This last was a lie, but I went with it for Zach. "But the truth is," I continued, "the gift you gave him wasn't exclusive sex! It's you he cares about -- YOU are the gift! The sex will be just as special the next time you're with him, even if you do it with a bunch more people between now and then! It will be just as special for him because it will be YOU he's doing it with!" The boy stared up into the night sky again. "I still don't know if I can go back to, you know . . . doing it with guests." "No? You did it with me." "Well, with you it was different. You're -- so nice to me and stuff. Guests aren't always that nice." "Plus I'm, like, incredibly hot." I could just make out the boy's small smile. "And you, um --" he began. "I what?" "Well, you did what I like best. How did you know?" "Sucking you, you mean?" The boy nodded. "It was the way you enjoyed showing off for the camera. It told me you like being admired. Well, what's the closest thing to that in sex? It's being sucked, right? I mean, I was admiring your cock every minute -- how big it is, how firm, how hot . . . " "Hm." He digested this. "Most guests want to fuck me," he eventually said. "I don't really like that." "Wait a minute. Isn't that a big part of your job?" "I let them do it, I'm not saying that. But it doesn't feel that good. I'm just, I don't know, really small or something. The only time I really liked it was with -- was when Todd did it. He's so gentle and so patient, and . . . " Zach began to choke up again. I caressed his cheek and gave him a little kiss. He took a deep breath and let it out. I waited. He finally turned to me. "I want to go back now. I need to -- think about all this." His voice was firm. "Of course. It shouldn't be what I say that decides whether you're going to start having sex with guests again. You have to decide that on your own." I patted his arm reassuringly. Then I offered, "If you want to have sex again I'm in the cabin that's right next to the path that goes down to the beach. Come by anytime." His eyes searched mine. "I probably won't." "I figured, but I thought I'd offer. If you just want to talk that's OK too. If I really try I can keep my hands off you . . . it'll be hard, though!" I grinned. Even in the dim light I could make it out. For the first time since that first picture I'd taken of him he gave me a big smile, and in that moment I realized that he was going to be all right.