Date: Fri, 5 Jun 2015 16:39:41 -0800 From: Alkex Gordon Subject: Gay / Adult Youth / Alejandro / Chap 1 of 5 This is a fictional story between an adult male and two consenting 17 year old males. The story contains sexual overtones and graphic expressions of sexual acts. This is absolutely a work of fiction. All characters in this story are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. This is my first series for Nifty – four more instalments of Alejandro will follow - and any criticism, suggestions, comments, improvements and of course heart felt appreciation can be emailed to alexgor28@gmail.com. Even if you are not all that enthralled by the following story, PLEASE take a few moments to donate to nifty.org to. You know that you like the effort that is put into giving us some fine, fun reading/fantasies and we must remember that Nifty depends on your support, even a small donation will helps and will be appreciated! * * * * * * * * * *Alejandro* Chap One Several times while visiting Mexico I had dreamed about buying a place in the sun. Not necessarily to live in year around, but a comfortable place to crash for a couple of months during the winter. The price was right: it can be much cheaper to purchase property, buy food, have maid service – even hire a young male "assistant" to service me interests - or something like that. Long story made short, finally I did it! A two bedroom built around a central open patio. Nothing extravagant, just a little oasis to retreat to – to, well, to be refreshed. What's not to like: a large back yard with a wonderful garden, a small secluded pool in the center of the patio, all this just four block from a spectacular clothing optional beach that is gay friendly. I was still working on finding the young male assistant to help with the house chores, the garden, the shower, the bedroom, and - if you haven't figured it out by now you probably wouldn't understand if I spelled it out for you. I had made two trips to my new little oasis to do some fixing up and to introduce myself to my neighbors. Now I was down for four months and the goal was to do nothing – well, do nothing except enjoy myself. The first night I made the rounds visiting the families that lived closes to me. I had brought little gifts for all their children and some of them had asked me to pick up things that were not easily obtained in Mexico. All my neighbors seemed to be nice and accepting that I had moved into the neighborhood. I had hired one the young man next door to watch my garden when I was in the states and they were my first line of defense for watching the house when I wasn't in residence, and while I was in residence for that matter. I enjoyed my time with them and planned to have another open house; inviting them all over for pot luck before I went back to the US. So I wasn't surprised when someone knocked on my door late in the afternoon on my second day. But, I was a little surprised when I opened the door. He look about fifteen, but was probably eighteen or nineteen, as you know Latinos like some Orientals can look a lot younger than they actually are. Five three, a slim, well-toned body; he was obviously used to doing physical labor. He had that Latino warm, smooth copper skin and a head of unruly black hair. He had good facial features and he might even have been fetching, had he not been so dirty; covered with dust, dressed in ill fitting, rumpled and torn cloths, his left pants leg seemed to be caked with mud. To be blunt, he was a mess. "*Tengo hambre, tiene algo a comer*." (I'm hungry, do you have something to eat.) [Obviously he spoke Spanish, I won't bore you by going bi-lingual – I have enough trouble putting down what I'm thinking in English.] My first though was, `yes I have something to eat, but --', then, luckily, I fell back on the simple fact that I was in Mexico. In Mexico, no matter who you are, you give the poor a hand when possible. "I think we could scare up something that is eatable. Come on in. If you would, take your shoes off and stack them over there with mine. Then you can wash your feet if you want. I usually wash mine when I come in, it can feel really good after walking on the dusty roads." There is a bench and a small basin with a faucet at floor level in my entry way. Most of my floors are tile with throw rugs and the roads are dusty for eight or nine months, the rest of the year they are muddy. Having everyone wash their feet is good home maintenance and it does feel good to wash your feet after a hot, dusty walk in the tropics. He slipped his car tire soled sandals off and started washing his feet while I asked him. "What should I call you?" "Juan Carlos Alejandro Santillan Borella." Came the proud auto pilot answer. "That's a powerful name. And what do your friends call you when they don't have time to remember your full title?" He looked at me to see if I was making fun of him, smiling when he realized I was not, "They call me Ale." "That's a little easier to say. Tell me Ale, what aren't you eating with your family?" "I don't have any family." "*Pues*, (sort of like "oh yea") most of us have families. The last time I checked it still takes a mom and a dad to get a ticket to ride of this planet. Even Jesus had a mom and dad – sort of." Again Alejandro gave me his inquisitive look. "Did that come out wrong? My wonderful Spanish often does not end up saying exactly what I mean to say?" "No, I understand you." He went back to washing his feet and lower legs, "Your Spanish is good." (I appreciated the compliment even as I knew it was not exactly true.) "But, I come from a small rancho. The people there don't talk like you." "Is that good or bad?" "No, I mean, it's very good. I have to think about what you're saying – I really like that. In Asencion no one says anything that makes any difference; you don't have to think to talk or to listen. I like the way you talk." He started to smile for a second then it faded as fast as it had risen. "I told you I don't have a family because my dad hates me. My mom tried to be kind to me but she has to be careful of my dad, especially when he's drinking. I'll never go back. I don't have a real family anymore." "But you have grandparents, an uncle or friends here in Puerto Bonito?" "I don't know anyone here," he looked up, "except you." Then added, "sort of." And waited for my smile, which I was glad to share. "How old are you Ale?" "Eighteen." "Which means about fifteen by the Rancho method of computing time?" Again he gave me that look, then smiled, "Yea, I'm really fifteen, but I will be sixteen in two weeks." "Maybe we can have a birthday party." Another inquisitive look followed by his first verifiable half smile. I preached a little sermon, like most sermons there was more than one meaning. "Thanks for telling me the truth. When we lie to each other it's like robbing something. It is hard to trust someone who lies to you and when we can't trust someone there's no way you can be friends. So when we lie we rob each other of the possibility of becoming real friends. Does that make any sense?" He shook his head yes. "I'm sorry." "Nothing to be sorry about. It's just something to keep in mind and you corrected yourself right away. That's as good as telling the truth, maybe better. We all fudge on the truth sometimes. Very few come back and make it right. Here you can use this towel to dry your feet. It's not real clean, but it's only for your feet. It's not like we're going to use our feet to eat." I looked at him, "Are we?" He coped a nice smile, "Maybe." "While, we'll just have to risk it and see what happens. Come on, let see if we can find something to eat that won't be too hard to handle – with our feet." God, he was easy to like and I was starting to imagine what lie beneath the dirt and rumpled clothing. We went through the patio to the kitchen which is in the back of the house and open to the back yard. "I usually eat out here it the back, it's fresher and a little cooler. There is a sink over there where you can wash your hands while I collect a few thinks. There's even a clean towel – clean hands might work better than simi-clean *patas* (paws or kids feet)." I put some cokes, fruit and sandwich makings on a tray and carried them to the outdoor table. "You have an awesome garden." "Thanks, I haven't thought of it as being awesome, but I like that idea. I enjoy puttering around out here." He was walking between the raised beds touching some of the plants and looking under the leaves of others. "Do you work with plants in Asencion?" "Yea, I like to help things grow, it makes me feel," he looked for a word, "important. I help with the animals too, but I like plants the best." "Maybe you could give me a hand; there is always something to do." Both meanings being true. Again that open look, eye asking, `what is he saying *under* what he said?' We talked while he ate three sandwiches and cleaned the tray of all edibles. He was a bright kid, or young man, this became even clearer as we talked about his life on the rancho to which he was determined not to return. He has always felt that he was different than most of the kids in his village and when he was ten he had worked out a deal with a young, visiting Jesuit priest of have new books loaned to him each month. With his reading he had created new worlds to live in, and a good vocabulary but he didn't really have an adult to share what he was learning with. He had a good friend, Javier, but Javier was more playful, not that interested in books. He told me that Javier was the only person in Asencion that he would miss. He made it clear that even if his dad wasn't a real `*pendejo*', he still would have left the rancho. He just didn't fit in. He told me this was why he liked the way I talked, I treated him like an adult and it was speaking like someone or something he read in his books; very different than the way things went down in his village. He had been in town for three day and two nights. The first night he slept in an alley where early in the morning three guys a little older than him had robbed him of everything he had brought from the rancho including all the money he had been saving for the last two years. He had put up a good fight but there had been three of them so he got worse than he gave. They tried to take even the pants he was wearing until he kneeing one of them in the balls and they both started yelling, "like two old bitch cows giving birth to full grown bulls, with horns'. Sounds a little uncomfortable. With all the commotion his attackers had ran off. Not a good first night in the city. The last two days he had tried to find work unsuccessfully and had gotten little rest because he hadn't been able to find a safe place to sleep. With his rumpled appearance there was little surprise he hadn't found work. Remembering his disheveled appearance I still wonder why I had invited him in to my home. It was very hard for me to imagine what was under the dirt, torn clothing and wrinkles, until later. When he was through eating I casually asked him where he was going to spend the night. "I don't know, but now that I've had something to eat I'll be ok." We were quiet for a while before I asked, "What are you thinking you would like to do? I mean where would you like to spend the night?" Again quiet between us until he blurted out, "I wish I could sleep here." He rushed on, "I could sleep out here behind the house, it's safe here. Then I could help you in the garden in the morning." "That's different than what I was thinking. I thought it would be better if you slept here on my back porch because you would be safe. Then maybe tomorrow you could help me a little in the garden." He smiles, "That's the same thing I said." That look again, "Are you serious?" "Having talked with you, gotten to know you a little, I couldn't let you sleep on the street. I want you to sleep here, if you want to. Sometimes I sleep out here, under a mosquito net, to catch the breeze and get some fresh air. So, if you would like –" "*‘Por cierto!*" He flashed a great smile and I thought he was going to give me a hug, but he backed off. "I really would like to stay here. I'll work all day in the garden to pay for all the food I ate and for being able to sleep here." "You owe me nothing. Your honesty and your smile leave me in your debt." I think both of us had much more to say but we humans, men especially maybe, ain't very good at expressing what we would like to say. "So," interrupting the unsaid, "I think you would be more comfortable if you had a shower. I have some shorts with a draw string and a not too large tee shirt that you can wear. They'll both be too big but ok for sleeping. Come on I'll get them and show you the shower."