Ganymede

First Boy

PART II
ESCAPE

New characters: Juan (10yo), Michael (adult)

11. Amarillo Airport

I put the airline's in-flight magazine back in the seat pouch in front of me. I had memorized all that I could of the layout of the Amarillo airport and there was another matter that I had to attend to before we landed. It was not a large airport, but I had to be prepared to move quickly when we landed. Ever cautious when it came to Shelley, I fastened both our seat belts tightly. It was hardly rational. If there was a bomb set to explode as we descended, seat belts would not save us. I counted off the seconds, tried to determine the rate of descent, cleared my mind of extraneous detail, not that it would be much help until we were safe on the ground. If there was a bomb, it would go off soon. It would have been set to go off at an altitude that would result in the greatest possible damage to the aircraft. It was only to be expected that they would want to prevent reconstruction. Some things never changed.

Shelley slumped in his seat, as gloomy as I had ever seen him. He had good reason to be scared. I was scared as well. For the moment there was little that I could do to comfort him. Anything that I might have said would have unsettled him further. He would immediately detect the stress in my voice. Yet, even while I tried not to worry, I continued to listen to the cell-phone. What I heard was hardly reassuring, but there was a possibility that I might overhear something important. Every few seconds I spoke into the phone to convince Shelley that I was talking to someone about the sudden change in plans. I would have to make that phone later on.

"This is Bravo-Alpha Flight Four-One-Three on approach for an emergency landing at Amarillo. We've just cleared 12,000 feet. We're coming to new course, 210 degrees, on final approach."

"That's A-okay Bravo-Alpha Four-One-Three. We have you cleared on Runway One. All other traffic is on a holding pattern. I repeat, that's Runway One. It's northwest of the main terminal. It's all yours. You should have visual now?"

"We do, Tower. It looks real good from up here."

"How's the engine manifold doing, Bravo-Alpha-Four-thirteen?"

"It seems to holding up for the moment. We're a bit worried about the effect of altitude. The change in pressure might make it blow any time."

I smiled at Shelley. Twelve thousand feet was probably fairly safe. What mattered now was getting on the ground as quickly as possible.

I switched off the cell-phone and put it down. I had a few minutes left until the plane landed and a lot remained to be done. I started by getting out the small multi-purpose tool from the inside pocket of my jacket. It was standard CIA field-issue, and it had saved my life on one other occasion. In addition to various implements found on most Swiss Army knives, it contained two well-concealed thin flexible blades that could be used to pick almost any lock.

Two years ago, I had discovered that the small Phillips screwdriver was just the right size for the screws in the back of a cell-phone. I placed the tray table in the down position to provide a work surface. Then, I opened the cell phone I had taken from the CIA-Secret Service agent in Cincinnati. I wondered whether Wilderstein suspected what I would do with it. It was unlikely. He was not a field agent so he very well might fall for a ruse that most agents would anticipate. With a modicum of luck, I could buy some valuable time. With the screws and rear cover removed from the Nokia, I examined the electronics.

I was hardly an expert, but I recognized what had been done. The Russians were very good. They had transposed the circuit board of a Motorola StarTAC, added the tape recording mechanism from a Sony micro cassette recorder, and folded an unidentified yet complex flexible circuit board into the remaining space. I made a mental note to check the contents of the used cassette tape when I was by myself. I had a good idea what was on it. Quickly, I transcribed the code that identified the cell phone onto a napkin.

Shelley watched, slightly bemused, not understanding what I was doing, but fascinated as any boy would be by electronics. I heard the dull rumble from underneath as the pilot began to prepare the aircraft for landing. My StarTAC phone had been frequently modified and I almost knew how to do it blindfolded. First, undo the four screws behind the battery pack, remove the plastic cover, write out the code again, reset the pins to the other code. I put the back on, then did the next set of pins. I smiled. With luck, my telephone would lead Wilderstein on a merry chase for a few hours. I looked up, glimpsing the roofs of some factories or warehouses below. It would not be much longer before we were safe on the ground.

"How are you doing, Babe?" I asked gently.

Shelley started. He looked up quickly. He shrugged, trying to appear unperturbed by the situation. Finally, he gave in and blinked. There were tears gathering in his eyes.

"I'm scared, Rick."

"I was too, for a while. I was trying to decide whether it was worse to sit here and poop in my pants, or risk getting out of my seat and going to the toilet."

"Very funny, Rick. Only I'm not amused," he replied icily.

"I think it's okay now," I said calmly. "We'll be on the ground in a few minutes. Listen, you can hear the plane getting ready to land."

The whirring sound from flaps or wheels did not help very much. Shelley glanced back over his shoulder at the empty seats behind us. There was just the two of us.

"God, please, I don't want to die," he prayed aloud.

I held his hand in mine. His fingers were thin, delicate, slightly clammy. He was scared. There had been a time when he had wanted to die. He told me about it one afternoon when we were walking along the beach. He had contemplated it for most of the night, but he had been thinking about how to do it for much longer. He had even gotten hold of her hand gun on a few occasions. This time was different. I heard it his voice when he talked. He hated his life, hated what he was doing with Ronald, yet he still went back to him at night. For a minute he had held the gun to his temple with his finger on the trigger. His life had been that bad. Just knowing how close he had come, made me very sad. No boy deserved to be so distraught that he had to consider death as the only way to escape. Could I ever make that time up to him?

"We'll be okay," I whispered. "I love you, Shelley. I want you to remember that, whatever happens. I'll always be here for you."

"I know. I love you too, Rick."

I smiled, thinking how wonderful it was to hear the last five words. The brown leather briefcase was still unopened. I needed to search it to make sure that Wilderstein had not included a tracking device. It was unlikely because it was too obvious. I placed it on my knees. It was heavy, but that was only to be expected given what it was supposed to contain. I unlatched the catches and opened the lid. It was full. I lifted out the thick gray envelop that Wilderstein had told me would be there. For a moment I weighed it in my hand. Shelley had paid a steep price for what was inside it. This envelop was his future. I unfastened the metal clasp at the top and slid the contents out. There were two plastic bags inside. I opened the first one and inspected the contents.

"What's all that stuff?" Shelley enquired.

"Well," I began. I lifted up the first one. "This is the birth certificate of a boy called Shelley James Lawlor." Shelley grinned. "Born March 17, 1989."

"That's me," Shelley claimed, still grinning from ear to ear.

"No! I would never have guessed you were only ten years old," I mocked. I moved the form to the side. "And this one is an adoption decree."

"What's that?"

"It's sort of an ownership certificate," I answered.

I felt an overwhelming sense of pride. Wilderstein had gotten a judge out of his bed as soon as he had heard what had happened in Cincinnati. My respect for him went up slightly. At least he met his part of the deal.

"Ownership of what?"

"Well…" I paused teasingly. "It says that Shelley James Lawlor was officially adopted by Richard Scott Barrett. It was signed by Judge Daniel Webster at 3.00 am on May 5, 1999. Hey, that's today! You belong to me now, so you had better do what I say from now on."

Shelley laughed and nodded gleefully. "Uh huh! I'll do anything and everything you want from now on."

"So you've been my son now for almost a whole day." I breathed out. The relief was overwhelming. I felt an enormous burden had been lifted from my shoulders. "Actually, seventeen hours to be precise. Hi son!"

"Hi Dad." Shelley beamed.

He held out his hand and we shook. Later on we would celebrate in a very different way. For now, we were both perfectly happy to make a game out of it.

There were other forms and letters in the pile as well. Shelley's school records for one thing. He had been a C student for years. The most recent grade report showed he was getting A's and B's and he could do even better than that if he put his mind to it. I knew who was responsible for the improvement. I was. All he needed was love and affection and he would perform at a level that matched his intelligence.

There were also a few photographs, including one that was very familiar to me. It was the first photograph of him that I saw. Perhaps I had fallen in love with him even then, more than two weeks before I had even met him. He stood next to a beat-up girl's bicycle. He wore tight-fitting clothes that had obviously been selected to show of his body, a white tee-shirt and black spandex shorts that reached to his knees. It was obvious that he had an erection. It was a stubby little thing, a crease in the front of his shorts.

"What else is there?" Shelley asked impatiently.

"Hm…" I mused.

The last document was a collection of perhaps twenty or thirty pages that were secured in the side with a metal prong. I felt a cold chill. This was Shelley's case history, prepared by Child Protective Services. It was surprising thin for a file that should have covered six years of a boy's life in the 'system'. I would read it later, when Shelley was not around. I pushed it to the side.

"What was that?"

"Just some other stuff from your school," I lied.

"I didn't get into that much trouble," Shelley said adamantly.

"Well, schools have to keep all sorts of records. There's probably stuff in here about the time you scraped your knee in the playground," I explained feebly.

To change the subject, I opened the other plastic bag and extracted a sheaf of papers. These were the 'identity papers', prepared by the CIA. There was another birth certificate for Shelley, only this time his name was Alan Jeffrey Burke with a birthday in the middle of December. My name was David Alan Burke, age 41. There were credit cards, a driver's license, and a passport for me, including stamps for a regular visits to Mexico. That was typical of Wilderstein. Alan's school records were typical of an average student who kept out of trouble. The papers were worth keeping, if only as an emergency resource. Beyond that, I had no use for them.

"Well?" Shelley persisted. "What's that stuff?"

"Papers for a new life," I explained.

"What's that?" he added as he pointed at a small plastic bag that contained a sheaf of papers.

"That's what we call pocket litter in the spy business. It's the kind of junk you'd find in a person's pockets. It'll be very useful if we get searched for any reason. You don't need it until you need it, and then you can't do without it."

"So who are we now?"

"We're supposed to become the Burkes when we get off the plane."

"You mean if we get off the plane," Shelley commented dryly.

I smiled reassuringly. "It's okay, Babe. Take a look out the window. We'll safe be on the ground in a minute or two."

Another minute. It passed very slowly. Second by second. As I replaced the papers in the briefcase and examined it for any tampering that might indicate it had been fitted with a location transmitter, we listened to the change in engine sounds, pitch, tone, increasing vibration. A glance past Shelley showed that touch down was imminent. I held my breath. I always did that when I waited for the tell tale sounds of tires hitting the tarmac. The angle of the concrete runway narrowed. Only a few seconds remained. I placed my hand on Shelley's slim thigh. He smiled, that nervous little smile of his. His eyes fluttered. He was still scared, but then, so was I. Still holding the cell phone to my ear, I listened to the remote conversation in the cockpit. The chatter between the co-pilot and the control tower was reassuring as I heard Gate 12 as the plane's destination. It was off to the side, away from other gates.

I suppressed a smile. Obviously, there were some hidden meanings in the pilot's information, words like 'engine manifold' that they used to provide information that a bomb might be on board. There would be a ground crew ready to go to work the instant the plane stopped moving.

The wheels touched, shrieking as rubber met concrete. The plane lurched, came down solidly. The engines roared, screaming in the almost impossible effort to slow the plane down. I began to get ready.

"When we get to the gate, I want you to move quickly," I instructed. "Do exactly what I tell you to do." I paused. "And do it as fast as you can. Don't worry about me."

"Okay. Why?" Shelley asked. "The bomb?"

I could hear the waver of fear in his voice. I did not want to scare him further, but I also needed him to know that he had to be prepared for an emergency. I shook my head.

"I think they'll get to it in time, Shel." It was good to be able to use his real name again. "My real worry is that there will be some one to meet us."

"I don't get it? We were supposed to land at Albuquerque, Rick."

"Now that you've been officially adopted, don't you think it's time you started calling me 'Dad'?" I suggested boldly.

Shelley grinned and used his hand to push his hair back from his forehead. "Except dads don't jack their sons off at thirty thousand feet."

"That's true. But I'm a very special kind of dad," I grinned back at him. I reached over and ruffled his hair. "No matter what, just remember that I love you."

"I know, Rick, Dad. I love you too, Dad," he added, obviously pleased with himself as he tried the new word.

"I don't understand though. Why would they be here when we were supposed to land at Albuquerque?"

"Good question. They'll scramble when they heard the plane was being re-routed, that's for sure. Now the good news is that I don't think the CIA has many people in Amarillo, and it's too far to bring in agents from Dallas. The chances are there'll only be one or two. They'll probably ask the Airport Police to hold us until they arrive."

"So we're safe, Rick?"

"Not yet. Here's what's going to happen." When I had studied the in-flight magazine I had plotted an escape route. "If they follow standard procedure, they'll open the door the second the plane stops. Follow me up there when I start moving. There may be someone waiting there, but more than likely they'll be in the terminal. Just keep moving as fast as you can. If I stop, you keep going no matter what."

"Okay."

"If I am not with you, don't run unless someone is after you. If there are Airport cops waiting for us, I'll take care of them. I want you to walk as fast as you can. Follow the signs all the way to the exit. There's a parking garage right outside the terminal. Go into it and go right. Go all the way to the back. Back, right-hand corner, got that?" Shelley nodded. "Get down between two cars. Lie down and keep out of sight. I'll find you there."

"Otherwise I'm to stay right behind you?" Shelley asked.

"You got it. Don't stop for anyone. If some one tries to get a hold of you, I want you to cry 'pervert'. Something like that. Whatever it takes. Tell them to take their hand off your dick and leave you alone. Then get out of there. Don't stop for any one!"

"Except you. You can always put your hands on me," Shelley smirked.

"Shel, it isn't funny."

I gave him a look that got his immediate attention. His smile vanished. I gave him the 'once-over'. His blue jeans were innocuous enough. His New York Mets jacket was emblazoned with No. '69'. It was as sexy as anything I had ever seen him wear, but it was a 'dead giveaway'. Underneath he was wearing a tight white tee-shirt.

"Take your jacket off and leave it here. You won't be needing it. Let's get moving."

The plane was still moving, creeping along towards the terminal as we unbuckled and began to move towards the front exit. The hostess was already there. She was visibly frightened. Her hands kept touching the door release, ready to spring it open as soon as the plane was in position. She glared at us. Shelley pressed up behind me, seeking my protection. It could only be a few more yards.

The hostess began to turn the levers. Then suddenly, she shoved outward and the door swung open. She bolted through the doorway first. I was close behind her, running as fast as I could. With a glance over my shoulder I confirmed that Shelley was running with me. Up the ramp, easily passing the hostess, slowing as we came through the doorway into the terminal building. There were two Airport Police waiting there. Grey-green uniforms, hands by their sides, one suddenly reaching for his sidearm in a neat leather holster next to his brightly shining handcuffs. He buckled as my foot slammed into his soft belly. It took another round-house kick to bring him down. I turned, responding to instinct, my senses heightened by adrenaline. The other man panicked and began to back away. Still spinning, my backward kick caught him in the knee. It also threw me off balance. I stumbled, regained my composure, and launched another kick into his other knee to bring him down. I heard his leg crack. I started running again, aware of people moving away, of Shelley pounding just a few feet behind me.

We careened down a corridor and slowed down only when we reached the main terminal concourse. I stopped to get my bearings. The exit was to the right. To the left the concourse led back to the other gates. For a moment I considered getting out of there as quickly as possible. At that time in the day, it should have been relatively easy to find a taxi or hotel limousine. Then, I thought about taking another flight, destination unknown. Pay cash for the tickets. A one-hour flight. It would take that long for them to check the passenger manifests. In crisis mode, there was safety in last-moment changes in plan. This time, I kept to my original plan.

We headed to the left, walking at a leisurely pace towards the lounge areas. My heart was settling down. Shelley was still skittish as his body continued to feel the effect of the stress of the last ten minutes. The first few stores were food stores. Then, a gift shop. My sigh of relief was audible when I saw what was inside. I led Shelley over to the clothing racks.

"What are we in here for?" Shelley asked. "Are we hiding?"

"Hardly. Don't you want a memento of Amarillo?" I whispered in his ear.

"No! I want to get the hell away from here."

I grinned and picked out a bright red shiny nylon jacket emblazoned with 'Amarillo Rattlers', size 10-12. I held it up to Shelley to check the size.

"Try this on. I bet its close to the right size for you," I said cheerfully as I handed it to him.

While Shelley tried it on, I picked out another one in blue. Blue was 'his color' because it matched his eyes. Red would draw more attention to him. This time I wanted him to be noticed, if not identified. I placed the blue jacket back on its hanger. Instead, I picked out a blue tee-shirt. It was a men's small size. It would be gigantic on his compact body. It was also emblazoned with the 'Rattlers' logo. He also needed a cap to cover his hair. I ambled over the counter, then stopped, my attention riveted to the headlines of the late-edition newspaper. I began to read. By the time I had finished the first paragraph, Shelley had confirmed what I already knew about the jacket. We were ready to pay. Sixty-four dollars and change and we were on our way again. There was no need to buy the paper. The story was yet another example of government dis-information and lies to the American public.

"Now what?" Shelley asked as we started walking along the concourse.

"Now we find a bathroom," I answered and added in a somewhat quieter voice, "I'm dying to clean up my pants."

Shelley grinned. It was good to see him happy again. He was beginning to relax. The men's bathroom was on the opposite side of the concourse. I led the way inside and made a cursory inspection as we moved along the line of stalls. I placed my cell phone on the ledge above the wash basins. It was where a business man in a hurry might leave a phone by accident if he was in a hurry to catch a flight. With luck, it would be stolen. With even more luck it would soon be taken on another flight, perhaps to somewhere like Mexico City, or Honolulu.

The cubicle on the far end was for handicapped access. A quick glance over my shoulder confirmed that we were alone.

"Inside, Shel!" I ordered brusquely.

I closed the door behind us, turned the latch, let out a deep breath, smiled at Shelley.

"So how do you like the cloak and dagger stuff. Do you think you want to be a spy when you grow up?"

Shelley shrugged. "Who wants to grow up?" He smiled shyly. "Now you're my dad, I want to stay a kid forever."

I winced at that. It was too close to the truth. I leaned forward, leaned down, placed my hand behind his head. I kissed him, ever so slightly, barely touching him. It took a moment for him to respond. His lips pressed forward, instinctively seeking, suddenly hungry. Against reason, I gave into desire. We kissed urgently, passion that had been restrained for too long bursting out of us. I felt his tongue slip between my lips. I literally sucked him in, pulling on that slippery wriggly eel of flesh until there was nothing more to come. He spluttered around my lips, laughing despite the seriousness of our situation. It was time that I started making up for the last few days. Finally, breathless, we parted, looking long and hard at each other.

"God, I want to have sex so bad," Shelley whispered. "I need you in me, Rick."

"Rick?"

"Okay, Dad then… But it sounds really weird saying that. Like you're my father and you're going to fuck me?"

"I bet it happens more often than people imagine," I replied.

Shelley grinned. "Well, if I was your real son, I'd want to, that's for sure."

"Same here, so I figure it happens fairly lot."

"We could… you know… mess around in here," Shelley suggested. He licked his lips in anticipation.

"In here?" I teased. "What if someone comes in? Do you want to get me arrested?"

"I guess not."

I grinned at him. "How about this, then?" I whispered as I leaned forward and pushed him back against the tiled wall.

My hand cupped his compact groin, feeling for that special small treasure that lay between a young boy's legs. There was not a lot that I could feel through his jeans, but it felt good to be touching him. Shelley breathed in deeply, held it, slowly let it out in a longing sigh. He did not need to say anything. The faint smile on his face was enough. I squeezed carefully, closing and relaxing my fingers rhythmically, until his smile widened and threatened to become a healthy grin.

"I love you," he whispered. "I love you so much it hurts inside. I was so scared in the plane those last few minutes."

"I'm sorry I ignored you," I said quietly. "I had work to do."

"I saw you. What you were doing with the cell phones?"

"I was doing was changing over the codes. Wilderstein, that's the man who was in the plane when we came on-board, I think he might be dumb enough to try to track us, so I swapped the codes just in case."

"Then when we were running, and you said I had to keep going no matter what happened to you, and I didn't want to lose you, and I was so afraid, Rick. Sorry, Dad!" Shelley shook his head. "It's going to take some getting used to. It's not like I'm pretending any more."

"That's okay. Anyway, you're safe now," I said gently. "The next thing is to change your appearance, Shel. We can't have you going around the Texas Panhandle looking like a boy-whore, now can we?"

He shrugged. The fact was that he was beginning to enjoy the frequent admiring looks that we had both noticed since he had started wearing Wilderstein's clothes. But even before that, both men and women had looked at him. Not every man, of course, but enough of them to suggest that there were far more potential boy lovers than American society was prepared to admit.

"How can you change the way I look?"

"Well, for one thing, you can wear the tee-shirt and jacket we just bought. Let's start by getting your clothes off."

"Everything?" Shelley asked with a teasing smirk. "If you want me naked, Dad, you only have to say so."

I was able to hold my laughter to a minimum. "I wish," I finally managed.

He hurriedly removed his skin-tight tee-shirt. He grinned up at me, aware that my eyes were fully absorbed. My gaze lingered, relishing his smooth unblemished body. Half-naked, he was nearly as sexy as he was completely nude. He was beautiful. His nipples were tiny, dime-sized, barely visible darker spots on a lean tanned chest. His navel was also small and enhanced by a little fold of brown skin that ran all the way around so that it could not be described as either an 'innie' or an 'outie'. It was just there, and it was incredibly sexy. His belly rippled, with well-defined muscles that hinted at the 'six-pack' he would have when he was older. He was slender with prominent bony hips, supporting his jeans that had dropped down his narrow waist. He smirked up at me.

"Pants too?" he asked teasingly.

God, yes! I wanted to say. Instead, I winked back at him. "Just wait until tonight. You're going to be so sore," I taunted.

"And you're going to be so tired, you'll start wishing I was a girl," Shelley giggled.

It was a long standing joke between us. 'Boy pussy' needed more effort than its feminine alternative. Lovingly, I ran my hand over his flat belly, upward to trace the lines of his ribs, touching his neck with my thumb, before moving on to caress his bare shoulder. He was beautiful. I would never grow tired of telling him that. Standing there before him, paying silent homage to his perfect body, I wanted so much to make love to him, to take him, to make him mine, to leave my seed inside him.

"Please…" Shelley implored.

I glanced down. His eyes were pleading, conveying desire. He breathed quickly, not panting, but anxious, aroused. Two weeks was a long time to be together, but kept apart. For two weeks, we had not joined in the one way that defines the love between a man and a boy.

"I want to, too," I murmured. "God, I need you so badly."

"So? Let's do it. It won't take long," Shelley urged. He quivered, his excitement growing quickly, becoming overpowering.

Suddenly, I was the reluctant one. Not that I didn't want to. I wanted to. I wanted to feel the warmth and tightness of his body. I wanted to see his eyes glistening with tears. He cried when we started. Not because it hurt badly, but because he was happy, because he was close to me. My desire was fueled by looking at him, my penis already becoming rampart with a hunger that was all consuming. The need to be inside him was like that. Once aroused it was impossible to stop. I started to give in. It was all I could do to stop.

"No! Not here! Not like this, Shelley."

"Why not?" he demanded petulantly. "We can stop if someone comes in. We can do it quietly. It's not like we haven't done it in public before."

"I know that." I smiled at him. "Having oral sex in my car is not the same as doing it in an airport toilet."

"That wasn't the only time," Shelley reminded me.

His eyes met mine, soulful, blue, enigmatic, innocent, intense. No wonder I loved him as much as I did. Just his eyes were enough to take my breath away.

"I remember," I answered simply. "I want it to be special, Shel."

"Yeah, I know."

I could hear the disappointment in his voice, his excitement deflating quickly. I did not want to reject him. I would never do that to him. He had been rejected for most of his life. Even his father, whoever he was, had rejected him. Tenderly, I stroked the nape of his neck, curling his hair between my fingers, fondling behind his ears. Usually he giggled when I tickled him there. Instead, he fixed his gaze on me with a look that said he was not going to take 'no' for an answer.

Gently, I moved my hand down his back, feeling the tiny bumps of his backbone until I reached his jeans. My fingers pressed on, slipping between denim cloth and skin, following the line that continued from his spine. It was a narrow gap, but it was enough. Halfway down his buttocks I encountered the elastic of his bikini briefs. It was a tiny thing, barely big enough to contain his genitals, small as they were. from behind, he might as well have been wearing a G-string. Momentarily, I wondered where Wilderstein had managed to find clothing like that. Certainly not in any store in Washington DC, and the clothes he had supplied were hardly the kind of thing one would find in a catalog. Perhaps on the Internet, but what would a person search under? 'Sexy preteen boy's clothes'?

With a single finger, I felt between his firm cheeks, reached along his crevice, seeking the hidden entry into him. The softness and slightly moist heat that identified his anus made me tremble. This was what I had longed for.

"Please?" Shelley whispered. "I need you, Rick. I really need you."

I knew what he wanted. He did not have to say it. I pressed gently, lifting my finger upward at the same time. I could feel his anus relaxing, pulling against my fingertip. He sighed from deep in his chest and moved his buttocks back so that my finger was driven inward. It was only to the first joint, not far at all, but far enough. It was always surprising to me how easy it was, how intimate contact had a way of solving any problem. That first penetration was always something we shared.

"We don't have the time, do we?" Shelley asked softly.

"Not really. And we don't have any lube. It's in the suitcase."

"Oh shit!"

"Yeah, something like that. The cops will have fun when they open those bags of ours and start going through the clothes."

Shelley smiled shyly. "Do you think they'll figure out about us?"

"Because of the K-Y? Maybe. It won't matter. We'll be long gone."

I kissed the top of his head as I removed my finger from its welcoming abode. I felt Shelley's anus close up. I slowly withdrew my hand from the seat of his jeans. There was still a trace of the shampoo he had used the night before. His hair was like glistening golden silk. The brilliant light from the overhead fluorescent tubes, the tiled walls, the smell of disinfectant, all of it combined to unsettle me.

"It's okay," he added. "I still love you."

"Just wait until tonight."

"When you stuck your finger in my butt I thought you were going to, you know…" Shelley teased.

"I wish."

"We could do something else?" he suggested shyly.

"What do you have in mind?"

Shelley shrugged. "I know we can't fuck and all, Rick, I mean Dad. That sounds so funny, saying that, but I could suck him?" he offered meekly. He glanced up at me. "From the look of him, it won't take all that long."

I grinned. It was an offer that was impossible to resist. It was always impossible to resist. I held my finger to my lips when I heard echo of voices as two men entered the toilet. We heard the sound of urinals flushing, then silence again. I guided Shelley back and he sat down on the toilet. He reached up, fumbled for a few seconds as he tried to find the start of my zipper. Cautiously, his fingers trembling with anticipation, he pulled it down, an inch at a time. He swallowed, licked his lips, stroked the hard length of my penis, playfully pulling on it with his thin fingers until it bulged through the opening. It was constrained by my briefs, but the head pointed up and out. Even from my perspective it was threatening. There was a dark spot in the material, growing steadily bigger as more preseminal fluid seeped out.

Shelley lifted the elastic waistband back with one hand, exposing my hard member to a gentle, very careful caress that ended up by smearing the fluid over my glans. He giggled, glanced up at me, pulled my briefs down further to expose the full length of my penis. Still meeting my eyes, he leaned forward and licked. His tongue tickled. It was only for a second or two. He was not about to waste time. His lips followed immediately, kissing first, sucking second, then opening wide. It was mechanical and rushed. It was not how he usually did it. Usually he took his time, savored every moment, every change in texture, every taste. Usually he licked it all over, probed the slit in the end with the tip of his tongue, tried to get it inside even though we both knew it would never fit. Usually, he played with my testicles, squeezed them between his strong little fingers, pulled on them until I was ready to beg for mercy. Usually we had more time.

My penis plunged into his mouth. His teeth scraped, but only slightly before his jaws opened up, his tongue moved away, and his lips stretched wide. He pushed down onto my extended organ, pushed deeper than he needed to. Another boy might have gagged when my penis reached the back of his throat. Not Shelley. He went even further, making steady, yet gradual progress. 'Deep throating' was not something I had taught him. It was not something that I wanted him to do. However, I appreciated it. For a small boy, my penis was quite a mouthful. Then he moved away, lifting off, pulling my penis against his tongue, away from the constriction of his mouth until all that remained inside him was my glans. My penis throbbed relentlessly, demanding more.

"God!" I muttered. "You feel so good."

My hands moved to the back of his tousled head. I held him there, realizing that wet heat now covered most of the length of my erection, preventing him from lunging back down again. There were times when I would have stopped him from going all the way down and times when I would have encouraged him. Never once had I forced him down. This time I felt a sickening guilt. It was strange that it had never happened before. With his succulent mouth still holding the head of my penis, Shelley looked up at me. There were tears in the corners of his eyes. His lips were stretched into thin pale lines, so different to the perfectly shaped lips I loved to kiss. His facial features were exquisite, a sublime combination of unblemished skin and classic proportions. It was the same face that captured my heart and took my breath away the first time I had seen him in person. His eyes were brilliant, blue, endearing, innocent. Always his eyes. His eyes were magnetic and alluring, they were eyes that had seen too much cruelty and pain.

Instead of allowing his head to lower again, I contained his head between my hands to deny him.

"Don't go down so far, Shel," I said huskily. "Use your hands."

Was it relief that I saw in a fleeting acknowledgement? His hands moved into place, one cupping my scrotum in his palm, his fingers kneading my testicles in much the same way as a cook would knead dough. And his other hand? His right hand could barely reach all the way around my penis. He held it loosely with three fingers on the underside, his thumb looped around the shaft, his little finger extended outward so that it rubbed where my penis joined to my scrotum. He used his mouth on the upper half, sucking as he bobbed his head back and forth.

I rubbed his shoulders, using a firm massaging motion that relaxed him almost as much as it did me. It also encouraged him and he responded to the intimate touch of my hands on my bare skin by using his tongue to lever my penis around inside his mouth.

The pleasure was both immediate and overwhelming, enthralling joy, intense delight. Hot, wriggling and wet, silky soft and loosely-moving, a cacophony of sensations cascading through my loins. I did the only thing I could. I arched my body, giving him free reign to do whatever came into his mind. Faster, until the jacking motion of his little hand had become a blur, until my penis throbbed and my body shuddered with nervous spasms that preceded orgasm. Still faster, increasing his suction until my testicles began to ache. Ecstasy comes in waves, beginning in my groin with an overpowering urge that tightened my muscles. Then, in an out-of-control rush, exploding through me, jerking my penis as white-hot ejaculate erupted.

A long time ago, or at least it seemed like a long time ago, I had stopped warning Shelley when my orgasm was imminent. It made no difference whether he was officially notified. He operated on instinct, perhaps feeling the sudden increase in hardness, sensing the bursting pressure inside me, realizing the pulsing in my urethra as semen began its journey into his mouth. Then, and only then, he times his movements to mine. He seemed to understand a man's need to thrust during emission, not to be content to simply let it spurt out. When my buttocks clenched and my thighs began to slam against his face, he stopped everything he was doing for a few moments. It was not long, yet it was long enough to meet my need. He stopped everything that is except his sucking. He sucked harder, so hard that it seemed as if he was actually pulling the fluid out of me. His right hand clutched my penis, held it tightly so that each bucking motion of my hips, pumped my raging organ back and forth through his fist. His other hand clamped my testicles with incredible force, as if squeezing the sperm from me into him.

And then it was over and I felt drained. Emptied by a boy of what made me a man. There was never any remorse when we parted, just contentment, just the realization of what I had placed inside his body, just acceptance of the inevitable special joy of sharing what came from being lovers. And quiet. There was no sound except my heavy breathing, and Shelley's tongue as it licked his lips. He gazed up at me and smiled weakly, proudly. It was funny how it made him tired as well, even if it was only a momentary exhaustion.

Playfully, lovingly, I rubbed my hands through his hair. If it was untidy before, now his hair was mussed up. A few times I had even ejaculated onto his head, spurting my fluid into his golden hair, rubbing it into his scalp with a perverse appreciation that it was a 'shampoo' of a type that few boys ever had. This boy, this wonderful beautiful boy was mine, my son. I smiled back at him.

Casually, Shelley's hand wiped against his lips. Everywhere in his mouth, he could taste me, that slightly-salty tang of a man's emission. Without shame, he licked the back of his hand, catching the moistened streaks of semen that had escaped his suction. He licked his lips. Another trace, tasting warmth, remembering what had been in his mouth only seconds earlier. He smiled again, appreciative of what we had achieved.

"Was that good?" he asked after a moment.

I met his eyes and in silence, nodded. My penis was glistening wet with his saliva, the first few inched coated with a milky film. He smiled, catching my drift. Like a child eating an ice cream, his tongue licked across my glans. Back and forth, up and down, until he was done and he straightened up.

"Let's get you dressed," I said awkwardly as I reached down and began to replace my penis behind my briefs.

He stood up, momentarily giving my penis a final petting caress that promised more pleasure before the night ended. I winked at him. Enough said. He would be sore tomorrow morning.

I ripped off the labels from the tee-shirt before I handed it to Shelley. Then the jacket we had just purchased. He put it on, zipped it up, unzipped it to his navel. The cap went on his head, slightly askew until I straightened it, pushed his blond back underneath the edge, turned it around so that it pointed backward. He looked different, but was his appearance different enough?

Hurriedly, I removed my leather jacket and began to turn it inside out. The lining was reversible. The jacket had been carefully designed and fabricated by a tailor in London's Argylle Street. It even included a thousand English pounds and an equivalent amount in US dollars hidden behind seams that easily came apart. I put the jacket on again, transformed from corporate-executive-casual into contemporary-sportswear. At short notice, there was little that I could do to change my hair style or color.

"Okay?" I asked.

"Cool!" Shelley said admiringly. "We look like we're going to a game or something."

"That's the idea. Let's get our asses the hell out of here," I added.

We left the toilet, abandoning the private sanctuary that had allowed us to bond again. We needed that intimate closeness even if the relief occured faster that either of us would have preferred. Once outside the men's room, I glanced towards the gates at the end of the concourse, again considering a change in plans. Spontaneous action was sometimes better than following a predetermined course of action, although planning was usually superior a reactive response. A group was gathering in front of one of the gates. That suggested a departure was imminent. Under normal conditions it would be relatively easy to buy two tickets at the gate, but there was a possibility that the airlines had been notified already. I was left with my original plan. Taking Shelley by the hand I started to walk towards the exit.

We were only about a hundred yards from the inspection area when three men in dark suits came through the metal detector. That they held badges out as they walked, and passed unhindered, provided an immediate confirmation of their role. The Agency had arrived. A quick scan of my watch showed that barely twelve minutes had elapsed since we had disembarked from the aircraft. I took a deep breath, prepared myself with mental determination, looked ahead with unwavering eyes, and placed my hand on Shelley's shoulder. I felt him become tense. I took a tighter grip. The last thing we needed was to be nervous.

The distance between them and us narrowed quickly. There were a few other children on the concourse. A few were ahead of us. A family of a boy and two girls, a mother and father. Closer. Shelley was getting very nervous. Tighter. Keep walking. Closer. I felt him flinch. I relaxed my grip.

"I reckon you cain't wait to get home to Mom, can you Trav?" I said loudly.

My accent was pure Texan. It took years of practice to be able to do that. Shelley was startled and his head swivelled up. I winked.

"She missed you, so she's gotta be cookin' all day."

"Yeah… I guess," Shelley added.

His accent sounded like a ten-year-old boy with laryngitis. It did not matter. We were ten feet beyond them. All that happened was one of the agents gave us a quick glance, dismissing us as two locals returning home to Amarillo. If he had been listening closely, he would have heard my sigh of relief.

We turned left at the luggage carousels and headed towards the car rental desks. There were four companies. I chose number three in the line and with a lowered voice, told Shelley to wait next to the nearest exit door. My usual practice is to rent the smallest, cheapest car there is. Small cars drew less attention than big cars. However, this was Texas, and Cadillac ranch was only a few miles down the road. I chose a Cadillac Seville, STS model. It had 300 horsepower and was good for 150 m.p.h. [240 km/h] Arguably, it was the best car made in the USA.

While the lady behind the desk completed the paperwork, I listened to the conversation behind me. It was all I could do not to laugh.

"Man, you should have seen it, Paul. What a time to go to the can. He took both of them down in a second. It was like watching Bruce Lee at work. Then he and a kid took off. There must a dozen cops at Gate 12 now."

"I think I just heard something about they've stopped all the flights."

I declined the insurance. It was not a wise move given that I was renting a $50,000 car, but I was going to use the credit card that Wilderstein had provided. I doubted that Wilderstein would appreciate the irony. I signed the credit card form, took the keys she handed me, bundled the papers and a map into the front pocket of the briefcase and headed for the door where Shelley was waiting. He followed me out of the terminal into the afternoon sun.

12. Juan

The trick was to give the impression that we were headed south, towards Mexico. That was where Wilderstein would expect me to go. It was a natural escape route. It was a country where I could fit in without a great deal of difficulty. However, it had to be believable. Simply driving south would be seen as a ruse. Instead, we started by asking directions at the rental company counter for the best way to get to I-40, the major east-west freeway that passed through Amarillo. I made sure that the gate attendant recognized Shelley. He even removed his cap for the occasion so his blond hair could be seen. I handed over the token from the car rental agency and asked about I-40 again.

I drove out of the parking garage much too fast. Years of experience told me that driving fast was the best way to draw attention to oneself. The wheels spun loudly as I pulled into the traffic that seemed to constantly circulate in the loop around the terminal in a never-ending search for a parking spot. I veered onto Airport Boulevard, crossed the railroad tracks, and immediately pulled across two lanes ready to turn at the next intersection. East Third Avenue was sign-posted to go to both Route 335 and I-40. The turnoff to I-40 was the following one. I continued on. With luck, Wilderstein would put two and two together and come up with Route 335. Route 335 looped south and then west around the city where it joined with I-27, and I-27 went south, through Lubbock to Odessa where it joined with I-20. I-20 headed west all the way to El Paso. Wilderstein would use Agency records to discover that I had crossed the Mexican border at Alamo Alto, not far from El Paso.

The Route 335 loop also continued north again where it rejoined I-40 at Soncy. We were almost there when I pulled into a McDonalds. It was more than 400 miles [600 km] to Albuquerque. It was time for drinks and hamburgers. Hopefully, a snack would be enough to keep Shelley quiet until he fell asleep. While I continued to hope that the Agency did not have a record of a cell-phone belonging to Adam Highland, also known as Rick Barrett, I was not prepared to take the chance. With a handful of coins, I left Shelley sitting at the table eating french fries while I made the long distance phone call to Maria. She was anxiously waiting to hear from me. My plans had changed, but we would still be where we were supposed to be. Our arrival time was going to be later. I added to the list of things we would need. There was a momentary pause. I could hear the tension building in her voice. She was worried. Had there really been a bomb on board the aircraft? It was impossible to be certain. It was likely, but I didn't tell her that. It no longer mattered.

I returned to the table. Shelley looked up and grinned. It was a remarkable what a full belly could do for a boy's mood. Not even blinking, but with a hint of a smile, he gave me the 'look'. The restaurant was crowded, too crowded for us to tie up the men's toilet for five minutes without raising someone's suspicions. Instead, I grinned at him and said one word.

"Later!"

I led the way outside to the car. I opened the hood and looked in the engine bay. There it was. The speedometer cable connected to a small metal box before it disappeared into the right fender. Out came the multi-purpose tool again. There were four screws holding the cable into the box. Three screws came out easily. The fourth screw needed work and I was careful not to damage the head. Finally, it too began to loosen. I pulled out the end of the speedometer cable. Until it was reinstalled, there would be no record of the mileage.

And so it began, a long drive almost due west. For almost the next hour the sun came right through the windscreen. Even with the sun-visor down, I had to squint behind my sunglasses. Shelley's solution was to lie down and put his head in my lap. Within minutes he was sound asleep and completely unaware that my erect penis was his pillow.

Mile after mile went by, keeping the tachometer just over 2,000 rpm, coinciding with a speed just over seventy miles [110 km/h] per hour. It was not fast enough to draw attention. I was driving with one hand on the wheel, the other lovingly brushing Shelley's silky golden hair. Just behind his ear, the hair was even softer. So was the skin. It felt very much like his groin, that smooth skin that flowed over the yielding softness of pubis before it merged into his penis. My fingers stayed there, caressing gently, musing about the years we would spend together. I loved him. I had loved him from the moment I had first laid eyes on him.

By the time we reached Glenario, a small town on the New Mexico border, the sun had set. The sky was streaked with clouds like brilliant orange flames. I drove on, not feeling tired, but knowing I would be fighting exhaustion when it was dark. After an already very long day and preceding night, and with just sixty-four miles [100 km] so far along the freeway, I was not looking forward to the next two hundred-plus miles [320+ km] that would take us to our motel.

Another half-hour passed. Shelley had barely stirred. I could feel the heat from his face, moistness on my thigh as he drooled. It was not unusual that he did. He drooled when he was asleep in my bed as well. Perhaps it was because he had his lips apart. He did that almost all the time, moving his lips as if he was sucking on a nipple. Sometimes he cried, making whimpering sounds that kept me awake for hours at a time. I did not tell him what happened while he was asleep, not after what he had been through during the last few years.

My eyes were getting tired. I rubbed at them and promised myself I would stop for a cup of coffee before much longer. It had been three hours since the plane landed in Amarillo. Three hours. If my assumptions were correct, Wilderstein would be on his way to Amarillo. Would he have agents from Albuquerque drive to Amarillo? Either that, or he would have local police set up a road block or monitor traffic for a pearl-white late-model Cadillac with Texas plates. I glanced down at the road map that I had placed behind Shelley's shoulder. The last major town was Tucamari. From there, we could have taken a back road into the mountains, past Conchas dam, to Las Vegas, New Mexico. There was an alternate route that would take us south-west to Pastura. From there, Route 60 would take us west to I-25, some forty miles [60 km] south of Albuquerque. It was a hard decision. It was also a spontaneous decision, one that was made easily when I saw the exit for Route 54. It would be a longer slower drive than I anticipated.

I stopped for more coffee in Pastura and took advantage of the interruption to rewind the cassette in the much-modified Nokia. I listened to a conversation that I had already heard.

Grey: "What the fuck?"

President: "Someone's at the door!"

Grey: "Damn! I'll take the brat into the bathroom!"

President: "You've killed him!"

Grey: "Not yet!"

President: "Don't!"

Grey: "God! You're crazy. The kid could put you away forever. Just being in here with you is enough to get you into deep shit."

President: "No! The agents are discreet. They know, okay?"

Grey: "They know? They know you fuck little boys?"

President: "How could I do it otherwise? They're with me every second."

Grey: "That what?"

President: "Trust me."

Grey: "Jesus!"

President: "What's up?" he asked as if there was nothing wrong.

CIA Agent: "Excuse me, Mr. President, but we have reason to believe you might be in danger."

President: "Danger? Hardly, I have Harry Grey in here."

CIA Agent: "Just him? No one else?"

President: "I have a young friend as well."

CIA Agent: "Is there a problem with him?"

President: "Of course not. He just isn't feeling very well right now."

Me: "I want to see him."

My voice sounded brusque, loud, demanding, in control.

President: "I'm sorry. Not at the moment! Maybe in a little while. I'll have him brought to your room when he's feeling better, Mr. Walker."

Me: "The hell you will. I want my son now! If he's not out here with me in ten seconds I'm going through the door and getting him."

There was a break in the conversation, the sounds of feet crossing the floor, of a door opening. I had not heard their whispered voices before or Shelley's awful gagging sound. Perhaps not hearing had been the best thing at the time.

President: "It's the kid's old man."

Grey: "For God's sake, get rid of him!"

President: "I'll try."

Me: "Your dick is showing, Mr. President."

President: "He's feeling a bit sick, that's all. He isn't hurt."

I heard the sounds of movement as I pushed past him and stepped through the doorway, the horrible rattling noise as Shelley coughed and cried. Then, more sounds of movement, a door slamming behind us, the long walk down the corridor to our room, Shelley's voice, once again. What followed only reminded me of what I had hoped I would forget.

Shelley: "I love you, Rick."

Me: "I love you, too. Are you okay?"

Shelley: "It hurts, Rick."

Me: "Where?"

Shelley: "Down there. He lifted me up by my nuts, Rick. It felt awful. It was like they were being ripped off."

Me: "Jesus! I'll kill him. I'll fucking kill the bastard."

Shelley: "Rick, don't! Don't go! Don't leave me alone. I'll be okay."

Me: "I don't think anything's injured. Does it still hurt?"

Shelley: "Not as much. Just hold me, Rick. I want you to hold me."

Me: "It's okay. You're safe now. It's all over, Shel. I promise!"

Shelley: "I love you, Rick."

Me: "Yeah? I didn't know."

There was a faint sound of laughter, feeble wheezing, the sound of Shelley blowing his nose.

Shelley: "I must look a real mess."

Me: "You're beautiful, and I love you so much."

The sound of kissing was unmistakable. Quiet. Not breathing. Just the soft smack of lips, wet tongues uniting. It sounded as if Shelley stopped shaking. Nearly a minute passed. It was a long passionate kiss. It ended with a little whimper as we parted.

Shelley: "Man, I needed that!"

Me: "Me too. Are you cold?"

Shelley: "I'm starting to feel better…. Rick?"

Me: "Yes?"

Shelley: "He did it to me."

Me: "I'm sorry."

Despite how much I had hoped that it would not come to that, it was inevitable that it would. It was only to be expected that the President would want to have anal sex with him. Both of us had known that it was going to occur. Hearing Shelley talk about it, send a knife into my heart. I would never forgive myself for putting him through that horror.

Shelley: "I tried, Rick. I really tried not to."

Me: "What did you try?"

Shelley: "I promised myself it wouldn't be like you. I didn't want to have one… you know. I was going to pretend."

Me: "You mean an orgasm?"

Shelley: "I tried. So hard. I didn't want it to feel good. I wanted to hate it. I wanted it to hurt. Like when Robbie does it. I wanted it to be like that."

Me: "I'm sorry, Shel. Your body doesn't have that sort of control."

Shelley: "Rick, he made me do it doggy-style. I was so glad he didn't want to do it the same way you and I do it."

Me: "Did it hurt a lot?"

Shelley: "At first. He wasn't very careful. Once he got it started, he started doing really hard. I wasn't ready.

Me: "I'm sorry, Shel."

Shelley: "He went in a long way. Kinda like how you do it when you're getting close. Only he was faster. I almost couldn't breath and I could feel it getting looser and looser until it was really sloppy. Then, I couldn't help it. I wanted it to be you instead. I wanted you so badly."

Me: "I know."

I remembered that he had called out my name when he climaxed. I had heard his cry as clear as a bell, pleading in ecstasy, begging for what he needed, unable to stop his body's intense spasms as he attained that ultimate pleasure.

Shelley: "Rick, I got to use the bathroom."

Me: "That's okay. I'll carry you in if you want me to."

Shelley: "No, you don't have to. I don't have to go, not like that. I feel so… so dirty. I… I need to wash him off me."

Me: "It's okay, Shelley. I understand. We'll have to be quick doing it, though. I want to get the hell out of here as soon as possible."

Shelley: "I need to, Rick. I can't stand feeling like this."

Me: "I know."

I heard the sound of me lifting him up, carrying him into the bathroom, placing him with his buttocks over the side. There had been a short length of rubber hose conveniently attached to the tap. Its purpose was obvious, had been obvious as soon as we entered the room and with the knowledge of what was expected of Shelley during the night. We used it for the second time in two hours. It had slid in easily, much easier than the first time. I heard the sound of water. It sounded like a hose running. Gurgling sounds. Then silence.

Shelley: "It doesn't feel so bad this time."

Me: "I made the water a little warmer."

Shelley: "I think I had better move onto the toilet before I start getting cramps."

Me: "I expect it'll take a minute or two. I had better go pack our stuff. Are you okay for now?"

Shelley: "Rick?"

Me: "Yeah?"

Shelley: "I love you. Are you mad?"

Me: "Because of what happened? It's not your fault. It's mine. From now on, I'm going to do everything I can to make it up to you."

Shelley: "That's not going to be easy."

Me: "Huh?"

Shelley: "You're going to have to do it every day from now on."

Me: "Except I won't 'have to'. I want to do it."

Shelley: "Go on, get outta here and get packed while I get his filthy crap outta by butt."

Me: "I love you."

Shelley: "Yeah, I know. Hey Rick?"

Me: "Yeah?"

Shelley: "It's mutual!"

Me: "I know. Listen, there is something you have to know."

Shelley: "Huh?"

Me: "Shel, if something goes wrong now, here's what you have to do. We might get separated at some point so I'm going to give you your own airline ticket. I'm going to give you some money too, two hundred bucks, just in case. Get to the airport. Take a taxi, hitch hike, whatever it takes. Go to a check-in counter. Make up a story so they'll help you. Say your dad's outside parking the car or something. We're booked on a Delta flight from Cincinnati to Atlanta. Then, on a Western Air flight to Albuquerque. Once you get there, you'll wait for me."

Shelley: "Where will I wait?"

Me: "It doesn't matter. Somewhere where there are other kids, if you can. The best thing will be for you to pretend to be with a group."

Shelley: "How will you find me?"

Me: "Don't worry about it. The airport isn't that big. Besides, I don't plan to let you out of my sight form now on. This is just in case there's a problem.

Shelley: "Okay. Where are we going after that?"

Me: "You said you always wanted to live on a farm, didn't you?"

There was a momentary silence before my voice returned.

Me: "You and I are going to disappear in Mexico."

I switched off the cell-phone. So that was how Wilderstein knew our final destination? He had more than enough time to put his plan into action. The only thing I did not understand was why he would put a bomb on board the aircraft. Of course, there was a chance that the third suitcase was simply a mistake, but in my experience, mistakes like that happened very seldom.

When we finally pulled into Albuquerque it was well past midnight. I had stopped for coffee three times and my bladder was ready to burst. Fortunately, finding the motel on Gibson Boulevard was a simple matter.

I parked at the rear of the building, a few spaces down from Room 144 and on the other side of the parking lot so that my headlights would not shine against the motel windows. Going by the yellow glimmer through the edge of the curtain, a light was still on in 144. Parked in the space in front of the room was a Jeep Wrangler. It was covered in a thin film of dust, with a 'please clean me' fingered on the hood. I breathed out. Now I could rest for a while. I was as tired as I had ever been but there were still a few things that needed to be done before I slept. I opened the door, got out, and went around to the other side of the car. I lifted out the inert body of a ten-year-old boy. His only response was a sleepy, 'are we there yet', and a hug that tightened his arms around my neck. I carried him across the parking lot to the sidewalk, and then a few more paces until the door to Room 144 opened. It closed quickly behind us.

"Put him on the bed, Mister Barrett," Michael suggested.

Michael Barone had known me for nearly five years. I trusted him in ways that I trusted very few people. He still called me Mr. Barrett. I wondered what he would do when Mr. Barrett was gone.

"Hiya Rick."

I turned before I reached the bed. His voice always caught me off guard. Juan sounded exactly like his older brother. He looked exactly like his older brother. His older brother was dead. Manuel Navarro. He was the first boy I had really loved. Four years ago. Was it really that long? He was twelve years old and just far enough into puberty that he was beginning to produce semen. He would have been sixteen now, old enough for Michael to find interesting.

"Hi Juan," I answered.

I had loved Manuel only for a matter of few months, yet sometimes it seemed like a lifetime. At other times, it seemed like a transient glimpse at boundless happiness. He made love with an earnest passion, shameless and excited at every coupling. And we coupled frequently, so often that his grandmother used to tease him about 'wearing it out'.

Juan grinned broadly. He had perfect white teeth, just like his brother. His eyes flickered the instant that he noticed the sleeping boy lying in my arms. He looked at Shelley. His face, already ochre-hued, darkened further. If anyone asked me whether he could be jealous, I would have answered 'no'. Yet, his dark eyes brooded.

"Is him?" he asked pointedly. He was always more comfortable speaking Spanish with me. "Your boy from DC? The boy Mama always talk about?"

I nodded and carefully eased Shelley down onto the bed. From the untidy cover and sheets I assumed that it had already been slept in. That was good. Michael would have to stay awake until dawn and it would be safer if Juan was awake to help him. They had a long drive south to the Mexican border.

Michael stepped closer and rested his hand on Juan's shoulder. Officially, I had guardianship of him, but Michael had become both friend and father. They were close, but they weren't lovers. I breathed out, beginning to feel the effects of not enough sleep and a body that was kept awake by an overdose of caffeine. I smiled absently, not able to concentrate. I was too tired to think. Despite that, my mind continue to whirl through a thousand different thoughts, testing ideas that might have become plans if a certain situation arose.

There was always the memories of four years ago. Mostly they were good memories. I had loved Manuel more that I had ever thought possible. For four years I had been so lonely that the prospect of death began to offer solace. I cherished one particular memory of him. We were on the beach at Acapulco. He was so beautiful with his lustrous golden brown skin that he could have been a god. His eyes were mysterious, liquid dark pools that charmed, captivated, seduced. How he laughed, peals of joy scattering through the air, even a slight smile brought me instant happiness. No boy could compare to him. No boy that was until Shelley came along. He was so different with his pale skin, blue innocent eyes and silver-blond hair, but he was no less perfect. Now, Juan?

When had he changed from the awkward little boy I brought back home with me from a failed mission in Mexico? He was his brother's equal in every way. He had the same barely restrained sexuality, the hot blood of his Spanish ancestors boiling in his veins. Like his brother, his little dark-skinned erection would be so hard that it gave the appearance of being both powerful and fragile at the same time.

"He's a lot like Manuel, isn't he Mister Barrett?"

I looked away quickly. "Yes. He's very…"

"Sexy?"

Michael had taken the word out of my mouth. I nodded, unable to speak. Juan was both beautiful and sexy. Shelley was also beautiful and he was sexual, but in a very different way. My eyes flicked back and forth between them. It was a boy lover's fantasy. Two beautiful boys who made no secret of what aroused them. Juan was the same age as Shelley, just ten years old. Young as he was, he was safe with Michael, at least for another five or six years. Then, if he was so inclined, he would meet his match for Michael was a man who, given the opportunity, could make a person beg for mercy. Until then? I had no doubt that he could seduce anyone if he put his mind to it. Would his grandmother give him the same warning as she had given to Manuel about 'wearing it out'?

"Is everything ready?" I finally managed to ask.

"Yes! Juan and I will take your car to Mexico and stay with Rodriguez. You take the Jeep." He gestured to a couple of bags standing next to the door. "It's all there, everything you asked Maria to get. We put food at the cabin, too. You planning to stay there a long time?"

"I helped, Rick," Juan said. "Lots of food there now."

"Thanks Juan. As for how long, I guess for as long as it takes," I answered. "Did you get the wood-stain?"

Michael nodded. "It's in the bathroom." He winked meaningfully. "Maria, she told me to buy some other stuff for you."

"What other stuff?"

"Stuff for his butt. To make him slippery inside," Juan giggled as he glanced down at Shelley with what I took to be envy. "So you can do him."

My mind reeled. I glanced down at Shelley, sound asleep and completely unaware of the discussion about him. If everything occured as I had planned, I would 'do him' as soon as he woke up.

"Gee, thanks a lot, Michael," I said sarcastically.

Michael shrugged. "He knows, Mister Barrett. He knows about you and Manuel too. Maria told him when she arrived. Fact is, I think Juan wants to be your boy as well. I reckon he's old enough to make decisions like that for himself. He's younger than his brother was, but he knows what he wants." He raised his hand from Juan's shoulder. "It looks like you're going to have to take two boys to bed now, Mister Barrett."

I smiled. It was an interesting thought, a possibility that I had not considered until that moment. I found myself warming to the idea even as I wondered what Shelley would do.

"Well, I would like to get some sleep first," I laughed. "Are you ready to leave?" I added with a sleepy yawn.

Michael glanced at Juan and nodded. "We ate before you got here. We've just got to change our clothes and we're gone."

"Okay." I smiled at Juan. "Do you understand about the clothes?"

Juan nodded seriously. "I look like him and he look like me so he wears my clothes."

With that minimal explanation, he started to undress. His brother had been the same way. He was totally uninhibited about his body. He unfastened the buttons of his plaid shirt and peeled it back to reveal a superb abdomen. His skin was the same hue as aged copper, oxidized to a shade of brown that I found intensely arousing. Like Shelley, there was no flabby softness under his velvety skin, but unlike Shelley, Juan had well-defined muscles. He had spent most of the last four years working on the ranch. I expected it would not take very long before Shelley began to develop a similar junior-sized six-pack of belly muscle.

He ignored my lingering interest as his hands moved to his waist. Deftly, his fingers unfastened the copper-colored clasp and zipper. He shoved his faded blue jeans down his thighs and kicked them from his bare feet. He grinned at me.

"You like what you see, Rick?"

"Yes, I like. When did you turn into a little sex-maniac?"

Juan shrugged with pretended nonchalance and fingered with the waist of his white cotton briefs.

"You take off his clothes?" he asked slyly as he gestured to the boy asleep on the bed.

"Yeah, I guess I'd better," I answered. "There's no way he's going to wake up and do it himself."

I sat down on the bed next to Shelley. No matter how often I had undressed him, there was always an intense excitement that I experienced by removing his clothes. It came from revealing his glorious body, seeing him exposed and vulnerable. It was much more difficult to remove his clothes when he was asleep. I struggled to remove his tee-shirt, over-sized though it was. I undid the laces of his sneakers and took off his shoes and socks, holding each small warm foot with loving attention and silently and dutifully marvelling at his delicious tiny toes. His jeans offered less resistance because I did not need to move him into a different position. I stripped him down to his brightly colored bikini briefs.

"Cute undies," Juan teased. "Just like a girl," he added under a breath.

Both Michael and I laughed. Juan was envious, and he was not giving in to the competition with a fight. Not that he needed to be jealous in one area. From the size of the bulges in the boys' crotches, it was obvious that Juan's penis was much larger than Shelley's. Even without seeing the changes wrought over the last six months, I knew that part of him would be just like his older brother, only smaller because he was younger. For a twelve-year-old boy, Manuel had been well-endowed. In the macho tradition of southern Mexico, he was also very proud of the fact. From what I could see, his brother was following in his footsteps.

"I guess you had better put his undies on too," I responded with a wink.

"If he wears mine, I will," Juan said provocatively.

"He has to look as much like you as possible," I said absently.

It was less important that Juan's appearance changed. He was going back to Mexico. He needed to be seen at a distance when they passed through El Paso. A stop at a gas station would probably be enough to satisfy Wilderstein's men when they began to ask questions. Once safely over the border, he would disappear until I sent for him. It might take a month or a year. There was no way of being certain. In his place, Shelley would become a ten-year-old Mexican boy who had arrived in the U.S. four years earlier. Until the heat died down, he would have to be extremely careful whenever he was in public.

With the plan I had developed, what the boys wore under their jeans was largely unimportant. They could probably wear nothing and get away with it. Unless things went seriously wrong, no one would see the boys undressed. No one would realize the anomaly of a rancher's kid wearing skimpy European underwear. Just the thought of him wearing the boring white cotton underpants or staid boxers that were typical of boys where he was going to live was depressing.

Shelley had quickly adopted my habit of sleeping in the nude so I was motivated by an inner need to make him comfortable, not out of any intricate logic. I removed his briefs. Juan reacted by stepping closer, looking intently. Michael stayed where he was. Young boys held little interest for him.

"His dick ain't real beeg," Juan remarked callously.

For the moment I ignored his comment.

"He's ese like Mike's," Juan added with a slight sneer. "No skeen!"

"Mine too," I added. "Most American boys are that way."

"I like them both ways," Michael laughed. "He sure is a cute kid, Mister Barrett. Real cute. Dang if he doesn't look like that kid on tv. Aaron what's his name."

"Aaron Carter? You're not the first person to make that statement. Hopefully, you won't be able to recognize him tomorrow," I said.

"He's got beeger balls 'n me," Juan added.

There was an unmistakable trace of envy in his voice. He was staring at Shelley's genitals. Michael turned and looked as well. From the way that Shelley was positioned, his legs apart with one leg nearly perpendicular to the other, his sex organs were exposed. His scrotum was very loose, emphasizing the egg-shaped contents under the soft slack skin. To a casual observer it certainly looked as if his testicles were larger than those of a ten-year-old boy.

"It looks like he's ready to start puberty," Michael observed. "He doesn't look all that old. If you'd asked me, I would have said he was nine or ten."

"He's just turned ten," I replied to the implied question.

"Maybe he's starting early. From the look of him he'll be shooting before you know it, Mister Barrett."

"Maybe," I answered without enthusiasm. Sooner or later I would have to explain what had happened to him.

"Well, we'd better get moving. Go ahead and get dressed Juan. We've got a good two hundred miles [300 km] ahead of us. I want to be on the other side of El Paso at least an hour before sunrise. I don't want any one seeing you in the light."

"At the outside it'll take four hours to get in place. You should be okay with time," I said. "You plan to cross over at Alamo Alto using the Tornillo Drain like we used to?"

"Yeah. It's a hell of a walk back from there, but we'll be fine. We ought to make it to the drop-off point by nine or ten a.m. I'll call Maria when he's safe," Michael answered. "She'll get a message up to the cabin."

"I'd appreciate that."

I smiled at Juan as he took the pair of designer-label jeans I handed him. It was still warm. He was nearly the same height as Shelley and probably close to the same weight so the clothes would fit him without a problem.

"You sure about those undies, Mister Barrett?" Michael joked. "Any boy would sure look sexy in them."

I laughed. "Get on the road, you randy old goat."

Juan dragged the jeans upward, closed the zipper and fastened the button. It was surprising how much the jeans emphasized his body, two parts of his body in particular. His sexuality was very evident, at least as far as a man who was attracted to boys was concerned. Buttocks defined, crotch exaggerated, low on his hips. I swallowed and dragged my eyes away. I busied myself, or rather pretended to be busy by inspecting the paper bag that Michael had left next to the lamp. Inside were two tubes of K-Y lubricant and a packet of condoms, just in case I needed them. I didn't. By the time I glanced back, Juan had put the tee-shirt and jacket on, and was just in the process of putting on Shelley's socks and shoes.

Michael had also started to undress, placing his shirt and jeans on the chair beside the table. I also undressed, tossing my clothes across the room to him. He dressed, tightening what had previously been my belt by two notches. I was also several inches taller than he was, however all he had to do was walk out to the car. As late as it was, it was unlikely that anyone had seen us enter the motel room. I stayed undressed, wearing only my briefs, because I would get into bed as soon as they were gone.

I fished in my jacket pocket to find my wallet, pulled it out and removed a couple of hundred dollars before I handed it over to Michael with the jacket. Rick Barrett might be going to disappear forever, but I would still need some money for emergencies.

"The car is a white Caddy," I explained as I gave him the keys. "It's parked near the fence. Lose it." Michael nodded. "If you leave it unlocked in Alamo it shouldn't take more than a day to disappear."

"I hope it's insured."

"It's not. The Agency rented it."

Michael laughed. "You're going to make that ass-hole Wilderstein really mad."

"Probably."

"Then we had better be real careful with fingerprints," he added.

There was an open clear plastic packet lying on the table. He picked through a handful of pale creamy latex gloves, selected two for himself and carefully pulled them over his hands. He kept two more gloves aside for Juan. It was a good sign. Like me, he was taking no chances.

"Take it slow up to the trail," Michael advised. "There's some real rough sections on that road. And keep an eye out for bear. One of them was hanging about when I took some stuff up last week. Big fucker too. I put a couple of boxes of .338 shells in the back of the Jeep. Your BAR Browning is over there with the rest of the stuff. I even got the scope realigned for the occasion. You ought to be able to take out anyone who comes sniffing around up there."

"Very funny. I'm not going on safari," I said dryly.

I waited until Juan finished tying the laces to Shelley's shoes. He stood up and I placed the cap that Shelley had worn at the airport on his head. From a distance, there was a similarity. But only from a distance. I hoped the transformation was more successful with Shelley's appearance.

"Now, I don't want you doing anything dumb," I began. "Keep out of trouble. Do whatever Mike tells you, Juan. I'll phone you as soon as I can."

"Okay. Rick?… I like you, Rick," Juan mumbled.

"I know that. Everything will turn out fine, okay. You have to trust me."

"I do. You love him?" His voice broke as he came close to tears.

"Yes," I answered simply.

"The way you loved Manuel?"

"Yes."

"He's lucky."

"Juan…"

"Yeah?"

"I love you too, okay."

"Yeah. I miss you, Rick"

"When this is over…"

Michael placed his hand on Juan's shoulder and gently guided him towards the door. It was time to go. If they didn't leave one or both of us would start crying. I closed the door behind them and watched through the narrow gap in the curtains as they crossed the road. For a moment the lights came on in the Cadillac. The rear brake lights flashed and the car slowly reversed, turned, and with its headlights off, began to move out of the motel parking lot.

I sighed with relief. It was always relieving when a plan proceeded exactly as it was supposed to. I checked my watch and smiled weakly.

"Damn," I thought aloud.

I still wore my watch.

13. Riding the Horse

Temptation! That's what he was, lying naked on the dishevelled bed. Unadulterated temptation. I was tired, but I was not that tired. The more I looked at his slim smooth body, the more aroused I became. He was so different to Manuel. To my eyes he was almost feminine despite his young boy's body. I loved differently too. He aroused paternal instincts within me, so unlike the raw sexual thrill Manuel gave me. I ravished Manuel while he bucked and humped and demanded more. I made love to Shelley, gently entering him, taking him gradually into the heights of ecstasy, staying within him long after we had climaxed. I could never do that with Manuel, or with Juan for that matter. Passivity was an affront to his burgeoning masculinity.

I eased onto the bed, yawning tiredly. My rigid penis bounced against my thighs, slapped my belly, let me know that it was ready for action even though the rest of my body was close to exhaustion. I had not slept in… how long had it been. I curled up into Shelley's silky warmth, absorbing the sweet sweaty fragrance of his body. Like me, he needed a shower and shampoo. Was it really twenty four hours ago that I had forced myself in to the President's bedroom? I yawned again, closed my eyes, felt the weight of sleep pulling into a dark chasm. How long had it been since I slept? How long?….

When I awoke the room was still dark. After a dozen years of experience in the field, a person acquires a sixth sense. Something was wrong! My eyes flickered, quickly adjusting to the darkness. I listened, barely moved my head, concentrated in the heavy silence, tensed the muscles in my arms and legs as I prepared to leap up. Still pretending to be asleep, I moved my arm outward, using my right hand to feel for Shelley, for where he should have been. There was still residual warmth. My eyes opened and I looked around the gloomy room. There was a small amount of light coming through the gap in the curtains, more than there had been when we first entered the room. It was getting lighter outside. Not sunshine, not yet, but it would not be long before the sun rose.

"Shel?" I called out softly.

"I'm in here," came a voice from the bathroom.

"You okay?"

"Yeah. I had to pee."

I smiled. So much for my sixth sense providing a warning of danger. I heard the splatter of urine hitting the water, gradually fading to a tinkling sound as the last few dribbles splashed down. Then silence. Shaking off. It always amused me when he did that. It was a two-handed job, waggling it back and forth energetically, just one step away from openly masturbating. When he did it in public restrooms, there was often a sideways glance, either from me or the person on the other side of him. Once, when I had taken him to a baseball game, a man had ogled him, nearly drooling as Shelley went through his teasing routine.

A moment later Shelley bounded out of the bathroom and leaped onto the bed. He slid under the covers and into my waiting arms.

"Fuck me, Rick," he demanded aggressively.

"What?"

"I'm ready."

"You're always ready," I answered.

"So are you. I can feel him against my belly."

"That's probably true. But I just woke up," I complained.

"So. It'll wake you up all the way," Shelley giggled. "Well?"

"Well what?"

"Are you going to fuck me or not?"

"Can I go pee first?" I asked.

"If you have too," Shelley replied with pretended petulance. "Only it'll be easier if he's softer."

I grinned at him, immediately catching his drift. There was one sure-fire way of getting my penis softer.

"There's lube on the stand, under the lamp," I instructed.

"I know. I already found it. I'm ready."

"Ah, that kind of ready," I mused. "No foreplay?"

"Nope," Shelley giggled. "I've been wanting to do this forever. I want you in me."

"I think I can do that. How do you want to do it?"

Shelley thought for a second or two. "'cause you're still sleepy, I'll be the jockey if you want."

'Riding the horse', or 'being the jockey' as Shelley termed it, was one of my favorite positions. It gave him control, and that was the key to having sex with a young boy. It was important that he was able to set the pace and determine the depth at the start. As soon as he was used to it, lust took over. If left to his own devices, he would usually do it as fast and as hard as he could. It always surprised me how much he could take when it was up to him. When it was my turn to take the active role, I did it the way I thought would give him the greatest pleasure. I was often goaded to employ greater effort.

I rolled onto my back, reaching out to Shelley as he scrambled on top of me. He lay down, full length, resting his head on my chest, listening to my heart beating. For a minute we did nothing but share our body warmth, the delicious heat of bare flesh pressed together. My hands caressed his lean back, tickling his ribs ever pass as I glided my fingertips up and down from his neck to the start of his buttocks. He giggled every time, slapping or pushing my hands away but not with enough effort to show that he wanted me to stop. Finally, when he was getting close to being annoyed, my hands flowed down one last time. Until now, I had stopped at the small gap between his buttocks that heralded the start of his crevice. Not this time. My hands felt the smooth roundness of his cheeks, holding one in each hand, easing my fingers into the hot zone that separated them. It was slippery there, along the furrow of his crack. When my finger touched his anus, I realized what Shelley had been doing in the bathroom.

"So you were peeing, huh?" I teased.

He giggled. "Uh huh, I did that too. But I did something else as well 'cause I wanted to be ready for him, Rick."

"So I see."

Actually, I could not see, but I could certainly feel. Shelley's anus was appropriately relaxed, the same way that any young boy's anus becomes after it has been subjected to both lubrication and fingering. There was no resistance to my finger at the small opening, just an inviting softness, the surrounding rim yielding to an enclosing tightness within. I rotated my finger, encouraged by Shelley's soft sigh and a very deliberate backward pressure that was intended to achieve penetration. My finger slipped into him, grasped by the spongy heat of his nibbling orifice.

"I think I know what you need," I said softly into his ear. "And it's not my finger."

"Uh huh," Shelley breathed. "I want you so much, Rick. I want to feel you all the way inside me."

"You do it," I answered.

"Now?"

"If you want to."

"Yeah," Shelley murmured.

His body lifted away and his knees drew up beneath him so that he squatted above me like a jockey crouched about a horse awaiting the start of a race. He felt behind him, guided my penis, touched his crevice as he sought the opening there. The he held my penis closer to the base, eased back as the tip nudged into the small indentation. He winced noticeably, pushed a little harder, swallowed and bit his bottom lip. It had to hurt. It was the worst part and he knew he had to be both careful and patient.

Robbie was neither careful or patient. I knew that Robbie had hurt him. Shelley was used to seeing blood afterwards. It was his blood. The first time there were red smears of blood all over the white sheets. He was very sore afterwards. Yet, he had gone back, time and time again, until the pain dulled to a raw ache and his body was able to take the abuse without being ravaged.

He groaned softly as he felt my penis penetrate deeper. It was still not in far enough that he could stop pushing down. Instinctively, his anus fought back. No matter how much he wanted to have sex, it was always the same. It was like putting a square peg in a round hole, or more accurately, a big peg in a small hole. He had to be patient. That part of his body needed time to adjust. Even with practice, it took a lot of effort.

I supported his hips with my hands. It would have been easy to force him down. Indeed, it sometimes seemed that a sudden hard thrust would have been preferable to watching his distress. His face contorted even as I felt his anus clench and try to push my penis out.

"Okay?"

"Not used to it," Shelley gasped. "It hurts a bit, Rick."

"I'm sorry. We don't have to…"

"I want to, okay. I'm not used to it. We both know it won't stop hurting unless we force him in."

What is said about absence making the heart grow fonder, probably could apply to abstinence making the ass get tighter. Two weeks without sex was a long time when a boy had become used to doing it on a regular basis. However, even while we paused, waiting for the contractions to fade, I wondered why he was having such a difficult time. Before I could ask the question, Shelley gave me the answer.

"You're so much bigger than him."

"Huh? You mean the President?" I asked guiltily.

"Uh huh." Shelley smirked. "You have the biggest cock of any guy I know."

"Even Robbie?" I teased. "You told me once that his was huge."

"It is huge, but your's is huge-er."

"I'll take that as a compliment. I'm sorry I'm hurting you."

"'s okay. Sometimes I wish he could just slide right up me."

I nodded, stroking his trembling flanks in a vain attempt to reassure him. Shelley eased down, half-closing his eyes, controlling his muscles with concentration, resisting his body's rejection. Without warning, he pushed down once, twice, tried a third time, then backed away quickly. It had gone in a bit further. There was only a momentary hesitation before he pushed, trying again. It was as if his wish had been granted. The head of my penis squeezed past the taut band inside him.

"Yeah," Shelley groaned.

"Better?"

"Much. I gotta catch my breath."

"Take your time. There's no rush."

Shelley smiled shyly. His body held mine, locked inside him, joined together. He took a slow breath. His sphincter closed, binding on my penis. He winced. The sensation felt both familiar and strange. He struggled for a few seconds until the spasm faded.

"Phew! This is hard work being on top."

"You've only just started," I grinned. "You'll be sweating like a pig before you're done."

It was a wonderful sight. He sat astride my thighs, his own slender smooth thighs splayed wide, his pale shrivelled genitals vaguely male. Rising between us, like an umbilical, I could make out the straight stiff stalk of my penis. It connected us. This was what made us what we were. We did this to show how much we loved each other. It hurt him, but it also defined him. He was a boy-lover's boy.

"How're you doing?"

"Okay. It feels like it's starting to get looser, Rick."

"Yeah, I can it."

Gently Shelley lifted up an inch or so and promptly pushed down again, driving my penis even deeper. He shuddered. I hated to see him hurt himself. He regarded my affectionately. I smiled back at him.

"Don't rush," I cautioned.

He nodded with an erratic movement that showed he was under stress. Then, closing his eyes again, he pushed obstinately downward. I felt my penis surging deeper, ramming into his bowels without regard for his pleasure. It was like that, being impaled. I realized that his urge was now in control and he was intent on giving me his body. There was nothing I could do to stop him. He knew what he had to do, and the sooner he did it, the sooner it would stop hurting.

I glanced down again in an attempt to see how much was left. I could still see my penis, albeit much less than before. Perhaps half. The rest? The rest was inside him. However, when he was like this, agitated and anxious, four inches [10 cm] was not enough. I slid my hands along the smooth skin of his thighs, brushed his wrinkled scrotum with my thumbs, marvelled at the barely perceptible indication of his gender. His penis had contracted until all that could be seen was his pale bluish-pink glans.

His sphincter dilated in a rush. It was fascinating how that happened. One moment it was a tight band that resisted my gentle thrusting. The next, it had become loose and spongy, sucking on my outward movement, yielding easily as I returned. It was as if some switch had been thrown, an inner voice that convinced his muscle to 'give in and enjoy it, because there was no point in fighting'.

Shelley felt it as well, that sudden looseness that allowed him to move without wincing, to push down further. He rose up on his haunches, pulling his penis through his distended tube until it came free. The first two inches [5 cm] glistened with shiny slickness from the film of KY. His hand reached underneath, felt between us, repositioned the swollen head where it needed to me. Then, gazing down at me with a cherubic expression, he rubbed the tip around in circles, smearing the lubricant before he reinserted it. His sphincter grasped my penis momentarily as he readied his inner muscles. Then with deliberate slowness he allowed his body to drop down. My penis penetrated as nature intended.

Straight, hard, inflexible, a stake of flesh pushed into softer, weaker flesh. This was the meaning of 'taking possession'. He could not stop until he belonged to me. Further, slowing down as my penis reached into his rectum. However, the worst was over. The rest was easy. He slowed only to relish the sensations, the pressure building when my penis was nearly half way inside him. Four inches [10 cm] was all that it took for him to have an orgasm. Four inches [10 cm], until my penis was in the vicinity of his tiny prostate. It did not matter that it was immature, that the production of seminal fluid was impossible. All that matter was its incredible sensitivity. He groaned loudly.

Some boys talk during sex. Manuel did. He told how it felt and how he wanted it. A lot of Mexican boys do that. It was impossible to have sex without getting instructions every step of the way. I put it down to the macho thing, the need to be in control of the situation. Not that I really minded, of course. It was nice to know that my efforts were appreciated, even if it meant going faster, deeper, and harder.

Shelley seldom talked. He groaned and whimpered a lot instead. I could tell a lot from the sounds he made. With my hands on his hips, I lifted him up so that my penis pulled back until it was nearly out. Then, holding him so that he could not move away, I began a long deep thrust. Past the halfway point, the point of no return, I eased him down. My penis skewered into him. He groaned again, his breath exhausting as he was impaled. I kept him there with a steady unrelenting pressure on his hips, flexing my penis within his pelvis. He gazed at me in silent hungry desperation, unable to express the incredible feeling that came from have my penis all the way inside him.

It would not take very long. I had known that from the instant we started. All too soon I felt the imminent tightness in my scrotum. Too soon. I stopped then. My penis was throbbing, luxuriating in his fabulous heat, contained inside his gently squeezing rectum. His flesh surrounded my flesh. I belonged inside him. Like me, Shelley had been born to do this. Looking up at me with his innocent doe-eyes, he smiled weakly. He could feel it too. The sensation of release was just around the corner. A few more thrusts and it would be over. Inside his body was too hot, too tight, too wonderful. I felt him quivering with excitement. There was joy in his eyes. I saw the trusting acceptance that came from knowing he was loved, that he knew he was making me happy.

He squatted down, keeping my penis deep within his bowels, resting, trying to delay the inevitable ejaculation. His pleasure depended on me. He wasn't ready for it to end, not yet. It is possible to control almost every bodily function, but it was impossible to delay orgasm in that situation. I could feel the tightening of my inner muscles, his body clamping down, my semen leaking out as I fought to hold back a greater flow, trying to prolong it, to make it last more than a few frantic seconds. Each squeeze slowed the eruption, but the short of withdrawing, it was only a temporary respite.

Shelley, his eyes nearly closed with mystical rapture, began to move again. His first few backward thrusts were almost casual, rhythmic pumping. Then suddenly he began to jerk, humping erratically. I gasped, felt the surge of semen rising through my shaft, spurting copiously into the grunting, shuddering boy above me. This was sex without the need to reproduce. Raw, primal sex. Rutting frantically, both thrusting in a simultaneous short-lived ecstasy.

I felt the change inside him. The result of an anal orgasm was always the same for a boy. They could easily pretend to climax, but one thing was always missing. They could not achieve the sudden looseness that now pervaded Shelley's trembling body. He breathed with quick shallow gasps, gripping my flanks with his knees. He could feel my fluids inside him, the sloppy, oozing heat that seeped past my penis and filled his flaccid inner chamber.

Gradually, my hands moved from his hips to his back, the upward to his shoulders. I drew him down until he lay on top of me. At the same time, my legs lifted up until my thighs cradled his rump.

"I love you," I whispered in his ear.

His anus clutched at my penis, showing his love for me in a different way.

"Is that what you wanted?" I asked quietly.

Shelley nodded, moving his tousled head on me chest. He tilted it around so his eyes could see my face.

"You feel nice," he murmured.

"So do you, lover boy," I answered. "You came right at the end."

"Uh huh. I didn't think I would for a while. I wasn't ready to stop."

"I could tell."

"Rick?"

"Yeah?"

"Can we do this for ever and ever?"

"Have sex?"

"That too. I meant just lie here like this."

"If you want. I guess they'll find out bodies eventually and figure out what happened."

"If I had to die I'd want it to be like this," Shelley smiled. "Cowboys are supposed to die in the saddle but I want to die with your dick in my ass."

I laughed, reached down and playfully squeezed the rounded cheek of his bottom.

"Same here. I can see the obituary. 'Rick Barrett, retired CIA operative and his recently adopted son, Shelley died while fucking.'"

"Hey, Dad?" Shelley began.

"Yes?"

"I was just trying it out to see if it worked."

"And does it?"

"You answered didn't you?" Shelley answered with a grin.

"I thought you felt strange calling me Dad when we were having sex?"

"We're not having sex," Shelley replied gleefully.

"We're not? My dick is confused then. He's inside your ass and covered in jizz and he's not having sex."

"We had sex. We're not having sex right now."

"What do you call it then?" I teased.

"Hm… Good question. I don't know, but you aren't fucking me so we aren't having sex."

"You sound like the President," I chuckled.

"Huh?"

"Well, that's sort of what he said. A while ago he tried to argue that oral sex wasn't really sex."

"It isn't?"

"Of course it is. What else could it be? A mouth massage as part of oral hygiene?"

"More like a mouth wash with you," Shelley giggled.

His fingers tugged at my armpit hair. "Do you think I'll be all hairy like you one day?"

"Nope."

"Why not?" Shelley asked.

"Because I'll shave it all off. I like you nice and smooth."

"Even around my dick?"

"Especially around your dick."

"There's something I guess I ought to tell you now you're my dad."

"Sure. Fire away."

"My balls feel funny," he said with a somewhat distant voice.

"Funny?" I asked nervously.

"Weird. It's hard to explain. It's like they're numb or something. They've been like that for a while now. It's like I can feel your fingers when you touch me there, but my balls don't feel anything."

"Oh?" I remarked cautiously. "How long?"

"Don't know really. I didn't think about it, or even really notice it until yesterday. When you were playing with it in the plane it didn't feel the same."

I nodded. Sooner or later, preferably later, I would have to tell him about the operation and what had been taken from his body. Now, I avoided the issue.

"Maybe it's because of the accident you had?" I suggested feebly.

"I guess. Do you think I hurt them, Dad? I was sort of worried they might have been hurt when I was with him. That other man practically lifted me off the ground by them."

I winced. If I ever had the chance to do it over again, I wondered if I would still agree. I had agreed to Wilderstein's plan for only one reason, and that reason was lying on top of me with my penis still embedded in his bowels. I would do anything to keep Shelley, including murder someone.

Much though I loathed Harry Grey for hurting Shelley in an effort to get him to reveal who I was, I did not need to kill him. Someone else had done that for me. The newspaper headline that I had seen in the airport shop had announced his death due to natural causes. However, that was highly unlikely. Harry Grey may have been a Russian spy, but he knew too much. He was too close to the President to ever be tried for espionage. There was only one solution and it could be accomplished by one of two methods. Death by natural causes, or death by accident. Over the last half-dozen years so many people around the President had died from accidental causes, that it was only to be expected that natural causes would be selected for someone as important as Harry Grey.

"I'm sorry I put you through all this," I said sincerely.

Shelley smiled. "It's okay, Dad. We're happy now. That's all that counts."

I laughed and bent my head so that I could kiss him. Instinctively, his head swivelled around so that his lips met mine instead of his forehead. I had not intended to kiss him like that. After going without brushing for twenty four hours my breath must have been ripe. On the other hand, Shelley's breath was fresh and sweet.

"That's not fair. You brushed your teeth, you little bum-boy," I teased.

"I don't mind." Shelley giggled. "But if I'm a bum-boy, you're a bum-bandit."

"Maybe I do mind," I replied.

I started to shift his body off me so that I could get up and go to the bathroom. Instantly, his knees locked into my sides and his hands gripped my arms. He clung to me like a little human limpet. To get him off me, I would literally have to drag him away.

"Come on, it's not fair," I complained.

"You can't get up."

"I can't? Why not?" I played along.

"Because you'd have to take your dick out of me and I don't want him to go."

"Then I'll have to carry you into the bathroom with me," I replied.

"If you pull your dick out, I'm going to get really, really mad."

Shelley grinned at me and promptly landed a quick kiss that was mostly wet, wriggling tongue, right on my lips.

14. Love Thrives on Sex

I did the only thing I could under the circumstances. I held him tightly against me and carefully eased up and off the bed, Shelley's arms looped around my neck and his legs lifted up and locked around my back. With one of my hands under his buttocks and the other arm around his back and holding his shoulder, my penis was not about to come out. Still, his rectum clamped, pulling against my softened penis with remarkable strength considering what had happened to it only a few minutes earlier. The unmistakable odor of sex rose up from our bodies. It was a sweet smell. The musky aroma reminded me of the times we had laid in bed afterwards, totally exhausted yet still joined. I was part of him. My seed was inside him. We had made love. We loved each other. We were lovers in every sense.

Carefully, I began to walk. I could feel my penis moving inside his body, sliding through the accumulated fluids, the walls of his rectum like a tube that was gradually becoming tight again, yet still stretching and flexing to accommodate me. It felt hot and alive, massaging my penis back to life again. And there was also the slightly unpleasant feeling as my semen seeped out of him, as hot thick cream became cold stickiness. My pubic hair felt like it was plastered to by groin, my scrotum coated with wet goo.

Shelley had left the bathroom light on in his hurry to get back into bed. For a moment I considered resting him on the vanity counter while I brushed my teeth. Then we could go back to bed, and repeat what we had just completed. The mere thought of proving my love for him again was exciting. I could feel my hardness returning, my penis expanding again, growing longer, reaching upward into his abdomen. The urge was back, and now I was awake, it was even stronger. However, time was short. There was a very full day ahead of us if we were to reach the cabin before sunset.

"Fuck me," Shelley purred as his thighs tensed.

His legs pulled us closer together, not that we could be much closer than we were. My stiffening penis pushed deeper, and the realization of our mutual need incited my heart to pump faster. I gripped his buttocks, now with both hands as I pulled his cheeks apart and strained upward and into him. MY penis continued to grow, taking over his inner void again until it was fully erect. Was it possible that so much of my penis could actually fit inside this slender little boy?

Instead of going back to bed, I took him into the shower. I had never had sex with him in the shower, at least not anal sex. There is a first time for everything. Well, not quite everything. A long time ago I had made a promise to myself, and Shelley too, that I would never use the 'doggy' position with him. Robbie did it that way. That way hurt too much!

With difficulty, I turned on the shower, have the water time to warm up, and carefully stepped over the bath edge with Shelley still clinging to me. My penis was rock-hard and fully embedded and he wriggled around to let me know that he was just as eager as I was to take advantage of it. I did not need encouragement, but it was nice to have it.

Awkwardly, I managed to release one hand and closed the shower door. The warm water splashed over us, momentarily diverting me as I stood there relishing the awakening refreshing change. Shelley, however, was not so easily diverted. Using his thighs and arms, he lifted his body upward. Gravity did the rest the instant that he relaxed his muscles.

"Oh God," he gasped as he dropped down.

My penis had forced deeply into him. It had burrowed into him as deep as it had ever been, at least that was how it felt to me, but as far back as I could remember, I had never penetrated him so hard or fast. He squirmed, pressing his face into my chest to stifle what had to be a cry of pain. His entire body trembled. For a moment I thought of a wounded animal, jerking erratically as if it had been impaled by a spear. Yet, even as I began to panic, Shelley's arms tightened around my neck. He struggled as he pulled himself away from it, choking back what sounded an awful lot like a sob. He did not lift up quite so far this time, just far enough that the head of my penis was still gripped by his quaking muscle.

"I love you, Rick," he groaned. "I love you. I want you in me so much."

"You don't have to do this," I said.

Even before the words were barely out of my mouth, Shelley dropped down again and my penis rammed back into him. It was hard not to feel bitter. It angered me, knowing that Robbie used to do this to him, take him with deep hard thrusts. It would have been rape, but Shelley had wanted to do it, again and again, until he was nearly senseless.

"I want to make love to you," Shelley grunted.

His legs gripped my hips, straining to push more of my rampart organ inside him. Not that it could go much further. He had reached the physical limit of seven inches [18 cm]. It was thick and hard, and it was all the way inside him. He shuddered again, but not as violently as the first time.

"Oh, Rick."

I heard the urgency in his voice, the nervous excitement, the need that could no longer be denied. I grinned at him proudly, felt his rectum clamping as he exerted all his strength against me, holding me inside him. His flickering eyes met mine. This was love. Enduring love. Sure it was sex too, but it was love first and foremost.

Love thrives on sex. At least, it was like that with Shelley and Manuel. I needed to show Shelley how much I loved him and the best way to do that was to give him pleasure like no other. No matter how many times we made love, each time was memorable. Now, my hands caressed his back, massaging the firm bumps of his spine. All of his weight seemed to be carried by my rigid penis. Indeed, my body arched back, lifting my sex upward and outward, curving into his grasping depths as I tightened my groin muscles and strained against his buttocks.

His arms locked around my neck, dragging his body upward. I flexed my sex, throbbing hard, making him quiver as it jumped inside him. Then with one hand cushioning his buttocks to make sure that my penis did not escape, and the other on his shoulder, I began. Up and down. Slowly at first, but quickly gaining force until he was slamming down so hard that each breath was knocked out of him.

I felt renewed as the water cascaded over us, stronger than seemed humanly possible, with more energy than I could ever remember. Yet, we were both gasping and groaning as the excitement began to peak. I pushed him back against the tiled wall of the shower, gripped his slender thighs close to his knees, started a different in-and-out motion that was less about going up and down than it was about going backwards and forwards.

The wall behind Shelley was an immovable barrier, hard and resisting, absorbing force that on the surface seemed to contradict Newton's law, 'for every action there was an equal and opposite reaction.' I expected a reaction back. There was none, not unless you would call Shelley's panting a reaction. It took only a few seconds before his groaning and twitching told me that he was nearly there, at that pinnacle of ecstasy from which there was no escape, merely the overpowering need to be there again.

Yet, as urgent as my thighs and hips were lunging against him, I realized that I wanted to delay the inevitable climax for as long as possible. This was something that we both longed for. It would make up for the long days and nights that we had been separated, or unable to satisfy our lust. This was what men and boys had been doing since they found a private place at the rear of a smoke-filled cave.

And then I felt the approach of my ejaculation. There was no holding back, not this time. I pounded against him, straining to get further inside him. I had a vague thought throughout that all demanding desire, that if I could just get far enough inside him, I could become part of him forever. I could hear his gasping in my ear, moaning his incoherent love aloud. Could I really go any faster than this? Slamming him back against the tiles, jamming my feet against the bath so that we would not slip, aware of him crying, pleading, begging me to do it.

It was not like before, not beginning with a slow dribble. It burst out of me as I jack-hammered furiously into the soft clutching body before me. A torrent of semen gushing into him, filling his anal cavity until it squelched noisily with each dying thrust. It always ended the same way, with regret that it had not lasted longer. Had Shelley climaxed as well? There was no way of telling. His eyes were closed, concentrating on the lingering sensations. Muted appreciation, a shared moment, knowing what we had done. Precious time together, forming memories that would have to last until the next time.

My penis, contracting as my erection faded, finally plopped out of his dilated anus and flopped against my thigh.

"The poor little guy's exhausted," Shelley observed.

"You're exhausted?" I teased. "I don't believe it. I was thinking you might want to do it again.

"Yeah, right," he giggled. "I was talking about your dick, Rick."

"Oh, that!" I winked at him. "I was pretty good for an old dude, huh?"

"Uh huh. I never did it in the shower before."

"Neither have I. Did you like it?"

"Yeah, and so did you."

"Does it hurt?"

That was the question I always asked afterwards. Most of the time Shelley shrugged, accepting his discomfort as the natural by-product of having sex with a man. A few times, only a few times, he had complained that it was sore, that it hurt where my penis had been. He nodded slightly but did not elaborate. Lovingly, I stroked his shoulders, kissed his forehead, nuzzled his ears. Shelley relaxed contentedly, abandoned to his blissful thoughts and the sybaritic pleasure of the dull ache inside him. He always enjoyed being held after sex.

"Rick?" Shelley asked softly.

"Uh huh."

"What I was saying before, about my balls feeling funny?"

"Yes."

"It was the same this time. When you were doing it. I could see them getting squashed against your belly, but it didn't hurt at all. I could barely feel it."

"Oh!"

I had a terrible sinking feeling. This was not the time to tell him what Wilderstein, what I had done to him. He would have to know what happened after his supposed bike accident. It had not been one testicle as I had agreed, but both of them. Both of them were gone, replaced with silicone-covered transmitters. He had been castrated for the good of his country. Would there ever be a good time to deliver the bad news?

"It's probably normal," I explained. "I guess we had better get a move on or we'll be charged for an extra day."

There was no conviction in my voice. There was a fleeting sense that he knew I was holding something back. He squirmed slightly and I eased him down onto the bottom of the bath. He picked up the soap from the holder and began to lather his front up. Satisfied when his white soapy belly and chest was covered in foam, he began on his back. Shyly he rubbed his fingers between his buttocks.

"The best part about doing it in the shower… is cleaning up," Shelley announced.

I grinned. I understood as any man who has made love to a boy that way would appreciate. Cleaning up can be unpleasant at times. Other times, it can be as enjoyable as having sex in the first place.

"Well, make sure you're really clean all over because this is the last shower you'll be able to take for a long while."

"Why? Where are we going?" Shelley asked eagerly.

I shook my head, pretending I was not going to tell him. His response was immediate. His little hand reached out and gripped my penis as hard as he could, He yanked it downwards, not too hard but hard enough to let me know he meant business.

"Okay, okay," I laughed. "I'll tell you. Just don't pull my dick off."

I leaned down and whispered in his ear. For a few seconds he did not understand. Then slowly, he smiled. His eyes opened wide and he beamed at me with joy. I took the soap while Shelley proceeded to shampoo his hair. His mood had become infectious and we were suddenly hurrying to get on our way.

In a way, it was illogical, him having a shower and shampooing his hair until it glistened. However, I did not have the heart to tell him what was in store for him when he got out of the shower. We dried off quickly, barely cognizant of our nakedness until Shelley gave me a long look and meaningfully dropped his eyes down to my crotch.

"He's my best friend in the whole world," he grinned.

"I'm glad because I'm in love with yours," I answered.

We stood there, facing each other, aware of that growing urge we shared. The need to be together was getting stronger and stronger, overpowering any restraint I possessed. Was three times in a row actually possible? I saw the answer to my unasked question in Shelley's smile, a smile that was both shy and sly.

"You want to go back to bed?" Shelley asked softly.

"I'd love to, but we really need to get on the road."

I paused, wondering how he would take it. Sooner or later he had to know, and sooner rather than later.

"Shel, there's something I haven't told you."

15. Metamorphosis

Shelley did not say anything, not for a long while. Perhaps the serious tone of my voice had alerted him that something was wrong. Very wrong. I breathed out slowly, emptying my lungs the same way I did whenever I had to start afresh. Then, a deep long breath. His eyes were focused on me, his thoughts now a great distance from where they had just been. This was not about sex. This was about him.

"What's wrong?"

I winced. His voice was soft, nearly a whisper, unable to conceal his anxiety.

"Shel, I'm sorry," I began.

My voice sounded all wrong. It was not the end of the world. In a way, it was a new beginning for both of us.

"Rick?"

Now or never. He would forgive me. I knew he would. He was like that. He had to know sooner or later. The only question I had was how to tell him. I started with what had happened while he was asleep.

"Shel, last night, when I brought into the room, you were sound asleep." I paused. "There were two people staying here, both very close friends. They left after I undressed you and put you in bed. I gave them our clothes. One is a boy who's about your size. He's your age as well. Right about now, they're either in Texas, or just crossing the border into Mexico."

"They're wearing our clothes… so they're supposed to look like us, aren't they?" Shelley asked thoughtfully.

I nodded. "That's the plan. The people who put the bomb on the plane will find out quickly that we went to Mexico. With any luck, the search for us should stop then."

"What are we going to wear?"

"Their clothes," I answered simply. "You going to become a ranch brat for a while."

Shelley grinned cheerfully. However, the change in his appearance that I needed to create was more than just merely changing his clothes.

"The boy whose place you're taking originally came from Mexico," I added.

Again, I paused. I waited for a few moments to see if Shelley would grasp the meaning of what I had just said. He nodded his head slowly, taking in the idea.

"I don't look very Mexican," he said light-heartedly.

"No you don't. For my plan to work… for us to disappear, we'll have to change your appearance."

"How?"

"Well, for one thing, your skin is way too pale. There's a fairly simple way to stain it darker. Also, most Mexicans don't blue eyes like yours. I have some special contact lenses. They'll feel a bit strange, but you won't have to wear them for very long."

Shelley inclined his head and glanced at his reflection in the mirror.

"They don't have blond hair either, do they Rick?" he asked slowly.

He had an almost girlish affectation concerning his hair. It was always neatly brushed, long enough that it nearly reached to his shoulders. It was glistening and golden-blond. Aaron Carter hair. It was hard to think of him without it.

"No they don't," I admitted. "The boy whose place you're taking… he had short dark hair."

"Oh! Oh, Rick! You mean?"

I sighed, hearing the distress in his voice. He had been through so much over the last week. Now this.

"It's much shorter than yours," I added. "It's the reason why I bought that cap in the airport. He's wearing the cap now. The stain on your skin will wear off after a while, maybe in a week or two, but your hair… The dye is permanent, Shel… It'll take months before your hair color is back to normal. It takes that long to grow out," I added sadly.

"Okay," Shelley answered. "I guess it'll be kind of fun looking different for a while."

I smiled. "I think you're going to be a spy when you grow up."

"Why?"

"Because you're a lot like me. You'll do whatever it takes to make the mission succeed."

Shelley thought for a moment. "Do I have a Mexican name as well?"

"Juan," I replied.

Over the next few days I would brief him on his new identity. He had a lot to learn. We would have to practice, just as we had practiced before he met the President. If everything went according to plan, I would have a few weeks to teach him some Spanish. I expected that Shelley, soon to become Juan, knew some Spanish already from growing up in a racially mixed neighborhood. However, in all likelihood, the words he would have learned would not be appropriate in decent conversation.

"Juan," Shelley repeated. "Okay. What's your name? Are you going to be a Mexican too?"

"No. I'm the man who brought you back from Mexico and adopted you about four years ago. We had better get started," I added abruptly.

The memory was not a happy one. It was like the vanquished returning from a battlefield. Manuel was dead and buried next to the stone wall that ran behind the house. It was a beautiful place, looking out over the ochre-colored hills. I could think of him, remembering how carefree he had been riding his pinto bareback down to the village. He had been lean bodied and sun bronzed, and on the very cusp of puberty. His very first milky emission had occurred just two days before he was murdered. Two droplets, like tiny pearls. He was so proud, but despite his vigorous attempts to produce more the next day, he was dry. We had planned to try again that night.

It was a long hot summer but it was slightly cooler under the shade of the gnarled pinyon pine that grew next to Manuel's grave. I sat there for most of the next day while I tried to decide what to do. I was sure I knew who was responsible. They had killed Manuel for no other reason than to get at me. They thought they were untouchable. They had friends in Washington, important friends. I remembered thinking that Manuel's grave that did not even come close to being worthy of him. He deserved the world and instead he ended up buried without a coffin. My mind was made up. My career would be ruined, but I no longer cared. All I cared about was getting revenge.

"What's wrong, Rick?"

I looked up quickly. Shelley regarded me with concern. He did not smile. Instead, his eyes blinked rapidly. He was almost ready to cry.

"Nothing," I answered softly. "I'm sorry." I smiled weakly. "I love you, Shelley."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Shelley sang as he pretended to be cheerful. "All you want is my ass."

"That's not true. I want all of you."

I growled at him and he giggled at my poor attempt to sound like a wild animal ready to devour him. He didn't move away when I leaned down and planted a wet, slobbering kiss on his shoulder prior to a playful bite. He enjoyed being 'smooched'. I slapped his firm little butt with my hand. It made a louder sound than I expected. He still laughed and danced away out of reach.

"See, all you want is my butt," he challenged.

I grinned at him, stepped over to the vanity and opened the brown paper bag that had been left there for me. A quick glance confirmed that everything I had asked for was inside. While Shelley looked on, I removed the covering from the painter's drop cloth and began to spread the plastic sheet out over the bathroom floor.

"Why do we need this for?" Shelley asked when he finished tucking the plastic film over the edge of the bath tub.

"So we don't make a mess on the floor," I explained. "Once the stain we're going to use on your skin dries it's nearly impossible to get off. Okay, I want you to get in the middle."

I pulled on a pair of latex gloves and removed the cap from the bottle of stain. It was 'Walnut', a little darker than I needed, but there was no way of diluting it. There were also a couple of small sponges in the paper bag. I had done this once before and I knew the technique that could produce the best results. Even coloring was essential. I began by soaking the sponge in the dark liquid. I regretted doing it even as I reached to the top of his head. His hair was so blond and beautiful that it almost hurt me to do it. The dark spot spread as the stain began to spread outward.

"Get it over with," Shelley muttered.

He was looking at my reflection in the mirror, observing my hesitation, seeing the anguish I felt. His 'movie-star' looks were about to disappear.

"Close your eyes," I said firmly. "And don't open them until I tell you."

He obeyed. I added more stain to the sponge, brought the dark line lower, to his forehead, added more stain, moved to the back of his head, and then around to the sides and down to his ears. A trickle of stain ran down his cheek. I shook my head, denying the feelings inside him. Once started, I could not stop. His head was the hardest part. Eyelids, inside his ears, his lips, even his nostrils, all had to covered with the dark brown stain. I reached his neck.

Already he looked different. No longer blond, but dark headed. Strange, almost like a different person. I slopped more of the stain onto the sponge and started making longer strokes. Down his slender arms, covering his pale skin with dark skin. He lifted his arms up when I asked him, barely giggling when I did his arm pits. I guided him to turn around and with a soaking sponge, began to work on his back. Dribbles ran down his buttocks, one all the way down his legs.

"Turn around again," I instructed.

I took one last look at his perfect chest and belly. I had kissed him there so often. Long wet kisses, dragging my tongue across his navel, nibbling on his tiny nipples, leaving wet trails of saliva across him. Now a slowly descending line of stain, lower and lower until I reached his waist. More stain was needed on the sponge. I knelt down, getting a close look at his sex organs. Like the rest of his body, they made me thing that he had been sculpted by Divine will. His scrotum was shrivelled, more than it had been when I started. His penis hung loosely, limp and nearly sexless. He waited patiently as I wiped the stain over his pubis, bringing the stain ever closer to that small pale appendage. Without a foreskin, that part of him would not be completely right, but no one else would know it. I lifted his penis up to dab the sponge against his wrinkled scrotum. Despite the contraction of the skin, the shape of what should have been his testicles was clearly visible. Beneath the flattened dark brown pouch, there was a thin pale line, a tiny scar that followed nature's joining line. It had definitely become more visible, but even then, it would only be dsicovered after a close inspection.

It did not take more than a few seconds to apply the stain to his penis and scrotum. I paused and surveyed my handiwork. From his genitals upwards, his body was brown. Brown like Manuel had been, brown like Juan was. Mexican brown. His precious paleness was gone. I moved to his buttocks, making sure that the stain was all the way inside his crack before I began to work on his thighs. His legs were the easiest part, which was fortunate because I was getting tired of kneeling and bending over. He was brown right down to his toes and the soles of his feet.

"Okay," I said. "Now it has to dry."

"Can I open my eyes?"

"In a few minutes. It has to dry on your eyelids."

The next task was to cut his hair. I was not much of a barber, but fortunately Juan preferred a hair style that emphasized efficiency over aesthetics. Close cropped. Not a 'buzz' but evenly short so that it bristled upward. I figured that the best way to do it was to run my fingers through Shelley's hair and to use the scissors next to my fingers to maintain the constant length. I began to cut, cautiously at first until I got the technique down and the results were excatly what I wanted. I let the long sticky strands of hair fall to the floor. Cutting his hair took almost as long as applying the stain to his body. He was beginning to look increasingly like a ten-year-old Mexican boy.

"How do I look?" Shelley asked when he sensed that I was taking a 'breather'.

"Good. You can open your eyes now," I answered nervously. "The stain is close to being dry by now."

"Man!" Shelley gasped.

"Well!"

"It's awesome. I don't look like me any more. I don't, do I?"

"No."

Both his face and body were unfamiliar to the two people to whom it was best known. He might not stand up to a close inspection, but the change in appearance was good enough for what we wanted. With luck, he would not be seen from a distance closer than ten feet.

"Hey, my dick's brown too," Shelley observed. "It looks really weird, Rick."

"It's just like a Mexican boy's," I grinned.

His penis was noticeably smaller than Juan's. What he lacked in length, he made up for in the size of his scrotum, even if the increased size was artificially caused.

There was another bottle of coloring in the bag. This one was smaller. Applying hair dye is particularly difficult. Fortunately, I had experience doing it on several occasions in the field. I used toilet paper for his head, coiling it around and around until the hair line was precisely marked and there was no way that the dye could tint his face skin. Using another sponge, I began to apply the dye. I had to be very careful and it seemed to take forever. It had to be close to but not quite black, more like the color of very dark mahogany. I finished by carefully applying the dye to his eyebrows and eye lashes. Finally, I unwound the toilet paper and peeled off my gloves. The stain had dried to a even tone.

The naked boy who stood before me was no longer Caucasian. His heritage was that of mixed races, part Spanish conquistador, part Indian, perhaps other races. Except for the sky-blue eyes that was. I grinned at my new lover, a hot blooded Mexican boy.

"What do you think?" I asked nervously.

Shelley thought for a moment as he studied himself in the mirror.

"Do I look like him? The boy whose clothes I'm going to wear?"

I nodded silently. Juan was beautiful, a smaller version of Manuel, but Shelley was very beautiful. Had his hair been longer, he could easily have passed for a girl.

Shelley smiled shyly. He inspected his arms with deliberate interest in the transformation. The change was more than a mere change of color. He had become someone else.

"How long before it wears off?" he asked quietly.

"It'd be noticeably lighter in a week, if you showered every day that is. Only where were going to, there aren't any showers," I said with amusement. "Just cold baths down in the creek."

"Yuk."

"It won't be that bad. I know exactly how to warm you up afterwards," I laughed.

Shelley grinned at me, a Mexican boy's grin with brilliant white teeth and a pink mouth that contrasted with the dark brown skin of his face. His lips had taken on a distinctly purple hue. The color was close to being perfect.

I completed the metamorphosis by showing Shelley how to use the contact lenses. There was no optical effect, yet he still had some difficulty getting used to the feeling of something foreign in his eyes. He blinked again and again. When he stopped, his innocent blue eyes were gone. Instead, his dark eyes were brooding and sensuous. At least on the surface he had become a different boy. The change in character and identity would take longer to effect.

I sent Shelley out to get dressed while I cleaned up the bathroom. Using a plastic sheet was immediately justified. I bundled it into the paper bag together with the two bottles and the used sponges. I would discard the evidence in a trash can when we were well away from the motel. .

I walked out of the bathroom and came to an abrupt halt. Shelley was nearly dressed. He sat on the lounge seat next to the window, putting on boots that were scuffed and grime-smeared. I could have been looking at Juan. He wore Juan's well-worn jeans, complete with a hole in one knee and faded areas on the thighs and seat from where he was used to sitting in a saddle. The plaid shirt was open to the third button revealing a 'v' of bronze-colored skin.

"I look like a cowboy, don't I?" Shelley grinned.

"Sure do. And a very sexy cowboy at that."

"You're gonna have to put a halt to that kind of talk," he rebuked. "Us Mexican boys ain't like that."

If only you knew, I thought to myself. I grinned back at him. He stood up and put his hands defiantly on his hips as if challenging me to argue the sexual proclivities of our southern neighbors. His hands slowly moved behind him. Even without seeing, I realized what he was doing. It was a distinctly sexual gesture. His hands cupped his buttocks as if he was getting ready to part his cheeks and reveal his crevice. Then, without warning, Shelley's expression darkened. His hands clutched at his jeans and then he looked at me frantically. His mouth was grim.

"What's wrong?" I asked quickly.

"Nothing!"

"Shel," I tried.

He shook his head urgently. "'s nuthin'. Okay!"

The last word was angry and so unlike him. He glared at me, blinking rapidly as tears began to build in his eyes.

"Shel," I tried again.

"It's not there!" he said softly. He trembled.

"What's not there?"

"MY PHOTO!" he screamed.

"What photo?" I asked. I tried to keep my voice calm.

"MY PHOTO!" He shook violently. "It's gone," he added emptily.

"Shelley, calm down a moment. Please," I implored.

He glared at me with more anger than I had ever thought he was capable of.

"NO!" he shouted. "IT'S ALL I HAD! 'N NOW ITS GONE!"

"Shel, please. Tell me."

He sobbed with a sudden exhale from his chest. "My parents… and me… from when I was a baby… before they died. She took it so I wouldn't tell."

"Who took it?" I asked gently. With sudden insight I added. "Julia?"

Shelley nodded. His hand smeared a wet trail of tears across his cheek. "Mrs. Harmon took it."

"Why did she take it?"

"So I wouldn't tell."

"On Robbie?" I prompted. "About what he was doing to you?"

He nodded again. He swallowed, clenching his fists impotently. "If I told, she said she was going to burn it up."

"How did you get it back?"

"I found it. She kept it in the back of her Bible, but I found it. By then…" His voiced died as he choked on tears that would not come. "I didn't want to stop… I couldn't tell."

"God, you poor kid," I said glumly. "Look, Shel, it's probably safe. Juan will find it. He won't throw it away. He'll figure it's something important to you. I know he will."

"Rick, it's all I've got," Shelley intoned distantly. "I don't have anything else."

He shook his head in despair, again and again as tears finally began to run down from his eyes. I wanted to cry with him, but I had other things I had to do.

16. Bad Memories

Other things consisted of carrying the bags from the room and packing them into the limited space inside the Jeep Wrangler. Each time that I re-entered the room, I tried to talk to Shelley. He ignored my efforts to establish communication. There was blame in his reddened eyes. I was responsible and I felt like 'shit'. Had it been possible, I would have immediately driven all the way to Mexico to get the photograph back. However, there was no point in trying. As soon as they crossed the border, Michael would disappear. There was no way of reaching them until they arrived at the Rodriguez farm. By then, there was a high probability that Juan had discarded the photograph.

When the Jeep was loaded I went back into the room to get Shelley. I took one last look around the room, checked the bathroom, looked under the beds, and led Shelley outside. He was morose, giving me the proverbial 'cold shoulder' that was every bit as frigid as the cold look he gave me.

I started the engine and backed out of the parking space. I had one more thing to do before we were on our way. I stopped in front of the motel office. 'Check out' was the first step in officially establishing our new existence. It would also be Shelley's first test. I let the engine idle while I talked.

"Okay, Shel. Pay attention. Your name is…"

"Juan," Shelley said abruptly. "I know, okay! Just leave me alone, Rick."

I sighed. This was going to be more difficult than I expected. I lost my temper. The stress of the last few days finally got to me. I was not in the mood for childish sulking and temper tantrums

"Listen to me you little shit!" Had I really said that? It was my voice. I had to get his attention. "This is important. We're going into that office in a few seconds and you're going to pretend to be a Mexican kid. Not some spoiled little brat!"

"Fuck you!" he said under his breath.

"No!" I answered.

He was trying be be tough. He had spent most of his life trying to be tough. He had to be tough to survive, and he was a survivor.

"Now get your ass out of the car and come with me."

He did. He followed me into the office. He was not happy. He slouched against the wall, glaring at everything and everyone around him. I walked up to the counter and stood there waiting for the black-haired Indian woman to show some interest in her job. She ignored me. After nearly a minute, she looked up.

"Yeah? Can I help you?"

"I'd like to check out… today… sometime."

"What room number?"

"One-forty-something."

"Eight," Shelley said from the wall. His accent was a long way from being perfect but it was quite good.

I concealed my smile. Perfect cue. "You want something to eat, Juan, you better get it now. I'm not stoppin'."

"How about Dunkins?"

"Nope. Get yourself some of them muffins over there." I turned back to the woman who was casually inspecting a book. "It's included in the price of the room, ain't it?" I asked.

She shrugged. "That and the towels," she replied sarcastically.

I glanced back over my shoulder. "Get me some too," I said with my 'command' voice.

Shelley gave me a cold stare. He was still very angry. His tongue licked over his upper lip. "Chingate," he said cruelly.

The woman snorted although there was a slight smile at the corner of her mouth. Clearly, she approved of the Mexican boy telling me 'fuck you'. She would not forget us easily.

"Your son?"

I shook my head. "My wife's. First marriage. She's from El Paso."

The woman accepted that. "Bill's been paid. There ain't no phone calls or extra charges. You want it on your card still?"

"Yeah."

I turned and walked over to the table where Shelley was now standing. He looked forlorn, standing there. Lonely. Frightened. Fragile. He had nothing left. I leaned down, aware that the woman was staring at me. No doubt she was watching to see if I would strike him.

Instead, I whispered in his ear. "I love you."

He stood perfectly still, tensed and still angry. "Same," he said under his breath.

"Good. Now let's get the hell out of here."

Carrying a paper plate with half a dozen medium-sized but stale looking muffins in one hand and a plastic cup of milk, hopefully not stale, Shelley followed me outside. I held the cup and plate while he climbed in and closed the door. I handed the food to him, winked, and walked to the other side. By the time I got in, he was smiling again.

"How was I?"

"'Chingate' indeed."

"I didn't think you'd know what it meant."

"I do. So what other words do you know?"

Shelley grinned. "Chupame la polla."

I laughed. "I'll suck your dick when I'm good and ready. How about 'chupar es mi pinga?"

Now Shelley laughed. "Whenever you say."

We laughed as I started the car. We were still laughing as I pulled out of the motel parking area and onto the road that would take us to a new life three hundred miles [500 km] away.

"So how do you know Spanish?" I asked as I settled into my driving mood.

"From school, of course. Half the kids there spoke Spanish. You'd have to be deaf and dumb not to pick it up, Rick. They were always talking about 'chocho' and stuff like that." He smiled shyly. "The guys I hung out with called me 'Chilito', and not because of that Taco Smell thing, either."

I ignored the crude reference to the female sex organ. Mexicans had as many words for it as they had for different kinds of food. I laughed and made the assumption that Taco Bell had an item on the menu with the name 'Chilito'.

"Well, you have a small dick, don't you? That can be your nickname from now on if you want?" I asked teasingly. Shelley shook his head vigorously. "Okay. But take it easy on the vulgarities," I warned. "You're supposed to be a ranch rat, not some street kid."

I turned on the radio. It was already tuned to 101.3 so we listened to 'Country Classics' until we left I-25 at Sante Fe. I would like to have stopped there and shown the old town to Shelley, even to divert from my planned route in order to visit Taos, which despite the hordes of tourists and retirees, is still worth seeing. According to Wilderstein, there was even a doctor in a private clinic who had been instructed to remove the transmitters from Shelley's scrotum. The thought of subjecting him to that operation sickened me, despite the fact that sooner or later it would have to be performed.

We took Route 84 and headed towards Los Alamos. Shelley recognized the name as soon as he saw it on a road sign. He spent the next hour craning his neck in a more or less fruitless endeavor to see 'where the bombs were made'. We stopped for a break at Abiquiu Reservoir, bought a couple of luke-warm sodas from a drink machine, and got back into the car. It was beginning to get hot. Route 17 from Chama took us across the border into Colorado. We had the occassional glimpse of the Cumbres and Toltec Scenic Railroad, and even a distant view of the steam train as it climbed slowly up the hill outside Chama. We turned off the black-top after 28 miles [45 km] and began to head north, just before we reached Cumbres Pass. For the next few hours we drove on unpaved roads into forested mountains that became increasingly rugged. There was a reason why most of the vehicles in the region had four wheel drive. Without it, you were not going to go very far. During the winter, the trails were accessible only by snow mobile.

Apart from a brief nap around noon, Shelley stayed awake. Over the last few hours he seemed to have mostly forgotten the loss of his photograph. A few times when I glanced in his direction, I caught him staring out the window. He did so with such concentration that I was unsettled. He had 'lost everything'. I wished that I had a better understanding of what his life had been like before I came along. It might have helped me to get through to him. I made a mental note to read his case-file as soon as he was out of the way.

Shelley's dark moods were temporary. It usually only took a few minutes before he turned back and resumed singing along with the static-interrupted radio or talking about what he had just seen. He was interested in everything he saw. I fielded a stream of constant questions about the heights of mountains, different kinds of trees, the speed of running deer, what it was like to ride a horse, why the air became thinner with higher altitude… Then, just as we were both about to fall asleep, I saw the most welcome sight in the world. We were still many miles from our final destination, but for the moment I felt an overwhelming sense of relief. The rusted iron roof of Keneally's old barn never looked so welcoming.

I looked around carefully before I turned off the engine. No one was there. The place was deserted. Deserted except for the three horses in the corral.

"Okay," I said as I at last unfastened my seat belt.

"You're worried, aren't you Rick?" Shelley said quietly.

I nodded. "Shel, I always get nervous when things go too good," I answered. "I guess I was expecting a welcoming committee. Although I don't know how they could even begin to find us now."

"Say what?"

"Nothing," I answered.

I did not want to explain why there might have been a welcoming committee for the simple reason that I did not understand myself. For the life of me, I could not think why Wilderstein would want us dead. The mission had been successful. Even the death of Harry Grey was believable. There were no untidy details. Even though I did not Wilderstein, he knew me well enough to know that I would not talk.

I opened the door and climbed out. I was grateful for the chance to stretch my cramped legs. Shelley leaped out and bounded across the dusty yard. He climbed the fence rails and perched on the top to look at the horses. Growing up in a Washington ghetto meant that this was probably the first time in his life he had ever seen a horse up close. What ten-year-old boy did not like horses? And then I smiled. After a few hours on horseback, he'd probably be wishing he never saw a horse again. He could only blame himself. After all, he had told me that he wanted to live on a farm. How was he to know I had grown up on a ranch?

There was a lot we needed to take from the Jeep. The rifle, of course. The boxes of cartridges. There were clothes in one of the bags. The other bag held a variety of items we would need in the forseeable future. There was food for the trail, blankets, and cooking utensils. I carried the bags over to the fence and left them next to the gate. Without thinking about it, I stopped to load three bullets into the Browning's magazine. In my experience, it usually paid to be prepared. Sometime soon, I would have to teach Shelley how to shoot a gun. I had a feeling about him. Unless I was greatly mistaken, he would be a great shot.

There were saddles and bridles lying on a bench in the barn. I stood still, aware that I was very tired and how much I still had to do. Memories of my childhood came back to me. Everything was familiar, even if I saw it through a haze of time. I looked around me, remembering, inhaling the scents of animals and fresh hay.

There were still a few hours until dark. I would have liked more time, half a day at least, to get some distance between us and this place. We would make slow progress at first. Not only would I would have to teach Shelley how to ride, but he would need time to become confident on his horse before we started on the mountain trail. For a moment I considered delaying our departure until the next morning. There was plenty of hay in the barn loft. We would be comfortable up there. I imagined sharing a blanket with Shelley, sleeping in the straw, naked side by side, just as I used to sleep with Sam Keneally all those years ago. Shelley and I would have sex, of course. More than likely it would happen as soon as we lay down, and then again when we woke up, perhaps even during the night. Afterwards, when we were still joined with the stickiness that had seeped out of Shelley's body, I would smell that wonderful earthy smell. It was the aphrodisiac that brought men and boys together. We would have to be careful that we did not overdo it otherwise he would soon be walking bow-legged. I smiled at the thought. I carried the saddles outside one at a time. He would still be walking bow-legged, but from a different cause.

"So, are we gonna ride 'em horses, pardner?" Shelley asked with a poor imitation of a cowboy.

He was sitting on the top rail with his denim-clad legs dangling one each side over the fence. he had his right hand on the fence-post, pretending it was a saddle pommel. He certainly looked the part of a young rancher, even if he did not sound quite right. His close-cropped hair added a roguish quality that seemed to suit him even more than the 'Aaron Carter' appearance that I was accustomed to. His plaid shirt was open one button short of his waist, revealing his lean belly and chest. Although I had been attracted to his soft paleness, I found myself admiring the new dark-skinned boy, the unruly, sensuous boy, who grinned at me from a height that was awfully close to eight feet.

"Hey, Rick?"

I lowered the saddle and bridle I was carrying to the ground. I reached out and grasped his ankle so there was no chance of him falling of the fence. "Oye ese! Que hay de nuevo?" I answered. ("Hey there, homeboy, what's up?")

Shelley grinned, appreciating the affection. "Chupar es mi pinga?"

"Ay joven!"

"Huh?" Shelley queried immediately.

"Roughly translated, it means 'Oh yeah, the small one'."

He smirked after a fleeting glance at his crotch. We both knew that there was not much of lump. "Very funny?"

I pointed to the horses. "Caballo."

"Like in caballero for cowboy?"

I nodded. "It actually means 'horseman'," I explained. I pointed to the saddle and bridle. "Montura y frenillo."

Shelley nodded and repeated the words. "How do I say 'I am going to ride a horse'?"

"Voy a montar un caballo," I replied.

"Wow, you're great. Okay, let me try. Voy a montra um… caballo?"

"Okay, only it's montar, not montra. It means 'to mount'."

Shelley giggled. "That's what you do to me. Mount me!"

I laughed even as I wondered how he had learned the expression. Was it something I had said to him in the past? It did not sound like something Robbie would have said to him.

"Sometimes. Where did you hear that? About being mounted?"

Shelley shrugged, tilted his head, narrowed his eyes. Suddenly, his expression changed. His effervescence had vanished.

"Mrs. Harmon," he answered bitterly. "That's what she used to call it. What Robbie did to me."

"Oh. Shel, listen to me. It's okay. That's a part of your life. I don't want you to feel bad about it. You can't change it no matter how much you want to."

"Rick, I hate them so much. It was horrible living there."

"I know."

"No you don't. You can't even begin to understand," Shelley said angrily.

"I'm sorry."

"Sometimes it was every night. I know I told you it didn't happen all that often. But it did. At first…" He shook his head , denying his memories.

"At first, what? What happened?" I asked gently. "I want you to be able to talk about anything and everything, Shel."

"I can't, okay? I want you to love me. I don't want to hurt you," he said. He was on the verge of crying.

"Shel, I love you. I want to know. You won't hurt me. That's what loving someone means."

"Rick… I can't," he choked. "Rick, she used to take me in… to his room… and take my clothes off." His hands clenched impotently. "She did it because I couldn't get any modelling work. She said it was my fault. I wasn't trying hard enough. She said the only thing I was good for was 'for being mounted'. That's what she called it. She used to make me…"

I nodded understandingly. His first exposure to sex was punishment. I hated to think what had happened with Robbie. Clumsy, ugly, retarded Robbie.

"I hated it so much. He smelled terrible. He was fat and hairy all over."

He sobbed, trembling as long repressed memories poured out of his mind. "Rick… I don't want to…"

"It's okay," I said reassuringly. "It's okay. I love you."

"Rick, I had to suck his thing first to get it hard," Shelley snivelled. "It wasn't like sucking yours. It stank 'cause he never washed it, even after… even after he took it out. I had to lick it clean."

"Oh God!" I groaned.

Suddenly everything became a little bit clearer.

Shelley closed his eyes. I wondered how much worse it could get.

"Sometimes… I can still taste it in my mouth. The blood and stuff, and my shit… She made me lick his thing clean before I got to go back to my own bed. For a while, every time I pooped there was blood in the toilet. I hated him so much… then…"

I wanted to scream. I held his ankle tightly, so tightly that I could have broken his bones if I had squeezed any harder. His leg was thin, just bone and sinew, so fragile. How had he managed to survive? He had given in eventually, no longer able or wanting to fight a battle that he could not hope to win. Some part of him had begun to enjoy it. He began accepting what he was.

"Then… I got really sick and I couldn't stop throwing up. It hurt inside so bad. I was so scared. I thought I had Aids or something."

I groaned from deep in my chest. I could hear the desperation in his voice, a plaintive whimper that I would never forget.

"Rick, I didn't want to die," he said sadly as he shook his head. "Then you came along… and…" He slumped down. The next few words were barely loud enough to hear. "You showed me what love was."

I reached up and held him, felt his thin chest fluttering as he broke down and cried, eased him away from his perch on the top rail, gathered him into my arms and cradled him. I cradled him like he was a still a baby, rocking him gently until he started to quieten down.

"Te amo," I whispered. "I love you."

"I love you too," Shelley returned between sobs.

It took a long while before he finally calmed down. Gradually his tears stopped and his endless crying became wet-nosed sniffs. At some point I had taken to leaning back against the fence. He wiped his hand over his nose, then realizing that his face was wet, used the sleeve of my shirt to dry himself. All of a sudden he smiled as he realized what he had done. It provided the first comic relief in a long while. I could sense the change in him. He seemed a lot younger. Together, we had released the pain that had dwelled inside him for more than a year. We had passed the test together.

"Can we ride today? Even if it is for only a little while?" Shelley asked hesitantly.

"Yes. It'll take a few minutes to get your horse ready, but you can ride him while I get the others saddled. "

"Caballo," Shelley corrected.

"Yes, caballo. With?" I prompted.

He thought for a few seconds, forming the words in his mind before he said them. "Montura y frenillo?"

I eased him down so he stood before me. Lovingly, I ruffled my hand through his bristle-like hair. I was beginning to enjoy the new Shelley. He looked like a ranch boy, the same kind of boy that I had been at ten years old.

He watched with avid interest as I fastened the bridle and placed the saddle in position. Needless to say there was a constant stream of questions and by the time I was finished I was certain that he knew the name of every strap and buckle. I was also beginning to enjoy the role of teacher.

With the stirrups adjusted to what I thought was the right length, I boosted him up and he dropped neatly into the saddle. He grinned down at me from a height of 16 hands and half a boy.

"Cool!"

"Okay, you look great cowboy. Now you're a cabellero, that's the last time I lift you up," I joked.

"How do I get up then?"

"Go figure. I used to climb the fence and get on from there when I was your age."

"You used to ride when you were a kid?" Shelley asked in disbelief.

"Don't be so surprised. There's a lot you don't know about me."

I gave him basic instruction, nothing more than stop, start, left, right, and left him to it. He was nervous and the last thing he needed was me looking over his shoulder and watching his every move. I did not hurry to saddle the other horses. I glanced at him frequently, furtive brief glimpses to make sure he was all right. He was. In fact, he looked at home. Eighty pounds [36 kg] of boy was doing an absolutely fantastic job of controlling 1,000 pounds [450 kg] of unruly horse.

"It's easy, Rick," Shelley said gleefully as he walked the animal over to where I was standing.

"Keep the reins a bit looser," I said. "Let him move his head around but not too much. That way he knows you're in control. And when you pull, give it a slow steady pull. Don't jerk because it can hurt his mouth," I added as I bent down again to refasten the stirrup straps.

"Your's is bigger than mine."

I looked up. "That's why they called you 'Chilito', Chilito."

Shelley groaned. "You're not going to call me that, are you?"

"Only when you deserve it," I chortled. "Go ride some more while I finish up here."

"I can help?"

"No. I want you to practice. Try nudging him a bit harder and he'll trot for you," I suggested.

By the time all of the bags were tied down on the third horse, the sun was nearing the horizon. There were still a few hours of good light left. At that time of the year it was light until eight o'clock. As I swung up into the saddle, I figured we would be able to reach the Conejos River before we had to stop. I opened the corral fence and led the way out into the yard.

"Hey, this is truly awesome," Shelley gushed. "Voy a montar un caballo."

"Yeah, it sure looks to me like you're riding a horse, Chillito," I laughed.

He babbled non-stop as we started up the trail behind the barn. Effusive, that was Shelley. I kept the pace slow with a constant eye out for anything that would upset the horses. The last thing I wanted was for Shelley's horse to bolt when it disturbed a rattlesnake basking in the late afternoon sun. Going north left then sun over our left shoulders. It was pleasantly warm except when we rode through thick stands of pine trees. Every so often rabbits dashed ahead of us. I took the opportunity to add more words to Shelley's Spanish vocabulary. He was a surprisingly fast learner.

When a deer bolted out of the brush, his horse spun away and reared up. I glimpsed Shelley's fleeting panic, a look of shock that was unsettling until I saw both of his hands clutching the saddle horn. He stayed on, even used the reins to bring the horse back around, reached over the side and patted its flank reassuringly. There are things that some boys do naturally. He grinned at me as we continued on our way.

"Hey Rick, if he does that for a deer, what happens when there's a bear?"

"Very funny," I laughed. "You did real good, Caballero-boy."

"Hey, you didn't call me 'Chilito this time?" Shelley shot back with a grin.

Despite his attempt at humor, he trembled from the surge of adrenaline, gripping the reinds until his knuckles were white. The sudden rearing of his horse had scared him, but he was calming down quickly. It was a good sign.

"Maybe because it ain't so small?" I laughed to take the pressure off.

"Yeah, it is… You don't have to pretend, Rick." Shelley nudged his horse so that it closed the distance between us. He gave me a teasing smile. "But you like small dicks, don't you?"

"Uh huh. That's one of the reasons why I like boys. You ready to learn some more Spanish?" I asked.

He sighed, pretending disinterest. His mind was like a vacuum cleaner. Anything in its was, was promptly sucked up and stored for future reference. The horses lunged as we crossed a dried out creek and clambered up the dusty bank. I wondered if he was getting tired.

"You said we were going to practice our new identity stuff. All I know so far is my name is supposed to be Juan," he reprimanded me.

There was really no need to do it right at that moment. It had waited one day. Still, there was no time like the present.

"Okay, Juan. Let me tell you about yourself," I began as we started up a long rise.

"You were born in Mexico on September 14. You're ten now. I brought you to the U.S…"

I began to relax as the horses walked on, swaying back and forth and lulling me into a sense of security. Perhaps this was not as great an idea as I had firsh thought. However, time had a way of healing the mind. Shelley's 'new identity' was very familiar to me, because it belonged to another boy.

"How long ago?"

I turned in the saddle and looked back over my shoulder, long and hard, back towards the golden glow of the setting sun. No one was following us, not yet. It had to be for some other reason that I could feel a cold chill.

"Four years…" I answered absently.

Four years. Had it really been that long? There were times when it seemend much longer then four years. Those were the times that I could not avoid thinking about Manuel. If I started to forget there was always Juan to remind me. He was so much like his brother that it pained me to look at him.

"What happened, Rick?" Shelley asked softly.

I glanced at him. His eyes were downcast, his expression doleful. He sensed my sudden change of mood. He realized I was brooding. I shook my head, trying to obliterate the memory. It still seemed impossible that there had been so much blood. I swallowed, tasting my bile. The memory was never far away. No matter how much I tried to forget, the memory had never left my mind. It would always be there. The silence was interminable.

"I told you… about my life…" Shelley said.

He stopped his horse, regarding me with a forlorn expression. I pulled back on the reins and let out a long groan. He was beautiful. Everything about him was beautiful. Despite what he had been through when he lived in Washington, despite what had happened to him when Julia Harmon was supposed to be his foster mother, he was trying to help me. It made me love him even more.

"There was a boy… Juan's older brother… he was twelve…" I began soulfully. "I loved him, Shelley."

"The same way you love me?" he asked. I nodded awkwardly, worrying that he would be angry. "'s okay. I don't mind, Rick," he added.

His words took my by surprise. He nudged his horse's flanks and continued. I watched his back for a few moments before I followed suit, a little harder so that I caught up to him.

"You're a great kid," I said.

Shelley shrugged dismissively. "You can tell me about him too, if you want."

I sighed. What was there to tell? I loved him? I loved him and I had sex with him? No, it was more than that. I had been hopelessly in love with him. I had known him for only a few weeks and he had become the center of my existence. I felt about him the same way that I felt about Shelley now. That was love, real love.

"He was killed, wasn't he, Rick?"

I shuddered. That cold chill again. How could Shelley possibly know?

"Sometimes you say his name when you're dreaming. Manuel? His name was Manuel, wasn't it?"

I nodded slightly.

"How did he die?"

"Shel… he was murdered."

The world around me was like an enormous void. Stones clattered as the horses climbed around some large boulders. Hollow sounds as pebbles skittered behind his. There were just the two us, and my memory of Manuel. Suddenly I became aware that my fists were tightly clenched. Even now, I did not understand. His death was unnecessary. No one gained, only I lost. I lost everything. I lost Manuel. My throat was parched. Our shadows reached a hundred paces. We would have to stop soon. Had Shelley asked 'how'? He had a right to know.

"Do you remember when I told you about when I was a D-O-2? It was back at the house."

Shelley nodded. "D-O-2 means district officer-distance operations. You said it was a fancy word for a spy."

"I was in Mexico on an operation to stop the drug trade. Manuel's family was living at the place where I was staying."

"And you fell in love with him?" Shelley asked mercilessly.

"Yes. One day he rode his pony down to the village to buy something. Candy, I think. They brought him to me in the back of a truck…" I said emptily. "They made his father drive it before they shot him in the head."

"In the back of a truck?" Shelley repeated.

"Yes…"

"How?"

He did not have to finish the sentence. I closed my eyes, trying to block out the sight I could not forget. There was blood all over the back of the truck.

"They cut off…" I broke off, choking back bile. "I don't think you need to hear how," I said savagely.

"His penis?" Shelley asked. "That's what you say sometimes, when you're asleep." He regarded me quizzically. "Is that how he died?"

I nodded. There was no point in denying it. I had no idea that I had been having nightmares about it. I wodnered what else I had said while I was asleep.

"He bled to death, Shel. They tied him up before… probably even made his father watch… there was blood everywhere… Fucking bastards!"

"Who did it?"

Who did it? At the time, it seemed like the work of another drug cartel in an effort to force me to stop. The drug business had nearly ended in the region. There was one group left. We had been getting very close to understanding how the shipments were made, but not close enough. It was only after we had buried him, that I began to think otherwise. The entire thing reeked of inside information. With my cover blown, there was nothing left to do but wind up the mission. I headed back to the U.S., taking six-year-old Juan and his grandmother with me.

"I don't know, Shel," I replied vaguely. After four years I was still uncertain. "There were two CIA agents involved, that much I do know. They're dead. I took Manuel's little brother and grandmother with me. When we crossed the border, they were waiting for us… Me, actually. A friend of mine, a man called Michael, was shot in the leg."

Shelley's expression suggested that he was as mystified as I continued to be, although he could hardly be expected to understand the complex intricacies of a CIA screw-up. Because that was exactly what it was, a screw-up of the highest order. Or was it? Was it how it was supposed to turn out? With me dead?

"Rick? His little brother's name is Juan isn't it?" Sheley asked after a while.

"Yes. He's with Michael right now."

"In Mexico?"

I hoped so. There was no way to be certain. Michael would be very careful when he crossed the border this time, if not overly cautious because Juan was with him. Shelley was silent for more than a minute. For a boy who had talked non-stop for most of the afternoon, the silence was unsettling. Again, I felt the cold chill on my spine.

"Shel?"

"Yeah, Rick."

"What's up?"

"Nothing… I was just thinking about something…"

There was a wild rose bush growing beside an overhanging ochre-colored boulder. It was where it was out of the wind, but still able to get some sun. It was stunted and gnarled, and it looked very old. Despite everything, it still managed to bloom. There were a couple of roses that protuded out on a long thin branch, in total no more than a dozen. They were dark red, like the color of dried blood. Shelley leaned from his saddle, reaching out for that single stalk. As his horse passed, he suddenly grabbed at the nearest flower. The thin stalk snapped off neatly in his hand and he straightened up in his saddle again.

He tugged on the left rein and handed me the flower as our horses closed. He smiled shyly, then licked at the trickle of blood that appeared on the back of his wrist.

"Did you get stuck by a thorn?" I asked

"Yeah, it's bleeding, but it's okay, Rick. That's for him by the way."

"Manuel?"

Shelley nodded slightly. He licked at his thin wrist again, then put it to his mouth. He sucked for a while, swallowing.

"It's terrible, Rick, what they did to him."

"Yes."

"Why would someone do something like that?"

I shrugged sadly. At times, it was impossible to fathom people's reasons. There were even some times when there were no reasons. I put Manuel's mutilation and murder in the category of mindless cruelty. In a way, it was no different to what Julia Harmon and her son, Robbie, had done to Shelley.

"Your last name is Navarro, Juan," I said, deliberately changing the subject. "You've been living on my ranch for the last four years."

"You have a ranch?" Shelley exclaimed. "Is that where we're going now?"

"Not right away," I answered. "You'll see it soon enough." I wondered what he would say when he did see it. "Your grandmother's name is Maria."

"Maria?" Shelley asked in surprise. "You mean… Maria? That's who you mean, isn't it?"

"She's been at the ranch for a few days now," I explained. "I spoke to her yesterday."

"You did? When?" he asked excitedly.

"When we stopped to have something to eat."

"Oh? You should have let me speak to her," Shelley reprimanded. "I really miss her, Rick."

"You like her, don't you?"

"She's nice to me. She's cool." He smiled shyly. "She knows we do stuff, you know?"

I inclined my head, not asking, waiting for him to tell me.

"I guess I left some wet marks on the couch one time. Anyway, I guess she saw them because she told me that maybe I ought to at least wear underpants around the house. I kind of got embarassed so she asked me whether I wanted to talk about it."

"And?" I prompted.

Shelley grinned. "So we did. Actually it was kind of funny. She told me there were some men who liked boys."

"Which, of course, you already knew," I laughed.

"And she asked if I was the type of boy who liked men."

"To which you said?…"

"Uh huh," Shelley smirked. "So she said it was okay if you weren't forcing me to do something I didn't want to do."

"Which, of course, I wasn't."

"Then she asked how long we, uh… you know, been having sex back there. It had been about a month or so by then I think. I was really embarrassed. Anyway, I think she pretty much knew what you were doing to me."

I laughed. She had suggested as much to me. In her view, it was always a man's doing. She would have been appalled if she had known that Manuel had seduced me.

"How was that?"

"She asked if I was sore after you'd finished."

"I don't want to know what your answer to that was," I chuckled. I guided my horse around a fallen log and ducked to avoid a low branch.

Shelley smirked. "She warned me not to wear it out."

Maria had said the same thing to Manuel. Without a doubt, she was the most open-minded woman I had ever known. It was surprising given her age, but particularly so when one realized her staunch Catholicism.

"She knew about Manuel and me all along," I admitted.

"She didn't mind?" Shelley asked curiously.

"Nope. Not really. In fact she told me a couple of times I was good for him. However, she made one thing very clear. If I ever hurt him, she'd cut my balls off and feed them to the pigs."

"Ouch," Shelley squealed. "That'd hurt!"

"Ouch indeed. Actually, she said the same thing about you," I added.

"Then you'd better not hurt me," Shelley chirped.

He rocked back in his saddle and stretched his back. We had been riding for the best part of two hours.

"Getting sore?" I asked.

"A bit. Rick, if a guy's balls were cut off, what would happen to him?"

I glanced at him quickly, wondering if he had finally figured out what had been done to him. Of course, he knew he had been injured 'down there' when he supposedly fell off his bike, but no more than that.

"It would depend," I ventured uncertainly, "On when it was done."

I rubbed my chin and made a mental note to shave before I went to sleep. Two-day-old stubble would scratch Shelley until he was raw.

"A man like you."

"Not a whole lot. He couldn't make babies, of course. He'd be less interested in having sex."

"You call that not a lot?" Shelley said sarcastically. "What if he was still a kid, like my age?"

I winced. "It's your balls that make you grow into a man," I said vaguely.

"So I wouldn't become a man?"

"Something like that, I guess."

"What else would happen?"

"Boy, you're full of questions, aren't you? What brought this on?" I asked.

"Nothing. I was just thinking about something, that's all," Shelley replied vaguely.

"Like?"

He shrugged. "About what it would be like. You know, if I lost mine because of the bike accident. Would I really stay a boy?"

"Part of you would. Of course, there are drugs they can give you so you'd grow up normally," I added quickly.

"But what if I didn't want to grow up? What if I didn't take the drugs?"

I froze. What was he trying to tell me? It was impossible. He was simply curious, as all young boys are curious about that part of their bodies. What disturbed me was that he had personalized the discussion. We were talking about his body, his testicles, his life.

"I don't know. I guess you wouldn't get hair on your body. You'd probably stay small down there. Your voice wouldn't break… And of course you couldn't be a father because you'd never make any semen… Hell, I don't know. I'm not a doctor. What are you worried about?" I asked nervously.

Shelley ignored me for a while. "Julia said you wouldn't want me once I started to grow up."

"I'll always love you," I interjected. "I fell in love with a boy, but boys grow up to become men." It was time for honesty. "I don't want to have sex with a man, Shelley. That's just the way things are."

He looked at me seriously. "I wish the accident had been worse, Rick."

Just how much worse, he did not need to elaborate. I was glum. Sooner or later I would have to tell him, but not now, and not like this. I was getting to be very good at procrastination.

At the top of the ridge we had entered a ponderosa pine forest. For the last few minutes our horses had been picking their way through fallen branches, their hooves almost silent on the thick carpet of pine needles. There trail was buried, but I knew where to go by heart. The heady scent was refreshing, lifting my spirit just as the trees soared overhead. Then, through the dark outines of trees a hundred yards ahead, I saw the panorma unfold. How many times had I ridden through the forest and been lost for words when I finally emerged and looked beyond the sage that grew thickly along the cliff? Closer. Holding my excitement down, barely breathing and not because of the high elevation.

"Oh wow!" Shelley murmurred.

We reined our horses in. The view was spectacular. All the way back to Conejos Peak its granite peak shimmering in the last rays of the sun. The dark green undulations of the Rio Grande National Forest, the nearly black coils of a distant river before it disappeared from sight. This was the country I had grown up in. For the most part, it was wild and rugged.

"Wow?"

"It's beautiful, Rick."

"Yeah, it is, isn't it?" I answered. "Very beautiful."

I was looking at Shelley as I spoke. He was no longer the little boy from the city. He was still too beautiful, but in a different way. In a few weeks he would be as rugged and untamed as the wilderness that stretched before him, not unlike the boy I had once been.

"Come on. I know you're getting sore, Shel', but we still have a ways to go before we stop."

Shelley smiled. "Not Juan?" he asked, reminding me that I once chided him to use his new identity all the time.

"Thank you, Juan," I laughed.

I nudged my horse and began to lead the way down the zig-zag path. We needed to be careful now. The trail was narrow and treacherous, and the rocks could slide at the slightest touch. For a moment, I thought about taking Shelley's reinds but thought better of it. If pack horse got in the way of his horse at a bad time, it was likely that panic would ensue.

The descent went easier than I expect, especially given the quickly disappearing light. The sky had darkened by the time we reached the creek at the bottom. We had descended nearly two thousand feet. I was tired, and I expected Shelley to be exhausted. I was surprised when he nimbly eased his leg up over the saddle horn and slid down to the ground. He stretched his legs, looking none the worse for spending nearly four hours on horseback.

"You're ready to play by the look of you," I remarked as I dismounted.

"Nearly!" Shelley smirked. "There's just one thing I've got to do first."

He stopped stretching, opened his zipper, extracted his finger-sized brown penis, placed his hands on his hips and began to urinate against a boulder that very well might have concealed a rattlesnake. I was about to comment on the fact when Shelley flipped the last drips from his penis and grinned at me.

"More than two times and you're playing with it," I said.

"So, that's what it's there for, isn't it?"

"A boy's favorite toy?"

"Is his dick," Shelley giggled. "I'll make it hard, if you want?" he offered gleefully as he pointed his little penis in my direction..

"First we make camp and get some dinner. Then I'll take care of my little friend, Chilito," I laughed.

Having grown up in this part of the country, it seemed impossible that a ten-year-old boy like Shelley had never been camping before. However, it was true. He had no idea at all of where to start. I assigned him what I thought was the most menial of all tasks, colecting firewood. I unsaddled the horses, placed halters on them, and strung a rope between two of the most deformed junipers I had ever seen, all before Shelley had managed to collect an armful of wood. At that pace it would be midnight before we had a fire going. There was time like the present to begin his instruction as a ranch kid.

So I helped him, and together we dragged half-dozen large branches into the area where I intended to make a fire. I set him to breaking off the smaller twigs as kindling while I unpacked the food and cooking utensils. He looked at me constantly, with an expression that communicated his ineptitude. However, he was willing to try and that was all that counted. When he had enough I came over. It was time for camping lesson 'number two'.

I squatted down and held out the box of matches.

"You're allowed one match," I explained.

Shelley looked at me questioningly. "Okay?"

"You have to get the fire going," I explained.

"I don't know how."

"Haven't you ever made a fire before?" I asked. He shook his head. I had expected as much. "Okay. Start with some dry leaves or grass," I began.

Shelley took a couple of steps away and knelt down next to the same boulder where he had urinated. His hands scopped up some of the long grey grass, his hands coming very close to the gaping crevice.

"Be careful when you do that," I said loudly.

He looked up quickly. "Why?" he demanded impatiently.

"This is rattlesnake country. Rocks like that one are a favorite hiding place." I smiled as he jumped back a few feet. "You're safe now, because it's getting cool. Around eleven tomorrow morning I wouldn't do what you just did for a million bucks."

"But, well how do you know there's a snake under there?" he asked warily.

"The marks in the dirt," I said. "You can barely see them because it's dark. Whenever you see them, Chilito, it's a good bet there's a snake nearby."

"Oh!"

He shivered coldly and cautiously came towards me, his eyes never leaving the boulder where he had just been. It was a lesson that he would not forget quickly.

"Okay, now what?" he said as he squatted down next to me.

"Put the grass in a pile. Scrunch it up a bit. Okay, now put some of those sticks around it like you're building a teepee."

"A what? Oh! Like what the Indians lived in? How?"

When my answer was not forthcoming, Shelley thought for a moment and then carefully began to arrange the sticks into a cone. He did a good job, even placing some of the larger ones on the outside so that they would catch fire once he had a blaze going. I handed him the box of matches again. There was no need to remind him of the one-match rule. He had every intention of doing it properly the first time. He struck the box, watched the match light, immediately cupping his other hand to protect it. He held it to the grass, intent on success. One blade caught and flared, then another, then all of the grass ignited. Flames leaped upward and within a half a minute, his fire was burning brightly. I was proud of him.

"Now keep an eye on it," I said. "Don't let it go out and don't make it too big either."

Shelley nodded. With practice he would make a good outdoorsman, but for the moment I was pleased. I went about my work, humming as I finished unpacking the bag, retrieved my rifle from the saddle, and spread the sleeping bags on the ground.

"What's for dinner? I'm starving," Shelley announced when I returned with my arms full of two metal pots and an assortment of tin cans.

"Not much! I was thinking about getting you to pull that rattler out from under that rock. They make a nice meal, if you don't get bit doing it," I teased.

"Very funny," Shelley responded. "How about we cut your nuts off and have meat balls."

"'Albondigas'," I chuckled. "That's what the Mexicans call them."

"I thought they were called 'cojones'," Shelley quipped.

"They are. But when you call them 'meat balls' they're albondigas. And they're 'aquacates' when you're referring to avocados."

"Those would have to be really big balls," Shelley grinned. "Hey Rick?"

"Yeah?"

"I bet you don't know what 'dar candela por el culo' means?"

Shelley smirked, a clear indication that he knew what it meant. Without doubt it was another of the expressions he had learned from the boys at his school, or their older brothers.

"Is that what you want after dinner?" I taunted. "You want to be fucked in the ass?"

Shelley continued to smirk. "Maybe! First I want you to suck my dick, Rick. You owe me one from yesterday."

"I owe you?" I smiled, remembering. "Oh, from the airport?

"Uh huh?"

I used the can opened to open the lids of three cans of beef and potato stew. I knew I could finish two cans just by myself. It would not be the most nutritious meal, but I was so hungry I did not care. We watched the food heat anxiously. By the time we had cleaned our plates off, and I had placed the tick ends of the branches in the fire, Shelley was yawning continuously and his eyelids were drooping. He was ready to sleep. It was well and truly dark by then, and beyond the light from the fire, we were surrounded by a black wall. I leaned back against my saddle, dozing. The fire light illuminated his face and made his dark hair shine. Sitting there, reluctant to admit that he was so tired he could barely move, he was a lot like Manuel, but he was different in ways that counted to me. He lacked Manuel's macho aggressiveness, the constant need to prove manhood and superiority. When we had sex, it seemed that there was always a competition and a vaguely dressing awareness that he would soon grow out of it. Shelley was a little boy who was in love with a man.

"What are we doing tomorrow?" Shelley asked sleepily.

I glanced at him, then back to the fire. "Tomorrow we're crossing the Conejos River," I said. "We'll stay about this altitude most of the time. Is it bothering you?"

"A bit."

"Like I said on the way up, sometimes it's hard to breath if you have to expend a lot of effort," I explained. "Try not to take deep breaths, but breath all the way out instead."

"I like being up here with you. Just the two of us."

"Same here."

"I love you."

We said it at the same time and we both smiled.

"Are we going to stay here for a long while?"

"You mean in the mountains?" I asked.

Shelley nodded slightly. He yawned again. Brushing his teeth would have to wait until the morning. He blinked, trying hard to stay awake now that his belly was full and he was warm and comfortable in front of the fire.

"For a few weeks," I answered. "Maybe longer. We're going to a cabin about twenty miles [30 km] away."

"Rick?"

"Yeah?"

"The other boy? Juan? If I'm taking his place, and he's taking mine, won't he be in danger?"

"Not really! By now he's taken off your clothes so he looks like any one of three million other Mexican boys his age."

"Oh!" Shelley pondered my answer for a moment. "It's not fair," he said simply.

"What's not fair?"

"Making him go away so I could become him."

"Huh? Oh! It isn't like that," I said absently.

"Yes it is. You said you adopted him?"

"I did."

"Then it's even worse. When you adopt someone, like the way you adopted me, the boy's supposed to be just like your son, isn't he?"

I nodded. There were things I needed to tell Shelley, things that he needed to udnerstand. Not now. Now I was too tired to think.

"In the morning," I said abruptly.

I clambered to me feet, reached down and offered a hand to Shelley. It was good to feel his small warm hand slip into mine. More than ever before, it felt like it belonged there. I eased him up to his feet and he stumbled after me to where I had placed the sleeping bags. I had already taken the liberty of zipping them together. I slowly moved to my knees, lifting away the front of the sleeping bag so that he could get inside. I removed his boots while he balanced himself with both hands on ym back. He sighed and came to his knees, wriggling as he stretched out. I followed him in, closing the zipper. He promptly yawned and his head nodded against my chest.

"'m so sweepy," he murmurred. "'love you, 'ick"

"I love you too," I whispered in his ear.

"You goin' to?"

"You're too tired," I replied gently. "In the morning, okay?"

"wan you in me…"

I smiled. It did not matter that we were both fully dressed. Just the thought of being next to Shelley, let alone doing what he had suggested, was enough to make my body respond. My penis became hard. My hand closed on his shoulder. I kissed the top of his head. The last time I had done that, his hair had been long and silky soft. Now, I nuzzled bristles, inhaled a scent that was foreign. I closed my eyes, thinking of how much I loved him.

17. Exercise Morning

"Hiya."

"Oh, it's you. Good morning, beautiful."

Shelley giggled. "Your dick is really, really hard, Rick."

"So?"

"It keeps jumping every time I touch it."

"I have to pee something awful."

"So do I. It's cold out."

"How did my dick get out of my pants?"

"How do you think?"

"You?"

"Uh huh. I was going to suck him."

"I thought I owed you a blow job from yesterday… I mean two days ago…"

"You do." Shelley giggled. "You owe me big time. I almost drowned in it."

"Whose fault is that?"

"Yours. Hey, what are you doing?"

"Taking your jeans off. What does it feel like?"

"What are you going to do?"

"I plan to make it up to you right now," I grinned.

"I've really got to pee."

"So hold it," I said. "And whatever you do, don't let go in my mouth."

"Pee doesn't taste that bad."

"How do you know?"

"'cause I tasted mine once." Shelley smirked. "Just a little bit, but. It was kind of sour."

"I imagine."

"Cal did that once to Robbie, you know. Drank his pee. A whole lot of it too. At least he said he did. I didn't see him do it."

"Gross. My, but you're stiff, aren't you, Chilito?"

"Don't scrunch him. Yeah, that's better."

Shelley's penis felt like a metal spike that had been left out in the sun. It was hot, hard, and very smooth. But unlike metal, it had a velvet-soft surface of flexible skin that transmitted every sensation between us. I felt the tiny coils of juvenile veins, the ripples of erectile tissue, the unyielding hardness of the inflated stalk, the resilient tube of his thin urethra on the underside. My fingers stroked gently, using that time-honored up and down motion, going full length from the base to the swollen little head. He quivered with every touch on that most senstive part of his body. Usually, he relished the heightened stimulation almost as much as I enjoyed doing it to him.

"Don't do it on the end," Shelley warned. "Or I'll pee all over you."

"I know what I'm having for breakfast."

"A sausage and two eggs?" he giggled. It had been a long standing joke between us.

"Can you say it in Spanish?"

"No way. I know huevos means eggs, 'cause the kids imes sometcalls their balls eggs."

"Una salchicha y dos huevos."

"Salchicha is sausage? What's the word for apple juice?"

"As in boy-pee? The real word for apple juice is, uh, let me think,.. 'zumo de manzana'."

"How do you say, I have to take a leak really badly?" Shelley said.

"The Cubans say, 'ir a botar el agua al canario'," I replied.

It was an expression that Manuel's father had taught me. It was what Manuel said every time he needed to use the bathroom.

"What?"

"Literally it means throwing water at the canary," I replied.

"Well, that's what I need to do."

"Oh yeah, me too. I'm dying."

There was no point in postponing the inevitable. Hurriedly, I opened the zipper and we jumped out of our warm coccoon, out into the chilled morning air. We clutched the opened fronts of our jeans, aware that our erections were leading the way to a rendevous with bladder relief. We ran just far enough that we would not be able to smell it. We stood there, side by side and watched our streams intermingling, steam rising, urine splattering against the boulder that might be sheltering a rattlesnake or two. Then running back again, partially stiff penises still bouncing up and down, back into the secure warmth of the down-filled sleeping bag.

Into each other's arms, writhing our sex organs together, embracing, my tongue finding his, exploring into familiar softness. We kissed urgently until the heat returned. I could feel his erection jabbing into mine as he wriggled and humped against me. Then, slow kissing, gentle kissing, lips alone. Nibbling on his lips, wetting his cheeks, his nose, licking his forehead like an overly affectionate dog. He lifted up, his arms stretched out, felt between us, positioned our penises side by side, or as close to being side by side as possible. He pushed his shirt up, exposing his belly and chest and pressed back down again. My penis reached above his waist, into the concavity below his sternum, enclosed by ribs and the softest flesh imaginable. He started to move, instinctively pleasuring, offering delight in return for seeing happiness in my eyes.

"I'm going to cum on you," I groaned after less than a minute.

He did not answer. I could feel his chest, rising and falling, expanding against me, increasing the stimulation that was more than enough to send me over the edge. My penis throbbed. I pulled him hard against me, brought his soft moist lips back to mine. Kissed and sucked, realized his tongue was in my mouth at the same time that mine was probing behind his teeth. One hand slid under his jeans, melting my fingers against the warm roundness of his buttocks, seeking and even hotter place inside his crevice.

"No butt play, okay," Shelley ordered. "I don't want to get my undies dirty."

"Okay," I answered meekly.

I felt cheated, but not for long. His mouth came back to mine. He kissed me, moving his head around so that his kiss became a wet smooch and covered nearly half of my face, the half without day-old whiskers. He began to move faster, instinctively realizing that I was close. Each thrust was made precisely despite what might have appeared to an observer to be frenzied humping. Somehow his penis had managed to dig in between my thighs. Now, it pumped mercilessly back and forth into my testicles, while my penis was tormented by his smooth warm belly. I peaked, wrapping my arm around his back while my other hand grasped his cheek to stop him from moving. I had waited too long. I could hear the gasps coming from my throat, my testicles clamping as the ejaculation began.

"Oh God, Shel'. I can't hold it. Cumming, honey. God, I'm cumming," I groaned.

Remotely, I was aware that he was giggling, but it was no laughing matter. My semen spurted out, erupting over his bare belly, squirting to his chest, perhaps higher. All I knew was that I loved him. I wanted to bathe him in my semen. Surely, this baptism would make him mine forever. I struggled to breath, to find the words to thank him for his wonderful gift.

"You were incredible," I gushed.

"I could tell you liked it."

"That was the best ever."

He grinned proudly. "You did it all over me, Rick."

"Sorry."

"I don't care. But you're going to have stains on your shirt," he admonished.

"Do you want me to clean it up?"

"Nah. I kind of like having it on me. It makes me feel like I'm yours."

"You are, Chilito. You are mine," I answered. "Are you ready?"

"Huh?"

"My turn, remember?"

Shelley grinned and I flipped him over onto his back. I slid down into the sleeping bag, down to where my legs had been, down until my knees were next to Shelley's toes. There was just enough light coming through that I could see the milky smears over his front. He seemed to be covered in my semen. Wetness stretched from his neck all the way down to his very hard dark-skinned penis. It even looked as if some had managed to leak onto his scrotum.

I brought my face closer, drawing my legs up under me and I worked my way into a comfortable position in the sleeping bag. I lay my head on his thigh, studied his sex organs from only a few inches away. Despite the small size of his penis the skin was still stretched tightly. His helmet-shaped glans was purple-colored, far darker than it had ever been as a result of the stain. His scrotum, which had been relaxed before our rush to urinate, was now fully contracted. It was no larger that half a walnut shell and just as wrinkled. I inhaled the smell of him. It was boy's smell. There was a faint trace of sweat and urine, but mostly the smell was warm and sweet, like something delectable and well worth savoring.

Sometimes I made Shelley wait for the first touch. At other times, I engulfed his penis right from the start. This time I settled for licking, coating his stubby hardness with saliva. He giggled and complained that it tickled, but he did not tell me to stop. Slowly, I moved along the short rigid member. Sucking right on the very end was intended to get his undivided attention, and it did. After just a few seconds, he arched his back in the hope of getting his penis deeper into my mouth. My teeth bit down behind his glans, not hard enough to break the skin, but hard enough to let him know that I was going to torment him until he begged for mercy.

He gasped and dropped back, remaining tense. I resumed sucking on the sensitive swollen knob that crowned his shaft. I felt his pelvis pushing up again, and I sank down to take more of his penis into the enticing, all embracing mouth that held his most precious part. I backed away almost as quickly as I had gone down on him. He quivered, resisting the natural instinct of any boy to push harder, further, deeper into the hot wet softness that had momentarily enclosed him. Again I kised his glans, bathing it in saliva, letting it trickle down his twitching erection as I began to suck.

It was noisy inside the sleeping bag. Shelley groaned as my lips sucked and smacked against his rigid flesh. My nose pushed into his scrotum when I finally engulfed all of his penis. I stayed there, lips pressed into his soft pubis, marvelling at the wonderful smoothness of skin where there was not a trace of hair to be found. Each time I lifted off his hard little sex organ I gulped air before I gulped him. It was more than enough to drive him wild within a few minutes, but I had only just begun. I had sucked his penis before often enough, some people might even say too often, but for some reason I wanted this time to be a time that he would never forget. When he was my age, he would reflect on his first camping trip in the Colorado mountains and remember the wonderful pleasure that I had given him one cold grey morning.

So I began to alternate between kissing, sucking, and licking. I worked my way down to his scrotum and nibbled playfully on his tender skin until he giggled and pushed energetically at my head. From there I proceeded back to his glans, then to take his penis back into my mouth. Just when his hands and feet started to shake, I resumed sucking on his scrotum. Knowing that the two small egg-shaped things within were no longer human gave me a strange if disconcerting satisfaction. I say it was a strange satisfaction, because it suddenly struck me that while he was male, in some ways he was not male. He was a boy who could not become a man, at least not until drugs had been injected into his system. For some reason, Wilderstein's earlier taunts no longer plagued me. If anything, remembering what he had said, helped me accept the inherent futility of what I was – a man who loved boys.

I pushed Shelley's artifical testicles forward with my fingers, opened my mouth, used suction to draw them into my mouth until the skin grew tight. My tongue massaged them, trying to give pleasure even while I was aware that he would feel nothing, nothing except the movement of my tongue against his skin. I popped them in and out, moving them back and forth while using my lips like a rubbery band that the marble-sized objects had to pass through. Shelley writhed underneath me. His legs pulled up to cradle my head. At any other time, one of my fingers would have entered his anus to increase the stimulation until he achieved a mind-shattering orgasm, but not yet. I returned to sucking his penis.

My rhythm was automatic, a pumping motion achieved by bobbing my head and shoulders up and down. It was hard work, sucking a boy's penis, especially if the goal was to keep him at the very edge for as long as possible, just a moment or two away climxing. I could feel my neck becoming stiff, using muscles that had not been used since the last time I had given him this special treatment. Sometimes, when he whimpered in ecstasy, or bucked frantically in the throes of approaching orgasm, I found myself smiling around his penis. While his genitals, indeed his entire body looked very different with the walnut-colored stain, he certainly tasted the same, responded the same, groaned the same. Yet, I had the distinct feeling that it was different, that he was different to the boy I had known just one day earlier. Between gasps, I could hear his muted voice, begging for more, pleading for me to go faster. However, going faster meant finishing sooner, and I was not about to let him escape so easily.

When he became frantic and tried hard to thrust his penis into my mouth. This was the sudden frenzied effort that preceded his orgasm. I lifted away, hearing him grunt in frustration. Each time I took to kissing his heaving belly, or pinching and rubbing at his scrotum until the immediacy passed. It did not take long before he settled down again. Finally, it was me who gave up. I was tired. It was all that I could do to move my head. I plunged my saliva-slicked finger deeply into his anus, stabbing towards if not actually against his immature prostate. He had been so close for so long that he squealed loudly. His climax started like a vise around my finger as he fought against the powerful sensations. The contractions in his sphincter were powerful enough to make his body lurch. His legs trembled, his hands reached down and grasped my head as he pounded into my mouth with all his strength. His penis jerked relentlessly, then rapid fire pulses, ejaculating nothing but nonetheless triumphant. He quivered for nearly a minute after I laid back down next to him.

He always came down gradually. I cuddled him, content to let him bask, eyes closed to mere slits as he rested in post-orgasmic bliss. My fingers trailed up and down his warm front, circling around his navel, caressing his soft nipples until they became hard nubs, massaging the remants of my semen until it became tacky to touch. His penis stayed erect for a long while, but eventually even his hardness faded to an exhausted limpness. However, even as his sex organs attained near-dormancy, the rest of his body began to wake up. We resumed kissing, both accepting pleasure in compensation for the unpleasant taste and smell of unbrushed teeth. We parted only when the first feeble sun rays finally peaked through the trees and began to warm the sleeping bag.

We scrambled out of our warm abode and I rummaged through the bag of clothes to find a warm jacket for Shelley to wear. What I pulled out was the faded denim jacket I had purchased for Juan when I had last visited him. It had a fleece lining, and the outer covering had been patched on both sleeves. He put it on while I continued to search for something for myself.

"Sure is cold," Shelley remarked.

His breath steamed, his personal vapor trail. There was mist rising off the creek in a few places where the current eddyed and slowed to a crawl.

"Much colder and there'd be frost on the ground," I returned as I stamped my feet. "It'll start getting warmer as soon as the sun's a bit higher."

Every other morning was my 'exercise morning'. I had missed two in a row, but the last thing I wanted to do that morning was my warm-up routine.

"What's for breakfast?"

"What do you want?"

Shelley grinned. "No sausage and eggs. I mean 'salchicha y huevos'. I wouldn't mind an omlette. With some bacon, and tomato. Some hot chocolate would be nice too."

"Okay. I'll have Maria whip up something right away."

"Very funny. What is there to eat?" he asked as he scrunched his shoulders and pulled the jacket tightly around his slender chest.

"I can give you oatmeal," I offered. "No milk, well not fresh milk, but we do have some powdered stuff."

"That's it?" Shelley complained.

"Take it or leave it. I think we can do the hot chocolate, but only with the powdered milk."

He nodded vaguely, stayed where he was while I squatted down where the fire had been the night before. I scraped a stick through the embers, found a hot patch under a half-burn branch, added some twigs and grass. I hoped he was watching closely. The next morning would be his turn. By the time I had a good blaze going, he was beginning to adjust to the lifestyle. He helped by jumping up and down in order to break some of the sticks before handing them to me. Seeing his energy, I sent him down to the creek to get some water.

Breakfast of cream-colored lumpy oatmeal and equally lumpy milk was unappetizing, but it was filling. We both had two helpings and a couple of cups of coffee for me, and hot chocolate for Shelley. We used the last of the hot water to rinse the plates and cups. While I saddled the horses, Shelley busied himself by folding the sleeping bags and repacking the bags. We were ready to leave by eight o'clock.

The first order of business was to cross the creek. That should have been a relatively easy matter, but I also wanted to go well upstream before we reached the other side. I had an uneasy feeling, the same cold chill that I had the previous day. It was highly unlikely that we were being followed, but I was not about to discount the possibility. With the bags tied securely on the pack horse, I swung up and into the saddle of my horse and waited to see what Shelley would do.

He led his horse over the the boulder. The boulder! He looked first, which was a good thing because it was probably warm enough that any snake might begin to think about coming out of its hiding place to warm up in the morning sunshine. He clambered onto the top of the boulder, lifted his foot as high as he could and managed to slip it into the stirrup. With that, and one hand barely reaching the saddle horn, he boosted himself up and dropped neatly into the saddle. He grinned proudly.

"Did you forget about the snake, Chilito?" I enquired as we started down towards the creek.

"Nope. I wasn't worried. See I figured your pee probably killed it," Shelley smirked.

"What about yours? You peed there twice."

"Mine? It tastes just like apple juice. Hey Rick?"

"Yeah?"

"What's 'Big Dick' in Spanish?"

"Huh?"

"That's what I'm going to call you from now on," Shelley chortled. "Because you keep calling me 'little dick'."

"Well, one word is 'nabo'," I laughed. My horse skittered to the side when it entered the cold water. "It means turnip."

"Turnip?" Shelley chortled. "Hey that's you, Rick. Turnip dick!"

"Just watch it," I grinned. "Keep a tight grip on the reins. I'm not sure I want to be called a 'turnip'."

"Okay. Give me another name."

"Hm… How about 'el grosso cipote'?"

"Too long. I think I'll just call you 'Cipote', but if you don't behave yourself, it's going to be 'Nabo'."

Shelley and I allowed our horses to drink. I took the opportunity to scan the area. Years of experience made me wary. There was nothing unusual. Yet, I retained a distinct apprehension that something was wrong. It was possible that someone was out there, hiding among the rocks and sage.

"Not too much," I said.

I pulled on the reins to lift the horse's head up. Shelley followed me along the creek, taking care to stay away from any sandy areas.

"Hey, Cipote? In Spanish, I'm a 'maricon', aren't I?"

I turned back to look at Shelley. He smiled shamelessly. "Yeah, I guess. That or a 'ninfo'."

"Like in 'niño'? For a boy, only he's gay?" Shelley asked.

"I guess. I don't know for sure. Hell, I don't even know for sure that you are gay. A lot of boys go through a stage where they like guys. It doesn't mean they're gay."

"I am. I know I am, but I think I know what you mean. Cal was like that. He did stuff with me and Robbie for a while and then he stopped and started doing it with Linette. He made out like it was a big thing."

"What happened betwen you and Linette?" I asked cautiously.

It was something that he had mentioned one time. He had told me that Julia Harmon made him have sex with Linette, but beyond that, nothing.

Shelley scowled. "Julia made me do it to her once, that's all."

I laughed. "It can't have been that bad?"

"It was gross, Rick. I hated it."

"You didn't like pussy?" I teased. "It's just like fucking boy-butt only with built-in slime."

Shelley grumped. "I couldn't even get it stiff enough, Rick. Julia had to rub it forever to get it ready, and then almost as soon as I got it in, it went soft again. I'm not like Cal at all. He gets a hard-on whenever Linette's near him."

"Well, it's not the end of the world. You certainly don't a problem getting stiff when you're around me, that's for certain."

Shelley was quiet for a minute.

"What I don't understand is you said once that you're not gay?" Shelley asked uncertainly. "But you don't like women either, do you?"

"No."

"Just boys?"

"Uh huh."

"But you're not gay?"

"I don't like men," I answered.

"But I do, so I'm gay?"

"Maybe. It's too soon to know."

"I don't understand."

"You will in time," I said gently.

"Do you think I'll like boys like you?"

"It's too soon to tell," I answered. "Besides Cal, have you… with a boy?"

"No!" Shelley retorted adamantly.

I laughed. "You're embarassed."

"I'm not!"

"Yes you are."

I swivelled around and looked back at him. His face was red.

"So?"

"So tell me about it," I teased. "What happened?"

"Nothing!"

"Nothing?"

He smirked and raised both eyebrows in a childish parody of 'who's got a secret?'

"You can tell me, Chilito," I said in my most-pleading voice.

"Ha-Ha! No way!" he replied doggedly. "It's none of your beeswax. 'sides, you never told me what happened between you and Juan's brother. Did you fuck him in the butt?"

He regretted the words as soon as he had uttered them. He shrugged at me, yet his downcast eyes said he was sorry. I slowed my horse until he came up beside me.

"You're jealous, aren't you?" I asked.

"No! What if I am?"

"You shouldn't be, Shel. I love you. That's all that really counts from now on."

"Only because he's dead!" Shelley interjected. "You wouldn't want me otherwise."

"Do you really believe that?" I asked immediately. "Is that what you think I'm like?"

"No! I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. I didn't mean it like that!"

"It's okay. I shouldn't have been talking about…"

"Rick? It's… just… I want to be your son so much. I don't want to share you, not with Juan, not with anyone!"

"Same here. I'm very possessive too. I don't plan on sharing you with another man, but I also don't mind that you had sex before you met me. That's what loving someone is all about. Accepting them for who they are."

"You don't care about Robbie?"

"Sure I care, Shel'. I care that he hurt you. It makes me angry just thinking about it."

Shelley thought about that for a moment. He studied his saddle-horn, his slender fingers wrapped around the brown leather reins. He sighed deeply.

"I didn't want to like it, Rick."

"But you did like it, didn't you, once the pain went away?"

"I tried not to. I tried so hard to hate it. She was so mean. She kept calling me a faggot, Rick. She said it was all I was good for."

"She was…" I nearly swore. Instead I smiled at Shelley. "You'll never see her again. She's stuck in that smelly little house."

Shelley smiled slightly. "I'm stuck with a smelly horse… and you're out here with me. And I love you."

"So tell me about your boy friend," I teased mercilessly.

"He's cool."

"Cool?" I chuckled. "Just cool?"

"He's cute," Shelley volunteered.

"That helps," I grinned. "What did you do with him?"

"We played around, you know jerking off and that kind of thing. I guess we sixty-nined a few times, but that's all."

"Ah hah! So what did you think? Did you enjoy sucking another boy's dick?"

"It was okay. I like your's better."

I grinned and rounded my horse up, heading towards a sunny rock shelf. It sloped obliquely out of the the water and ran a dozen or more paces up from the creek. Any sign that we had left the creek would soon be gone, dry within an hour at the most. However, experience took over. Leaving the creek at that point would be expected. It would not take more that a few minutes for someone to locate our tracks. I wheeled my horse back into the middle of the creek again and we continued plodding through knee deep water.

"How old were you the first time?" Shelley asked curiously.

"I forget. I guess I was about your age."

"Did you do it with a boy?"

"Not the first time. In fact, he was a man about my age. I was about fifteen or sixteen before I did anything with a boy."

"But you liked the boy more?"

"By then I did," I said honestly.

"I want to be like you."

"How so?" Iasked.

"I want to do it with you until I'm older, and then I want to do it with boys."

"Sounds good to me," I laughed. "You know, I'll still love you when you're older, Shel," I added truthfully. "I'll never stop loving you even if we stop having sex."

"I know that. When I'm older I know you won't want to have sex with me. So we can go find boys together." He grinned, showing perfect white teeth. "I already know what you like. Dark-skinned Mexican boys."

"Uh huh. But what about blonds?"

"Like me?"

"Uh huh."

"Rick?" he intoned. There was a serious note in his voice that immediately had me attention.

"Yes?"

"Remember yesterday, when we were talking about Juan?"

"Yes?"

"Why did you send him away to Mexico?" he asked simply.

"Because it's safer there," I answered pointedly.

I brought my horse to a halt, listening. On the surface, everything sounded normal. The sounds of the mountain birds, distant raucous calls, the whisper of the morning breeze through the pine trees. Yet, I shivered. I could smell danger even if it was a long way away. Instinctively, my hand settled on the stock of my rifle.

"But why, Rick? I've been trying to figure out why you sent him away."

"That's what's been bothering you?" I asked. "Don't worry about it, Chilito. He's okay."

Shelley considered my answer. "Rick?" he said persistently.

"Okay. Here's what I know."

It was time for the truth, or at least what I had surmised to be highly probable. I began with what I accepted as fact. It was usually dangerous to construct a position based on assumptions and conjecture.

"Just over two days ago we exposed a Russian operation, perhaps the most successful mission they have ever had in this country. Short of recruiting all of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, they could not do better." I paused. "Now, from what we discovered, their contact person was the man who came into the room while you were with the President…"

"His name was Clay, or Grey, I think… Something like that."

"Harry Grey," I confirmed. "By the way, he's dead, Shel. At least according to a newspaper headline I saw at Amarillo. It said he died from natural causes, which might mean a heart attack or a stroke… but more than likely it was brought on by some kind of drug," I added. "The question is whether our side murdered him, or someone else."

"Like who? The Russians?" Shelley suggested proudly.

I smiled. Even the Russians were not that Machiaevellian as to kill one of their own. However…

"Perhaps. But far more likely is the Agency did it. They could hardly risk having a trial."

"Do you think it was the Russians who put the bomb on the plane?"

I nodded. "If there was one, they're the obvious candidates."

"But you aren't sure there was a bomb?"

"Let me put it this way. It was more than likely."

"By why would they want to kill us?" Shelley asked. He thought for a moment. "Because I…"

He stopped mid sentence as if someone had touched him. I turned in my saddle, studying the ground we had just covered. My intuition was sending a strong message. It seemed that Shelley's was working overtime as well. We were 'sitting ducks' in the creek. It was time to find cover. A hundred paces upstream I was what I was looking for. Shelley nudged his horse and followed me up the creek until we reached a rock ledge. It was not as large as the first one and I had to watch carefully where we were going. There were no tracks, at least not until we were well away from the creek.

"I'm pretty sure we're being followed," I explained to Shelley.

"Russians?"

"Maybe. They have a good reason to be pissed at us. Yesterday was a real disaster in their minds. They've just lost their primary source of information. Of course, there's no guarantee it is them. Maybe the Agency is simply keeping tabs on us."

Shelley shuddered, swallowing.

"How can you tell someone's behind us?"

I could not explain the feeling. It was just there, an awareness that something was wrong. With the nearest civilization forty 'crow' miles [60 km] away, the only explanation was someone was following us.

I leaned over and patted his thigh. "Trust me, Shel."

"You knew something was going to happen, didn't you?" He watched me intently. "That's why you sent Juan away."

"Okay, I suspected. Wilderstein, the man on the airplane, insisted that we disappear after the operation was completed. That was a good sign, right there."

"What about Juan? Will he be safe there?"

"He'll be safe where he's going in Mexico. He's with his uncle right now. I trust him to look after Juan. After a couple of years in this business you learn to trust no one. Except the people who love you, of course," I added gratuitously.

He knew that I trusted him implicitly, but my comment still prompted a shy smile. I gave him my 'you had better behave yourself' look and his smile widened. It had been a while since Shelley had shown any sign of amusement. We rode on silently, absorbed by the pristine nature around us. We were back into the forest. For the next few hours we would be safely hidden from sight. It would take an expert to follow our tracks for that long, particularly since I planned to take a roundabout route to our final destination.

18. Peanut Butter

We rode until lunchtime. By noon, we were famished. Oatmeal that looked and tasted like epoxy glue, was filling but it did not last forever. It was time for a break and something to eat. We stopped in a wooded glade, not far from an old abandoned gold mine I had visited many years earlier. I left the horses saddled, but loosened the cinch straps and allowed them to graze.

"So, what's for lunch, Cipote?" Shelley smirked.

"Your dick, if you don't be nicer, Chilito," I grinned back at him.

"Man, my butt is sore," he said, stretching his arms above his head and arching his back.

"I guess that means you aren't going to ask me to fuck you after we've had some lunch," I chuckled.

Shelley glowered at me. "That's exactly what it means. 'sides, I don't plan on wearing it out. You're going to have to wait until I'm good and ready."

"Remind me to thank Maria for giving you advice," I joked. "How hungry are you?"

"Very. How about hamburgers?"

"Fraid not! For one thing I don't want to make a fire, but even if we could, we don't have the hamburger."

"Oh! How about a pastrami on rye? Or a B-L-T?"

"Sorry, I don't see any Subways around," I laughed. "Do you want to try some beef jerky?"

"What's that?"

"Dried beef."

"What's it taste like?"

"Salty. It's pretty good once you're used to it."

"What else is there?"

"I saw some peanut butter in the bag. There ought to be some salted crackers somewhere."

"Okay."

I dug through the jumbled contents of the bag and fished out a large plastic jar of creamy smooth peanut butter. No crackers. Perhaps the crackers were in one of the other bags. However, I did find a couple of apples. We would not go hungry. I ripped off the plastic seal from the jar and handed it to Shelley.

"Can't find the crackers," I explained

"What do I put it on?" he asked.

I shrugged. "When I was a kid, we used our fingers to get it out."

"Gross!" Shelley said scornfully.

"Really?" I chuckled. "You've sucked my dick after it's been you-know-where, haven't you?"

Shelley simpered. "That's different! You know it is."

"Would it be any different if I put peanut butter on my dick and you licked it off?"

Shelley caught my drift and smirked lasciviously. "I dare you," he said quietly.

"It's a deal," I said. "But you had better not try chewing."

He gave way to loud peals of mirth, laughter that was nearly enough to have him rolling in the grass. Finally, brushing the dust and grass from his clothes he came to a squatting position, resting on his haunches.

"Well, I'm waiting Chipote. Can't you see I'm starving?"

"I know what you're hungry for," I leered. "You'll have to be patient, Cilito."

My hands moved swiftly to my jeans, dragging the zipper down hurriedly. My penis was swelling even as I pushed my briefs down and out of the way. Shelley's eyes were locked on my crotch, wide open with anticipation. No matter how often he had seen it, he was always enthusiastic. It made me feel wanted. I fumbled as I withdrew my quickly grwoing penis. It was already firm, still lengthening and getting harder. It drooped towards the ground at an oblique angle, but even as it rested in the crook of my open zipper, it began to left higher.

Shelley's hands twisted at the jar of peanut butter. He was nervous, excited, eager. He grinned and dipped a small dark finger tip into the jar, circled slowly, withdrew his finger and deliberately met my eyes as he placed it in his mouth. It was innocent yet erotic. He sucked the end, casually licking along the length of his finger to get all of the peanut butter taste. Watching him do that, his eyes sparkling with unrestrained merriment, heralded what was obviously going to be a new experience for both of us.

I stepped closer, drawing slowly nearer to him, until my legs were inches from his knees. He beamed up at me, his lips apart as he breathed.

"You have to put it on," he said shyly.

I took the jar from his outstretched hand, holding upside down so that my penis could reach without being levered down into an uncomfortable position. The thickness resisted at first, then as I rotated the jar, it yielded and allowed the head of my penis to burrow into the surface. It felt strange, unlike anything I had experienced. My heart pounded with excitment. Perhaps it was the prevailing smell, the rich nutty aroma, the sheer naughtiness of what we were going to do, or Shelley's shameless grin as he watched. He was a co-conspirator and he was just as thrilled by what I was doing as I was.

With a large lump smeared over my penis, I waggled it temptingly in front of Shelley's face. He giggled and tried to grab it, but I jumped back out of reach.

"Not so fast. Did you wash your hands first?" I mocked.

"No, but I don't plan on using my hands to eat," he guffawed.

"Okay, but no hands," I laughed. "Just your tongue."

"Maybe I'll bite," Shelley said defiantly.

However, his gleeful smile said that the last thing he was going to dow as inflict pain. What he had in mind was something quite different. I flexed my penis, making it jerk sporadically, anticipating what he was about to do. I could see the hunger in his eyes. He licked his lips. He leaned forward. I stepped back into position. His tongue extended. His eyes closed. He closed the distance, closer and closer until the tip of his tongue touched the tip of my penis. His tongue disappeared back inside his mouth.

"It tastes salty," he chortled.

"I don't know why. It's supposed to have low salt," I said, glancing at the label. "Twenty percent less salt and fewer calories," I read.

"I know why," Shelley commented. "You're dick is leaking."

"Hm… maybe that's it."

He leaned forward again, this time with his lips apart, inviting my penis to enter his open mouth. He took the entire head of my penis before he stopped. His teeth nudged behind the corona. Immediately, his tongue went to work. Circling, probing, swiping back and forth. It was wriggling and alive, and as pleasurable sensation as I had ever felt when my penis was being sucked. Yet, it was a different feeling, his motions being less about sexual stimulation than about oral gratification. He made no secret of the fact that he was savoring the taste of peanut butter. Every few seconds he would smack his lips loudly and swallow. After a minute he drew back and looked up at me with a big 'cheesy' grin.

"How was it?" I asked.

"Good. More please."

My penis was certainly no less stiff than it had been when he started, even though he had only been licking and sucking in order to get the peanut butter. I held out the jar again, pushed my penis deeper into the creamy browness as I rotated the jar. This time I went deeper. When I withdrew, peanut butter clung to my penis and coated the skin, even filling in the ridge behind my glans so that it looked… Well, it looked like a penis covered in peanut butter. Shelley giggled and leaned forward again, this time with his mouth wide open.

There was intimacy in sharing food. It was not quite the same as feeding him chicken soup with a spoon when he had first woken up in my bed the morning after the operation, but it was close.

He started by nibbling up and down the length of my penis. He made little noises, not unlike a baby sucking on a teat. His jaws were certainly busy because I could see his cheeks moving in and out. Every few seconds his tongue would swirl out and lick quickly over my tender swollen penis, smooching his lips against the newly wetted skin in a playful tasty kiss. Being eaten was beginning to feel very nice indeed.

"You ready for some more?" I teased.

Shelley lifted off in order to grin at me. His tongue stuck out, now yellowish in color rather than pink.

"Yeah. Put a lot on this time. I'm glad it's not crunchy," he winked.

"Why?"

"You'll see," he answered secretively.

He watched intently as I smeared on more peanut butter than the previous times combined. This time it was thick with large gobs adhering to my penis where it had been inside the jar. There was now a large hole in the middle of the jar. What I had displaced was going to make it difficult to get the lid back on again. For good measure, I pushed the top of the jar back and forth. There was no point in wasting good peanut-butter, and the extra calories would not do Shelley any harm either.

"That's better," Shelley giggled. "Are you ready?"

"Ah, ready for what?"

"You'll have to wait and see," Shelley giggled again. "It's a big surprise."

The way he said it suggested that what he had in mind was something that I was truly going to enjoy. I glanced around me as his head lowered and his mouth returned, supplicant like as if receiving Holy sacrament. I knew what he had in mind. We had never had sex out in the open before. And this place, this verdant glade with moss-covered logs and rocks, and graceful dark pine trees was perfect.

He licked and sucked back and forth, slurping noisily with his tongue and smacking his lips as he gobbled up the peanut butter. However, this time he seemed to be interested in putting saliva out rather than taking peanut butter into his mouth. It was amusing just watching him getting my penis ready for his 'big surprise'.

With lots of saliva, peanut butter becomes quite slimy. It did not offer the same slickness as a lubricant like K-Y, but it was at least as slippery as Vaseline. When all that was left was a yellowish creamy foam, Shelley sat back on his haunches, slowly rose to his feet, and smirked knowingly at me.

"What are you going to do now?" I demanded.

Shelley giggled. His hands dropped to his waist, rapidly unfastening his brown leather belt, button, and zipper. He shoved his jeans downward, pushing them to beyond his knees. We stood there in the silence of the enclosing forest, face to face and aware only of each other. The urge to couple was insistent. Demanding. All powerful. Unavoidable. His penis made a finger-sized bulge in his underpants, boldly sticking out into the white cotton fabric. Without answering, he turned around so that his back was to me. His briefs had wedged slightly into the crevice between his buttocks, emphasizing the pinched halves of each cheek. I gazed relentlessly, tormented by what had become a throbbing erection.

I tried to control my urge. It would have been easy to push him down, force his face into the earthy moss, spread his legs wide apart so I had access. I could take him like that, and he would not resist other than a brief cry when my penis penetrated his tight ring. Or there was the log. It was as big around as a 44 gallon drum, its rough bark flecked with moss and grey-green lichen, fungus clumped in brilliantly colored patches. I could place him over it, his head and legs draped down with his hips lifted up and exposed, his movement restrained by a log that could not move. I could take him hard and fast, grunting my need in his ear. Or, I could make him stand and bend over. He could brace himself against a tree, holding himself up while I plundered his rear. Or I could take his weight in my arms and lower his slender now dark brown body onto my penis like some ancient Indian warrior and his catamite. In my perverted mind, the opportunities were limitless.

However, it was Shelley's choice. With infinite slowness, his small hands peeled the white cloth away from his hips. He inserted both thumbs under the elastic waist band, tugging downward a fraction of an inch, exposing his smooth darkened skin to my lust. Did I prefer pink buttocks or brown buttocks? There were merits to each. One pale and seemingly civilized, the other dark and primitive. Yet both were sexually arousing in that hidden place in the woods. Powerfully sexual, the setting as much as the beautiful boy arousing desire beyond my normal proclivity. I wanted him. I hungered for him. My penis lurched, dripping a droplet of crystal fluid from the gaping slit in the tip.

He wriggled his rump like a hooker. A moment later, he glanced teasingly over his shoulder.

"What are you waiting for, Chipote," he tittered. "Do I have to tell you what to do?"

I started to move forward, to get in a position to enter him. My penis bobbed up and down, oozing the pre-seminal fluid that was crucial to what would happen next. It was nature's lubricant, appropriate in this place of abundant nature. It would not take long. A minute at most to get past his sphincter, another minute to get his muscle loosened until he no longer whimpered when I thrust forward into his inner chamber. Then, how long? Would I last another minute before I spewed my semen into his rectum? Two if I was lucky. I could not remember being so excited. Around us, the grove had grown silent as if respecting the sacred act being performed.

Shelley's hands moved instinctively. His fingers pressed into his small cheeks, pulling at the flesh, opening his crack wide. There it was. Some men refer to that part of a young boy as a flower, the little puckered bud of a boy's anus. Others make reference to a mouth, and the lips that are ready to kiss. Me? It was an ass hole, a beautiful orrifice that had no equal. It was, Shelley!

I pushed against it without any preparation. There was no foreplay. Perhaps there should have been. He gasped.

"Oh Rick!"

"You don't mind if I make a mess on your underpants?" I teased.

"Oh… God, push him in. I want you in me so bad."

The single shot came from behind me, but to the left side.

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