Ganymede

For Money or Love

Chapters 5-8

Chapter 5
Dressing Up

Juan went directly into the bathroom, unfastening the buttons on his new Levis shirt as he went. Not bothering to close the door behind him, he reached into the shower and turned on the water. He continued to undress, dropping his shirt on the floor as he unfastened the clasp on his new Guess jeans and opened the zipper. He kicked off his new Nike sneakers as he went over to the toilet. He pushed his jeans downward until they were almost at his knees and sat down. He removed his socks and then tugged the still-stiff denim together with his new briefs down his slender legs and past his feet. His clothes, now-discarded on the bathroom floor, were the spoils of his first time with Paul Luchiano. They had purchased the clothes in the morning, after breakfast, after Mister Luchiano had entered him for the third time. The Rams-jacket had come later. The jacket and his new Nike sneakers had cost a hundred dollars, the first money that Juan had ever made by himself.

Juan sat quietly. He waited patiently, it always took time. He had never been able to defecate on demand. He looked around the room, taking in the decrepid and fungus-stained fixtures, the stained vinyl floor, the perpetual damp odor that seemed to emanate from every corner of the apartment. After several minutes he stood up again and glanced down into the toilet bowl. Bruce had been adamant that Luchiano wanted him clean, both inside as well as outside, but there wasn't much that he could do about it. He stepped across the low threshold and into the shower.

"Youuchh," he squealed. "Goddamn fucking shit!" he cursed loudly.

He darted back from the scalding water. The water was never that hot in the morning when he showered. It was hard to get the temperature adjusted and he stood with his back pressed into the wall as he waited amidst clouds of steam. The boy began to soap himself. He cautiously wet the soap under the spray of water and went to work. He built up a good lather on his chest and belly as he enjoyed the slipperiness of his soap-covered body. He lifted up one foot, and then the other, as he painstakingly cleaned between each toe. If nowhere else, Juan washed with religious care as he cleansed his genitals, groin, buttocks, and lower abdomen. If Mister Luchiano wanted him clean, then he would be clean, spotlessly clean.

He returned to his buttocks and used his left hand to spread his firm cheeks apart. He washed the crevice between the two globes with particular emphasis before pushing one soapy finger into the small depression of his anus. His movement was precise, a deliberate pressure that increased until the muscle gave way and his finger pierced and became an unyielding knife of sinew and bone as it stabbed into his rectum. Juan began to move his finger back and forth, then around and around, as if testing his elasticity. Satisfied, a second thin finger joined the first, pushing much harder to go into him. As his hand and outstretched fingers bore forward, he endeavored to relax, even to push back. He gasped, not in pain but in surprise as his anus submitted. He felt the sudden ingress of his fingers, revelling in the warm comfortable feeling. That feeling was totally unlike a man's penis inside him, an evisceration he had quickly come to accept and finally to enjoy.

After testing the water temperature and finding it satisfactory, Juan rinsed off and began to shampoo. Everything, every part of his young body had to be spotlessly clean for Paul Luchiano. Before he had finished in the bathroom, he had washed his entire body again. He had even brushed his teeth twice. The boy dried off thoroughly, rubbing the large, well-worn towel over his body vigorously until his bare skin was tingling and several shades pinker than normal. Finally, he wiped the mirror clean of steam and inspected himself. Gratified that he was as clean as he had ever been, Juan left the bathroom and headed back towards his bedroom to get dressed.

Juan stopped at the door to his mother's bedroom. The afternoon sun streamed in through the partially open blinds. Her bed was unmade and the sheets were pulled to one side. The boy smiled as he saw the lonely pillow in the center of the bed. He wondered and then smiled again as he dismissed the thought that had first come to him. There was no way that his mother would do what he did. She would never do that with any man. But if there was another explanation he did not know it. He knew only that Mister Luchiano had used a pillow under him to lift his hips higher, to position his buttocks so that the angle was right.

Some of her clothes lay on the dresser, others spilled from the drawers or had fallen to the floor. Invitingly, a pair of glistening black panties hung over the corner of one open drawer. The boy stared at it, feeling a strange temptation. He shivered involuntarily as he stepped forward and entered into his mother's room. He was drawn with irrational magnetism to the dresser. He stopped before it, reached down and brushed the black nylon with his finger tips. The material was iridescent and as soft as silk, so flimsy and delicate that by contrast, the soft cotton of his own underpants was rough. He stroked it again in silent thought, paused for a moment, and then slowly picked it up. The desire seemed to rise up inside him, challenging him to dare to wear it. For only a few seconds he resisted but he wanted to feel it against him. He touched the satin sheen against his cheek and he quivered with excitement. It was a sensation that the young boy had never known. It exuded a feminine mystery, an aura that magically made his heart beat faster. Juan's breathing accelerated. He stared at it, knowing that he wanted to feel it on his body, but he dared not. Twelve years of conditioned inhibitions stood before him and the inviolate glossy cloth that offered what he wanted more than anything else. He swallowed as the temptation became ever stronger. There was no one to see him. No one else in the world would ever know what he had done. Juan shuddered as a sudden thrill rocketed through his lean body. His mind was made up and he sat down on his mother's bed.

He moved slowly. His lingering pace was not from hesitation but nervous excitement. Juan trembled with every breath as he placed his feet through the lace-trimmed holes. The black nylon crept inch by inch up his legs to his knees before he stood up. Even his hands shook as he felt the coolness if the slick silk against the warmth of his bare thighs. He breathed heavily, trying to control his racing heart. It pounded inside his chest. In less than a minute his penis had become painfully stiff so that it jutted outwards into the flimsy garment as a cruel reminder of his male sex.

The boy quaked as he walked toward the mirror that hung behind the dresser. Before him, he saw the slender form of a beautiful girl. She was still without breasts and her waist was boyish, but a girl nonetheless. He gazed in awe at his own reflection, as much in disbelief as in fascination at his own transformation. Although his mother's panties were several sizes too large for the boy they were designed to stretch. The waist band clung to Juan's narrow hips, following a line across his belly about an inch [2½ cm] below his navel. He twisted around and with some difficulty, examined his behind. There, the difference in size and shape between a twelve-year-old boy and a grown woman, size five, was considerably more apparent. The cloth was loose over the firm flesh of his small buttocks. It was unappealing, even though it felt very nice. He turned back to the mirror and examined himself again. This time he noticed the incongruity of his rigid penis.

"Damn!" he swore loudly.

He pushed it downward angrily but it sprang back inflexibly. Juan yelped loudly. "Goddamn shit!" he cried in a combination of pain, anger, and frustration as his maleness reasserted itself. But there was little the boy could do about his penis. His now familiar erection, had never been this stiff before. Not even with Bruce had the boy's now-throbbing penis ached like this. Unknown to the boy, tiny blue veins made ripples on the tightly stretched skin as it pulled back against his glans. Although his penis was uncomfortably hard Juan was not further distracted by it. He turned back to his mother's dresser, driven by a primal instinct that quickly prevailed over taboo.

His natural inclinations, no longer curbed by fear of his mother, triumphed. Hurriedly he searched through the top drawer. Uncertain of what he was looking for, he roughly pushed more underwear and a nightgown to the side. His excitement had reached the stage of panic as he pulled a bra from the tangled mess. For a moment he held it up to his chest and then dropped in to the floor. Without breasts, it had no value to him. A camisole of thin black nylon caught his attention next. Juan held it against himself and studied the mirror. In the last minute his temperature had risen quickly and his hot skin revelled in the coldness of the sleek fabric. It was as smooth and delicate as the briefs that covered his genitals. It covered even more of his fevered, naked body. Even though he had watched his mother dress before this, he was now unsure of how she got into it. Juan contemplated the garment as he tried to resist again. But the fight against his desire could have only one outcome. He lifted his thin arms up over his head, and let the camisole enclothe his slight frame. Again, his mother's camisole was too large for him but this time its size accentuated his figure. The folds of glossy black fabric draped over his torso, suspended from a ring of intricately patterned lace. It reached almost to his knees.

"Awesome!" he murmured as he surveyed himself again.

His bare skin tingled. The heightened titillation of his already stimulated flesh electrified the twelve-year-old boy. The thrill was unimaginable. It could be a dress, a ball gown, or even a nightie. Again he rummaged through his mother's dresser. Each piece of new apparel was both fascinating and exciting to him. In the second drawer he found the photographs and for a brief moment wondered why his mother had kept them there as he picked them up.

In its own way, the discovery of the photographs was as much a revelation on that Friday afternoon as anything else. Little more than a week earlier he had posed for Bruce. Only six polaroid photographs remained because two had been given to Luchiano the next day. In each photograph, his unattired body confronted him in increasingly lewd positions. Stripped of his innocence, Juan had cavorted stark-naked. Before the camera he was unnaturally aggressive. In the first picture Juan lay back in the pillows, his legs wide apart as he flaunted his genitals. It was not the first picture that Bruce had taken, that picture was gone forever. Still distrustful and shy before the camera, Juan had turned away, giving only a glimpse of his face. Yet there had been the mischievous smile of a self-conscious boy whose perfect body was modestly revealed. Juan reluctantly admired the boy in the picture, reserving his judgement that he was actually as beautiful as he appeared.

By the time the next picture was taken Juan's apprehension had begun to fade. He had turned to face the camera. His head was bent forward and his long hair cascaded over his forehead and partially concealed his face but little else was hidden from view. His hands were on his hips with one finger from each lying in the crease between his thigh and belly as if pointing downward to his genitals. By the time the next photo was taken his inhibitions had all but dissipated. On Bruce's instigation he had begun to fondle himself and he saw a close-up of his lower belly and groin. In the very center was his small penis, held precariously with one finger and his thumb. At first his feelings were ambiguous as he gazed at the picture. Then, for nearly minute he grappled with the undeniable image of his sex as he tried to avoid what now confronted him. Though barely realized, what he felt was resentment. He found no pleasure in the photograph. His genitals had suddenly become a loathsome, misshapen appendage on his body.

Juan placed the photograph at the back of the pile and looked at the last one. He was immediately drawn to this photograph. Unlike the previous photograph that had captured his deformity in its entirety, there was no sign of his sex – though the picture was anything but sexless. Again, upon Bruce's suggestion and after some cajoling, he had turned onto his belly and positioned himself in a frog-like crouch. However, unlike a frog, he reached behind himself to expose his posterior in a welcoming spectacle of parted buttocks and a small orifice that appeared, upon closer scrutiny to be abnormally large. Although he had been embarrassed at the time the photograph was taken, he was now awed. For Juan, the image that he now confronted was neither aberrant nor unnatural. The picture, and its consequences, were so exciting that it alarmed him. He gazed at it uncertainly as his dilemma gathered momentum. As he remembered the feelings he had discovered during the last week he shivered. He shivered with the same anxious thrill that he had experienced only a few minutes earlier as he stepped into his mother's underwear. He shivered as he remembered the pain that had become so pleasurable that it seemed as if he existed only for a single purpose. It no longer mattered to him that it hurt terribly at first, his delight at being held by a man and becoming the receptacle for his penis was reward enough. Juan's young body tensed as his sphincter tightened instinctively. It squeezed on the special place that he had discovered and he sighed quietly.

His attention turned back to the dresser and he dropped the photographs into the drawer, unconcerned whether they were in the same place. He picked up the tube of lipstick and leaned towards the mirror. Juan had watched his mother often enough to imitate her make-up. His hand began to shake as he removed the metallic-gold cap and slowly brought the vivid-red point up to his perfectly shaped lips. His first attempt was clumsy and he smeared his upper lip but he persisted. The end result of his endeavor was crude and distorted, a parody of his mother's expert application. He studied his ungainly reshaped mouth in the mirror curiously. The effect was inelegant but he was not disconcerted. He picked up the shallow pan of eye-shadow and the plastic brush that lay beside it. The hue was a vibrant mix of purple and brown, a color that suited his mother's darker complexion but one which was too intense for his own skin and softer features. That did not stop him however and he brushed heavy-handed and inept strokes under his eyebrows. His face became a caricature as he imitated his mother, concealing his natural beauty with a graceless and inexpert embellishment.

It was only after he had stepped back from the mirror to examine the complete transformation that he saw the clock and realized how late it was. He had five minutes before Bruce arrived to pick him up. Jolted, Juan hurriedly tugged his mother's underwear from his body and ran naked back to the bathroom. He soaped his face thoroughly to remove all traces of cosmetic before he picked up his clothes and went back to his own room. He dressed quickly, choosing to wear his aged track-suit over his new sport-briefs and pack his jeans and shirt in his gym bag just in case Mister Luchiano took him to dinner. The door bell rang once, paused a few seconds and then rang again with a strident impatience. Juan ran from his bedroom back into the bathroom, grabbed his toothbrush, and brushed his now-dry hair again. He dashed for the front door as the bell began to ring continuously, collected his Rams jacket, and ran for the stairs as the door slammed behind him.

"What took so long, mate?" Bruce demanded as Juan got into the car. Bruce accelerated and the Camaro leaped forward, its wheels spinning on the gravel that had broken away from the edges of the parking lot.

"Sorry," Juan acknowledged. "I had to do somethin' first," he added.

"Yeah, sure you did. You showered didn't you?" Bruce asked angrily. "Goddamn, we're going to be late. What were you doing up there?" he smirked. "I bet you were wanking yourself, you little poofter." Juan shook his head vigorously. "You've been getting that cute little ass of yours ready for action like I told you, haven't you?" Bruce challenged. He smiled at Juan as he pulled onto the street. "How's ya jack, mate?"

"My jack?" Juan asked uncertainly as he stuffed the gym-bag between his legs.

"Yer ass kiddo. You know, your bung-hole, dopey! Does your butt still hurt?"

Juan shook his head again and looked away. He turned his head to watch his apartment building disappear. As he wondered whether Jamie was home from school, he felt a strange sense of deja-vu and a cold chill came with a feeling that he would never see his home or his brother again.

"It's okay," the boy muttered. "It doesn't hurt anymore. I did what you said. You know, with my fingers back there."

"Great, mate. Now listen, Luchiano wants things a bit different this time, okay. You were all right last time, but not great. He told me you cried. When he wants to stuff you, damn, you don't say no again, do you understand?"

"But Bruce, it hurt really bad. I told you it was the middle of the night when he wanted to. I did it the next morning when he wanted to," Juan complained.

"Don't whine, boy. Luchiano's paying big bucks for you and he expects to get his money's worth. There's any number of kids willing to get knocked off for what you're getting. If he wants to fuck your ass twenty-four hours a day, then you let him. You don't cry about it again, understand?"

Juan tried to block out what Bruce was saying and he stared at the passing cars. He watched with resentment as they went past a van with a woman and two children in it. The boy in the back seat was about his age. Inwardly he sighed and wondered why life had been so unfair to him. Slowly he turned his head, bringing his attention back to the car he sat in.

"Okay," Juan answered glumly. "You don't know how bad it hurts afterwards. He's bigger than you are."

"Yeah I know how it feels. It doesn't hurt all that much and he's not that much bigger than me. I was screwin' with him before you were born, remember?" Bruce glanced at the pretty though pitiful boy beside him. "It'll feel better in a few weeks, mate," he added quietly. "Once you get used to it, it doesn't hurt that bad."

"Yeah, sure," Juan replied. "I guess," he added without conviction. "Are we going to the same place in Venice again?"

"Nope! Luchiano wants you out at some fancy hotel in San Bernadino this time."

"That's miles away. Why do we have to go all the way out there for?" Juan asked. "It was kind of fun at the beach," he admitted as an afterthought.

"Don't ask me, mate! I'm just the chauffeur, aren't I. Now listen. This time it's going to be different," Bruce said as he reached the on-ramp to the Harbor Freeway.

"Different? How?" the boy asked curiously.

"You're going to do a bit of acting for tonight," Bruce replied. "Luchiano wants to get you on video. I guess so he can watch you on telly during the rest of the week. I think he's got the hots for you, mate," he teased.

Bruce stabbed at the brakes as an old Pontiac swerved into his lane. "Fuckin' hell, these wogs can't drive," he swore angrily. Bruce leaned on the horn in futile protest and then glanced back at the demure boy beside him. "What's the matter, mate? You're not afraid of flashing your gorgeous little bum on the boob-box, are you?"

"Uh? No, I guess not," Juan responded. He blushed immediately.

Bruce chuckled at the boy's embarrassment. "Get used to it, Juan. Luchiano always gets what he wants. All you have to remember is to do what I tell you."

"Yeah, sure. Just tell me what I have to do." Juan paused thoughtfully. "He wants to watch me get fucked doesn't he?" he asked.

"You're not wrong, and I bet it'll be worth watching too, mate. But then I've seen you get your arse filled before, haven't I? Still, I won't mind seeing it again. Oh! Oh! Mister Luchiano, do it harder! Oh! Oh! Faster, man!" the man taunted as his pelvis bucked in a rude imitation of intercourse.

"You're going to be there?"

"I'm the photographer," Bruce added. He licked his lips suggestively.

Juan looked at the man with contempt and shrugged dismissively. Bruce grinned triumphantly. "You're a real creep sometimes," the boy retorted.

Bruce laughed and put his hand into a paper bag that lay between the front seats. He pulled a small carton and tossed it into Juan's lap. "Here, you're going to need these tonight."

Juan studied the box for the few seconds it took to realize its contents. "I've still got two rubbers from the last time," he said.

"So? There's ten more in there. I'm sure you and Luchiano can find a use for them. Just remember what I said."

"Yeah, I know," Juan interrupted. "I gotta use one every time I do it, no matter who it is. Except you said that if I love the guy, then it's okay."

"That's not what I said, mate. You want to die young, is that it? I said if you do it without using a rubber on his bloody cock, then you better love him enough to trust him with your life, because that's exactly what you're doing. Don't be a stupid little bugger," Bruce said angrily. "Every time a guy's tool goes up your arse, you're playing Commie Craps."

"What?"

"Russian Roulette! You know what that is, don't you?" Bruce replied.

"Yeah, I know" Juan answered impatiently. "And I'm not stupid!"

"I know you're not, but kids can still do stupid things at your age. Just remember what I said! Every fuckin' time, mate! It doesn't matter whether the dick belongs to one of your little buddies from school, a guy like Luchiano, or even me. You use a rubber no matter what, understand? No rubber, no dick gets in your arse, or your mouth, for that matter. You can jerk off all you want, but nothing goes inside you, either front or back!"

"There's no need to shout at me," Juan answered.

"Sorry, mate. I didn't mean to get angry. You've still got plenty of K-Y left, haven't you?"

"Yeah," the boy responded sullenly. "We didn't use all that much last week."

"That's probably why it hurt so much. Try putting some inside yourself first," Bruce explained patiently. "Luchiano never was much for lubin' the tube before hand. I guess he likes some fuckin' friction."

They sat quietly for several minutes as Bruce concentrated on manoeuvering through the fast-moving traffic. They were just past the Santa Monica Freeway before Bruce spoke again. He reached back into the paper bag and removed a large bottle full of small white-colored pills.

"I've got something else for you, mate," Bruce said quietly as he passed the bottle to Juan. "These will help, if you want them?"

"Shit, man, I don't do drugs. I told you I'm not stupid," Juan retorted angrily. He twisted away and pushed the bottle towards Bruce. There was a interminable silence as he stared out of the window. "Only dummies do drugs," he added righteously as he repeated the standard phrase from school.

"They're not that kind of drug," Bruce expounded. "Don't worry, you won't get high from taking them. You said you wanted to be a girl… if you really want to, well then, these will help."

Juan turned swiftly with his mouth wide open in surprise. "These will make me into a girl?" he asked breathlessly.

"I didn't say that, mate. I said they will help, that's all. No pill is going to make your dick and balls drop off. You're stuck with a dick, but it hasn't got to be a big one."

"I don't understand," Juan questioned as he picked up the bottle with growing enthusiasm. "What use are they? What do they do then? What's this Des-junk mean?" he added as he pointed to the typed label, 'Deslorelin'.

"These little dudes will put the brakes on your balls, so to speak. They'll stop you from getting bigger down there. Hell, you might even get tits after a while. But believe me, these pills are fuckin' expensive, even when they're brought in from Mexico like these were. If you don't want them, I'll take them back and save the fuckin' money."

Bruce reached out as if to take the bottle back. Instantly, Juan moved the bottle out of reach and held it tightly. He studied the bottle silently as he breathed deeply. "You mean I just take these pills and my dick doesn't get any bigger. I stay just like I am now?" he asked and then added suspiciously, "For how long?"

"I dunno mate. Let's say you take all of the pills in this bottle. How old are you now?"

"Twelve," Juan grinned happily. "Today's my birthday."

"Well, fuck me with a fence post. Why didn't you say something, mate? Happy birthday! Remind me to tell Luchiano and he'll give you a birthday prezzie," Bruce laughed as he gyrated his hips obscenely. "Hmmm, so if you're twelve now, and there's s'posed to be a thousand in there, well they should last you about three years. Maybe even enough for four years if you start out taking one every couple of days."

"What should I tell my mom?" Juan asked anxiously. "She'll find out real fast and I know she'll think I'm doing drugs or something like that."

"Not that she'd care," Bruce finished. "Don't worry about her. Just take the label off and tell her you're taking vitamins. You can tell her you're taking extra iron so you can get a harder dick for Luchiano. She'll understand. Not that your cock could get much stiffer."

Juan nodded uncertainly, not sharing in Bruce's crude humor. "You really think I'll stay like this?" he asked hopefully.

The boy's voice wavered as he wondered about his future and Bruce shrugged vaguely. "Maybe! You know, you can't be a girl no matter how much you might want to be, mate, but it'd be the next best thing for you. Of course, there may be some side effects," he added hesitantly.

"Side effects? Like what?"

"Jesus, I'm not a doctor. I guess you might stunt your growth. I mean from the look of you, you probably not going to be that big when you grow up. It'll probably stunt the growth of your dick too. The side effects are your problem, mate. Maybe the pills will even make you sterile, who knows?" the man laughed. "But then I guess that's not much of problem for you, is it? A poofter like you? You don't plan to get married and be a daddy, do you?"

Juan shook his head and gazed curiously at the bottle of pills. Bruce chuckled as he answered for the boy. "No I guess you don't. Hell, then I guess the worst thing that might happen is you get turned off sex for a while. You might even have trouble getting a hard-on."

"Mister Luchiano will be pissed," Juan giggled frivolously.

"Don't bet on it, kid. Luchiano doesn't much care whether you're turned on or turned off, just so long as you pull your cheeks apart for him when he wants to stick his dong up you. Just pretend you're horny when he wants to stuff you, okay?"

The man stretched back in his seat, straightened his arms like a racecar driver, and smiled at Juan. The boy fumbled as he scratched the white, sticky label of the bottle using his thumb. Within a minute there was nothing left other than a smear of adhesive on the glass.

"Yeah, just pretend you like to do it." Bruce chortled. "You won't have a problem anyway. He'll like you a lot more without hair on your dick."

It was pleasantly warm in the afternoon sun that streamed through the side window as they headed east. Juan yawned and settled back in his seat. "How far to where we're going?" he asked sleepily.

"Depends on the traffic," Bruce answered. "At least an hour at the speed we're going now. God, how I hate the afternoon traffic. It's a lot worse on Fridays. Must be all those damn Mexo's heading south for the weekend."

"I'm going to sleep," Juan murmured.

"You might as well because you aren't going to sleep much tonight," Bruce chortled. "Not on your birthday, that's for sure."

He reached towards the boy and playfully squeezed the small soft mound of the youngster's groin. "Ooooh Juan! Let me put it up you, birthday-boy. Let me do it again," he snickered in a vulgar simulation of what awaited his small companion in San Bernadino.

"Fuck you," Juan cursed mischievously.'You're not putting anything up me again." He grinned evilly. "Not unless you pay me first."

"That's what you think. You've got to pay for my pills first. Hey, maybe I'll take it out in fucks. What do you reckon? Every time you pop one of those dudes, I'll pop you," Bruce gibed.

The boy tensed angrily as he clutched the bottle possessively. "The hell you will. I'm not paying anything for these. You only want me to take them so Mister Luchiano will keep me around longer and you and my mom can get more money."

"Believe what you want. Anyway, I didn't think you were that interested in old men. Luchiano is old enough to be your daddy. Hell, with your mother, he could even be your grandfather, mate. I'm surprised you wouldn't rather have a young guy like me humping your arse."

Juan shrugged as he curled up in the bucket seat of the Camaro. "You said before, last week when you drove me to Venice, that there's nothing wrong with me doing it with him. He's okay, I guess. Anyway, I don't care that he's older than you." Juan closed his eyes. It was only a momentary pause. "He's okay!" he repeated with conviction.

Chapter 6. The Luckiest Boy in LA

He reached over and shook the sleeping boy's shoulder roughly. "Wake up mate, it's time to go to work."

Juan struggled awake, rubbed his eyes blearily and looked around him. "Huh? Are we there?" He yawned sleepily and arched his back in a graceful, feline motion. "It's raining," he observed.

"No shit! Looks like you're going to spend your birthday getting humped," Bruce guffawed. "No golf for you this weekend."

"I don't play golf," the boy said flatly. "Why does he want me all the way out here, anyway?"

"I already told you I don't know. Maybe Luchiano likes to play golf. Let's get on with it. You're already a half-hour late."

Bruce opened his door and went to the rear of the car as Juan slowly placed the bottle of pills and the box of condoms in his gym bag. He was stiff from his sleep and he stretched his legs while he waited for Bruce to get a grey nylon bag containing the video camera from the trunk. He followed the man across the parking lot, swinging his bag in wide oscillations that came close to the ground. The boy went up the front stairs, not reluctantly, but with a dawdling pace that reflected his interest in the people milling about in the foyer. He watched with interest as two boys, obviously twins, about ten or eleven years old romped with an older man, who Juan guessed to be their father. The boys cavorted in, on, and over a large couch as they giggled and tickled each other and the man. For an instant, Juan felt strange. He did not recognize it as jealousy.

"Stop dawdling, mate," Bruce said angrily. "I told you we were late."

"Do we have to check in or something?" Juan asked as he saw the line of people ahead of them. His head swivelled as he glanced back at the twins and wondered why he did not have a father of his own.

"No! Just follow me and shut up." Bruce whispered. You're staying in Luchiano's room and the last thing he wants is for people to know he's got a hot little boy-hooker up there tonight."

Juan followed Bruce past the registration desk until they came to the elevators. Again he glanced back at the good looking boys frolicking on the couch. They were barely visible through the crowd in the foyer. As the elevator door opened, he realized that he was intensely envious. With a father of his own, he imagined he would not be standing where he was at that moment. He would not be dominated by his mother to the point where he was powerless, but mostly, he would not be uncertain about his desires, his sexuality, or even who he was.

It was a slow ride to the top floor of the hotel. The elevator stopped at every floor as people got on and off. Only Juan and Bruce were left on board by the time the doors finally slid open on the roof-garden level. It was a very different place to the hustle and bustle in the foyer. Thick carpet sponged under their feet as they stepped out. Bruce looked one way and then the other as he endeavored to get his bearings. Juan looked around him with astonishment. He had never seen anything as beautiful as what lay before him. Before the elevator was a garden full of luxuriant plants but the centerpiece was a sparking fountain that cascaded in a azure-blue swimming pool.

"Wow," he gasped. "This place is awesome, man."

"Yeah. Luchiano likes his boys to be happy," Bruce replied. "Come on! maybe he'll let you go for a swim if you behave yourself."

Now excited, Juan followed the man along the corridor. They passed several doors before Bruce stopped. He knocked gently and then stepped back. The door opened into a darkened room. Juan could discern the outline of a man standing silently beside the door as if seeking anonymity. He followed Bruce into the room. The door closed and locked securely behind him and he shivered impulsively as he turned around. The hall light came on and as it did Juan recognized the man beside him. Paul Luchiano studied him quietly as if inspecting merchandise before making a decision. He was attired in a bathrobe and from the open front it was apparent that he was otherwise naked. In those first few awkward seconds, Juan shivered again. On the way home the previous Saturday Bruce had made him was well aware of the man's power. Despite the passion that Paul Luchiano had for young boys, Juan was exposed to considerable danger. The boy smiled shyly at the man who demanded his young body for unnatural acts.

"Hi Mister Luchiano," Juan said in voice that was barely above a whisper.

"Hi kid. You found the place okay Bruce?"

"I'm sorry about the delay, Mister Luchiano. The traffic was terrible," Bruce explained quickly. He walked several steps further into the room and turned around. "Nice place for a skin-flick," he added.

Though Juan would never know, the room he stood in was in fact a part of the Christobel, a suite of rooms that doubled as honeymoon, executive, and even gubernatorial accommodation. Luchiano placed his arm around the boy's shoulder and guided him forward towards the open door of the bathroom with a gentle, though firm push.

"Do you want to use the bathroom, kid? What's his name?" Luchiano asked as he glanced sideways at Bruce. "It's Carlo or Jamie or something like that. No, it's Juan isn't it?"

Juan nodded diffidently. He was only momentarily disappointed that Mister Luchiano was unsure of his name. It seemed illogical that a man could have intercourse with him and still forget who he was. He did not think that he would ever forget the name of man who did that to him. He stopped in the doorway.

"I don't need to use the bathroom, Mister Luchiano," he said. "I showered before I came."

Luchiano turned quickly. "I didn't ask if you showered, kid. I told you to use the bathroom. I don't want shit on me again, understand. Go clean yourself out," he added angrily.

Juan reddened and bolted into the bathroom. Shame swelled up inside him, matching the tears that immediately formed in his eyes. He swore silently to himself, pulled his sweat pants and briefs down, and sat on the toilet. Through the open door he could hear Bruce and Mister Luchiano talking in muted tones.

"I brought the camera like you asked," Bruce said and then added apologetically, "You should lighten up on him. He's only just started doing this. Give him some time to learn."

"Yeah, sure. Just don't ever bring me a kid who craps on my cock. And I don't want him crying again either. If he doesn't like it this time, he's finished as far as I'm concerned."

There was a long silence. Juan strained, trying frantically to empty his bowel. Nothing came. His fists clenched in impotent rage as his frustration grew. He had followed Bruce's advice exactly, even skipping breakfast and lunch that day. Now he was hungry. He squeezed down again, exerting every muscle in his abdomen in a fruitless attempt to excrete. Then without warning, tiny hard beads of feces were eliminated and dropped like marbles into the water. The water splashed up, wetting his buttocks with cold droplets. Now relieved, his attention turned back to the conversation in the adjoining room.

"I didn't say he wasn't good looking," Luchiano interrupted. "He's a beautiful kid. I haven't seen a body that gorgeous for years. You're right, okay!"

"Just give him a few weeks, Mister Luchiano. He's a good kid."

"Yeah, he seems to be," Luchiano added innocuously. "I guess I shouldn't have yelled at him. It's just that I'm under a lot of pressure right now. The fucking FBI is running my stuff off the street and what they don't get, the fucking Mexicans are taking. Then there's the goddamned blacks. I thought I had a deal put together with the Crips and they ripped me off for sixty thou'."

"Just go a bit easy on the kid."

Luchiano paused for a moment. "You know, I didn't intend to say that to the kid. I'm sorry about the long drive out here. I've got some action going down today and I need an alibi. Does the kid know about the video?"

"Yeah, I told him. I don't think he's all that keen on getting his ass on the tube but I know he'll do whatever you want," Bruce said.

"I hope so! He's a smart kid. If he does what he's told, he'll work out great. I know last time was an accident. Actually, you know, I like him a lot. Even without his weird dick, he's a lot different to the other kids."

"He fucks pretty good too, doesn't he?" Bruce laughed. "So, is he worth the six hundred bucks?"

Luchiano laughed. "Yeah, he's worth every cent. If he does whatever I want, I up it to a grand. But there's got to be no more tears."

"Sure thing. His mom will be happy," Bruce replied. "Did you know it's his birthday today. It'll make a nice prezzie."

"Yeah? The kid is what, ten, eleven?"

"No! He's twelve."

"Well, he looks a lot younger. I think he's the skinniest kid I've ever been with, but you know, that boy's got the cutest goddamn bubble-butt I've ever seen. Have you got that camera ready, yet?"

Juan could barely believe what he had heard. Bruce had told him there was a lot of money to be made, but a thousand dollars. That was more than a lot of money. He would do anything the man wanted and he would never cry again. He stood up and wiped his hindquarters carefully, but that was only the first step. He walked to the vanity and turned on the hot water, adjusted the temperature, and rinsed out a wash cloth. He used soap and warm water, working the soap bar along the entire length of his crevice before wrestling one and then two of his slippery fingers into his anus. He dried himself off thoroughly with a large, fluffy towel. He was ready to leave the bathroom when he remembered Bruce's caution about lubricating himself. He opened his gym bag, removed the top from the K-Y tube and squeezed some over his fingers. The crystalline ooze was cold on that highly sensitive part of his body and he barely suppressed a yelp of surprise. Still, it felt good on his tender flesh as he massaged the gel into his small opening. Satisfied, he searched among his clothes in the bag to find one of the two condoms that were loose inside it.

"Get a move on in there, Juan," Bruce commanded.

Juan pulled his briefs and sweat pants up, slipped the condom into the pocket of his sweat pants, and walked back into the room. Luchiano sat on the side of the vast king-sized bed while Bruce reclined against the table as he fiddled with the video camera. Juan glanced at the two men, instinctively recognizing that he was the center of attention. Their eyes followed his every movement, absorbed in the seductive sway of his slender body and his alluring face. That he could beguile a grown man with an almost mesmeric power was something that Juan had realized only in the last week. He turned on his captivating charm. The boy smiled at Luchiano provocatively. From somewhere inside the twelve-year-old boy, a prepossessing maturity awoke. He closed the gap as he walked slowly across the room, not stopping until he stood only a few tantalizing inches away from the older man. From the corner of his eye he watched Bruce lift the video camera to his eye. He grinned with the most tempting smile he could manage, his dark eyes flashing as he entrapped his prey.

"Do you want me to take my clothes off now?" Juan asked in a muted though audibly excited voice.

He casually dropped his gym bag beside the bed. Luchiano and Bruce shared a quick, knowing look. There was no doubt that the boy was a fast learner.

"Maybe you should undress the kid, Mister Luchiano," Bruce suggested. "Let's see him in his birthday suit."

Luchiano's hands lifted up with deliberate slowness as the small red light on the top of the video camera began to flicker. His hands went to the boy's narrow hips and rested momentarily on the bony pelvis. His thumbs crooked inward and looped into the waist band of Juan's sweat pants. He stopped briefly as he felt the warmth emanating from the firm smooth flesh underneath and gently caressed the boy's belly. Juan smiled shyly and pressed forward. However, what appeared to be a visible indication of his willingness to go further was initially little more than a juvenile attempt to make Bruce jealous.

Unseen and unrealized, the video camera recorded a time of 17:54:33, the precise instant at which Juan's pants were tugged down. What started as a teasing game quickly became increasing obscene. Within a few minutes he was totally naked, his clothes, socks and shoes discarded wantonly like a stripper. The last thing to come off was his briefs. He danced before the camera, swinging his hips languidly and he twirled the last vestige of his modesty in the air. As his erect penis bobbed proudly up and down, he balled the small soft clothe and tossed it towards the camera and climbed onto the bed. The time was 17:58:40.

Before the camera, Juan's inhibition diminished rapidly and he became ever more intoxicated with the freedom of his naked body and the satisfaction of its effect on the two men. By 18:02:00, he no longer needed gentle prompting from either man. He cavorted with crude but immature lust, no longer afraid or ashamed of recording his sensual movements as he straddled Luchiano and thrust his thighs in a depraved simulation of intercourse. The faint whirring sound of the camera was barely heard, even by Bruce as he gazed at the monochrome image of the twelve-year-old boy. He zoomed in, focusing on the small, rigid penis and taut scrotum until it completely filled the viewfinder. Up close, the boy's still-unripened genitals were unbelievably beautiful in their hairless state. He watched as Luchiano's hand enclosed the small penis and after carefully retracting the foreskin, began to masturbate it. Juan's penis danced with a life of its own, throbbing with the vibrant energy of youth as the foreskin pulled back and forth over the flawed glans. Whether the blemish on the boy's otherwise perfect body caused Luchiano any consternation was unknown to him. He suspected it added to the boy's charisma. He zoomed back, keeping the camera centered at the object of his interest, until he could see both the man and the boy.

At 18:10:30, Luchiano removed his robe with some assistance from his willing assistant. Juan grinned cheekily as he romped shamelessly about on the bed. That he was stark-naked before the camera was no longer of concern to him. He relished every touch on his bare flesh, his penis rampart and rock-hard as his heart pounded with unrelenting excitement. He straddled the man's thighs and brought their genitals together in an awkward embrace. Then like a jockey, he rode triumphantly as he rubbed back and forth with an urgent motion of his hips and thighs.

"Hey Mister Luchiano, let me get some shots of his butt," Bruce suggested. "Kind of before and after, if you know what I mean."

Luchiano laughed and tossed the boy onto his back. He held the youngster down with little effort. "God, he's horny, isn't he? Yeah, you better before it's too late."

Both men laughed as Juan struggled playfully to escape. The older man grasped his ankles and pushed back, forcing his legs apart and against his belly. Bruce moved forward, zooming in as he approached the bed.

"Now that's what I call a cherry," Bruce laughed. "Stick a finger in him, Mister Luchiano. He'll like that. Whoa boy! Take it easy!"

Juan bucked as he felt his orifice penetrated. Other than the K-Y inside his rectum and the slight wetness that had escaped during his exertions, there was no lubrication. He yelped and tried to pull away from the finger that wanted to violate his inner sanctum, but his feeble struggles and pleas for mercy served only to further excite both men. Luchiano's finger jabbed at him and broke through the resistance of his sphincter. It was 18:15:45 when Luchiano's finger could go no further into the young body and his knuckles ground into Juan's crevice.

Within ten minutes, Juan's anus was sufficiently dilated to easily accept two adult fingers. Every second was recorded. It began with the first minutes of his torture as he was forced open and his body resisted with painful spasms and continued through the gradual loosening of his small orifice and stretching of the hot tight tube of his rectum, to the writhing, frenzied ecstasy as his still-undeveloped prostate was prodded, stabbed, and massaged. At 18:25:40 he lay on his back, gasping for each breath and shuddering as his bowel sucked noisily on Luchiano's expert fingers. His penis became soft and partially withdrew into his abdomen and his scrotum became taut and wrinkled until it was little more than a shallow mound that emerged from his soft puppy fat.

"He's not going to get much looser. His fuck hole is wide open," Luchiano observed as he looked towards the video camera. He noticed the large bulge in Bruce's jeans and laughed. "It certainly looks like you're ready. How's it look so far?"

"Yeah, I'm all set," Bruce acknowledged with a smirk. "It looks great, Mister Luchiano. You could sell this. Why don't you get him on the edge of the bed, that way I be able to get it all on tape?"

Luchiano responded by withdrawing his fingers. The suction was broken with a loud wet, pop and Juan grunted as his pleasure was interrupted. He glanced at the camera, frustration clearly visible on his face as much as an expression of 'look what you're missing, mate'. He felt himself being dragged across the bed, coming closer to the end until his buttocks hung out over the edge. The boy gazed up at the man who now stood before him. Luchiano's penis was engorged and reddened with the pressure of his erection. It was threatening and powerful and Juan wanted it. Releasing his ankles, the boy grasped his cheeks and pulled them apart as wide as he could. At the same time he lifted his buttocks upward, presenting himself for the man's pleasure. Juan's desire reigned supreme, all caution was gone and Bruce's warnings about always using a condom were forgotten.

Luchiano moved and expertly directed his penis downward as he came into position. The tip of his penis was directly aimed at the boy's dilated orifice. Juan grinned, drawing his legs closer to his chest as he breathed quickly. His heart was pumping frantically and his bowel ached. He longed to feel the man's penis inside him. He felt the warm, hard fullness of it as it touched his anus and he quivered with anticipation. Even though it would hurt terribly at first, what came later was more than enough compensation for the pain. Even the bleeding didn't bother him, though he hoped it would not happen again. He felt the man's penis swelling against him, the pressure increasing as it sought entry through the narrow opening. He took a deep breath and pushed back as he tried to relax his body at the same time. He could feel it expanding, stretching, forcing its way inside.

"You better put a rubber on, Mister Luchiano," Bruce said in a gentle reminder. "You can't be too careful these days, even with a boy like Juan. It just ain't worth the risk."

Luchiano turned around. "Goddamn," he said resentfully. "I almost had the head in there too. Yeah, I guess you're right."

Luchiano stepped back. His penis, released from it's appointed task, sprang upward and slapped loudly against the his belly. "You got one?" he demanded of the boy's pimp.

"Juan's got them."

"Well boy, don't just lay there. Go get one so we can start fuckin'," Luchiano ordered in rude jest.

His desire thwarted momentarily, Juan twisted away and climbed off the bed. He found his sweat pants and removed the tiny cellophane packet. He held it out to Luchiano who smirked at the boy.

"Well boy, put the darn thing on."

Juan grinned back at the man and dropped to his knees. Luchiano's raging penis bounced before him. The huge, loose scrotal sac was swollen with the man's massive testicles. Unlike his own, they were covered with thick, dark hair. He remembered the man in the bathroom and it suddenly seemed like a long time ago. Silently, the boy leaned forward and brushed the red, hot glans with his lips. It was wet at the very tip and his tongue touched it, adding his own moisture as he tasted the sweet saltiness of the man's juices. Impulsively, his mouth opened wide and his head came forward to swallow it.

"Put the bloody rubber on first, mate," Bruce interrupted. "Then you can suck and fuck it as much as you want."

Juan glanced upward and smiled shyly, embarrassed at his own enthusiasm. He brought the package to his mouth and nipped the clear cellophane with his teeth before it tore it open and extracted the cream-colored rubber ring. Awkwardly he placed it on the blunt tip of the man's penis and tried to push it downward. His efforts were clumsy from inexperience but were exacerbated by his eagerness. He tried again and finally succeeded in getting it unrolled over the flared corona. After that, the going was much easier.

At 18:31:30 the man's penis was suitably sheathed and ready for action. Juan stood up immediately, no longer as excited by the thought of having it in his mouth as filling the persistent void that seemed to exist inside his abdomen. He removed the tube of K-Y from his gym bag, climbed back on the bed, and resumed his previous position. Again Luchiano moved forward, depressing the end of his penis until it came to its target and with ease, the head began to burrow into the boy's opening. Again Juan took a deep breath and pushed back. He felt a sharp pain but it paled against the terror of deliberate and protracted force that was necessary to enlarge his anus enough to accept the man's penis. He waited for the suffering to end.

The boy's agony was abruptly abbreviated only a second or two before the glans would have pierced him. The knocking on the door was loud and insistent and both men were startled.

"Fuck! Who in the hell is that?" Luchiano swore loudly, his question directed at no one in particular. "I told them downstairs that I wanted no interruptions tonight."

"It's probably the maid or someone," Bruce suggested. "You want me to get it, Mister Luchiano?"

"Yeah! She's probably here to turn down the bed and collect her tip. Why don't you let her in so she can see me fuckin' the boy. Shit!" he added angrily. He stepped back and glanced around the room, quickly deciding that there was no hiding place.

"Get in the bathroom, boy," he ordered. His desire circumvented again, the boy balked. He stared back at the man in disbelief. "Get moving! And take your clothes with you," Luchiano added as he reached for his own robe that lay on the other side of the bed.

Juan hesitated, then realizing the urgency of his predicament leaped from the bed, his arousal vanquished. He grabbed his sweat pants and top, looked swiftly around the room for his briefs but did not find them, picked up his sneakers and socks, and ran into the bathroom as Luchiano finished putting on his bath robe.

Luchiano started towards the door but stopped halfway and looked back. Other than the tube of K-Y lying on the bed, there was nothing to show what was happening only seconds earlier.

"Get that lube out of sight," he said as he pulled the bathroom door closed. Bruce moved quickly. He placed the video camera on its side, grabbed the white and blue tube, stuffed it into Juan's gym bag and looked around the room again to make certain that all the evidence of depravity was gone. He listened to the sounds of a strained conversation in the hall.

"What in the hell?" Luchiano demanded. "I told you to keep miles away from me."

"Yeah I know. No one followed us. We checked the whole way. Donnie even got off the friggin' freeway four times. I thought we better come here, Mister Luchiano. I was sure that you'd want to know."

"What's so dammed important that you couldn't tell me on the phone. You got Testa right?" Luchiano asked.

"Of course we got him. Romano Testa is not going to be a problem again, boss. I got good three shots at him. I put two in his head for good measure, just about blew him to kingdom come, took out the back of his head and half of his face. A 45 magnum will do that."

Luchiano laughed. "Good work, Eddie. That'll send a message to the fuckin' Mexicans to keep off my turf. No problems, right?"

"Not really Mister Luchiano. We followed him to that apartment, the same one he always goes to on Fridays. It was just like you said, he had some hooker with him. They was fuckin' at the time when Donnie and me came through the door. He died with his cock hard and hot. She was kind of Asian-looking, a really pretty bitch for a whore. Kind of shame, actually. She couldn't have been more than twenty-five."

"Did you kill her too? I don't want any witnesses, Eddie."

"Of course. I think the first slug went right through Testa and got her as well. I made sure she was gone. There ain't no witnesses, Mister Luchiano."

"You're not gonna guess what we found there, boss," Donnie guffawed.

"You're going to be happy, Mister Luchiano," Eddie interrupted. He held out a briefcase. "There must be a coupla hundred grand in here. That's why we came out here. I knew you'd want to see it."

Luchiano led the way back into the bedroom. He carried the briefcase. Thunder roared in the distance only seconds after the corner of the room flashed with the added illumination of lightening. The men were startled and Eddie's hand instinctively moved towards his breast.

"What in the hell?" Luchiano swore. "I just knew it was going to fuckin' rain. I come all the way out here for some golf tomorrow and now it fucking rains. Still, this makes up for missing my tee-off."

Another flash, closer than the last. Thunder boomed ominously. It was close enough to rattle the sliding door that opened onto the terrace. The first big drops of rain began to splatter against the door.

"It must be for their next run to Columbia," Luchiano observed as he placed the briefcase on the bed, opened the metal locks, and lifted the lid.

The briefcase was full of oblong packages wrapped in white plastic and taped securely. On one package the plastic had been ripped apart and the grey-grey engraving of a one-hundred dollar bill was visible. Luchiano counted rapidly in his head. There were two rows of six making twelve packages in all, each about two to three inches [5-8 cm] high. The briefcase was almost filled completely.

"There must be $50,000 in each one," Luchiano mused. "That'd be six hundred grand. Those Mexican bastards are doing better than I expected. This doesn't make up for what they took from for the last few years but it sure helps."

He grinned at the two other men and then glanced around, finally realizing that Bruce was still in the room. The boy's pimp was silent, regarding the men as he listened carefully. He leaned against the table, unaware that the red light on the video camera was still flickering.

"You did real good guys. Maybe now I can afford my young friend," he added jocularly. Luchiano stared down at the money, still surprised at his good fortune, though gradually becoming suspicious. It seemed much too easy somehow. He lifted the briefcase up and dropped the packages onto the bed cover. His lips pursed thoughtfully as he examined the opened package.

"The money looks okay," he thought aloud. "Old notes from all over the place, maybe its dyed, numbers aren't consecutive. It looks good," he repeated.

Luchiano turned his attention to the now-empty briefcase. He had survived when others had failed simply because he depended on raw instinct and suspicion at such times. Getting the money as well as a successful hit made him cautious to the point of becoming irrational. He studied the briefcase carefully. It was an imitation designer model, labeled 'Coach', but made in any number of 'knock-off' shops in Mexico or even in L.A. It appeared harmless enough. Except for the inside lining. He felt a sudden despair as he began to pull at the inside corner of the lining where it had lifted away slightly from the side. It had been glued down, though not thoroughly enough. Angrily Luchiano ripped it away. Under the lid was a flat, grey box. It was wafer thin. He jerked it free, studied it for a moment and then savagely crushed it by slamming in hard into the edge of the table. It folded into a v-shape, splitting at the rear to expose two small batteries.

"Fuck!" Luchiano swore. "You stupid, fucking idiots."

"What is it Mister Luchiano," Eddie asked instantly.

"It's not a wire, Mister Luchiano," Donnie added. "I can't see no mike or nothing."

"Of course it's not a fuckin' wire, dumb-ass. There's no mike because it's a fuckin' FBI beamer. It only transmits location. Damn! You stupid bastards. They're are probably coming up the elevator right now," Luchiano said in growing panic.

"Jesus! I'm sorry Mister Luchiano," Eddie grovelled. "I can get rid of it."

"Too damned late for that." Luchiano took a deep breath to control his panic and steady his thoughts. He needed to act fast. "Okay, here's the plan. Eddie, you stick the money in the bottom of that gym bag over there. We'll send my young friend out with it. The cops probably won't stop a kid. And you Donnie, get out in the corridor and watch the elevators. I'll go talk to him. Now move!"

Eddie and Donnie jumped, knowing that their lives depended on the speed at which they moved. Bruce watched, uncertain as to what he should do. He realized that he had just become an accessory after the fact to murder in the first degree. He was also a witness and his life also depended on his actions during the next few minutes. He thought quickly, evaluating his options. It was highly unlikely that Luchiano would let him leave with Juan and the money, but if he stayed it was likely that he would be dead by the next morning as Luchiano cleaned up the loose ends.

"Mister Luchiano? What about the video?" Bruce asked nervously. "We should get rid of it as well, shouldn't we," he added hopefully.

Luchiano spun around. "What? Oh, the video? Yeah, get rid of it. Stick it in the kid's bag as well. It'd be really dumb to get busted for kiddie porn."

"I don't think it will fit. Besides it's pretty heavy."

"Not the fucking camera you dope. Just the damned tape," Luchiano shouted as he opened the bathroom door. He did not need to turn the door handle. The door was partially open with several inches between the edge and the frame. He wondered how much the boy had heard.

Juan had heard every word. When the men had talked about Testa's murder they had been right next to the bathroom. He felt no sorrow, no remorse, just a miserable wretchedness about what he had heard. There was no reason for him to lament the deaths of a man and a woman he never knew but he was distressed. He tasted bile in his mouth. Juan was more scared than he had ever been. He cowered against the vanity, still partially undressed as Luchiano came into the room. Juan wore his sweat pants, socks, and shoes and he sobbed uncontrollably as he tried to insert his arms into the top to locate the sleeves. He didn't know why he cried. He was just very frightened.

"Stop bawling and listen," Luchiano said as he roughly shook the youngster's small shoulder. Juan nodded, wiping the tears from his face with the soft fleece of the top. "What did you hear?" he demanded.

The boy stared at him dumbly as tears trickled down his cheeks. He shook his head in denial. "You heard, didn't you?" Luchiano asked again.

Juan quavered and his eyes flickered in recognition. His head shook again as if he had no control over it. "It's none of your business, okay? Whatever you heard, you're going to forget. It never happened and you never tell anyone. If you do, you'll end up the same way."

"Yes, Mister Luchiano. Whatever you say," Juan whimpered.

"You're leaving here in a minute, kid. I'm asking a lot from you but I know you'll do fine. You're going to go to the fire escape at the end of the hall," he explained. The boy nodded obediently. "Okay, you go down three or four floors and then go out and take the elevator back down to the ground floor."

Again Juan nodded as he sniffed loudly. "Good boy. Now I want you to wait there for fifteen minutes. If I don't come down and get you by then I want you to leave the hotel. You go out the front door. You should find a taxi somewhere around there. I want you to take it to this address and wait there for me to come get you. Here's some money for the taxi. You're a smart boy so you shouldn't have any problem."

Luchiano passed a business card to the boy and watched as he read it and placed it in the rear pocket of his sweat pants. Juan swallowed, his throat was dry and his breathing was strained. Something was very wrong but he did not know what.

"Okay, Mister Luchiano," he whispered nervously.

"Good! Now here's five hundred bucks for today. I'll give you another five the next time I see you and we finish off what we started tonight. Now listen carefully. I've put something in your bag. It's something that's very important to me, understand. I don't want you to even open your bag. You give it to no one, you never put it down, okay? You keep it with you at all times."

"What is it?" Juan asked uncertainly.

"What it is, is none of your damned business, boy. You just keep it a secret and you don't tell anyone… especially the cops, okay?"

"Okay," Juan mumbled as he finally retrieved the sleeve that had been causing the major problem.

"You're a beautiful boy," Luchiano said quietly as he observed the lithe body before him.

His eyes were attracted first to the tiny nipples. They were soft and only slightly darker than the rest of the boy's smooth, sleek skin. There was very little muscle on the slender body, barely the slightest fullness to indicate his breast line. Juan's shoulders sloped downwards and accentuated the narrowness of his chest. His ribs were defined by upward curving lines that ended in the shallow depression of his sternum. His waist was tapered with a tiny navel that was slighted extruded. It made a delicately sculpted bulge in an otherwise flat belly before it disappeared under the sweat pants. He was perfectly proportioned. It was only with the greatest difficulty that Luchiano dragged his eyes up and cleared his mind of the anticipated ecstasy that come so close.

"Once this is over, you and me are going to have ourselves some great times," the man acknowledged quietly. "I think we're going to become very close friends, you and I."

"Yes, Mister Luchiano. I know we are," Juan mumbled again. He glanced up at the man just before he lifted his top over his tousled head. He smiled shyly as he also remembered what had almost happened in the adjoining room. "Yeah, and I'm really looking forward to it," he added softly.

They left the bathroom together. As they came back into the bedroom Luchiano's arm was around Juan's shoulders. It was both comforting and reassuring to the boy. He smiled at Bruce. Eddie closed the zipper of Juan's gym bag and handed it to Luchiano.

"Hey boss, what should I do with the gun?" he asked.

"What?" Luchiano growled. "Don't tell me you brought the fucking gun here as well. I told you to lose it."

"We didn't have time, Mister Luchiano. We came straight here," Eddie explained anxiously. He scratched his head nervously. "I'm sorry, boss."

"Give it to me, you idiot," Luchiano demanded savagely. He reached for the proffered weapon. As he took possession, he glared at it. The 45 caliber Smith and Wesson Magnum was a heavy gun but one whose balance was honed to a high degree. "I ought to blow your fucking brains out Eddie."

Luchiano sighed and opened the zipper of the gym bag just far enough to slip the revolver inside. He slid the zipper back and passed the bag to its owner. "You take good care of this bag, boy, and I'll always take good care of you."

Juan nodded obediently. "Yes, Mister Luchiano. I promise." Again he smiled docilely at his benefactor.

"What are we gonna do about the briefcase, Mister Luchiano? And this here camera?" Eddie asked as he picked up the video camera.

"Put the friggin' camera in the fucking case. He's taking them out of here when the kid leaves," Luchiano said as he pointed to Bruce. "Now get the hell out of here. Use the stairs at the other end of the building," Luchiano added as he shoved Bruce towards the door. "I'll call you tomorrow morning to arrange for someone to pick it up again. Otherwise, you're dead!"

At precisely 18:36:43 Juan and Bruce left the Christobel and headed quickly for the fire stairs located at either end of the building. There was no time for farewells. As Juan turned the corner in the corridor he could hear the elevator opening a hundred feet [30 m] behind him. There were muted voices of several men. He started to run. He turned the handle and opened the door into stairwell. As the door started to close behind him, he grabbed it and carefully eased into the jamb. In less than fifteen seconds his pulse had rocketed and he was panting. He listened carefully, trying to slow his breathing so that he could hear. Nothing.

He started down the stairs. He placed his feet on each metal tread as lightly as possible but still the noise seemed deafening. One flight of stairs, then the next. He felt his hands shaking and he clenched them tightly, locking the strap of his gym bag in death grip. He paused on the next landing and tried fruitlessly to slow his breathing and frantic heartbeat. A door slammed, one story, maybe two above him. He panicked and began to run, leaping from one stair to another, finding the next step several risers lower. He pivoted at the landing and nearly slipped as he started down again. Another flight of stairs and then another.

"I think someone's on the stairs," a voice shouted from above him.

He stopped and pressed back against the exit door. He could hear footsteps clattering loudly as his pursuer took up the chase. He turned the door handle and the door swung open behind him. For a second he stood there thinking. Mister Luchiano had said go down five floors. Was this five floor? What if he was on the wrong floor? No, Mister Luchiano said three or floor floors so it probably didn't matter. He had to get to the elevator. Although the loud cracks, unmistakable sounds of gunfire coming from a 38 caliber S&W Police Special, echoed resoundingly against the bare concrete walls of the other stairwell, Juan didn't hear them and even to the Eldorado guests, it sounded like more thunder. As the door closed automatically behind him, Bruce Denman died.

Juan started back along the corridor at a jog but stopped at the corner. This floor was laid out similarly to the top floor where he had come from except that there was no garden or swimming pool. There also seemed to be a lot more doors. Concealed behind the corner, he carefully peaked out keeping his eyes as close to the wall as possible. His head darted back. There was a man standing at the front of the elevator. He wore a dark grey suit. Juan peeked again. The man was pushing the button, stabbing at it impatiently. Was he a cop? He could be but Juan didn't think so. Maybe he was a detective? Maybe he was with the FBI? The boy felt his terror building as he waited for the door at the end of the corridor behind him to open. He was trapped.

Why Juan Fernando chose to knock on the door of room 737 remains a mystery, but of the 635 rooms in the Eldorado hotel he chose the right one.

Chapter 7. The Man in Room 635

Frankly, I hate the people who go to conferences. They go to drink, talk about women, and deride other participants who are drinking elsewhere. There is one thing I like even less than people who go to conferences and dining alone; public speaking. At six-thirty, I had less than fifteen hours to go and a lot of work to complete before I took my turn at the overhead projector and lectern. My presentation was scheduled for the next morning at nine o'clock. Nine long months of work and God-only-knows how many hours of computer time would be presented in a twenty-page summary entitled, Laminar Flow on Synthetic Airfoils: A New Perspective Using Burton's Method of Simulation. I was Burton.

I picked up my highlighter and commenced underlining my notes for the third or fourth time. I wondered whether I should have had transparencies made of the definitions of the variables. There were too many equations. There were too many dependencies. I should have brought my lap-top. Maybe I could have demonstrated the results better than using graphs and an overhead projector. I wondered whether the audience would be interested to know that I could get a theoretical ten-to-twenty percent decrease in the drag coefficient just by using ______ [deleted in the interest of national security]. I smiled to myself. They would be. Twenty percent less drag corresponded to… God, had I left the data on the aerodynamic implications behind in Galveston. I riffled through my notes and then breathed a long sigh of relief. I could imagine the excitement of the 'techies' from the USAF. Even the generals would be interested once it had been explained to them. Hell, I might even get some applause at the end of my halting and inarticulate presentation.

I turned the page just as I heard someone knocking on my door. I did not expect any visitors simply because I had chosen to stay at the Eldorado. It was a deliberate decision to stay some distance from the Norton Air Force Base, well away from the other participants. As I walked to the door I wondered who it could be. Room service probably, I guessed.

The child who greeted me was of indeterminate sex and race, though I estimated its age to be close to that of my youngest daughter, somewhere around eleven. However there was no uncertainty about one thing, the child was beautiful. In fact, the child was very beautiful, the kind of memorable beauty that carves out a place in your mind and can never be forgotten, or for that matter never fully reconstructed from memory. For several long seconds I studied the young person before me. The face was feminine with delicate features that were framed by a long, glistening, brown mane. Not Caucasian, not Asian, just very beautiful. But the child's hair was unkempt and in that respect more male than female. The child's clothes were also those of a boy – faded dark-blue sweat pants and top and ubiquitous, though expensive sneakers.

"Yes?" I asked abruptly. "I think you have the wrong room," I added quickly.

"Mister, I'm sorry." There was a long pause as the child struggled to catch its breath. The voice was high-pitched, almost soprano though scratchy as it continued to gasp for air. "You gotta help me, Mister."

Now the child was more boy than girl. What was it that had resolved the ambiguity? I studied him again and realized that he was more beautiful than either of my daughters. I wondered again whether I was mistaken, perhaps the child was a girl. The hair was far too long for a boy. The soft lips and dancing eyes also bespoke of a gentleness that was unnatural in a male. He had been crying, that much was very evident. His reddened eyes were large with dark, liquid pupils, still moistened with his recent tears. He swallowed and I watched the small mound of his Adam's apple bob in his slender throat. I smiled at him. The child was most definitely a boy. He trembled, physically shivering as he waited for my response.

"Please, Mister, you gotta help me," he begged. Perhaps it was the urgency in his plea for help that got my attention.

"What's the problem?" I asked cautiously. I studied him carefully. I was not by nature, suspicious, but there was something about him that I found strangely threatening.

"They're after me. Some men are chasing me," he answered breathlessly. He glanced over his shoulder and looked around behind him as if expecting someone in pursuit. He trembled suddenly and I watched his face become pale. "I think I'm going to be sick," he gasped.

He shuddered and his slender body seemed to heave as he lunged forward. I stepped back and he rushed past me. I heard him gagging as he choked back his rising vomit. I started to follow the boy into my bathroom but for some reason unknown to me, what I can only describe as the strangest sense of deja vu, I turned around and closed the door behind me. By the time I entered the bathroom I discovered the boy leaned forward over the vanity basin. He was still shaking as I approached him. Irrationally, I placed my arm around his fragile shoulders and steadied him. We stood side by side for more than a minute as he slowly regained his composure and his breathing became less frenetic. Finally he straightened up, visibly exhausted.

"I'm sorry, Mister," he murmured, "Really I am. I feel okay now."

"Are you sure? You don't look too good. I think you better take it easy for a while. Maybe even sit down," I answered. Even as I heard myself speak, I was aware of the tenderness in my voice. I had intended to be the voice of authority and escort him back to the door so that I could return to the more immediate demands of my work. Instead, I had just invited him to stay. I wondered what on earth was happening to me. All I could do was gently caress his shoulder as I gazed down at the soft, brown waves of his hair.

"I'm really okay," he said quietly. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and smeared saliva across his cheek. His hand came back and made another swipe, this time across his upper lip and past his nose as he sniffed loudly. I released him and pulled a towel from the coils of the metal rack attached to the tiled wall.

"Here, I'll do it." I dabbed at his face with the dry, abrasive cloth for a moment before I realized that was not enough. His gym bag was lying on its side and was between me and the basin. I reached forward to move it to one side and the boy's hand darted out. For an instant he panicked as he dragged the gym bag away from me and closer to him. His hand shook unsteadily, still gripping the strap as I turned on the water, wet the corner of the towel, and proceeded to elaborate on my task. I took my time, wiping his forehead and cheeks and finally his small, slightly upturned nose. It must have tickled because he smiled weakly at me. It was a delightful smile, his dark eyes glistened and his trauma seemed to disappear.

"That's better," I acknowledged as I dried his face. His closeness was exhilarating. I felt the warmth of his breath on my hands and the very life of his body seemed to brush against mine and stir something deep within me. I stepped backward hastily.

"Thanks, Mister. Thanks for letting me use the bathroom, and everything," he said apologetically.

Again the high-pitched voice pierced my mind and I was reminded again that he was far more like my youngest daughter than a young boy. I nodded gracefully as I accepted his all-encompassing appreciation.

"No problem. But can you do me a big favor and stop calling me 'mister'. It makes me feel like an old man. Why don't you call me Matt?" I grinned at the boy reassuringly. "What's your name, anyway?"

He hesitated guiltily and looked away. For a long time he seemed to forget who he was and then he shrugged as if he no longer cared. "Juan, I guess."

"Hi Juan," I said and then added, "Why don't you come into the other room and sit down. If you want to, you can tell me what the problem is. Maybe I can help."

I suspected that the boy had fabricated his story about men being after him, but in L.A., or at least being so close to L.A., who knew. His story seemed very unlikely however I had to admit that something had definitely upset him. He was still very scared. He nodded his acquiescence and followed me into the bedroom. He gripped his gym bag so tightly that I imagined that I could see the white of his knuckles. I sat on the edge of the bed and gestured for him to take the seat beside the small table that was next to the window. He flopped down and stared at the floor sulkily.

"Now, what's the problem?" I asked.

"There's no problem, Mister. Sorry!… Matt." He glanced up at me and our eyes met for an instant as he corrected himself and then he resumed his sorrowful stare downward.

I smiled and shrugged. "Okay. It's just that you come barging into my room with some story about people chasing you, you're scared stiff, and you threaten to puke all over my bathroom, and now you say there's nothing wrong. Do you really expect me to believe that?"

"I don't care what you believe," Juan mumbled ungraciously. "I already said thanks."

"Maybe I can help, Juan. If you tell me what the problem is, I'll do whatever I can," I prompted unsuccessfully. He ignored me. I tried again. "A boy your age shouldn't be going into a stranger's room alone. Man, who knows what could happen to you. I could have been an axe murderer."

That got a feeble laugh from him and he looked up again. "But you're not, Mister. Sorry, Matt. It's okay, really it is. As soon as I feel better, I'll leave, okay. I just need a few more minutes."

I nodded sympathetically. "Do you want to call someone to come and pick you up? Like your father?" I suggested.

That got a response but hardly the one I expected. He snarled angrily as he came quickly to his feet. He moved with remarkable agility. "I don't have a father!"

"Oh! Well I'm sorry. How about your mother or someone else?"

That was the wrong question again. He started towards the door, raising his voice as he went. Each word seemed to be torn out of him.

"Get real, Man! She doesn't care where I am. She's a total, fucking bitch!"

"Sit the hell down!" I shouted back at him, hoping that the adjoining rooms were unoccupied. My response was automatic. I had always had a short temper and my wife and two step-children had done little to improve it. The boy stopped and glared at me furiously. At this, I was more than confused about what to do next. I decide to placate him. I wanted to reason with him but above all, I wanted him to stay, even if only for a few more minutes.

"I'm sorry, Juan. I shouldn't have yelled at you. Please sit down. I really would like to help you if I can."

That was the right approach. I watched his expression soften. The distress that had contorted his expression into one of utter contempt and rage seemed to fade and he slowly relaxed. He smiled faintly.

"My mom is a bitch," he said haltingly. His voice was little more than a pained whisper. "I hate her."

I was stunned by the sound of loathing in his young voice. I wondered about my own voice, it was both surprisingly sincere and affectionate. It was as if I wanted this boy to trust me more than anything else in the world. All thoughts of my morning presentation and the trauma that accompanied it had gone. I wanted to help Juan.

"I'm sorry, Juan." I rasped my fingers into the palm of hand as I tried to find the words that would break through what still appeared to be an impenetrable barrier.

"That's okay."

"Why are they after you?" I asked gently.

"I don't know."

"Did you steal something?"

Given the way he continued to clench it, the gym bag looked very suspicious and was a likely contender as the hiding place for stolen property. The boy shook his head in denial. I believed him. There was something about the sensitive face and the tousled hair that made me believe in him.

"Then what?" I continued helpfully.

"Nothing. I don't know why."

"Okay! Are they trying to hurt you?"

"I don't know."

"What happened?"

Silence. I studied the boy closely and began to sense the enormity of the problem within him. He was fighting me. He was fighting himself. He was scared stiff.

"I think a man was chasing me."

"Chasing you? Where? Here in the hotel?"

"In the stairway."

"Oh!… Do you want me to call the police?"

"No!"

Juan bit his bottom lip He breathed out with a long, painful sigh.

"You've got to help me to help you, Juan. Why shouldn't I call the police?" Silence again. "Were the police chasing you?" Juan trembled and started to move towards the door. "What did you do?"

"Nothing! I didn't do anything! I don't know."

"Okay! Come back and sit down."

Juan shuffled hesitatingly back to chair and flopped down again. For a moment I wondered why pre-teen boys and girls insist on dropping inelegantly from a standing position into a sitting position.

"Do you feel all right? You look very pale."

"I'm okay. I guess I'm just hungry, that's all."

"Do you need some money for food?"

Juan shook his head and dug in his back pocket. My eyes opened wide as he flashed five one-hundred dollar bills before me.

"I guess that answers that question," I laughed. "But it's never a good idea to go around flashing money in front of strangers. Especially that much money."

"I figure I can trust you, Mister… Matt." He grinned back at me. "If you can afford to stay in this place, you aren't going to steal money from a kid like me."

I laughed again. Little did the boy know that my hotel room was paid for the US Department of Defense. "Well it's still not a good idea. Do you want me to order you up some food?"

His eyes opened further and he grinned again in anticipation of filling his hungry stomach. It had been twenty-four hours since his last meal of any magnitude.

"I can eat here?" he queried. "I don't want to go downstairs, at least not yet."

"Room service will bring it up here. What would you like?"

"I can pay, Mist…Matt," he suggested and then smiled. "Anything would be great. I'm starving. A hamburger?" he added hopefully.

"Don't worry about it. Uncle Sam will pick up the tab," I said as I walked towards the telephone.

I ordered too much food, at least according to Juan. But he was obviously hungry and his arguments to the contrary, I went ahead and ordered two 'El Toro specials', also known as a cheeseburger and fries, a large coke, and an apple pie and ice-cream. I walked back to the bed and resumed my place. Juan's face was expressionless but I could sense his consternation. Among his other pressing though unspoken problems, he was appreciative and he could not find a way to tell me. He brooded silently and I returned to my work although my attention was split between trying to memorize the major points of my presentation and the boy who had now curled up in my lounge chair. His question interrupted my train of thought, which was somewhere between the drag dynamics of high altitude reconnaissance aircraft and the repetitive distraction offered by a very slender young boy. At 75,000 feet [23 km] and Mach 2 and above, drag could still be as much a problem as it was at low altitudes and fighter-interceptors like the F-16. Every few seconds my eyes flickered as my attention was diverted to Juan.

"What are you doing?"

"Huh? Oh! I'm working on a paper that I have to present tomorrow morning," I answered absently as I endeavored to refocus my thoughts.

"Are you from L.A.?"

His soprano voice sang in my ears with reedy though musical disruption. "Me? From L.A.? No! I live in Galveston. Do you know where that is?" I replied as I shoved the papers to one side and looked at him.

He smiled sheepily. "It's in Texas, like it's on the Gulf of Mexico, right?"

I nodded with surprise. So much for the propaganda put out by the National Geographic Society that today's kids have no knowledge of geography. He followed up immediately with another question.

"What are you doing here? Are you on holidays?"

"I already told you. Well kind of," I corrected. "I'm here for two days. I came to present a paper at a conference tomorrow morning."

Juan grinned and shifted into an even more comfortable position in his chair. His legs draped over one armrest while his back was against the other, he was the image of absolute indolence and very unlike the frightened boy who had pushed his way into my room. I began to sense that this was one very complex boy. Again I wondered what his problem was and what had caused the terror that I had observed only a few minutes earlier. I went back to work reluctantly.

Another question came before the minute was out. "What kind of paper is it, Matt?"

"It's got to do with making planes fly more efficiently," I replied. It was a gross oversimplification but there was no point in describing the complexities of polymers and air friction to a boy who couldn't have been more than ten or eleven years old. "How old are you, Juan?" I asked without even thinking.

"Twelve." There was a long pause and again I tried to concentrate on my work. "My birthday's today," he offered.

I smiled. "Well congratulations, Juan. Happy twelfth birthday." Immediately I wondered what a twelve-year-old boy was doing wandering around a hotel on his birthday. I tried to resume my study of the simulation results for the F-16 and then suddenly remembered that I had not really answered the boy's question. "I'm working on a certain type of polymer, that's a kind of plastic. It's very slippery, rather like teflon."

"That's the stuff they put on the bottom of frying pans," he offered quickly. He hesitated and stretched himself out by arching his back like a lithe, graceful feline. "So food doesn't stick on it. If you painted it over an aeroplane it would probably make the plane fly faster, right?"

I perked up and grinned at my young friend. "That's the basic idea. Only the polymer that I've been using is a lot better than teflon."

"Can you fly planes as well?"

"Fly? Me? Yeah, I used to. The last time I was at the stick was about ten years ago, I guess."

"I'm going to be a pilot. My dad…" he began and then paused, "My dad was a pilot. He used to fly Hornets… uh, F-18's off a a flat-top out of Subic Bay," he announced proudly.

I sensed that the boy was inventing his story again, however there was no way to be sure. I wondered how many boys knew the lingo and I suspected that many did. I nodded.

"Your dad must be a good pilot, Juan. That's about as hard as it gets. I trained on F-5's for a while after I finished college. It was right at the end of Vietnam and they were brand new then. Talk about an awesome ride. Not like a Hornet, of course, but back then nothing came close to them."

Juan nodded in return and thought for a moment. He breathed out slowly before he looked up. "I think my dad's dead," he said quietly.

At that moment there was a knock on the door and a voice announced room service. I put my papers back on the bed and started towards the door. I stopped as my hand reached for the lock and I turned around. Juan had moved adroitly across the room and was partially concealed behind the bed where I had been lying only a few moments earlier. He grinned at me cheekily, waved his hand, and dropped from my sight as he slid downwards to disappear beneath the bed. He reappeared only seconds after the waiter, having delivered the tray and pocketed his two dollar tip, finally closed the door behind him. We were alone again.

The boy closed on the food like a hungry vulture, circled the table, and pounced even before I had locked the door again. By the time I came back he was halfway through the first hamburger and had made a good-sized dent in the french fries. The Eldorado was not only generous in size but it was also evidently good tasting if one judged by the hungry smacks of his mouth masticating and the dribble of sauce that oozed down his chin. He grinned between bites, each time taking a mouthful that defied good manners and seemingly contradicted the size of his jaws. Watching Juan eat was a fascinating experience, a delectable diversion that was as enjoyable as the hamburger he consumed. It was only with the greatest will power that I turned back to my notes and the F-16 simulation results.

"Are you married?" he piped almost as soon as my attention had focused on the numbers.

I looked up, startled, though not in the least bit upset. Then, as I tried to remember his question, all I could think of were the other times that I had tolerated no interruptions. My impatience did not endear me to either my wife or my children.

"You are, aren't you?" he followed up between loud chewing sounds.

"You're gross!" I laughed. "Do you think you could try to eat with your mouth closed."

Juan shook his head and took an absurdly large bite of the hamburger. I laughed again as it disappeared and then reappeared between the brilliant flash of his teeth.

"I'm not gross!" he denied hotly. "Man, this is a great burger, maybe the best I've ever had. You're married, aren't you?" he asked again.

"Huh? Who? Me? Married?"

"Who do you think I was talking to? Your pillow?" he giggled cheekily. "Are you married?" he persisted.

I shared his amusement. The very thought of him asking the pillow if it was married was suddenly ridiculously funny and we began to laugh. We laughed until we were hysterical, until tears formed in our eyes, until Juan almost choked on what remained of the burger.

"Yes, I'm married," I finally choked out. "But not to my pillow," I added with attempted seriousness.

"I guess not," he observed slyly. His smile grew to a smirk and then became a lewd grin before he finally collapsed and amid boisterous guffaws, proclaimed, "It'd be hard to do it with your pillow."

"Do what?" I asked with barely controlled innocence.

"You know!" he eventually managed.

"No I don't! Do what with my pillow?" I feigned as I examined the pillow beside me with an exaggerated scrutiny.

Juan snorted derisively as he struggled to control his laughter. "It'd be hard to do it… you know… it would be hard to FUCK it," he chortled.

"I think it'd be a lot worse than hard, it'd be darned near impossible. Why don't you try it and see for yourself," I said slowly.

I picked the pillow up, glanced sideways at my young friend, and sent the pillow flying in his general direction. It caught him on the side of the head with a glancing blow and we both laughed long and hard. I could not remember when I had laughed so much. It was only with the greatest difficulty that I managed to regain my composure and present a sense of mature responsibility. Juan was considerably more interested in puerile behavior. He swivelled around in his chair, managed to pick up the pillow with a contortion that defied human anatomy, and held it between his legs. Red-faced from his laughter, he met my eyes and with a salacious grin, pretended as if he was about to hump into the soft white mound. Even though things were rapidly getting out of hand, for a moment I contemplated letting him go unrebuked. I wondered how far he would go. The mere thought of seeing the boy become sexually aroused was both thrilling and frightening. With the utmost effort, I dragged my eyes away from his playful entertainment.

"That's enough fun for now," I said sternly. "I've got hours of work to do, Juan."

Reprimanded, he shuddered and the grin vanished from his face. "Sorry," he mumbled.

He began to eat again, only slower. He was no longer the boisterous, excitable boy of a few minutes earlier. I preferred him the way he had been before I interrupted the game. He finished everything except one slice of tomato and half of a bun. He burped noisily, exhibiting the crudity of a pre-teen male enjoying life. I looked up again. It was impossible to be angry with him for more than a few minutes. He smiled shyly.

"I'm sorry, Matt," he murmured. "Thanks for the burgers and all that."

"That's okay. It was a pleasure," I added.

His smiled widened immediately and he began to clean up the mess on the table.

"Do you have any kids?" he asked curiously.

"Huh? Kids? Are you asking me or the pillow?" I teased.

"You? Let's not start that again. So do you?"

"Two, kind of!" I replied.

"What sort of answer is 'two kinda'? You either have them or you don't," he added.

"Well, I'm not their real father," I explained. "They're both girls. There's Cassie, she's almost eleven, and Julie, she's, uh, fourteen, I think."

"How long have you been their stepfather?"

"Hmmm? Nearly four years, I guess. I think Cassie turned seven right after they moved in with me."

"You like Cassie the most," Juan observed swiftly. "Is she pretty?"

"Pretty? Yes, I'd say so."

"I think you'd make a great dad," he said thoughtfully. "I think they're lucky." He considered me for a moments as he scratched the back of his head. "So what's you wife's name?"

I laughed. "Hey what is this, twenty questions? Leah, if you must know."

"It's cool! So, do you love her?" he asked with deceptive sweetness.

There it was in the open, expressed so innocently by a boy who I had known for less than a half-hour. It was the most perplexing question that I had ever tried to answer. My answer was both confusing and disturbing.

"I suppose so." I glanced down at my papers guiltily as I imagined that the boy had seen through my uncertainty and realized the lie for what it was. "Of course, I do," I ended with attempted conviction.

Our eyes met at the precise instant that someone knocked sharply on the door. Juan raised his eyebrows quizzically and pointed at the tray on the table beside him. Room service again? I doubted it and from the expression on the boy's face it appeared as if he shared my consternation. Needlessly I raised my finger to my lips and got to my feet. The knock was repeated. Perhaps it was the abruptness of it that made me cautious. The sound was loud and demanding.

"I think you'd better hide," I whispered. Juan nodded and pointed to the bed again. I shook my head. "That's the first place someone would look."

The boy blanched and swallowed uneasily. "The bathroom? I could get in the shower?" he suggested immediately. His voice, though muted, was anxious. Juan was as edgy as I was. There was another knock on the door.

Again I shook my head. "That's the second place." I glanced around the room. There were no hiding places. Even the closet was open. Without doors, the racks of shelves and rail were visible even from the entry door. The only hope of concealment was outside the room. I stepped past Juan as he picked up his gym bag, pushed the thick brocaded curtains to one side, and fumbled with the latch. It had been some time since the sliding door had been opened and it jammed in its track after I had opened it less than a foot [30 cm]. But twelve inches [30 cm] was more than wide enough for my young friend. Through the opening, the noise of rain seemed deafening. It came in sheets, driven by gusts of wind that hammered against the door. Juan slid past me, out into the rain and the darkness of the balcony beyond. With some difficulty I closed the door after him and secured the latch, rearranged the curtain, and started towards the door.

"Okay! I'm coming," I shouted in response to yet another knock on the door.

Chapter 8. The Drowned Rat

"Excuse me, sir. I'm very sorry to disturb you but…," he said apologetically.

I interrupted him. "Yes, I'm sure you are. What's the problem? I'm very busy," I returned angrily.

"I'm sorry sir. These gentlemen are with the FBI. They're in the process of searching the hotel. If it isn't a problem they would like to take a look inside your room."

I swallowed anxiously. I had not expected the FBI. I wondered what Juan had done. It did not seem possible that he would be involved with a Federal crime. It was inconceivable that he had done anything that bad. Shoplifting perhaps, maybe even snatching a handbag, but nothing worse than that.

"I guess so," I answered hesitantly. "Just be quick about it. I have a lot of work I need to do tonight."

I backed away and stood to one side as the two FBI agents entered my room. It was a cursory inspection for there was no where to hide other than under the beds or in the shower. One man, the taller of the two stopped before the sliding door that opened onto the balcony. Again I swallowed and desperately tried to control my panic.

"Who are you looking for?" I asked edgily. I wondered whether they could sense my agitation, even I could hear the querulous note in my voice.

The tall man glanced back at me irritably. "A boy! Maybe ten or eleven. He's dressed in sweats and probably carrying a bag of some sort."

"A boy about ten?" I asked incredulously. "What on earth has a kid that age done to bring in the FBI?"

"Sorry sir," he replied with overstated politeness. "I'm not at liberty to discuss that. There's a balcony outside, isn't there? Would you mind if we looked outside?"

He stepped towards the door and my heart sunk even further. His hand reached out and, like me, fumbled momentarily with the latch. I needed a diversion, anything to distract him.

"Um! Look I really have to get back to work," I said as I turned to the hotel staff person. "Don't you need a search permit for something like this?"

"Not when we have your permission to search, sir. Besides, it'll only take a minute more," the other FBI agent insisted. "Then we'll be out of the way and you can go back to work."

"Well I'm very busy right now." I gestured to my papers spread haphazardly across the bed.

"What are you working on, sir?" the agent asked in a feeble attempt to distract me in return. "It looks very interesting."

"Sorry, it's classified. I doubt if you have the clearance, even in the FBI," I responded craftily. "In fact you shouldn't even be in here."

Under other circumstances my ploy may have been successful but even as I considered pursuing it and ordering them out, the door slid open and the tall man peered out into the pouring rain for several seconds before he turned back into the room.

"Nothing, Max! It's raining like crazy out there. The kid must have gone down another floor or two. Gerry only thought he came out on seven. It may have been level six."

The tall agent closed the door again and relatched it and the three men started towards the door. It was still open and they passed through after extending their gratitude for my cooperation. I locked the door after them and took a deep long breath. My heart was pounding frantically and I ran back to the window. For the second time in about two minutes I clumsily attempted to open the latch. It jammed in a half-open position and refused to turn any further.

"Goddamn," I swore loudly.

My struggles were ineffectual and I became increasingly frustrated as I turned and twisted the aluminum catch to the point of metal fatigue. It was impossible that Juan had been on the balcony and not been seen. Then, without warning the latch turned and I slammed the door back. The rain was a torrential downpour and I stepped out, oblivious to its force. Within a few seconds I was literally soaked to the skin. There was no sign of the boy.

I stared fruitlessly at the balcony rail and seriously wondered whether he had jumped. The mere thought sickened me and I shuddered with revulsion as I approached the handrail and peered over into the blackness.

"Juan," I called as loudly as I dared.

I sensed the boy's presence before I actually saw him. He was clinging to one of the three diamond-shaped metal panels that made up the face of the balcony railing. His bag was slung over his shoulder, his fingers clenched the metal tubing with desperation, water streamed over him and cascaded in rivulets down his face.

The boy looked up at me and smiled cheekily. "So, can I come inside again if I promise to behave myself?"

"God! You're soaked!" I exclaimed as I reached down to him and grasped him firmly by the arms.

"No shit, Matt! It's raining if you didn't notice," he grinned back at me.

"Maybe you ought to stay here tonight," I teased.

"Here? Hell no! I guess they've gone?" he asked uncertainly.

I lifted the boy upward and swung him bodily over the railing. Even thoroughly soaked, he was not heavy. Then, as his feet reached safer ground he grinned at me with sincere appreciation.

"Thanks, Matt," he panted in relief as he wiped his forehead. There was a constant stream of water dribbling from his hair. He looked like a small drowned animal that one might find after a storm.

You're very welcome, Juan," I returned graciously. "You look like a drowned rat, you poor thing."

I locked my arm around his slender shoulders and was at once startled by the apparent fragility of the boy. He was shivering and his teeth chattered. Even as I escorted him back into the room he began shaking. The extent of his stress was very disturbing. With every step Juan became more disquieted until he was trembling uncontrollably. Water dripped from both of us as we entered the room. It was impossible to tell where the rainwater ended and his tears began. He sobbed endlessly, wailing from deep inside his chest with a fearful moan. That sound frightened me more than anything else that evening. I felt helpless as I regarded the young boy. He needed my support but I was unsure of what I needed to do beyond drying him off and getting him warm. With my arm reassuringly around his shoulders, I guided him into the bathroom and positioned him so that he leaned against the vanity. The bag dropped from his shoulder onto the floor. He was too exhausted to care what happened.

I lifted his water-saturated top upwards, dragging it over his head and along his thin, tanned arms. It fell to the floor in a sodden heavy mass. Without even stopping to think what I was about and aware only of the need to eliminate the cause of his physical discomfort and increase his body temperature, I knelt down before him. I clasped the cold cloth of his wringing-wet sweat pants and tugged them down to his feet. I had expected to find underpants and fully intended to leave him dressed only in that last vestige of modesty. He was wore nothing underneath. For the first time in my adult life I was confronted by a naked boy, and as I immediately realized, a very beautiful young boy. Nothing could have prepared me for the shock I faced.

I am not prudish by any means. It was not impossible for me to imagine being sexually aroused by a young girl and occasionally my private fantasies had gone in that direction. Indeed, my stepdaughters had an undesirable effect on me sometimes when my guard was down. With increasing frequency, I had even begun to think of Cassie as being not only sexy, but highly desirable. But a young boy?

In the cold outside and in response to his fear, Juan's genitals had shrivelled. His stubby, little penis and wrinkled scrotum were all but asexual. His genitals provided only mere traces of his maleness and yet I became charged with a previously unknown excitement. I was not aroused like I would be by my wife, or even by her youngest daughter. I experienced a wild, mind-shaking thrill that quickly became so intense that the probability of a stroke did not seem to be farfetched.

Juan's entire, shivering, wet body was covered in the tiny pimples of gooseflesh and I grabbed a towel and began to urgently dry him off. However, my response was as much directed by concern for his well being as it was for my own. The sight of him, standing naked and unprotected before me, chilled my spine. I quaked with each rub of his lithe body. Each touch of his cold, though very alive flesh sent a weird panic through me. I dried off his torso as I tried to direct my attention away from his perfect body by cloaking his nudity whenever possible in the thick, white towel. Each time I covered him for as long as I could stand to be without refreshing the object of my desire. Time and time again I patted, brushed, and grazed the smooth skin of his bare body, only to reveal more of him as my urge to see him became uncontrollable. Again and again I lifted the towel away to study his absolute perfection. He was very beautiful, even to my jaded eyes.

And then I dried his legs, briskly massaging the firm lean muscles as I worked my way from his feet to his thighs. I rubbed his buttocks thoroughly and swiftly worked the towel into the deep recess of his crack. He did not seem to mind my violation of his privacy but I avoided his groin assiduously, instinctively knowing that if I touched him there, it was over. But what was over? It was not that he would reject me because there were ample signs that he did not mind my gentle towelling, indeed he seemed to appreciate the attention as he gradually warmed and ceased shivering. No, if I touched him there, I would have to accept the consequences of my action. I would have to admit, if only to myself, that a twelve-year-old boy had awakened in me the most frightening and depraved desires that a man can feel.

His bare skin reddened quickly but I continued to agitate his sensitive body with the abrasive towel. I wanted to stop but I could not. I wanted to go on touching him forever. Finally, only one small part of him remained untouched. To continue to dry him off when he was already completely dry and tingling from my exertions, was ridiculous. I stopped and slowly came to me feet, placed a dry towel around his shoulders, and gave him a brief friendly hug.

"Okay, it looks like you're still alive," I teased, "Why don't you go into the other room and get under the covers and warm up."

"Thanks Matt," he murmured gratefully. "I already feel better. I was scared stiff that I wouldn't be able to hang onto the railing much longer. I thought I was going to die any second. If you hadn't come out when you did, I know I would have fallen."

"That's okay," I acknowledged. "It was the FBI, Juan. They were looking for a ten or eleven-year-old boy. I know they were looking for you!"

Juan shrugged. "I'm twelve." It was a harmless denial. I smiled at him gently and he beamed back at me. "You're wet too," he observed after a while. "Maybe I'd better dry you off now," he suggested happily.

My penis was as hard as iron, a complete and absolute contrast to the tiny, limp organ between Juan's legs. I shook my head as I tried to direct him out of the bathroom with a gentle shove. The boy made it patently clear that he intended to stay with me until I was as dry as he was. With his slender legs braced he looked at me with resolution, raising a single eyebrow in direct challenge to my authority. I grinned back at him.

"I think I can dry myself off," I said.

Again he shrugged. "We're both guys," he observed with a smile. "You don't have anything that I don't have. Except your's is a whole lot bigger than mine, of course."

It was impossible not to like him. It was, as I also discovered, impossible to resist him. Just the mere intonation of his precious soprano voice was enough to bend me to his will. I started to undress, not only to humor him, but because I wanted him to see me as naked as he was. I wondered what effect I would have on the boy, hoping that it would be similar to the effect that he had on me. However, the chance that a twelve-year-old boy would be turned on by a man who was old enough to be his father was incredibly remote. I hoped against all reason that he would not reject me.

To my surprise he was interested, that much at least was obvious. Juan leaned back against the vanity and watched as I unfastened the buttons of my shirt and dropped it on top of his water-logged clothes. His eyes flickered over my chest. He was visibly fascinated by what he saw. I took a deep breath and unfastened my belt and opened the zipper of my trousers. They were the bottom half of my best suit, the one that I had planned to wear the next morning for my presentation. All thoughts of my presentation evaporated in the face of what I now confronted. Juan's eyes were riveted on my hands as I began to push my trousers downward.

That my penis was erect was obvious well before my underpants came into view. I observed Juan's piqued interest even as he observed the results of my interest in him. His eyes opened wide and there was a hint of a smile as the corners of his perfect mouth twitched. I bent forward at the waist, removed my socks and trousers, and straightened up again. Juan's breathing had slowed to deep inhalations that signaled his efforts to control his excitement. We gazed at each other uncertainly and with considerable interest. The boy was naked except for the towel draped over his shoulders. For one so young, he was remarkably uninhibited. His bare body was shamelessly exposed for me to see and appreciate, it was as if he had been nude for all of his twelve years. He grinned with unabashed amusement and adopted a lewd pose with his hands on his hips.

I was naked except for my damp underpants and they concealed my very stiff penis insofar as it was possible to hide a massive bulge. But what was really confusing was my sudden and overwhelming nervousness. I was uptight, forestalled by many years of conditioning that proscribed my excitement as taboo. I did not want the boy to see my penis although I was perfectly content to scrutinize his flawless body. I started to dry myself off. I was nowhere as wet as Juan had been.

"Not fair," he whispered huskily. "You have to strip as well."

"That's probably not a good idea," I muttered.

"Why not? I have seen a man's cock before, you know. It doesn't bother me that you've got a hard-on," Juan said impudently. He looked downward to my groin with a blatant stare. The boy did not blush. Instead his eyes opened wide with profligate interest in my anatomy.

"What if it bothers me?" I asked.

He smiled as he shrugged. He continued to stare at me as I tried to wipe myself dry and cover the evidence of my arousal, wondering as I did so whether the boy suspected that my penis was that way only because of him. Nearly a minute passed before the brooding silence between us was broken.

"Have you ever done it with a boy?" Juan asked curiously.

"What?"

"You heard me!" he smirked incorrigibly. "Have you?" he repeated licentiously.

"With a boy?" I repeated. Juan nodded. I shook my head and he smiled.

"But you'd like to, wouldn't you," he stated with conviction. It was not a question. It was a statement of fact. "I know you're thinking about it. That's why he's so stiff. Well, isn't it, Matt?" he asked persistently.

His voice was lustful. No longer able to control his dissolute desire, he was quickly become more excited. It showed in the gradual stiffening of his own penis. With every downward glance I watched it lengthen and lift upwards a fraction.

"No!" I countered the instant that I realized the effect that I was having on the boy.

I could feel the heat rising with the blood into my neck, flushing my face to a crimson shade of embarrassment. He simpered with a knowing look at my aroused penis. He knew exactly what had caused my erection. It was the same thing that explained the heat in his own groin. I was turning him on just as he had aroused me.

"It's because you're married, isn't it?" he demanded. "Is it because you're afraid she'll find out… or because you might like it?"

I tensed as I fought against his truthful appraisal of my dilemma. I was unsure myself. Was I attracted to young boys? My penis certainly appeared to think so and apparently even a twelve-year-old child thought so as well. Was my reluctance because of my marriage? I had married late in life when most other men had already raised their children to grade school or even high school age. Had my marriage to Leah been nothing more than a last resort to avoid the loneliness that accompanies getting older. I had often wondered. And for that matter, what did Leah see in me beyond a provider for her children after her previous husband had stopped paying child support.

I sighed and straightened up, more uncertain than ever about my life. Had I been living a lie? I tried to take my eyes away from the naked, brown body before me. It was impossible for me to look elsewhere for more than a few seconds. His short, squat penis was now very hard. It jutted into the air like a proud little soldier standing at attention. Each breath I took was a deliberate effort, a slow controlled attempt to focus my thoughts and redirect my interest to something other than Juan's genitals and his lithe, smooth body. I was not prepared for the momentous decision that confronted me. I wanted so much to say something that would provide the impetus for the two of us to take advantage of our natural inclinations. I also wanted to say no, to go about my life without entering a forbidden zone that could bring nothing but unhappiness. Now that he was also sexually aroused, Juan was not about to allow me to escape so easily.

"I… I guess. I don't know," I said sadly as I shook my head.

His lips pursed and for an instant I sensed that the youngster was as dejected as I was. Perhaps that was what bothered me more than anything else, much more than his rigid penis that pointed directly up at me in a direct challenge. On the evening of his twelfth birthday, his life had been reduced to this; to a sordid and shameful association with a stranger in a hotel room. It was a time when he should have been having innocent fun with his friends and extracting the essence of life itself. Juan was no longer a child, some where that had been stolen from him. Under any normal circumstances he should have been living with the freedom and energy of youth as he took the first stumbling steps towards manhood. Instead he was here with me on the brink of debauchery that he should have no knowledge of.

"Do you want to do it with a boy?" he asked softly. He was still determined as he pursued his desire with relentless eroticism.

I clenched my teeth to avoid making the answer that I wanted to make. The force of my desire, submerged deep inside me like an archaic and undeveloped seed, exploded. My desire burgeoned like an orgasmic release from captivity of reason, prudence, and morality. I nodded. Our eyes met briefly and realization sparked between us.

"Are you sure you want to do this, Juan?" I questioned as my interest mounted. My penis seemed to inflate, swelling even more until the veins were distended and the glans was dilated in a dark, bulbous mushroom.

"What do you think?" he giggled."I already know I'm gay and besides, I'm old enough to know what I want to do."

"I guess so but maybe you're way too young to do what you want," I argued pointlessly.

"My age has nothing to do with it. Anyway, if you must know, I've already done it before."

"Having sex with boys your own age isn't the same," I proposed in a feeble effort to impede the speed at which we were racing towards the inevitable confrontation that lay before us.

"I haven't done it with another boy, yet." Juan giggled cheekily. "Boys aren't the same anyway."

"Then?…"

"Don't be a dumb ass. Of course you aren't the first grown-up I've done it with."

"That doesn't make it right," I countered.

"It doesn't make it wrong either," he smirked smartly.

"You do it for money, don't you Juan?" I asked distastefully. That was the only explanation for his aggressive and corrupted behavior.

"Maybe! Okay, sometimes! Only I want to do it this time, okay," he retorted. "You don't have to pay me," he added.

"Is it because I helped you earlier? You don't have to do this. You don't owe me anything. I helped you because I liked you and you needed help."

"Not exactly! If you don't want to do it with me, then fine. I don't care," Juan added angrily as his tension elevated.

I sighed. "Juan, it isn't that I don't want to," I said honestly. "I do! I really want to. It's just that, hell, I'm old enough to be your father. I really don't think it's right."

"But you want to?" Juan asked uncertainly as he tilted his head to one side quizzically.

"God! Juan, look at me! My cock has never been this hard in forty-two years. Of course I want to. I want to more than anything in the world." I declared.

"If you really want to, and I want to, then why shouldn't we? No one is going to know besides us," he affirmed. "Your wife won't know unless you tell her."

We gazed at each other, each knowing the negotiation had been concluded. My penis dwarfed that of the twelve-year-old boy. His delicate little organ was easily overpowered by my seven-plus inches [18 cm] of aching stiffness as it protruded like a ramrod into my briefs. There was a primitive magnetism that hovered between us, of animalistic origins that predated Christianity. By the standards of contemporary morality we were depraved, although we would never be so judged by ancient standards. For us, the union of man and boy was entirely appropriate.

"You better take off your undies," Juan teased joyfully. "They're dripping, but I think it's only water."

I did what the boy asked, barely cognizant of his vulgar appraisal of my arousal. I eased the damp cotton cloth away from my hips and dragged it downward and outward so that my erect penis sprung free of its confinement. I shoved them away, well past my knees until they were sufficiently loose on my legs to slide the rest of the way to the tiled floor. I stepped free and stood up straight to confront the boy with my naked and very excited body. He appraised me with what should have been an inexperienced eye, but was not.

"You've good a really big one, Matt," he observed with considerable awe.

"It's not that big," I denied with a quick smile at the visibly entranced youngster. For more than a minute his eyes had not left my genitals.

"Maybe you should let me be the judge of that!" he replied mischievously.

"Okay! So what's your basis for comparison, Juan?" I teased. "How many men's cocks have you seen, anyway?"

It was a stupid thing to say but my curiosity was aroused. The boy grinned and continued to examine my distended penis from a safe distance. He raised his eyebrows, a playful admonition that he knew far more than he was letting on.

"I've seen plenty of them," he admitted with a sly smile.

"It sounds to me like you've been checking them out at the urinal," I said with an exaggerated sideways glance. "Of course, I expect you haven't seen too many stiff ones."

His smile widened and he started to laugh. "Okay! But I have seen a few hard ones and yours is the biggest."

"So how come a boy your age has seen a few hard-ons?" I asked.

"Why do you think?" he retorted.

I shrugged sadly. "You already said that you did it for money. I expect you've done it a lot."

"I've only done this a couple of times. That is what you want to know, isn't Matt?" I nodded awkwardly. "So I know what happens, okay?" Juan added confidently.

I swallowed and sighed quietly. Despite my continuing excitement, in a way I also felt very depressed. "Did you do it for money with all of them?"

The boy shrugged. "That's my business. I do what I want to do, okay?" He glanced at the ceiling and his eyes focused on the heating, lamp, and ventilator fixture. "I only did it with one guy for money," he said quietly. "The other guy, well he was sort of a friend."

He paused as if the admission was painful to him. He was still young and despite his sexual precocity, he still had some of the natural honesty and innocence of childhood.

"If you must know, I've only done it once before for money. I was supposed to do it again tonight. That's why I'm here. We kind of started but we had to stop before anything really happened."

"Because of the police?" I suggested.

Juan nodded. He reached out and took my hand in his. The warm softness of his small hand enclosed mine. He leaned forward until his bare belly brushed against me. It was a delicious feeling as firm, silky smooth flesh touched me. His hand tightened on mine and my rigid penis compressed into his belly and lower chest. He moved from side to side, rubbing our bodies in a gentle embrace, squeezing ever tighter against me as his other arm locked behind me. The sensation of his skin against mine sent electrifying thrills up and down my spine and made my penis throb with unparalleled joy. Unable to resist the boy, my free hand slipped down his lean back and lovingly clasped his buttocks to draw him harder against me. He continued to rock his hips in an undulating motion that agitated my penis to such hardness that it was painful. Even my testicles were pushed from side to side as they squashed into him, compressed into his flat, muscled stomach somewhere in the region below his tiny navel.

"Maybe we should do this in the bedroom?" I suggested with throaty excitement.

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