textfiles/sex/EROTICA/M/mazatlan.txt

MAZATLAN
 
 
He was a beautiful little guy in his white shirt and brown slacks. 
They were old and probably hand me downs but he showed more 
pride in his appearance than the other the little boys vending and 
hawking their wares to the tourists. I watched him flash his 
disarming smile as he worked the tables seated on hotel terrace 
bar. Where the other boy-vendors were unkept and had the air of 
begging, this kid had clearly wise to a good presentation. Still, I 
think I would have unbuttoned the top button even if it was a white 
shirt.
 
It was happy hour and he was having limited success with the 
guests as they were mostly high school kids out for the summer 
and on what they called a graduation trip. One occasionally bought 
a rose for a girlfriend but in general were not big spenders on 
roses. I waited expectantly as he worked his way down the tables 
toward me.
 
He had the coal black hair of the Mestizo Mexican and the copper 
color of his ancestors. When he smiled his teeth sparkled white 
and I noticed he was careful about his grooming, combing his 
thick hair in a swirl across his forehead. He took pride in his 
appearance, even to his white shirt that let the picture on his T-shirt 
show through. His back was to me as he asked the next table of 
folks if they would like to buy some roses in the soft timid voice 
of a ten-year-old. He gave no indication of speaking English but 
obviously knew some as he responded correctly to most questions 
asked him.
 
"How much?" the tourist asked, indicating one of the roses in the 
bundle.
 
"Five thousand," he replied in Spanish, and I could imagine him 
shyly, showing a row of white teeth through his charming smile.
 
They told him, "No thanks." and he turned to ask me. I was 
studying him intently and perhaps intimidated him with the 
seriousness of my stare. He started to ask then stopped in the 
middle of his sentence. I held his eyes and could see him 
summons up the courage to ask.
 
Unfortunately, I have harsh features, and appear almost mad when 
I am intent about something. Fortunately, when I smile, the 
sterness disappears and I have a winning set of dimples that 
overshadows the harshness.
 
"Buenos tardes, hovensito." I told him and let my eyes stray 
briefly to take in his slender frame. His blue pants were hardly 
wrinkle free but looked clean. I had an urge to reach an unbutton 
the top button of his shirt that I suppressed along with my urge to 
put my arm around his shoulders. I found myself uneasy with his 
attractiveness and cautioned myself against being to forward, at 
least just yet. When I returned to look at his face he had his 
innocent smile accented with sparkling black eyes. I saw him relax 
somewhat as I continued smiling.
 
"Sientate," I tell him in a voice with just enough authority he 
considers it necessary but with modulated softness to give it an 
inviting quality. He complied and sat down at the table, holding 
the bundle of roses in his lap.
 
"Cueras Coka," I ask him and he replies "Si, senior," hardly 
above a whisper.
 
Catching the eye of my waiter I order another Tequila Sunrise and 
a coke for my little guest who still shows some apprehension. It's 
an understandable reaction and I have the advantage of knowing 
what to expect. He, on the other hand, does not know what to 
expect from this "gringo" who is twice his height and considerably 
more friendly than the average tourist. 
 
The band has quit playing and the only sound is the waves rolling 
in at high tide to wash the shore hardly fifteen feet away. The only 
lights are the candles of the tables. We are cooled by the slight 
breeze from the ocean and I am caught up in the enchantment. I 
have been silent for several seconds and he fidgets somewhat, time 
for some conversation.
 
"Cual es tu nombre, nino?" Having names will certainly make out 
talking easier.
 
"Rodrigues, senior"
 
"Nombre Hermoso," and I started the small talk that would relax 
us and begin our getting acquainted. The drinks showed up and 
we sipped them as we talked. As usual in such situations he was to 
shy to ask questions but willing to answer and we explored his 
job, his school, and his family. A second round of drinks and we 
were both more relaxed. His smile came spontaneously now and I 
could tell he genuinely enjoyed talking with me.
 
He still attended school which I thought a plus. Most in his line of 
work had quit. Maybe this accounted for his sense of polish even 
at ten. After morning school he worked the restaurants with his 
bundle of roses before catching the bus to go home. He was a 
middle child of several. They lived in "El Centro" which was the 
poorer part of Mazatlan. His mother did not work. His father was 
seldom at home. The family income pretty much came from the 
kids.
 
It was ten o'clock and I had a fishing trip at six thirty. We had 
talked for an hour. I knew I had a new friend and asked him if he 
would like pizza tomorrow. He gave me a broad smile and a "Si" 
so I told him to meet me at six the next evening and we would go 
across the street to La Fabula for some pizza. His hand was 
swallowed in mine as we shook and I watched him walk down the 
steps to the beach, disappearing onto the darkness. His after image 
lingered for a long time and was still fresh as I rode the elevator to 
my room, still fresh as I pulled off my shorts and still fresh in the 
vivid dreams where we ran naked on the beach.
 
Flota Bi-Bi did an excellent job of finding "bez bellas" and I had 
two of the sails, a marlin, and three tuna when the day was over. It 
had been a wonderful day. I lay on the seat of the Tomcat and 
listened to the twin diesels deep rumble. Their throaty lullaby soon 
had me in the dreamy state of pre-sleep and again the naked water 
nymph delighted me at the edge of the waves.
 
Back in the condo I showered and shaved. It was four o'clock and 
time for a quick nap before meeting Rodrigues. I was very much 
asleep when the five o'clock wake up rang.
 
After assuring the operator I was very much awake I rolled over 
on my back and spread eagled on the bed. The ceiling fan rotated 
hypnotically as I absently stroked myself. The anticipation of 
seeing Rodrigues had affected the bush monster between my legs. 
It was stiff and firm. I stroked it like a pet, hoping to quiet it's 
insistence.
 
 
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