textfiles/sex/EROTICA/M/miguel.txt

                                MIGUEL
 
An original story by Bruce Bramson (m/m cons)
 
I'd noticed him first in Bucay, and he me: and who would not have
noticed him? Alone among the churning passengers awaiting the
train's departure, he was immaculately dressed in white, right
down to his "zapatos". He spoke no more English than I Spanish,
but our paths seemed to cross repeatedly as the throngs moved
about during the long wait as the train was assembled. He
disappeared while the engine was being re-railed after our first
attempt to assault the Andes, yet when at last the train got
under way, I saw him scamper aboard the lone first-class car. He
waved to me as he did so, and for once I found it difficult to
focus on the operation of the steam engine, on which I sat, which
was, after all, the reason I had traveled to Ecuador in the first
place.
 
Like everything in Ecuador, the train runs on LAST - "Latin
American Standard Time". By the time we had laboriously climbed
to the isolated mountain town of Huigra, it was dark. And it was
here I learned the train would not be going on up to Alaus!,
because there was not enough fuel! "He" was nowhere to be found,
and it was with some difficulty that I eventually found spartan
lodgings for the night, mindful of the relatively comfortable
room back in Guayaquil that I might otherwise have occupied.
 
The next day found me anxiously waiting - again interminably -
for the return trip to Bucay. I stayed close to, and mostly on -
the engine, as steam is one of my passions. And while waiting,
"he" returned, still dressed immaculately in white. And again, he
sought me out. He was fascinated with the collection of photos I
had with me from my stay 14 years earlier; but I'd already given
away all the copies I had with me. I managed to explain to Miguel
(learning names is not that difficult in Spanish) that I had more
copies in Guayaquil, which I'd gladly give him if he would visit
me there. In what passed for a halting "conversation", I
discovered Miguelito's (he did not mind when I applied the
familiar diminutive) father worked for the railroad; so of course
they had friends all up and down the line. As the day wore on,
Miguel brought some of them up on the engine to meet me; he
seemed proud to show off his "gringo" friend, and I certainly did
not mind being seen with him! He was gorgeous; I'd pegged him at
16, but when he showed me his ID card I learned this boyish
Ecuadorian would soon be 19. His dark, polished skin contrasted
so markedly with his "ropa", and here he was paying all sorts of
attention to ME! He was fascinated by my camera, which I suppose
he thought was new and expensive, but which in truth was a
Minolta I had inherited from my Dad, and which was as old as
Miguel himself! As the day wore on I tried over and over to get a
good shot of him, but every time I even picked up the camera, he
was ready to posture and pose: I concluded he knew full well what
a cute thing he was, all 150cm of him; it became apparent after a
while that my 183cm was at least one thing he found fascinating
about me. And I never did get a really good shot of him, dammit!
By high noon the train had long been ready to begin the descent,
but it was not until after 2 that the clattering telegraph gave
orders to get under way. Miguel and I had exhausted our
respective repertoires in each others' language, but I'd given
him a card from the Grand Hotel with my room number on it, and
when at last the "mecanistas" clambered aboard, Miguelito
scampered back to the comparative comfort of the first-class car,
while I remained in my favorite spot, perched on the tender of
the lurching, fire-belching steam engine. For a time, I forgot
about Miguel as I was caught up in the glory of real steam;
before we arrived in Bucay it rained some, and what with the
tendency of a coasting engine to belch water and smoke, when we
arrived I must have looked like something the cat dragged in!
Since the remaining part of the trip to Guayaquil had a diesel
locomotive in which I was not really interested, I elected to
take a bus; so I bid Miguel farewell with a reminder to look me
up at the Grand...
 
On the outskirts of Bucay the bus picked up extra passengers who
had to stand, and shortly I noticed a youngster wedged between
me, the seat, and his parents. He was all but asleep on his feet.
So, with a smile at his folks, I picked him up and put him in my
lap, where he passed out cold. Only on the outskirts of Guayaquil
did enough room in the bus develop that his parents could reclaim
him. Throughout the long, lurching ride I berated myself for not
having stayed on the train, for perhaps it would have been
beautiful Miguel who would have fallen asleep on my lap. That
possibility caused me to get hard a number of times, but the boy
in my lap was oblivious to everything.
 
I slept late the next day, intending to go to Dur n in the
afternoon for more train spotting. But shortly after breakfast in
the "ca", I saw Miguel nervously pacing the sidewalk outside. I
quickly signed my tab, and went to greet him. I'll never forget
how his coffee eyes lit up as he spied me; and I was delighted
when he gave me an "abrazo", though it proved a trifle difficult
due to the difference in our heights! He made it clear he had
come to get the photos, which were (of course) in my room, so I
invited him to join me there, which he seemed pleased to do. Wild
things danced through my head as I slipped the "no molestar"
card on the outer door-knob, ushered him into my small room, and
switched on the air conditioner: already the heat and humidity
back here at sea-level, were rising.
 
That was, of course, not all that was rising! Today, Miguel was
perhaps a bit more modestly dressed, in muted shades of green
that contrasted nicely with his natural color. He would be, I
guessed, a "middle-class" youngster, since his Dad worked for the
railroad. In the subdued light of my room, his features were
softened, but there was a delicateness to them that took my
breath away. Every time he looked at me as he tried to use his
halting English, I melted inside. I took my time getting out
another set of photos: I wanted him there as long as possible,
and feared that once he had them he would fly away. Instead, he
insisted we go through the pictures again; they had been taken
when he was about 5, and when the railroad was in much better
health. He was fascinated, but as we slowly maneuvered our way
around the language barrier, I noticed he was using "tu" more
often, which I thought unusual, given the disparity in our ages.
He also found occasions to touch me here and there as we sat
together on the bed poring over the photos, but of this I thought
little, as Latinos are "touchy-feely" folks.
Just then, the lights and air-con stopped. All Ecuador was
experiencing power outages due to damage to their main "planta
hidroectrico" near Cuenca, and I knew it would be off several
hours. I also knew my little room would soon be unbearably warm.
"Que lastima", I said. "No importa", said Miguel; "Ven,
pasea conmigo". "Por que no"?, said I.
 
Out on the street, I said, "D'nde vamos?" Taking my hand in
his, he replied, "Ven conmigo" - and I was happy enough to do
as he asked. We walked to the waterfront on the Guayas River,
turned right and walked more slowly along the "banqueta", turning
back toward town after a mile or so. I suddenly realized he was
heading for the infamous Humboldt Hotel, which I remembered so
well from my previous visit; at that time it was a handy place to
stay, being the semi-official whorehouse. I had not used it for
that purpose of course, but due to its nature, there were always
taxis around it early in the morning, which made it easy to get
to Dur n for early train departures. But now, I suppose Miguel
thought I needed some   "R-&-R", and he would be showing me the
way to it. I saw major problems looming ahead!
 
Sure enough: still grasping my hand, Miguel led me into the
Humboldt. It had undergone some "modernization" since I had last
stayed there, but I soon found it was only a new facade, behind
which still lay the rabbit-warren of mostly tiny rooms, where one
was as apt to be eaten by "chinchas" as by "putas"! And while I
caught little of the meaning in Miguel's rapid-fire Spanish with
the "concerje", it seemed clear he was booking a "short-time"
room - I presumed for me and a girl of my choice. "Gawd", I
thought, "how AM I going to get myself out of this?" Negotiations
concluded, Miguel led me to up four flights of stairs and on to
what was, I realized, one of the larger rooms. Still, there was
just a bed, a battered table, a couple of chairs, and a somewhat
make-shift bathing area in one corner. As the power was still
off, it was stiflingly hot and humid, and the walk up the stairs
had us both sweating, I far more than he. Miguel picked up a
thread-bare towel and wiped the sweat from my brow, then
unbuttoned my shirt, removed it, and rubbed me down vigorously. I
still expected giggles and a knock on the door at any moment, so
this unexpected attention had not yet had its full effect. But
when Miguel quickly shed his own shirt, I was emboldened enough
to take the towel and do for him as he had done for me, revealing
in his youthful brown body.
 
When I purposely dropped the towel, but continued to rub his
back, he leaned back into me, and I began to hope it would be
just us two after all. And since he seemed not at all put off by
my attention, I let my hands roam freely. When I turned him
around to face me, the look of anticipation on his face sent
chills up my spine! I took his face in my hands, leaned down
towards him; he raised himself on his toes and met my kiss. "No
stranger to the ways of men, "mi Miguelito", I thought, for he
met my tongue passionately. When we broke apart, he said,
"Permisso", and grasped my belt-buckle, loosened it, unzipped
my fly and within moments had me out of my pants. I sat down on
the bed, and with trembling fingers, unsnapped his trousers and
pushed them slowly down. He wore snowy white shorts beneath, and
that he was erect under them was very obvious!
"Yo te quiero chupar", I recited from an old phrase-book, as I
slipped the shorts down over the head of his "pollo"; "Si,
adelante, por favor", he replied, and with that I buried all of
him in my mouth, feeling his wonderful smooth thighs as I did so.
He moaned a little, and I feared he would erupt too soon, so I
stopped. At this point he hopped onto the bed, passionately threw
himself on top of me, and joyfully fucked between my legs,
grinding his tummy against my now-raging hard-on. The stifling
heat lubricated us as we both dripped with sweat; the bitter-
sweet salty taste of his fresh perspiration as we kissed again
was as nectar, and the evident enthusiasm with which he threw
himself at me was absolutely electrifying. Whereas the night
before I had dreamt of such a meeting, here we were, maddened by
lust, pawing at each other as if there was to be no tomorrow!
 
Just then came the dreaded giggles and knock on the door!
"Mierda! Las putas", thought I. "They WILL ruin everything,
just when the going was getting good. Damn!"
 
But with a sly smile, Miguel leapt from the bed, unlocked the
door, and ushered in two "mu$ecas", who introduced themselves to
us as "Juguete" and "Deportista", which I recognized as their
"professional" names, Toy and Sportsman. The door was quickly
locked again. Toy and Sport, (as I'll call him "for short"), were
clad only in skimpy bathing-suits, which they shed at once. But
for once, my better sense took hold; I insisted they show me
their ID cards, because these two looked SO young, and I was,
after all many miles from home... They seemed disappointed,
slipped back into their suits, and scampered out; it was clear
from their chatter with Miguel that they would soon be back, and
indeed they were - with what certainly looked like "authentic" ID
cards, and health cards as well. From these I discovered that
"Toy" was Jo, and Sport was really Jai, and that they were
brothers, 19 and 20 years old.
 
"Todo OK?" asked Miguel. What could I say? "Adelante!". Sport
and Toy immediately shucked their swimsuits again, and jumped on
the bed. Miguel pulled up a chair nearby, pushed me into it, and
perched on my leg. "Miraremos solamente", he said, pointing to
his eyes, and turning his (and my!) attention to the boys on the
bed. Toy seemed not far past puberty, so smooth and virtually
hairless was he, yet there was not an ounce of "baby fat" on his
small frame. As he and Sport began to fondle each other, every
muscle in Toy's body showed through his flawless skin. Sport
resembled him, of course, but was a little "beefier", with a
covering of light "fur" that presaged much more to come. As they
began to warm each other up, Miguel stroked my cock with his
right hand as he hugged himself to me with his left arm behind my
back. I fondled him in like manner, and settled in for what
appeared to be a "show" in our honor.
 
And what a show it was! Toy and Sport clearly knew exactly how to
turn each other on: before long they were doing a sexy sixty-
nine. Both were quite well endowed; neither was cut, but there
was no problem in getting their glans' exposed and ready. Pretty
soon, Sport began rimming Toy, and when he had prepared his
brother with plenty of nature's lube, Sport slipped his cock up
Toy's ass expertly. They fucked doggie style for a while, then
made a quick switch with Toy on his back and Sport sitting on his
cock. Sport's muscular legs worked effortlessly to propel him up
and down on Toy's shaft, while Toy "toyed" with Sport's rigid
tool. I was getting very hot watching all this, and nearly lost a
load because of Miguel's attentions, but he seemed to know just
when to stop and let me "cool down". It was not long before Sport
grabbed his own cock and with a few strokes and a few brotherly
thrusts from Toy, shot his load far up on the other's chest; Toy
immediately slathered this all over himself with his hand, and
when Sport stood up on the bed, a few strokes brought forth Toy's
steaming seed in torrents. Miguel took his hand away from my cock
long enough to clap his appreciation for the show, and I did
likewise. Without a word, the boys quickly washed themselves in
the corner shower, dried each other off, pulled on their
swimsuits and darted out the door. "Gustaste de el?", Miguel
asked me. "Si, pero yo te prefiero", I replied in my fractured
Spanish. "Bien", he replied, and steered me towards the shower.
Here we washed each other just as our entertainers had done. The
water was cold, and I confess it dampened my ardor somewhat. This
was made worse when, after we toweled off, Miguel began putting
on his clothes, indicating that I should do the same. Damn! Was I
not to enjoy this gorgeous fellow after all?
 
Just then the decrepit air conditioner suddenly started up. The
noise was deafening. We were back together and fully clothed.
"Vamos", Miguel said, grasping my hand once again. Just before
he opened the door, he reached up and pulled me down to his mouth
and kissed me: "luego"... he whispered, and we went back down
the hall, this time down in an elevator, and out into the
stifling afternoon heat....
 
 
Concluded from part 1
 
He led me toward my hotel, and when a block or so away, 
stopped. "I go now", he said haltingly, pero I come to you esta 
noche. Esperame!" With that he squeezed my hand, turned and 
walked away, and in moments was lost in the crowd.
 
Dispirited, I walked back to the Grand. I was unspeakably horny, 
with visions of Miguel and his friends cavorting before my eyes, 
yet I'd had no "relief". I definitely needed a siesta! But in our 
earlier haste to leave, Miguel had left the pictures behind, which 
gave me a little hope. My room was now freezing, so I killed the 
air-con and stretched out on the bed. The temptation to relieve my 
aching balls was very strong. Still, Miguel had said "luego", and 
"esta noche", and the photos were still with me: there seemed a 
small chance that he might actually return. I drifted off to sleep, to 
be awakened by hunger a couple of hours later. I hadn't eaten 
anything - any food, that is - since breakfast. So I went down to 
the cafe and had a hamburguesa con queso, washed down with a 
frosty cerveza. Then I went back to my room.
 
About seven, the phone rang. The concerje was on the line. 
"There is a Mr. Herrera to see you, and he would like to visit in 
your room: is that agreeable to you?" he asked. "By all means; he 
is the son of my friend who works on the ferrocarril, so send him 
up," I replied. "Bien: we will hold his identity card at the desk, it 
is the practice here: he may pick it up as he departs." The phone 
went dead. Moments later, there was a tap at my door, and when I 
opened it there was my smiling friend, neatly dressed in a dark 
brown outfit. I thought it would be brazen at this hour to put the 
"no molestar" sign on the OUTside of the door, so left it out of 
sight. I turned the air-con on low, gathered up the pictures and put 
them into the pocket of his coat; this he immediately removed, 
then threw his arms around my waist and hugged me. I stroked 
his glossy black hair; within seconds, I felt the pressure of his 
rising cock against my leg, and I'm sure he felt mine somewhere 
near his belly-button. In no time at all, and with almost no 
conversation, we were rolling together desnudo on the bed. Given 
the events earlier in the day, I had concluded that Miguel was wise 
in matters of sex. But as we explored each other's bodies, it 
dawned on me that he really had much to learn. Many of his 
actions were tentative and hesitant, though he appeared quick to 
learn that what he sensed felt good for me also felt good for 
himself. As our foreplay intensified, he became more bold, yet I 
could have sworn, when he finally took my cock in his mouth, 
that it was his first. His explorations heightened his spirit of 
adventure, and despite some initial clumsiness, he soon had me 
panting, and more than once I had to stop his actions, because I 
wanted this episode to last as long as possible. Just looking at his 
splendid young body sent me into a frenzy, and to have him 
pawing at ME was so glorious that I really had to hold myself 
back. One way to achieve this, of course, was to do unto him as 
he was doing unto me; he writhed in bliss as I tongued him all 
over; and when I finally worked my way up his thighs, licked his 
almost hairless balls, and then swallowed his cock, he suddenly 
exploded in a frenzied orgasm, grasping my arms, thrusting his 
pelvis towards my eager throat, and exclaiming something in 
Spanish I did not understand, but which I took to be 
complimentary.
 
When at last he was spent, and I had consumed every drop of his 
life juices, he relaxed, and I stretched out beside him. Whereas 
earlier my balls had been aching, now they were the source of 
near-pain: I was STILL unrelieved, and STILL unspeakably 
horney. And I feared mightily that Miguel, having reached 
Nirvana, would take his leave. But after a brief interval, he 
opened his eyes and seemed immediately drawn to my raging 
hard-on. He played with it by hand (dangerous, under the 
circumstances!), and then - to my astonishment and delight - 
grasped my hand and placed it on his backside. Surely, I thought, 
he does not want me to enter there; but he rolled on to his 
stomach, still holding my hand "there", and humped the bed and 
wiggled his behind in a manner MOST inviting! "Estas lo seguro 
que lo quieres?" I whispered as I lightly nibbled on his ear. "Si, 
por favor, yo te quiero adentro", he replied.
 
Now, I thought, I will learn for sure if he is a virgin! Quickly I 
retrieved a packet of Astro from my luggage, and began to apply it 
to the crack between his lovely cheeks. "Que es eso?" he asked. 
"Lubricar" I answered with the nearest cognate I could think of. 
"Ah, si," he murmured. He winced as I began to insert a well-
lubricated finger into his bung-hole; the tightness assured me that I 
was indeed entering virgin territory. I knew that if I managed to 
get my cock in there, it would be take no more than a few thrusts 
before I would shoot: indeed, just fingering him had me so hot I 
feared I would lose it before I got inside. But a bit of time and the 
lube worked their magic; he was relaxing, loosening up. With my 
free hand I massaged his back, his arms, the backs of his legs; 
and when he seemed ready, I took aim and began to enter him. He 
resisted only a little, and then very slowly, I pushed past his 
sphincter, and was presently buried to the hilt. I nibbled the nape 
of his neck, and he made "satisfied" sorts of sounds; I was not 
hurting him, but I knew for sure he had never been fucked before. 
Then it happened: I withdrew only slightly, and he moved his ass 
back to follow me, and when I thrust a second time I fired my 
wad!  There was no stopping it, and as he wriggled his ass 
underneath me, I pumped wave after wave of my jugitos into him. 
He reached back with both hands and pulled me deeply into 
himself, apparently not wanting my orgasm to stop. But of course 
it eventually subsided, and I relaxed heavily on him, totally spent.
 
When I had, after some little while, grown soft inside him, I 
gently and slowly withdrew; he turned and once again hugged me 
to himself vigorously. "Gustaste?" I asked. "Si, si, eso fue 
superbo!" he replied. At this point I realized he was rubbing his 
cock, now hard again, against my leg. Still hugging me close, he 
began to hump my thigh, and when I kissed him and our tongues 
met again, he shot another load of youthful juices, and with a free 
hand rubbed the effusion on my leg, then on my cock; he jacked 
me quickly to a second orgasm, which copiously sprayed us both, 
and which he spread all over our bodies with his hand.
 
We relaxed a while, then he stirred himself and led me into the 
ban~o, where we washed each other in warm water and fragrant 
soap. Then, after a vigorous rubbing down, he turned down the 
bed, and still nude like myself, slipped under the sheet and 
beckoned me to join him. We quickly fell asleep, wrapped tightly 
in each others' arms.
 
I must have slept deeply, indeed: for when I awoke in the 
morning, he was gone. I found a little note, evidently written 
before he'd arrived. "Muchas gracias durante tu refugio", it said, 
and was signed, "con carin~os, Miguel H." I still cherish that 
note, but I never saw Miguel again.
 
[end]
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