This morning I awoke slowly, becoming gradually aware of the
boy lying beside me, his arm draped casually over my chest, his leg
over my legs, his face pressed against my shoulder, his cheek hot
against my skin. His breath was moist against my skin as his chest
moved rhythmically though barely visible unless I looked closely.
He stirred, his body pressing closer, a slight tremble passing
through him like a little quiver and then he settled down again,
back to sleep, his body unmoving.

For a long while I looked at the boy lovingly, his dark hair
glistening in the early morning light as it filtered though the
trees outside the window, steadily getting lighter as morning came.
The boy’s hair is the color of dark mahogany, not black, but a rich
dark brown. His hair is long and slightly curly and it lay tousled
on the white pillow and over my shoulder. It is soft like silk but
it has a surprising amount of body in it. His eyes were closed, his
eyelids almost translucent, his eyebrows long and thin, almost
feminine. The boy’s lips are pale and full and they are open
slightly, revealing perfectly shaped white teeth. His skin is much
darker than mine, a golden-bronze from head to toe, not even a shade
lighter at his thighs and hips because for the last two months he
has spent almost every afternoon in the nude. He tans beautifully
but he has the advantage of his heritage. His rich dark tan comes
from our two months together on Phaenon. I should explain that
Phaenon is our 34 foot yacht. Built in Canada in 1990 and engineered
to one of the highest standards in the world, the boat is something
Rafael and I treasure for the wonderful times that we have shared
aboard it. This summer we spent two and a half glorious months
cruising down the Inter-coastal Waterway to Florida, and then
across to the Bahamas and the other islands of the Caribbean. We
returned only two days ago.

Jamey was a pretty trendy kid. He swore a lot and he was pretty
impressed with the stories I told him about my life which wasn’t
nearly as expensive as his. Actually, Jamey was a pretty kid
too. I guess he looked abit like Will Wheaton in his younger
days. Boyish, alittle sensitive. Wishing he was bigger and
maybe tougher than he was. I told him about girls and my dating
experiences. When we eventually got around to talking about sex,
I realized how little these two knew, other than what the cows
do. He was a wannabe kind of a kid. “Wanna be” cool, “Wanna be”
a hot dog with the girls. He hadn’t so much as had a finger in a
girl’s little pussy.

“Well, I didn’t either, at your age, Jamey.” I reassured him.
“But I knew Rosie Palm and her five daughters real well,” I added
with a laugh. I expected him to laugh too but he just had a
questioned look.

“My hand…dicksucker…my hand!” I curled my fingers around and
motioned up and down between my legs.

Jamey finally got it. He laughed. Chad giggled.

“Course you guys…being from Texas…” I went on, entertaining
them. I made a big circle with my hands about a foot in diameter
and pretended to jack off a two foot dick between my legs, “you
boys from Texas are probably so BIG you have to help each other
out!”