Black Eyed Boy
by Jingjok
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WARNING: The following material contains depictions of explicit sexual activity. If the laws of your jurisdiction do not permit you to view such material, please leave here at once and go to where you can learn how to work to change the laws of your jurisdiction. If you are offended by such material, please seek psychiatric counseling to discuss why you are here in the first place.
On the other hand, if you simply don't care for the type of material indicated by the story codes, well, have a nice day.
gay, beginnings, interracial, teens
DISCLAIMER: The following is entirely a work of fiction. All of the parts in this drama are portrayed by mature actors who are masters of makeup and disguise.
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Chapter 1
The fiesta was in front of a church only a few blocks from our hotel. It was our second day in San Miguel and we had gone to tour the inside of the church that afternoon. My parents figured I could find my way there and back, and they wanted to rest after dinner. I took off on my own, walking in the balmy air of the evening.
About half way there, I noticed a local boy leaning against a doorway. He looked to be about my height and maybe around the same age, sixteen. He wore white cotton trousers and a white shirt with the long sleeves rolled up above his elbows. It hung open in the front, exposing the caramel skin of his chest and belly. I remember I licked my lips then. Maybe that's what gave me away.
When I came closer he flashed a bright white smile and greeted me, "Hola, amigo."
I looked at his face. Below the straight black hair that fell over his forehead were the warmest, most beautiful black eyes I'd ever seen. The guide book warned about staring at one of these macho Mexican men and threatened dire consequences if he took offense, but I couldn't help myself.
Then I saw he had a companion, a taller, older hard looking guy with a hawk like nose and cold, hard eyes that I only saw for a second. He was the one the guide book had in mind, I was sure. I walked quickly away and stopped in front of a crowded restaurant with sidewalk tables. I turned and looked back and couldn't help but smile at the boy.
He came to meet me, leaving his threatening pal behind. "Are you going to the fiesta?" he asked in English with a slight accent.
I looked at those warm black eyes again. "Yes," I said.
And then I couldn't believe the words really came out of my mouth. "Would you like to come with me?" I asked.
"I'd like that very much," he said. "My name is Pablo. What is your name?"
"My name is Alan," I said.
"Ah-LAHN," he repeated it, accenting the last syllable as if it were, well, not a Spanish name I guess, but French perhaps. I loved the way he pronounced it.
We set off, making our way along the crowded sidewalks to the old church. A stage had been set up on the flat area in front of the big wooden doors, and a troupe of high school age boys and girls dressed in white were dancing to the music of a mariachi band.
In the sunken plaza before them, trees festooned with strings of twinkling white lights surrounded a crowded area of people sitting at little tables. Pablo asked if I had any money, and when I nodded, we found an empty table there with two chairs and a red and white checkered tablecloth with a candle in the middle. A waitress came by and Pablo gave her an order in Spanish.
I looked at the stage. Now there were a dozen boys dancing, each one in identical white trousers and a white hat with a red band. I took a breath, admiring their brown torsos. Then I looked at Pablo, and the dancing boys were nothing.
His shirt was open wide now, the tails falling by his hips. The contrast between his white trousers and brown waist took my breath away. His dark nipples were visible now, and his smooth belly drew my eyes like a bee to a flower. I was suddenly aware that I wanted to lick him all over.
What was I feeling? I'd looked at boys in the school shower back home, but I'd never felt like this. My dick was stretching until it bent uncomfortably, trapped in a fold of my Jockey shorts. I had to do something, and there was no way to hide it. I reached down and gave it a quick adjustment. When I looked at Pablo he was grinning and his black eyes were sparkling.
The waitress arrived with a pitcher of beer and two frosty glasses, and a bowl of what looked like beans and cheese with a lot of toasted tortilla chips. I'd never tasted beer before, but if there were ever an occasion for it, this had to be it. I paid the waitress while Pablo poured two foaming glasses. He raised his with a toast, "To our friendship."
"To our friendship," I responded, raising my glass.
We drank, and I decided I liked the tart, bitter taste. Pablo reached over and flicked his finger over the end of my nose. When he held it out to me, I licked the white foam and then swirled my tongue around his finger a few times. He took it away and pressed his finger to his lips. And I looked into his warm black eyes.
He raised his glass again. "And to more," he said, looking first at his finger and then at my lap.
I felt my face flush with a hot red glow. Pablo took a drink and then laughed. I picked up my own beer and took a swallow and started coughing. When I recovered I looked at Pablo. He wore an expression of such concern that I reached over and grasped his arm with my hand. "I'm all right," I said.
He smiled and looked at me for a while. Then he asked softly, "Have you ever kissed a boy?"
I felt my face flush again. I looked into his warm black eyes and said, "Not yet."
Pablo reached for my hand and pulled it below the table top and held it. We sat like that, eating and drinking and watching the show. I told him where I lived and what I was studying in high school. He said he had to leave school after the eighth grade.
When we finished our first glass of beer Pablo stood up at the table. "Stand up, Alan," he said.
I stood up. My head felt like it was full of helium, but my feet seemed to be steady. I watched Pablo remove his shirt. My eyes roamed over his bare brown shoulders and chest.
"Take off your shirt, Alan," he said.
My mind was in a state of confusion. "What?" I asked.
"Take off your shirt," he repeated. "We are going to dance."
In a daze, I pulled my T-shirt over my head and dropped it onto my chair. Pablo pulled my hand and together, bare to the waist, we walked through the tables toward the stage. As we climbed the steps to the front of the church, I saw that another troupe of boys was dancing now, each one wearing white trousers and a red kerchief around his neck.
Pablo pulled me onto the stage beside the dancers. Though their skins were darker than mine, I figured I had enough of a tan that with my brown hair I might pass for a local boy. Pablo moved me into the second row and said, "Follow my steps. Do what I do."
He turned and began to dance beside the others. I found the step easy to imitate. I held my arms above my head and moved my body like the dancers, even managing a turn around. I saw Pablo look at me. He was laughing, and I was laughing.
When the music ended, we bowed to the audience with the other performers. They went off the stage to the left, and Pablo and I climbed down to the right.
Pablo led me back to the table through the crowd. Mexican men were clapping me on the back. Children were pointing and laughing. We found our table and fell into our chairs. Pablo filled our glasses from the pitcher of beer.
"That was fun!" I exclaimed to Pablo.
"Of course it was," he said, grinning at me. "A fiesta is supposed to be fun."
We raised our glasses and clinked them together.
"To more!" we chorused. We had to set down our glasses because we were laughing too hard.
We sat close together, our bare shoulders touching, our fingers intertwined. The food was good and the beer was good. We talked about our families. I told him I was an only child. His parents were gone, and his brother and two sisters stayed with his mother's sister. He didn't mention where he stayed, or what he did.
The food settled my stomach, but when we had finished the beer I felt giddy and lightheaded. I told Pablo it was time for me to go back to my hotel. We put on our shirts and left the table, and Pablo held my arm when we ascended the steps to the street.
We walked along the still crowded sidewalk. I was unsteady, and Pablo guided me when I veered off course. We walked past where I had met him. The next block was darker, and the nearest people were half a block ahead. Pablo pulled me into a doorway and wrapped his arms around me. I held him tight and looked at him.
Our faces were very close, and moving closer. Our lips met and we nibbled at each other. Then we pressed together and our mouths were open and our tongues were chasing each other and I had never felt so wonderful in all my life. It seemed like we kissed for hours, but I guess it was only for a couple of minutes.
We pulled apart and Pablo took my hand. We walked along the dark street toward my hotel, just holding hands and saying nothing.
Suddenly a strong arm wrapped around my chest. I looked around in panic and saw that same hawk nosed face I'd feared earlier. Then a cloth smothered my nose, filling it with a strange unfamiliar odor. My knees went limp, and my mind went blank.
I woke up in an unfamiliar room. I was naked, lying on my back on a bed, looking up at a single bare light bulb in the ceiling. I tried to move and found my arms and legs were tied to the corners of the bed. Muffled voices could be heard beyond a closed door, along with an occasional laugh.
I heard a noise and looked at the window. It was being pushed up, and then a white trousered leg was flung over the sill. A brown arm reached in and I saw Pablo's face. He put his finger by his lips to shush me and pulled himself into the room. "Be very quiet," he whispered.
He took a metal object from his pocket and snapped open a four inch blade. I watched him cut the ropes from my ankles, and then he scrambled up with a knee on each side of my chest to cut my hand free. He bent his head and pecked me on the lips and crawled off the bed. I swung myself around and stood up while he cut loose my other hand.
"There are my clothes," I whispered, pointing to a pile in a corner of the room. Pablo grabbed the pile and tossed me my briefs.
"These now," he hissed. "The rest later. Come on."
He threw my clothes out the window and lowered himself through the opening. I got my Jockeys on and followed him out. Pablo shoved my shirt and jeans at me and picked up my shoes. We ran along the hard packed dirt of what appeared to be a narrow alley between the backs of buildings.
When we reached a brightly lit street Pablo pulled me out onto the sidewalk. People were looking at me. Pablo said, "You want people watching you. The more the better. Give me your shirt and put your pants on."
Pablo helped me balance while I danced into the legs of my jeans and pulled them up. He handed me my T-shirt and I found the front and tugged it over my head.
"Sit on that step," he said, and handed me my shoes.
"There's only one sock," I said, showing it to him.
He snatched it and tossed it into the gutter. "Put the shoes on your bare feet," he said. "Hurry!"
We walked quickly along the street, away from that awful room. Trying to stay with the lights and the people, we went up hills and down hills and around until I was completely lost. And then we were in front of my hotel.
When we had caught our breath, I grabbed Pablo and held him tight. "Thank you, Pablo," I said. "You saved me."
"I had to save you, Alan," he said. "I should have been more careful and got you home safely."
"What happened?" I asked.
"He was going to sell you," said Pablo. "You don't want to know what they were going to do to you."
"What about you?" I asked. "Will you be OK?"
"Sure," Pablo said with a wry smile. "Without me he'd go hungry."
"Come to my room with me now, Pablo," I begged.
"Your hotel doesn't let boys like me go in there," he said. "You better go inside now and get some sleep."
"Pablo!" I cried. Tears started running down my cheeks. "We're leaving in the morning. I'll never see you again."
He tried to wipe away my tears with his fingers but they kept coming. "Don't cry, amor mio," he said. "What time are you leaving?"
"After breakfast," I sniffled. "Around nine, I guess."
"Look for me in the lobby," he said. "I'll be here."
"Promise?" I said, trying to hold back my tears.
"Yes," he said. "I promise. Go inside now and get some sleep."
We hugged each other again. People were looking at us, but it didn't matter. I kissed him, smearing my lips over his. Then I pulled away and sighed.
"Buenos noches, Pablo," I said.
"Buenos noches, amor mio," he said. Then he turned and walked toward the center of town. "Hasta la vista, Alan," he called over his shoulder.
I watched him until he reached the corner and turned onto another street. Then I went inside and asked for my key and went to my room. I threw off all my clothes and crawled between the sheets of my bed and hugged the pillow tightly, feeling all alone like never before.
Then I felt the presence of Pablo, felt his warm hands caressing my shoulders. I started to lick the pillow, tasting the saltiness of his smooth brown skin. My hard dick humped against the sheet, sliding along the firm flesh of Pablo's belly. I moaned his name over and over into the soft pillow until my hot seed burst from my throbbing cock and flooded the sheet beneath me. And then I fell asleep, dreaming that we were in each other's arms.
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to be continued