All the characters and events in this story are fictitious. Any resemblance to real people, either living or dead, is entirely unintentional.
The story is copyrighted and may not be reproduced in any way without the express permission of the author who can be contacted at:
pjalexander1753@gmail.com
PJ
D'n'M Part 5
From Chapter 1:
Dan began to gently rub his inner thigh up and down over Milo's bulge whilst simultaneously circling one finger around his right nipple. This, and what would inevitably follow, was guaranteed to ensure a good night's sleep -- for them both. So Dan was both surprised and disappointed when he felt a hand come to rest firmly on his own, forcing it to stop its circular stimulation.
"Thanks for the thought, D, but I'm really not in the mood. Can we just snuggle? Do you mind?"
Yes, he did mind, mostly for M but also for himself. It had been a long week (and that was without this evening's bombshell) and he'd been looking forward to some bedtime R&R. But what he said was,
"Sure." He hoped he was managing to hide his frustration. "That's fine. We can snuggle. And tomorrow, after a good night's sleep everything will make much more sense." `And pigs might fly,' he thought.
Be advised that this chapter includes drug misuse and child exploitation.
Chapter 2:
It was hot, had to be at least 25 degrees. But then, thought Nico, it was always hot in the city except, sometimes, in the winter months of June and July. But now it was January and the heat just never let up, even now when it was gone midnight. He didn't know why he let it bother him so much, after all, there was ni puto he could do about it. He was sweating everywhere, including in all those places that used to be smooth but where hair had been growing for the past year or more which just added to his discomfort and annoyance. The T-shirt he had on, the same one that he'd been wearing for months, given to him by one of the elderly women at the Our Lady of Flowers mission hall and way too small for his growing body, was dark with moisture and stuck to his back and shoulders as if glued there. He knew he stank of teenage sweat (and worse) but with no running water in the building there was nothing he could do about that until the next time he was able to steal the hour or so he would need in order to get down to the river and back. And he knew that wouldn't be soon, not with the state his mum was in these days. But he also knew he'd have to leave her before the night was over, at least for a while, otherwise he'd have no cash or anything to barter with and that would mean nothing for his mum to snort up her nose or inject into her arm (or whichever body part he could find with a functioning vein).
The single room where they lived just made the whole temperature thing worse. The one window had no blind or covering of any sort so all day long the sun beat in, filling the space with a near suffocating blanket of heat. And with night time temperatures in the 20's there was nowhere for that heat to go, building up and up, layer upon layer, until it became just about unbearable. So that explained the sweat. Maybe it would be better if they were able to open the window, even a crack, but there was no way they could do that thanks to the disgusting smell from the more or less open sewer which ran down the middle of the street outside. But what more could you expect from Villa 31, probably the most notorious district of the city? As far as Nico could see, the sooner the whole filthy area was bulldozed to the ground the better. Except, where would they go then? This was the end of the line for people like them. There was nowhere else. If not here, in this squalid room with its bare boards and broken down furniture that he'd salvaged from the city's dumps, the bucket in one corner and the single stained mattress that his mum barely moved from these days, if not here they'd have no choice but to be back living on the street itself and his mum simply wouldn't survive out there, not again. In fact, as Nico knew only too well, she was barely surviving now. He also knew that she was in increasing need of medical help but that was yet another in a long list of unobtainables. It was only the cash he could make by running errands, the petty shop-lifting, the endless bartering and the late night transactions under the railway bridge or on the far side of the open ground by the food processing plant that enabled them to scrape some sort of existence (he wouldn't call it living).
From outside came the noises of the night, the aggressive revving of the engines of the bikes being raced up and down the narrow streets by any of the local 11 and 12 year olds who weren't out delivering `merchandise' to the desperate (like his mum?); the throaty, beer-fuelled laughter of the groups of men gathered around the tables at both of the unlicensed cafes further down the street, laughter that regularly erupted into anger and dispute, blows exchanged and breaking glass; the raucous voices of the women complaining about their no-good men and the price of soap powder, even at this time of night; the discordant battle of accordion and hip-hop swirling out of a dozen nearby windows and doorways; the shrill squeal of sirens -- police? ambulance? (probably both) -- wailing over near the port; the timeless gasps and groans of a 20-peso knee-trembler fuck just beyond the window, almost drowned out by the seemingly-ceaseless screams of a hungry baby coming from somewhere upstairs in the building. How, Nico wondered for the thousandth time, could his mum sleep through it all? Of course, he knew the answer to that question only too well. Knew, in fact, that it was up to him and only him to make sure that her waking time was as short and pain-free as possible. He knew because it was the same every night.
Back when things had been mostly bearable, sometimes even good, Miguel had been their life-line, though hadn't he just known it? What he provided with one hand -- the protection, the drugs, the bottles of cheap booze, the half-way decent food, the knife -- he could just as easily take away with the other. Back then his mum wouldn't hear a word said against him, but then she wouldn't, would she? After all, it was Miguel who had got her and el mocoso off the street and into La Casa de los Suenos (what a bad joke that had turned out to be - more like the house of nightmares); it was Miguel who had kept the worst of La Casa's more thuggish clients from picking out his mum when they came round late at night, boozed up and stoned, happy to beat up any piece of pussy unfortunate enough to catch their eye. Of course, it was also Miguel who had helped ease her pain', first with as much weed as she could smoke, then the meth, and then ever-increasing amounts of white powder, then brown, until she was no longer any good to him or, when it came to it, to herself. And that was when he, Nico, had started to be useful in her place. Yes, at first it had just been simple little jobs that any young kid might do -- down to the store for smokes, taking a parcel to one of the big houses in Recoleta or Retiro, delivering a message to one of the other bosses' in the city -- all easy enough for a young boy who had lived long enough around people like Miguel to know that survival was everything and questions were dangerous.
Although he had been one of many street-wise kids who hung around, it wasn't long before Miguel had started to single him out for particular attention. Of course, Nico thought it was because he was a good kid who was quick and polite and did as he was told. But, in truth, it was his other assets that had attracted Miguel's attention as a potentially significant asset to be successfully monetised - the mostly pale, private areas of skin between waist and knees that generally remained covered, therefore providing a delicious untanned contrast with the rest of his smooth young body, the blonde hair and pale blue eyes, so unusual (and, as a result, oh-so-marketable) in this dark-haired and brown-eyed country, the willingness to please (especially when his mother's next fix was at risk), and, especially in those last few months, the promise of the even-greater usefulness beginning to be evident in his increasing height and sturdy muscles. After all, had reasoned Miguel, you could never have too much protection, especially protection that was in life-long and unrepayable debt to you.
At first Nico had been thrilled at being singled out for special attention, working pretty much full time at La Casa alongside Santos, one of Miguel's older boys. He had enjoyed taking the men their drinks, lighting their cigars, calling down the chosen girl when the time came. They would give him tips or they said he could keep the change from their tab at the end of the night, sometimes as much as five or ten pesos. He had become popular among some of the regulars, Miguel's friends and his various "business associates". They called him their little chico encantador and encouraged him to stand close where they could pat his head or pinch his cheek. Once, when one of them had got pretty boozed up and tried putting a hand up the leg of his shorts, Miguel had Santos throw the man out with a warning not to come back -- ever.
So he had known that Miguel was one of the good guys, someone who took care of his mum and looked after him, who made sure they had their own room in La Casa which wasn't ever used for business, who bought him smart clothes and let him keep some of the cash he received from the clients. Back then he knew he had it lucky, definitely luckier than the kids he had known in the days when the only places they could find to live were doss houses, or worse. When anyone asked him what about school he would always answer by saying, yeah, what about school? School, he'd say, had given up on him years ago. And who needed school anyway? He could read and write enough to get by in both Spanish and English (thanks to his mum) and Miguel was teaching him everything else that he needed to know. Miguel was the man.
After that time when the guy got thrown out it had seemed okay, strange but okay, when Miguel had started encouraging him to pay extra attention to some of what he called the specials.' Paying extra attention meant sitting on a knee, allowing them to stroke his face or leg, draping his arm around a neck. He couldn't say he liked it exactly but it was something that Miguel wanted him to do -- "to make the specials' feel extra special" he said -- so Nico went along with it, saw it as another sign that he was one of Miguel's favourites, made him feel as if he was really manning-up and supporting his mum, something she was becoming less and less able to do for herself.
He'd snarled and told her to go stuff herself (even aged eleven he knew how to put someone down, especially a woman) when one of the newer girls, Tori, had tried to warn him, told him there was no such thing as a free lunch (whatever that meant). He wished, now, that he'd listened to her, but what did she know? She was just a ten-peso hooker, not one of Miguel's favourites like him. He'd even walked into her room one day and there she was, on her knees, with the fat guy's pants in a pool round his ankles and his pisser in her mouth. Disgusting. `Who would do that?' he thought. So who was she to tell him that Miguel was no good and that he should get out of there and never look back and definitely not tell anyone where he was going, including his mum?
Yes, he knew now, more than two unspeakable years later, that he really should have listened to her. No, not like she'd told him, to get out of there as soon as, and not to think about taking his `useless stoner' mum with him, but definitely to get out, the two of them together. It would have saved them both a lot of trouble, trouble and pain.
The bad stuff had properly started the night that a new special' turned up at La Casa. He wasn't one of the standard specials', sweaty, with greased hair, two or three days of stubble, blue jeans straining to contain the fat overhang of a stomach, a plain v-necked T worn under a shapeless polyester jacket and beat-up Nikes. No, this man was in a different league. His face was smooth and, when Nico was close enough to notice, smelling of some sort of tangy perfume. He wore a light-coloured linen suit, pale blue shirt and spotless espadrilles. He walked into the crowded reception room (it was late, nearly midnight) with such a style and sense of belonging that everyone in the room stopped to look, they couldn't help themselves, even Miguel, who immediately stood up from his favourite corner table where he'd been drinking and playing cards, dismissed the other players and crossed the room in two or three strides with a not-100%-convincing smile on his face, opening his arms in a wide gesture of welcome and shouting an order for bourbon -- a bottle, not a glass -- to be fetched. "Now Santos!". This was obviously someone that Miguel seriously wanted to impress, so Nico was more than pleased when he clicked his fingers at the boy and waved him over to the table. Nico grand-standed his way towards Miguel and the newcomer, knowing that everyone was watching.
When Nico was within stretching distance Miguel pointed to the bottle and two glasses and made it clear that he wanted him to pour. No-one else was invited to join them. Before sitting down himself Miguel guided Nico to stand beside "Su Excelencia Felipe" and told him to make sure that the visitor's glass should be re-filled whenever necessary. After that the tense atmosphere in the room noticeably relaxed, as if everyone had been holding their breath, waiting to see how the boss would handle things. Conversations started up again, someone turned up the music to its previous volume (who had turned it down Nico wondered) and the other visitors turned their attention back to their drinks and their smokes and whatever girl they could afford for the evening.
It wasn't long before Nico was sitting on Su Excelencia's lap, being encouraged to take sips from his glass of the best-quality, high-strength bourbon. It burned and almost made him choke, almost, but Nico knew that his job was to please and be pleasing. So, although it made him feel uncomfortable and not so very different from girls like Tori, he smiled as his thigh was stroked and immediately complied when Su Excelencia suggested that having his earlobe licked and nibbled would be very acceptable. Even the way he spoke was different from anyone else who ever came to La Casa thought Nico. And when the man thanked him and handed over a ten peso note the boy couldn't believe his luck. Ten pesos was worth any amount of ear licking.
And that was how things went for the man's next few visits. Su Excelencia would arrive, always immaculately and expensively dressed, Nico would appear and pour his bourbon, sit on his knee, lick his ear, allow himself to be stroked. It was by the third or fourth visit that he became aware that, as the stroking and licking increased, so did the hardness between the man's legs. But Nico wasn't stupid, he knew well enough what was happening. After all, in the previous few months he'd noticed his own boystick getting stiff and strangely demanding but it generally didn't last long and a quick fondle when no-one was looking or alone in his bed at night was usually enough to satisfy it. And it was good to know that he wasn't somehow strange or unusual. If the same thing happened to Su Exclencia then it was obviously perfectly normal. And if, somehow, he was the cause of the man's pleasure then that was even better, especially as the size of the `little gifts' had risen to twenty pesos.
Miguel, too, was pleased with the boy and repeatedly told him so. And Miguel's obvious pleasure with Nico's relationship with Su Excelencia meant that his mum was given an easier ride and better stuff to feed her ever-increasing need.
Then, when things changed, they changed very suddenly and very quickly. Always before Su Excelencia had arrived unexpectedly, at least, as far as Nico knew, but on one particular day towards the end of winter and the beginning of the hot season, Miguel came to find him in the concrete yard behind La Casa, kicking a ball around with Santos. He said that `the extra special one' would be visiting that evening and that he, Miguel, wanted him, Nico, to be particularly nice and that if he was asked for anything unusual, whatever it might be, then he, Miguel, expected him, Nico, to do exactly what Su Excelencia wanted, no matter what. And with no questions asked. Nico wasn't sure what Miguel meant. He was always happy to please and when Santos grinned, patted him on the butt and said he was going up in the world he had felt sure the night was going to be an especially good one. How wrong he was.
When he arrived at La Casa, Su Excelencia seemed just as he had on every one of his other visits, and the evening began, as it always did, with the bourbon, the knees, the stroking and the licking. Nico thought he could feel the hardness in the man's trousers sooner than usual but didn't pay it much notice not, that is, until a whispered voice in his ear told him he should get his own private part hard by rubbing himself through his shorts.
"What, here, with everyone able to see?" Nico asked in a voice that expressed his surprise and confusion.
"Yes," came the insistent reply, "Here and now."
Nico hesitated. This wasn't right, he thought. This wasn't what they did. He decided to try to get things back to normal with more ear-licking but the man turned his head away, simultaneously putting his own hand between Nico's legs and beginning to rub up and down. The boy looked across the table to Miguel, expecting him to intervene somehow, to put a stop to this weird and unwanted behaviour, like he had with the guy who had been thrown out. But Miguel simply smiled at him, indicating by a nod of his head that Nico should do as he was told. Nico would have jumped off the man's knee, except now there was a surprisingly strong arm holding him around the chest.
"There's no need to be afraid," came the whispered voice in his ear. "Just relax. We're going to have an especially good time this evening. Your boss, Senor Miguel, says you like to please people and I definitely like being pleased. You are a very special boy. So relax and enjoy yourself."
Nico, thoroughly confused now and alarmed by these completely unexpected developments, began to squirm in Su Excelencia's lap.
"That's nice," came the voice. "Do it some more."
Nico instantly stopped moving and once again looked to Miguel to help him out of this seriously concerning situation. Instead Miguel waved Santos over to the table and quietly gave him an order.
"With your permission, Su Excelencia," Santos said with a slight bow of his head. Then, looking directly at Nico, "You, come with me."
With that he took a firm hold of Nico's arm and pulled him to his feet.
"He will be ready for you in just a few minutes." Santos bowed again as he began to move towards the stairs leading to the upper floor, more or less dragging Nico behind him. Everyone else in the room stopped whatever they had been doing and watched, everyone in the room knowing exactly what was going on. Everyone in the room, that is, apart from Nico.
The boy opened his mouth to protest, to tell Santos to stop gripping his arm in that uncomfortable way, to demand that Miguel should make all this go away. But one look at the expression on Miguel's face and whatever words were about to come out of Nico's mouth became frozen in his throat. It wouldn't be long before they were replaced by something much, much harder to swallow.
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