Lord of The Skies

Part 1

Humiliated, standing on the curb with my jeans cut off so short; I had no underwear.  Now he pulled my shirt over my head.  Right on the sidewalk--everyone was looking.  

I was about to kick the old man; stomp his foot and run.  So angry, he was going to sell me.  Called me puto and slapped my face.  

Winced but I won’t cry.

“Let me go!  Where’s my father?”  Yelled, struggled to escape.  My father already paid him to take us to Cuidad Juarez.  Paid cash, in full.  The coyote was going to sell me instead.  “Let me go.”

The old coyote laughed, “In your dreams.”  He spat at me.

Didn’t see the turn in my life coming when a black pickup truck with darkened windows stopped at the curb behind me.  A stranger jumped out, screaming at the coyote who held me by my hair, shoved him against a phone pole, cursed him.

They shouted at each other until the stranger from the truck pressed his body into the coyote’s, holding his wrists tightly. “Do you know who I am?”  

“That’s my boy.”  Coyote’s fists readied to throw an uppercut when he could free himself.

“I’m Amado Fuertes.”  Grunted softly, then he glanced around.  

Coyote fell silent.  

Two gunshots popped nearby.  People screamed, the street cleared.  Fuertes threw the man to the sidewalk, shoved me in the second seat of the truck and jumped in behind me.  “Get outta here!”

We were both breathing hard.  Still confused yet instinctively, I felt calmer off the street. inside the truck with cool air and music playing softly.  The truck doors locked as the truck sped through the traffic.  

* * *

I sat beside a man who didn’t look Latino  He was pale with a straight nose, full lips and big brown eyes.  Appeared European, handsome; Sr. Amado Fuertes. 

“Are you police?”  Sweating, my voice wavered..

“Not directly… Don’t be afraid --truck’s bulletproof.” 

From the console he pulled bottles of water, handed me one, “Where do you live?  We’ll take you.”  

Stymied.  Should I tell him I’m en transito?  Should I lie, tell him I live close by?  “Not directly” with the police--would he turn me over to the federales?  My father was somewhere in Mexico and farther away by the moment.  Couldn’t answer his question.

“Where is your family?”  He asked.

Again I couldn’t answer.  They were the reason my father and I left.

Not frustrated, but with a smile, he tousled my hair and lifted my face, “You’re no criminal, but you are on the run, aren’t you?”  He lifted his eyebrows in question.

I nodded, looked away.

“I can handle that--can’t leave you on the curb.”   

He looked me over, leaned back, spoke to his driver:  “Hmm... of course Azuela and we can’t forget Octavio.  I’ll call him Angel.  Angel Azuela Paz.   Born July first, 1991 in Lomas Del Arena.  Get it made, asap.”  He turned to me, smiling. “Angel.”

Before I even knew what he was, he renamed me Angel Azuela Paz?  Nothing like my real name.  Father and I had lied several times before; explained disguises and deception were part of our journey.  

“Who are you?  Why call me Angel?”

“They call me Lord of the Skies; I’d like your company in the stratosphere.”  His face lit, pleased with himself.  

Told the driver to drop him at the airport and take me to the house, make me comfortable.  “We’ll go to Lomas Del Arena later, closer to the border.”  He gave me a wink.

“I want my father.  Is Lomas Del Arena near Cuidad Juarez?” 

“Where did you last see your popi?”  Amado patted my thigh, studied my face.

“In back of the big truck, I don’t know where we were--maybe Guerrero.  We got separated.  All the kids and I were shoved into a van and taken away.”

“I see.  Paco, tell Jude to look for his father.”  The driver nodded, glanced in the rear-view mirror grinning.

* * *

Fuertes stayed on the phone as we drove.  Decided to be quiet and jump out when the doors unlocked.  No.  We drove too fast on the highways.

Didn’t go to the big airport, but drove south, outside the city.  Open fields with asphalt strips and a few small buildings.  Inside a big, empty building was a small, sleek plane.  His Learjet, Fuertes said.

Fuertes went up the ladder to the cabin of the aircraft.  As it pulled away, “Sr. Fuertes is a pilot?”  I asked Paco.

“Among other things.”  He chuckled.

* * *

I watched out the window as we headed east toward the big city.  Pulled into the circular drive of a big white house surrounded by a high wall.  

A young man, I guessed was Jude, came out, smiling when he saw us.  “Who is this?”  He extended a smooth, brown hand to me.

“Angel Azuela Paz, un ángel-- con hoyuelos.”  A dimpled angel.  “Go with Jude, he’s going to help you.”  

“Where’s his bag?”  Jude stared at what was left of my ragged jeans.

“There’s nothing else.  Amado said to help the kid find his father, clean him up.”   Paco winked as he turned, watched the gate close and latch, then disappeared down a walkway between the fuchsia vines.

* * *

Showered, I wrapped a towel around myself and was led to the patio.  Looked over a wide lawn behind the house surrounded by vines with flowers, papaya and mango trees.  Patio was ringed with palms and ferns.

Jude washed my few rags, emptying  the pockets of my jeans.  He found my tiny, round ocarina in the shape of a snail.  I grabbed it and rubbed the smooth red clay that had come so far with me.  “Mi caracol.”

My caracol wasn’t alone, there were plenty of ceramics in this house--pottery, figurines.  Through the hallways, around the rooms, odd jars, urns were placed.  Vases, stylized human forms, all sizes and all decorated with swaying patterns of flowers, people and animals.  Each had a milky glaze over the deep terracotta color giving the entire house the feeling of fleshiness against the rough white stucco walls.  Familiar, in a blurry way.

Standing by a table eating bolillos and fruit, Jude measured my waist and my height, “How old are you?”

“Old enough to work.” Fresh grapes, pineapple, I stuffed my mouth;  hungry.

He chuckled, “Yeah, sure.  Short--that’s to your advantage.”  Combing the tangles from my wet hair, “Such a beauty.  You’ll do well.”

“Do what well?”

Jude didn’t answer immediately, “Almost anything you want.  I chose engineering, you could say.  Now, tell me where you’re from and your father’s name.”

“My grandfather worked a gold mine at San Miguel Ixtahuacán.”

“My Mayan prince, come.”  In an office down the hall, we went online and researched the western Guatemala Highlands.  Jude made a few notes and showed me the faces of a lot of men.  I could half-recognize two of them but the photos were fuzzy, I wasn’t sure.  I saw several coyotes, but they changed along the way.

He sat me at a smaller desk nearby, asked me to describe my father.  There were markers and scribbled paper, “Are these for your kids?”

“Amado has several children--all grown.  For now we’ll file this report on your father. Then, I’ll check you over.”

He went to another room, brought lotion and clothes for me.  The clothes were from a bigger boy--smelled like they’d been packed away.. 

* * * 

First, Jude carefully unwrapped my towel.  I stood naked, and cold in front of him.  Covered myself with my hands, he chuckled.  

Palmful of lotion, he began rubbing it over my shoulders and sides, “I’m sure your father would allow me to care for you.  Turn around.”  Jude’s voice was soft and his motions were slow and gentle.

He lightly stroked the lavender scented lotion.  “Perfect, not a blemish.”  Pulling me closer to him, he spread the lotion on my front, inspected my small pene.  Seeing my long foreskin, he smiled.  

Lotion on my verga, between my legs.  Pene got hard, but it felt so good I couldn’t move.  We both grinned.  

Slender hands carefully slipped up my butt, spreading the lotion, “No one here wants to hurt you, and you can always refuse.  There will be a few difficult moments as you grow.  Happens to all of us.”  He kissed my head while his finger rubbed my hole.  

Later, Jude called Paco to the kitchen.  Paco made horchata for me while Jude called for a pizza,”Grande.  Chorizo--si, si, and olives....”  

I sat at a high stool watching them, wondering if my father had dinner.  Made me sad to think of him on the road alone.  He would worry about me, I knew he would.  

As soon as I finished my first slice of pizza, my head became heavy, I couldn’t stay awake; Paco’s big hands took me to a bed.  

First time in several weeks I slept in a bed. Noticed the quiet; no motor whining or the sound of tires on asphalt.  I slept deeply, though I was chilled several times until Jude came.  He slept beside me with his arm over my hips; how did he know that’s how my father slept with me?

* * *

Woke up hearing noise in the kitchen, the smell of toast.  Found Paco pouring coffee, heavy with cream and sugar.  He pushed it toward me. “Cereal?”  

Brightly iced conchas sat on a plate in front of me.  Pastry on a deep red plate with the design of a quetzal.  I pushed the concha aside and traced the shape of the bird with my finger remembering scorched tortillas and milk with my father.  

“Where’s Jude?”  Sipping my coffee, enjoying my concha.

“Working.”  He smiled, “You get a haircut later.”  He pulled me on his thick thigh, sat me in front of him to eat.  “Do you swim?  There’s a pool behind the trees.”

I nodded.  “What about my father?  Where is Sr. Fuertes?”

“Amado’s staying in Havana, I believe.  Today I’ll file a second report on your father in town, my beauty.”  Jude came, turned on the radio and joined us.  

Strange being treated so well; easy to like.  Yet everything in the house was indistinct; undefined.  From their conversations, I still knew little of these men.  Jude was an engineer?  He didn’t have drawings or plans I saw.  Paco did look like a truck driver, but his words puzzled me.  

Over and over, I wondered why Sr. Fuertes saved me; why the old coyote was afraid of Fuertes.

Part 2

Paco dropped us off at a small house in an old neighborhood.  Inside, a single woman had a small salon, cut our hair.  She cut my hair short so the curls stuck out everywhere.  I was not happy; Jude shushed me.

Paco returned with a plastic bag containing a blue cloud.  Algodón de azúcar?  He tossed me the treat as Jude frowned, “Diet, watch the diet.”

“He’s so thin, and come so far, let him have a treat.”

“Did you find my father?” 

“Federales got the report.”  Paco tousled my hair, “Said they’d send his description across Mexico.”  He brushed my curls back from my face, kissed my forehead.  

I felt like his pet.

We were almost back at  the house when we had to pull to the side of the street for three long, black cars to pass.  “What’s that?”

“Zedillo’s transport, I suspect.”  Jude muttered.

I knew that name, “You mean President Zedillo--the president of Mexico?  He lives here?”

“Could be.”  Paco got us back home; the gate locked behind us.  

My life was peaceful with two men watching me--didn’t seem like they were working hard but they did disappear, one at a time, for several hours.  Paco and I walked the perimeter, checked the wiring and the lights.  

Didn’t know we were on security cameras--I was still a paleto, a stupid campesino.  I knew farm animals, crops and the jungles.

After almost a month, Jude asked if I wanted to work while we waited for my father.  He didn’t tell me what my job would be.  Maybe I could earn enough money for a bus ticket to Cuidad Juarez, find my father.

* * *

It happened at night, I heard the front gate open and shut.  Someone came into the house; I was too sleepy to get up.  Footsteps in the hallway, hushed voices in the dark.  It stopped, I felt Jude come back to bed.  

Next morning, I heard Paco in the kitchen.  When I came downstairs he signaled me to be quiet.  “Go put your shoes on--always wear your tennies when Amado’s here.” 

“Why?”  I’d run barefoot or in sandals before.

He held me against his big chest, “Running…”  He stopped abruptly, “We may have a footrace, my love.”  He smiled; I couldn’t tell if he was joking or not.

That day I was told to stay with Paco cleaning the pool, pruning the plants.  The day was hot, and the air was dingy--this house was outside el Distrito Federal, Mexico City--the sky was never clear blue like in the Highlands.  

Cool in the garage; Paco and I spent the afternoons there. Sang to the radio and checked the fluid levels, the air pressure in the tires.  Ate lunch on the patio in the shade feeding wild lorikeets. 

It was that evening when I became uneasy, like a fog that blurred everything in this place would lift, monsters would emerge.  

* * *

Jude called us from the pool before dinner..

I smelled him first; ointments and medicine.  Amado Fuertes sat at the big dining table, facing me.  His neck and face were bandaged, and part of his head was shaved.  Left hand was bandaged, like he’d picked up something hot.  Despite that, he offered me a small smile, “My Angel, how do you like it here?”

I nodded, studying Fuertes’ face.  It had been a while since I met him.  His skin had a yellowish-orangish cast, and his eyes were dull.  “Are you sick?”

“Not at my best.  Jude’s going to get me up and going again.  Have you heard from your father?” 

“No, have you?”  

He stood, came by my chair, “My Angel, you’re aware of the violence on the roads, at the borders, Jude tells me you watch the news.  You’re a strong boy, and you may become a huerfano at some point.”  He kissed my head, “You’ll always have a place here.”  

He excused himself and went upstairs.  Paco and I ate in silence.  As we took our plates to the kitchen, “Did Sr. Fuertes mean my father died?”

“He doesn’t know.  It’s a possibility--many die on the roads.”  

* * *

The next day, life changed radically.  Jude told me to stay with Sr. Fuertes, “Stay close to him.  Bring what he wants while I’m gone.  At eleven o’clock, give him one of these.”  He handed me a small bottle with several capsules.  He left for the farmacia.

Jude had always been kind in a distant way, but now his voice was brusque, sharp.  I promised I’d stay, though Fuertes didn’t look well.  Would he die?  

* * *

Fuertes was drowsy, and watched telenovelas, nodding off occasionally.  At eleven, I brought fruit and water; showed him the pill.  “Jude says to take it.” 

“Bring Corona.”  He whispered, pushed the water away.  I ran downstairs and got his beer, Paco pulled me back and gave me a cold mug.  

When I returned, Sr. Fuertes sat naked, looking out the wide window.  “Hurry, Angel.  When my mind is empty, memories wake.”  He pulled me to him and took my jeans off of my skinny legs.  

My ocarina fell from the pocket.  “This is yours?”

“My father gave it to  me.”  I picked it up, played two tones.  “It’s a snail.”  In my palm, I held it forward.

Scooping me onto his lap, he took the snail and blew a few notes, “Your father’s gift?  A precious thing--keep it always.”

He took a deep draw of the beer and pulled me to his chest, “Tell me how your father treated you.  Does he kiss you….”  His unbandaged hand slowly moved over my skin as his eyes closed.  Soon, he half-stood, staggered to the bed and fell onto it.  

Fuertes’ torso rose and fell, he was breathing.  Called Paco to help me lift Fuertes’ legs, covered him and closed the curtains.  Sitting in the dark corner, memories of my father woke.  I cried, not for me, but my father.

Jude came back, saw the beer and shook his head, ordered me downstairs.  “Coño!”

Part 3

Fuertes was “underwater,” as Jude called it.  Said it happened after his surgeries, the gasses he breathed to numb him also made him confused and depressed for days afterward.  

Paco and I watched a number of doctors come and go from behind hedges around the pool the next few days.  Jude wouldn’t allow a nurse to stay.

Took Fuertes several weeks to heal and his handsome European features were altered.  Wore makeup till his scars were fully closed.  Fuertes stayed on the phone or sleeping most of the days; he ignored me while he caught up with his work.

* * *

Nights were enjoyable as I began training for my work:  Jude took me to his bed, and asked me to tell him about my father.  As I look back, I could see him slipping me into my role almost unnoticed.  

Jude and Paco never used words like cola and maricón like in my village.  They called me principe--their prince.

Jude didn’t force anything, but planned and moved systematically toward his objective.  I was being prepared for Sr. Fuertes’ bed.  Lessons in pleasure; I looked forward to Jude’s touches as an apt student.  He was as tender and slow as my father had been.

Nightly classes, piece by piece, my place between three men became clearer: Paco and Jude were Amado’s lovers when younger.  Lovers who knew his ways and were paid well for their loyalty.  Keeping lovers close, giving them skills was profitable as the more they knew, the more they needed Fuertes’ security.  

Jude hedged asking if my father put his cock in my rear.  He hadn’t.  Father waited for me to ask for more of him.  I wasn’t sure where my father’s fingers would have gone; my body was curious.

So it began:  One finger, then two; small syringes to rinse me. Jude told me that I was growing inside, making glands which every man had, but not all enjoyed the way I would.  

We watched porn together.  Men taking boys; boys sucking nipples, balls.  In an intimate class, Paco’s heavy body was used for demonstrating technique.  I was shown how to touch a penis, how to lick it, and caress the most sensitive part--the triangle below his slit.  

At sundown, Paco began leaking heavily.  He shot loads of cum during those brief sessions, and always laughed, encouraged me while Jude perfected my skills.  Vague images grew inside me, I began to think of my father during these classes.  There came a moment I wanted to feel my father inside me.  

Jude gave me my nightly class though he could see how excited and hard my verga was, that was all I got.  “Amado’s always first.”  

He and Paco fitted me with a small butt plug.  I was prepared for a sensual induction into this tribe. 

* * *

Induction delayed when Amado took over a new route.  Jude was silent, clearly not in agreement with the sudden acquisition.  They spoke about a war in hushed tones.  The news didn’t carry any reports of an invasion.

Paco and I spent more time together in the truck on errands.  We looked for my father, driving slowly along the lines of laborers.  Searched for my father in the parks, along the streets.  

Families strolled the plazas, kids ran ahead of their parents; everyone enjoying the evening.  Parents yelled their children’s names, “Get back here Manolo!”

On the way home that same day, Paco asked, “What is your real name Angel?”

“Chak.”  My name hadn’t come from my lips for over a year, it made my eyes burn.  “Is Paco your real name?”

“Nope, I’m Sal.”  He looked at me, “Salvatore.”  The first time he’d said his own name in decades.  Quiet trip back; both despondent--we’ heard our families voice’s calling for us from the past.

Día de los Muertos, Día de Año Nuevo, Pascua de Resurrección; holidays came and went while we stayed inside the compound.  Jude was tense, kept bags packed by the door; told me they were donations he’d give to the poor.  I doubted that.  

* * *

Fuertes again left the house, took off several days, came home late.

“Don’t say anything about his face.”   Jude took me to Fuertes’ bedroom, and I slipped under the sheets beside him.

Voices whispered in the hallway; Paco and Jude.  I wondered why until I smelled the ointment. Again, Fuertes was “underwater.”  His new acquisition brought new distributors along the supply chain.  Always paranoid, ever careful,  he had another surgery.

In the dim light, he embraced me, kissed my face.  “My Angel.  My beautiful boy.”  His lips kissed my hair, his hands went over my skin, he put his hand on my wrist, pushed it to his cock.  “Suck me, make me hard.”

Kissing along his stubble, his once heavy jaw was now sharp, he winced; I moved to his neck, his hands directed me to his nipple.  “Bite hard, so I can feel you.”  

In the half-shadow of his profile I looked closely.  He didn’t have a cleft in his chin before--did he?

I sucked, rubbed his big balls, buried my nose in the bush of hair on his groin.  Held his verga tightly, I tried keeping the blood inside his rod, but he went soft and slept.  

He was breathing softly; face was swollen into a half-beastly shape.  He was unaware of me.  Covered him carefully, took his drink from the nightstand and left.  

Paco and Jude met me in the kitchen.  “Don’t ever say anything about what just happened..”  Jude said it was getting worse every time.

They were resigned to a thought which was like my own:  All the finery Amado’s money brought only meant more security and security isolated us to the point we couldn’t relax.  We were incarcerated by Fuertes’ business.

No freedom in the lap of luxury and things were about to change.

Part 4

Paco was direct and thorough, he was a mechanical and electrical wizard  Jude had finesse, sophistication; a highly organized way of managing things.  

Amado had excellent business skills; as clever as he was ruthless in expanding his empire.  He bought people in the highest levels of the Mexican government, military and the CEOs of the largest companies.  Disloyalty equated with a short life. 

Fuertes’ fame made it so we couldn't leave easily and we couldn’t stay the way we were to be ambushed.  More face-altering surgeries were risky.  Devising another way would require extreme innovation.  

Should have stayed with the old coyote, easier to escape the streets, but I didn’t even know where I was at that time.  When I thought of my father, I knew he was imagining me beside him.

* * *

Tension increased inside the house as cartels formed, grew and  fell constantly.  We all knew Fuertes’ empire would fall--too large to control..

The hounds were nipping at Fuertes’ heels.  Technology made his earnings easier, yet left tracks others could follow.  Twenty-five billion was more than he’d ever use.  Fuertes’ family was taken care of and grown; parents were taken care of, had all they could ever want..  

“I won’t die in hiding.”  Fuertes admitted after several loud discussions with Jude.  “I’m going to live the way I want to live, the way I was intended to live.”  

* * *

All the way to Lomas Del Arena they discussed an intricate plan.  Couldn’t understand everything, and it sounded like a substitution scheme.

Left late at night.  North, through the silver mines we drove.  Grabbing tortas at gas stations, packing drinks and fruit, tortillas and cheese kept us on the road all night.  

Finally, the Chihuahua desert flattened the landscapes ahead.  Heat.  Incredible heat; the sun was bright, the sky clear.  

We took on the uniforms of the campesinos--straw hats, plaid shirts, jeans and boots.  Sunglasses, always sunglasses and I was dressed in a peasant blouse, bright colors, embroidered with birds and flowers.  Paco used his pocket knife to cut my hair so my curls would make me appear girlish. 

* * *

The tones of their voices were low, serious, as they discussed the elaborate ploy involving a turncoat and two of Amado’s henchmen. Most of it would happen inside a hospital.  A substitute would fill in for Fuertes and take the hit.

I made my own plan.  I felt strong enough to find my father on my own, or return home to the Highlands.  Luck staying with me, I’d succeed one way or the other.

* * *

Lomas Del Arena is near the US border in the state of Chihuahua.  Barren and beautiful mesas rising from the sands.  About thirty people lived in the area--small town, no store or church, no plaza or market.  Only a few scattered, adobe houses, tumbleweeds and snakes.  

Wondered why we were here until we took a sandy road for several kilometers.  

Paco slowed.  A pale metal door opened ahead of us,  It looked to be the opening to a mine on the side of a mesa.  He pulled the truck into the darkness, turned his headlights on.  Silent darkness.  A dim overhead light came on to reveal an old truck pockmarked with bullet holes  parked ahead of us.

“Let’s go.”  Jude opened the door, “We’ll stay here, find out who’s on the border.  I heard Ojinaga is fortified.”

“Is Ojinaga near Cuidad Juárez?  My father may be there.”

Fuertes quickly turned in his seat, “No.  Avoid Ojinaga.  Traitors are gunning for me there and if they find out you’re with me, bad things will happen.”

Cold chill as Jude led me to a door and up a set of crude wooden stairs.  

Small lights came on; Jude lit a lantern revealing several large rooms sparsely furnished.  “What is this place?”

“My mine,”  Jude smiled, “Engineered it myself.  Totally self-sufficient.  Fuertes can work and stay well-hidden.”

“Why hide here?”

Out of the sunlight, out of the capital, my life came into sharp focus as Paco explained:  “Amado’s second in command of  the Juarez Cartel based in Ojinaga.  There’s always someone who wants his position.”  Paco whispered.

* * *

They ate by lantern light  while I looked around.  Seemed a solar-thermal system generated electricity for the computers.  A slight breeze ran through the simple compound--couldn’t find the vents; breeze smelled dry, like chalk.  

When I found the bath, I filled the small tub, lay in the cool water and decided I’d beg for my life, “Let me off near a border, I’ll find my way.”  If I couldn’t find my father with the US migra, the Mexican Federales, I’d go to the church for shelter to begin again.  

Jude found me and took me to Amado’s bed; closed the curtain.

* * *

Anxious, I went to Fuertes slowly.  He wasn’t underwater now, but smiling.  Went to him ready, I needed the nearness of a man holding me.

“Show me those dimples, my angel.”  He cocked his head and reached for me.  “Do you know, when I think of you, I see sandia--a dark green, ripe watermelon.”

Pulling me into his arms, “Turn over.”  He put me on my hands and knees, “Have you ever stolen a watermelon, cracked it open, used your thumbs to pull it apart, then stuck your face into the red, sweet meat?”  His lips kissed along my cleft.

Big thumbs pulled my cheeks apart roughly.  I felt his spit, then the tip of his rod at my hole.

“That first feel of the warm, soft, meat, the taste of sweetness on your tongue.  The perfection of the untouched….”  Pressed his rod against my hole.  

Shoved.

Burning began, though I wasn’t ready, there was cleansing with  the pain.  

Stroked a few times.  Slowed, and the pain, the stretch, ceased.  Cursing, he pulled out and told me to suck him, “Make it good.”

That didn’t work.

“Jude!”  He called for his pills.

“You ran out....”  Jude looked at me and pointed to the other room,  “I’ll take care of this.”

* * *

On the couch, I lay in the dark. Paco came in, “Did he hurt you?”

I shook my head.  “He can’t stay hard.”

“When your work steals your hard-on, there’s not much left in life.  He used to be the number-one vaquero.  Come to bed with me.  They’re  going to get loud with Amado on the bottom.”

* * *

Naked, Paco was a bearish, heavy man, smiling confidently.  Cock rose from a thick, tight bush of dark hair, balls hung red and low.  I inspected his dick, shiny head was full, rounded, with a dark ring of delicate skin.  Veins, big and dark, like rivers on a map pulsed.  Strong man with an incredible body.  

“Tonight is for you.  Hold my neck.  Bend your knees and put them under my arms.  I’ll give you what a boy needs--what I wanted when I was your age.”  He pulled my hips to his face and growled.  Laughed hard when he first sucked my pene, it was only about as big as his little finger, but it was ready.  

Not so gently he began tugging my huevos, they were about the size of the end of this thumb.  When his stubble rubbed my bare groin, I shivered, and  pressed hard against his face.  Took my whole rod and balls in his mouth and sucked hard, trying to distract me from his thick middle finger roughly rubbing my hole.  His finger entered abruptly and he stopped.  

With a mouth full of me, “Jude told me your body could feel this now.  Keep your eyes on mine.  Concentrate on my finger.”  

Sucking me gently, the pad of his finger found the spot that made my body tremble, tingle.  I closed my eyes to concentrate.

My jaw dropped, head tilted.  His finger rubbed and pressed; lips gathered around my rod, tongue pushed my foreskin all the way down; rough texture of his tongue on the underside of my shaft excited me.  I began hunching and felt urgent needs rise.  This couldn’t stop--it felt like everything I never knew I needed all at once.  

He continued through my trembling; I felt the flashes of lightning cracking through me.

He continued through my kitten-mewls, my grunts.  My gasps when two fingers filled me, stretching me tightly.

He continued when I stopped breathing as his third finger entered quickly and he thrummed inside me.  Desperation for more yawed inside my chest.  I didn’t know how to make more of this or if I could take it..

“Now!”  Whispered, my body lost control, and I slammed hard into his face.  My balls hit his chin, and I felt warmth rising inside me, racing out my slit.  Froze, just the feeling of hot rushes and intense masculine force in me, around me, overflowing from me.  

Forgot about my father, my fear--everything.  He pulled me against him, hands pressing me hard into his body, and I kissed him on the lips in gratitude and complete satisfaction.

“I love you, Chak.”  So softly, almost inaudible.

* * *

Music and voices woke me.  To my side, Paco’s full, hairy chest, his smell filled the bed.  

Pushing my hair back, “Did I knock you out?”

“Do it again?”  

“My pleasure, but not today."

* * *

The underground compound was quiet.  We showered, went to the kitchen.  “I hate this dry coffee.”  

“Only two more days.”

“Where am I going?  You can leave me near Ojinaga, I’ll find my way.”

“Not Ojinaga.  You know too much, and we don’t know who’s figured out you’re with Amado.”  

“What about me--where will I go?”  

“We’ll know soon.”  

My stomach clinched.

That day and the next were filled with Amado and Jude working on the phones and the computer.  They didn’t seem upset, but pleased, hopeful.

Not sure what time it was underground; I fell asleep on the couch holding my ocarina, it tied me to the Highlands; to my father.  Maybe I would find him, though it didn’t seem I would--I had no idea where he was or where I would be in a few hours. 

Woke up in Paco’s bed, his arms wrapped around me.  “I always wanted a boy to love, never imagined I’d have one of my own.”  

His words brought calm inside me.

* * *

That day, Paco let me and Amado watch as his entire head was shaved.  Gone, his heavy waves, gone the thick mustache.  Jude even shaved the hair on Paco’s chest that would show above his shirt.  Sideburns gone, eyebrows trimmed made a new Paco.  

I balked for a while but put on the girlish blouse and left with Paco and Jude for Coyame.  We dropped Jude in a dusty barrio, and went to meet a man in the Lulia Cafe.  

Paco played my uncle, and I, his niece.  At a table near the back, we ordered caldo de res and waited.

Two men joined us.  Envelopes were exchanged under the table.  One man leered at me, asked if I was a mariquita as his hand reached toward my curls. 

“Leave.  Before I kill you, leave.”  Paco stood, showed the butt of the gun in his waist.  The men vanished, scattering the caliche on the parking lot.

At the farmacia, Paco bought tanning gel, mascara, a lot of different things.  At a small clothing shop, he bought me a dress, and a reversible cloth bag.  

Kept my eyes on the streets, the crowds searching for my father’s face.

Part 5

When it happened, it went fast.  Paco inspected the used van Jude bought in the barrio, while I switched license plates on all the vehicles. 

Amado was pacing, on the phone whispering.  Jude packed the van after he ran wiring through the compound and told me not to touch it.  Piled all our cell phones and computers in the bathtub, filled it with water and several liters of chemicals.

Our last dinner together, Jude told me to light the candles, set them in the center of the table.  He loaded our plates with fajitas. They told stories of their dealings, their escapes… old times; the last time.  I could feel the love between them surging through the discussion.

“Tomorrow, before dawn, we’re leaving.”  Amado announced.

“Where am I going?”

“Colombia--with Paco.”  Jude continued eating as he explained,  “You’re leaving for Matamoras first--Canales Airport.  Dress as a girl till you get to the airport.  Change clothes, and turn your backpack inside out.  Be careful, your passport and a wallet are inside.  Paco’ll take care of you.  Do what he says.”

Fuertes picked me up and kissed me, “You brought me truth.  This work was crushing me--long past time to leave it.  Go with my first, my Paco.  He’s a good man.”

* * *

Went to Paco’s bed that night, he kissed and stroked me gently.  Silently and slowly, he pulled me to his chest.  My butt cheeks were tickled by the wiry hair on his groin.  One hand held me tightly against him; his palm on my stomach.  His other hand went to my head and pushed me forward.  

Folded in half, I felt his rod pulsing along my cleft, between my legs.  Groaning, he came between my legs, all over the sheets; I joined him.  Smelled rich.

* * *

Few words said the next morning.  

Thirty minutes driving into the sunrise, Paco told me to look in the side mirror.  A white column of smoke billowed from a distant mesa.  “They blew up the mine?”

“Covered our tracks.”  He smiled and turned on the radio.

Slept until almost noon in the second seat of the truck wearing a short dress, and a bandeau holding my curls back. Had to remind myself to go to the women's restroom when we stopped for gas.

* * *

At the airport, memories came--the first time I saw Amado climbing into his Learjet, all the craziness learning where I was, and trying to figure out how to escape.  I should have tried harder. 

My only family, my father…  We were lost to each other; still I searched the faces.

Stripped the dress inside the stainless steel walls of a stall in the women’s room, tossed it and the bandeau in the trash and dug through my bag for my tee shirt, and jeans.  

“Turn it inside out,” I remembered.  Dark blue and gold passport and a small wallet were inside.  Wallet held five twenties.  Passport stated my name as Chak Rivas.  

Quickly grabbed them and felt something hard.  My ocarina, the little clay snail; I grabbed, and dropped it.  Among the hards was a small strip of paper with letters and numbers.  No words, just a long line of numbers and letters.  

Shoved them in my pocket, and met Paco outside--I mean Salvatore Rivas was waiting for me.  Like me, he got his first name back.

Salvatore grabbed my hand.  We ran to the gate, checked in and found two seats to the side.  He pulled out his wallet, opened it and stuck his fingers in the pocket of his guayabera, pulled out a thin slip of paper.  Numbers and letters; he carefully folded it and put it deep in his wallet.  

“What’s that?”

“Code for an offshore account--you could call it silence, or thanks.”  He sighed.

“Will you help me with mine?”

“When we get to Colombia, until then, we’ve got plenty.”  He looked away, toward the window where a 747 taxied close.  “Sad to be leaving my homeland; all I’ve ever known.”  

“Where will we go next?”  

“Houston, then New Orleans.”  He turned to me, “You’ll like the ocean, we’re taking a freighter to Cartagena.  Visa is for ninety days, we’ll be traveling again or find some legitimate way to stay.”

“I don’t want to run anymore. Hiding, no friends, always afraid… I want a home.  I want my father.”

“There’s a place for us somewhere.  We’ll hire a detective to find your dad.  Think about where you’d like to live, choose a place near the Pacific.”

Choose.  I was now free to choose and it wasn’t much comfort--I was adrift--no anchor.  

Choose--I didn’t know enough to know what I had to choose from.

And I hadn’t chosen this life.  Yes, I had survived and still wasn’t sure what lay ahead.  

* * *

As we boarded the plane, it was done.  No going back.  Anger tightened my chest.  Why hadn’t my father tried to find me, or did he and I didn’t know?  I turned to Salvatore, “Wherever we go, whatever happens, no more lies, I want to know what’s going on.  I’m not a kid anymore, I want the truth.”

With soft eyes, he whispered, “We’ll always have to lie about some things.”  He pressed his lips together, took my hand.  “M’hijo, I could see your courage, your strength trying to get away from the coyote.  Remember?  You held yourself like a man, and a man deserves the truth.”

My mind rushed back to that day, my confusion, fear, gunshots, the sound of the doors locking.  Those  moments of chaos changed my life.  “Why did Fuertes choose me?”

He took a deep breath, shoring his courage to tell the truth:  “He didn’t choose you.  I did.”

Epilogue

What happened to Fuertes and Jude?  Never heard from them again. 

The media covered the death of a man named Fuertes who died during extensive plastic surgery--no DNA tests were run.  Police confirmed by fingerprints yet Fuertes had removed his prints long ago.  

Big funeral, mourning and wailing.  To many people Fuertes had been a generous benefactor and he robbed others of their lives.  The family man persona was revered; that was another lie.  Another disguise for another reason.

All the news surrounding the death was a fine facade to hide their escape though not everyone believed Fuertes was dead.  Gossip continued for years.

* * *

About my father, we found him.  Private detective told us he crossed the border, lived in Texas with a woman, and had three children.  

How would I explain my life to him without revealing my connection with Fuertes?  No more lies, I didn’t contact him but sent him funds from “a friend of your son.”  The transmittals were always deposited.  

* * *

I became a demigod of the skies, but I grew into that title after several years.  

Salvatore found us a home in San Jose, outside San Francisco.  House faced the ocean; I learned to surf and finished my studies.  The real learning came when I was old enough to go to the bars with Salvatore. He drew attention with his broad shoulders, thick hair and his stocky build.  

There was much more to learn in the bedroom those days.

With a few designers and collectors we opened an import business; a finders service of sorts  Flying through the Americas, I purchased fabrics, furniture, oddities; avoided antiquities.  This curly-haired, dimpled businessman drew select clientele, no need to advertise.  

Strangely, I became an expert on the terracotta ceramics, the ones with the milky sheen over the deep red clay.  The color of my caracol, color of my journey, the color of  Salvatore’s naked body.

Maricones; trafficked gay boys became houseboys.  We called them by their given names.  Many came and went through the years.  Our house was filled with smells of birria and barbacoa; filled with friends and people we loved.  Music and dancing, we made up for our previous incarceration by the cartel.

Couldn’t buy back the time we’d lost, and didn't need to buy the loyalty between Salvatore and me.  By birth or choice, I'd been loved all my life.