In Safe Hands - 8. Chapter 8

In Safe Hands
by Riley Jericho

Chapter Eight

With the white speedos safely tucked into the cart, Elliott and Miguel made their way back towards the sports aisle, where Elliott intended returning the black swimmers back to their rail. Miguel, on the other hand, appeared quite ready to dump them on a nearby table, when something caught his eye.

“These are good,” he said, holding up a pair of cream beach shorts. They had no swim net in them, so weren’t made for the pool, but were a little more relaxed than normal shorts.

“They’ll go with your speedos,” he said. “I might even get some of these myself.”

Elliott couldn’t quite fathom how they would ‘go’ with the speedos when you wouldn’t actually see them underneath, but came for a look anyway. There were a number of shades and, unsurprisingly, Miguel picked out something of a sultry orange shade for himself.

“Do you want this pair?” He lifted out a pair of the cream ones and offered them to Elliot. “I’ll get some money from Mamma to buy these ones,” he added, laying both pairs over the side of the cart.

“Oh just put yours in with mine. We’ll buy them. Honestly, Mom won’t mind; it’s only a pair of shorts! Now are you going to put those back?” He pointed at the black trunks, in imminent danger of being left on the shelf.

“THERE YOU ARE!”

A familiar whiney voice interrupted them. Still cadging a ride in the shopping cart, Sam found the wherewithal to stand up and glare. “Where have you been? We’ve been looking for you for hours!”

“Hi boys,” his dad added, more amiably. Elliott guessed that hours had actually only been five minutes. “Sam, either sit down, or get out before you fall! Your mum and dad are back Miguel. Just wanted you to know.”

“What’s that?” demanded Sam, spotting the pair of black speedos in Elliott’s hand.

“Speedos – I was just putting them back.”

Sam was incensed.

“Dad, I want some Speedos! How come Elliott gets Speedos?” He climbed out of the cart with alacrity and bustled over to the hangers where Elliott was returning the black pair. “I’m not having the same as Elliott,” he declared and picked some garish red ones off the rack and pressed them against his middle. ‘What do you think Miguel?”

Straight faced, and lying through his teeth, Miguel nodded. “They look great Sam.”

Pleased as punch, Sam threw them into the cart and climbed back in to join them.

"Are they the right size, Sam?" Benedict picked them out of the jumble.

"I dunno." Sam shrugged carelessly, already back on his GameBoy. He'd got them. Nothing else apparently mattered.

"No, look - they're size large!" Benedict shook his head and took them back to the rack, to change. “Let’s look for something a little smaller.” Sam wasn’t really listening. “Mom says twenty minutes," he added, speaking to his eldest, "though I don’t believe it. Let’s meet by the checkouts.”

“He’s not really like you is he,” said Miguel in amusement.

“Not in the slightest,” agreed Elliott.

“So how come you and Sam are so different?” Miguel mused thoughtfully, balancing on the side of the cart precariously.

“You noticed then! Thank God for that!” laughed Elliott. “Anyway – what do you mean?”

Miguel shrugged but then shook his head. “Nah – nothing.”

“Come on – what did you mean?” persisted Elliott, intrigued.

“It’s nothing. It’s none of my business.” Under the cream skin, Miguel flushed and slipped off the edge of the cart to walk again.

“No way! You can’t do that. Out with it – what are you talking about?”

Miguel hesitated briefly before replying. “Well…it’s just that I couldn't help but notice that Sam looks different.”

Elliott looked completely blank.

“I mean... down there,” Miguel finally got out, nodding in the direction of Elliott’s bits. It took Elliott a few moments to grasp what he was getting at.

“Oh!” The penny dropped at last. “Well, it’s because he’s circumcised. I’m not…assuming that’s what you’re getting at, that is?”

“I guess. Circumcised?”

“Yep – they cut away…”

‘Yes I know what it is,” replied Miguel patiently. “I’ve just never seen anything quite like that.”

* * *

Elliott been born in Argentina, where his parents had lived for a six-month stint. He still had a passport to prove it - though he had an American one too. Circumcision wasn’t offered as part of the local hospital’s recommended procedures so, unlike his father, he was never trimmed as a newly born baby. Rose and Benedict had figured they could always have that done later when they were back in the States but, with the frequent travelling, just never got around to it.

On the other hand Sam had been born in the Middle East, in Oman.

Circumcision.

It had come up as part of human biology/sex module, at a time not long after Elliott had started masturbating - still secretly at that time, and keen to find out as much as he could about what was happening down there. Their mom had had to explain it all to the two of them. They—much to her irritation—hadn’t been able to stop giggling the whole way through, as they looked at pictures and read about how, and why, the surgery was done!

Whilst he was intact, Sam was circumcised. Their mom had explained to the two of them how it had been completely normal to have it done in Oman for Sam. Mainly for the religious culture of the country.

What she didn't tell either of them was, at the time, she and Benedict had felt rather pushed into it by those round about them as she gave birth to her second son. In fact, her own latin culture only infrequently circumcised their boys. She was quite happy that Elliott was intact, even though Benedict came from a family line that never did anything else!

Not many hours after Sam had been born, the representative that the company had provided - a man who’s job it was to translate and steer them through the complex hospital system – met with them. He told them that Sam should be properly circumcised, like all boys were. She was quite reticent to let them take him, but the representative spoke eloquently and convinced them it would be a special honour for Sam. He also that rejecting the offer to have him ritually circumcised, would be hugely disrespectful to their hosts. So as not to ruffle any feathers, they’d agreed to let the doctors go ahead and perform the procedure.

They took Sam away and she had fretted for the next hour.

When they had returned with her son after the short operation, he had seemed placid enough and was placed into her arms by an older man, who’d seemed more like a religious cleric than a medic.

‘He’ll be a fine little Muslim now,’ the man had explained through their translator. He had beamed, laying his hands in blessing on them before leaving. The translator had bowed to the man and, afterwards, had told Rose that they had been greatly honored by the cleric’s presence and by the special gift given to her son.

It would be many years later before she understood what that 'special gift' meant!

Sam, of course, when he was old enough to understand the difference, was delighted that he, like his father and unlike his brother, was properly ‘done’, as he liked to call it. You’re the odd one out he would crow, and would proudly show off his funny little circumcision.

With a critical eye, as Elliott compared it to himself, he could see his brother had none of his foreskin left at all. The doctors in Oman had left nothing – not a shred! Maybe that’s how they always did it there, he wondered? You couldn’t even see any scar on his wiener where they’d cut it all off. His small acorn head now sat permanently on show, jutting out firmly and horizontally into his underpants.

Sam was adamant at the time that he much preferred it his way; and maybe that was how it was, thought Elliott, Maybe you just got used to what you had? However, whilst he didn’t think Sam masturbated yet, when he got started he suspected it was going to be difficult for him without any loose skin to work with.

At the time, assuming that Elliott might be feeling bad about being 'the odd one out' in the family, his mom had also offered it to him too. She had said that she and his dad had been talking about it and, if he wanted to be circumcised like his brother, his dad and all the rest of the boys on his dad’s side of the family – and there were a lot of them – they were happy to arrange for it to be done.

He’d declined the offer, thank you very much!

* * *

“So why weren’t you done like that too?” Miguel probed after Elliott explained about Oman and his own decision to leave things as they were for himself.

"No way am I going through any of that, even IF everyone else is! School or no school!"

“Elli, what did your mum mean about you going to school?” Miguel changed the subject again, as the two of them pushed the cart in front of them through the crowds.

“School?” Elliott smiled at the reminder. “Well, like I told you, I’ve always been home schooled, but she said I can go to a normal school at last. When we get back to the States, that is.”

“America?”

“In Atlanta.“

“Georgia…?”

Miguel continued to look mystified.

“Well, it’s on the east coast.”

Miguel shrugged. “It’s a pity you can’t just go to school here. We’d have a blast!”

Elliott considered that and came to a conclusion quite easily. “We would, wouldn’t we."

And then it hit him.

Without realising it, Miguel had opened THE CAN, and the worms came rushing out with a vengeance; so unexpectedly that he couldn't stop the flow of resentment. Emotions, that he usually NEVER allowed to escape from his normal protective shell, poured out.

"But I gotta leave,” he continued, dully. ”That’s what’s so fucking crappy about my life – I’ve always got to leave!” Inside the dull exterior, he raged.

Even he was surprised by the venom!

But that was what he really hated. Leaving. He was always bloody leaving! When he was growing up, all the other kids used to think it was fucking amazing that he got to go away—presumably to a better place—like one big package tour holiday. He would say his farewells, move on, and have to start all over again. So he stopped trying to make friends anymore. What was the point?

The brief outpouring had left him tired and drained. "Sorry," he muttered.

“I’m not really helping then?”

“It's not your fault,” Elliott muttered, scratching his nose, “I guess you don’t need to hear my problems.”

Miguel put his arm briefly and lightly around Elliott’s waist. A gesture of support. A short hug, before withdrawing. Elliott hardly noticed, as he stared into the cart, looking, once more, into an unknown and empty future.

I've always got to leave, he'd fretted. I'm not really helping then, and a soft touch had come in reply, and the hurt diminished. Perhaps, even then, a tacit exchange between them that hinted that they were more than just ‘good friends.’

Looking back to those days near Malaga, as he often did in later times, he wondered where the gay thing had actually come from. When had it started? Maybe it was like they said - well, some said - that it was as genetically determined as the colour of his skin or the bend in his dick? Was it some unexpected gene sequence that decided what attracted him? On the other hand, maybe it was his upbringing or his experiences?

With his background, no doubt some shrink would have a field day with him!

He wondered if there had been some point when he was straight one day, and gay the next? Could it ever be as simple as that? Probably not.

Even if it had taken some time to happen, perhaps at the very least there would have been some moment when he knew it to be true - or even just suspected it. If that were the case, then it certainly had to have been at some point during those two weeks in Malaga.

Would it have been THAT day, he mused. The day when he and Miguel had had, in retrospect, quite an intimate sexual encounter in the changing cubicle? Maybe it had been the previous day when Miguel had leaned next to him on the balcony when he was trying out the binoculars? His body had known better than him, even then, and responded with pleasure. Maybe it was the very first morning when, enjoying he sun and sea breeze, he'd looked own to see a boy, one with brown skin and flashing dark eyes sliding in and out of the water?

Yet what if what they said was true, that his sexuality had actually been there all the time, fixed from the moment he was born, yet hidden from view until the time was right? Like a secret, locked away from even him, until he came of age.

Without a shadow of doubt, that ‘age’ had come during those two weeks in Malaga. And it had been Miguel who had been the key. He that had unlocked him. Released him.

Simply.

Powerfully.

Irrevocably.

“Will Sam and Natty join a school as well?”

“Good question," Elliott answered, coming back to the present. "I don’t see why not. It depends on what Mom wants to do I guess. Sam’s never had much trouble getting along wherever we end up though. He’ll be fine.”

“At least he has a nice pair of speedos now!”

“I cannot believe you did that, Miguel Ortiz!” he sniggered, his old self returning.

“At least you’ll see him coming,” smirked Miguel, and then his face fell. “Oh crap, now I feel guilty!" Uncertainly, he stared back in the direction form where they’d come.

"And, more to the point," he crowed. "What if he tells everyone that YOU chose them for him?"

Miguel's grimaced. "Oh shit! Take the cart," he pleaded, turning back towards the sports section. "I'll see you at the underwear."

And, with that, he hurried off back the way they’d come.

I'll see you at the underwear? Could this day get any more bizarre, he wondered? They were the last thing on his list, and he propelled his cart onwards through the milling shoppers.

The underwear section was huge - bigger than many shops. Actually it comprised of socks, underwear, vests (who wore vests, for god's sake!), pajamas and even dressing gowns. Multiple rows, tables and mini islands populated an expanse that sat in-between the men’s and children’s/teens sections. They had passed through it on numerous occasions, searching for, and finding, clothing that fit him from both sides of the divide.

It was as busy as everywhere else.

He got there before Miguel, but hung back, staring at socks, as two middle aged ladies seemed to be having an argument over a pair of boxers, taken from a rather impressive display. In an effort to get close enough to see what was there, he maneuvered his cart right up to where they were standing. They finally they got the message and took the boxers and their dispute elsewhere.

He parked up and waited.

"Do you want boxers?" A familiar voice came a couple of moments later, and Elliott turned to Miguel.

"I guess so. Did you sort out Sam?"

"Not really. He said he didn't want to swap - said he liked the red ones. He wanted to know if you'd sent me!"

"Figures!" Elliott shrugged. He turned and studied the array of shorts-type boxers again, hardly knowing where to start.

"So, do you want boxers?" Miguel probed again.

Choosing underwear was a personal thing - much more so than choosing swimwear, even though the items did more or less the same thing. "I don't know...I usually do...I was just waiting for you," he said uncertainly. Actually, his mother usually did the choosing. "What do you think?" His gaze passed over everything, from SpongeBob to Scottish Plaid.

"I don't think so," replied Miguel, eyeing the goods and shaking his head.

"What's wrong with them?" Elliott moved along the row and lifted off a pack of, size small, grey boxers. From the picture on the front, they looked similar to the ones he was currently wearing.

Miguel folded his arms, defiantly. "I would rather take an oversized saggy old pillow case, cut holes in the corners and wear those – and they'd probably by a damn sight more comfortable!"

"ELLIOTT!"

An imperiously squeaky voice caught their attention, as the smallest version of the Carter Clan shouted from her chariot - patiently maneuvered by Isabella Ortiz. Clearly she wasn't moving fast enough, as Natty was standing, holding onto the sides and leaning over the prow, ordering speed like the miniature Boadicea she was!

Mom would never let her do that, Elliott grimaced.

"Hi Mama!" called Miguel, as they approached. "Did you get all the stuff for my tapas?"

"Are you getting knickers, Elliott?" Natty interrupted him and shouted across the remaining yards. The volume and pitch reverberated through the crowds, in a tone that only five year-olds who haven't yet discovered mortification can employ! The only saving grace, Elliott hoped, was that she used English, her natural preference when talking with him. He saw her stare at the wall of boxers and groaned when he knew EXACTLY what was likely to come next.

"Elliott, get the SpongeBob knickers. You HAVE to get SpongeBob!" Natty demanded.

Had he done something really evil in a previous life?

"Yes I got everything, Miguel, don't fret!" injected Miguel’s mum. "We're not likely to go hungry!"

"Where's Papa?"

"He just went over the bakery to pick up a tart for dessert."

Elliott, being the only one who grasped how that could play out in the English translation, wisely kept his mouth shut.

"Rosa and I decided that that would be simplest, rather than trying to make something. You can get some really big, tasty tarts here!"

This time, Elliott failed, burst out laughing and got curious looks from all three of them. Eventually Miguel's mother came to the point, as she saw it. "Papa was then going to go to the video store, to pick something up for tonight. But perhaps I'd better give him a hand."

Both boys understood what that actually meant!

"I've been looking after Natty, for Rosa," Isabella continued. "But would you two just watch over her for a few minutes whilst I make sure Papa is OK?"

"Sure Mama, we can do that."

Isabella Ortiz hurried off in the direction of the checkouts and the exit, in order to get back into the main complex where the video store was. Natty rounded on Elliott.

"SPONGEBOB KNICKERS, ELLIOTT!" she squealed. A ripple of laughter behind him confirmed his worst fears, that he wasn’t the only one who spoke English in this section! He leaned over his cart and rested his head in his arms in despair, muttering something unprintable in most of the languages he spoke.

Miguel took pity on him.

"I'll take Natty for a walk and I'll catch up with you in a bit."

It was actually more of a rollercoaster ride, as Elliott watched them charge precariously around a corner, nearly knocking down an old lady, with Natty screaming in delight.

If he assumed he’d be glad that he'd been left in peace, he was wrong. Nor did he feel particularly relieved that he was now free to quickly pick some underwear and tuck it out of sight under his other stuff. Instead, he began to wander aimlessly.

There was underwear all over the place, displayed both on racks as well as loose, and on sale, in boxes on nearby tables. Perhaps he might have had a look through those, but the two ladies who had been arguing earlier had returned with a couple of boys. They looked like twins, and seemed not much younger than he was himself.

He watched as the excessively chubby brothers were lined up like a pair of mannequins, facing the indignity of having to stand there, whilst pair after pair of cheap, garishly coloured and bizarrely patterned cotton slips, were held against their plump butts. Stretched to see if the lads had any chance of getting into them, the undies were either thrown into a cart or discarded.

To say neither looked that happy would be an understatement!

It was difficult to say whether he felt more sorry for the boys or the briefs; the latter of which could only look forward to an unenviable lifetime of being wedged up a sweaty crack, into a world where few people would care to venture!

And he thought he had problems, he smirked. He left them to their discomfort and, instead, went off to choose socks.

Socks? How wrong could you go with socks, he wondered? Should he get a certain shade. Cotton? Thick or thin? He wondered what Miguel would pick out and felt like a fish out of water. Brown? Mom usually got him brown ones. You couldn't go wrong with brown...could you?

Four packs of different shades of brown socks the richer, he went back to the underwear, just as the hapless twins were being led away. There was no point in looking in the boxes. No doubt the twins had got all the good ones!

God, if his mother did that to him, he'd die!

Yet, now that he actually got to choose for himself, none of the stuff on the wall was what he was looking for. Abandoning his cart in a wide space by one wall, he wandered through the busy shoppers to look around some of the other racks, tables and islands. Row after row of the plain and practical were in abundance. He passed over multi-packets of three or five, of the type of slips that would eventually end up in the 50 cent box, to adorn the backsides of the chubby twins!

No thank you.

And then he found them.

The long row was arranged quite low down. and not in immediate eye line. The colours and design were unmistakable. For several minutes he just crouched down and explored.

“You found them, then?” A familiar voice was close enough to make him jump.

“Hell, Miguel! You scared the shit out of me! Where's Natty - and how long have you been there?”

“Just now. Your Mum came for Natty and took her off to find something.”

Elliott grunted and turned back to the three rows of briefs that stretched across the long display. “You shop here, then.” It was a statement, not a question.

“Sure I do – you don’t think I’d let Mama bring you to somewhere that was rubbish do you?”

Elliott lifted one of the hooked sets down. Two pairs of briefs were folded into slots in the custom designed display hanger, showing off the colours. “Looks familiar,” he teased.

Miguel grinned, but wasn’t fazed. Looking quickly to see the coast was clear, he pushed down the front of his shorts to reveal the same spicy red, topped with a dark waistband.

“Miguel!” Elliott looked around hurriedly.

Miguel slipped his shorts back into place. “What?” He smiled angelically and got down to business. Kneeling down next to him, they started to sift through the display.

Miguel pointed. “OK, you’ll be better with the lighter warm pastels.”

It didn’t strike Elliott that he’d not actually said these were the type he wanted. They both seemed to take it as a given. Nor did it seem unusual to him that they would need to discuss his preference in the style and colour of underwear he wanted to wear – and be seen wearing – with Miguel. There was something of an inevitability to it.

He could also see that Miguel himself took it completely seriously, wanting to make sure that what he wore, even down to the underwear, felt and looked good. Not many people bothered enough about him for that. The world around them seemed to fade into the background and he took no notice of those who passed by, some looking with bemusement at two young teenage boys choosing underwear together.

Two peas – of different shades – both from the same pod.

“You can’t do that!” exclaimed Elliott a short time later, horrified as he watched Miguel slide one pair out of it’s custom hanger and replace it with another.

“Why not?”

“Because…”

“Do YOU want that pair?”

“No – you know I don’t, but…”

“So why buy it?” Miguel interrupted. “You should only have to buy what you want and, trust me, the people who want THAT colour do NOT want this!” He held the offending cold blue at arms length.

“OK,” Elliot relented. “But then I’d like these and also these," he decided, adding them to the collection.

“But they’re not really your colour. The lime-green are better.”

“I don’t want all light ones. I like dark too. And I’d like the black ones as well!”

“Black? Miguel shook his head in despair. ”You’re kidding!”

Eventually they whittled it down to ten pairs. Five hanger’s worth, though almost every hanger had been doctored to get what Elliott thought was perfect. They weren’t the cheapest – these set of two cost the same as some other sets of three, or even five. It didn’t matter. They were the best.

“That’s it then,” he decided. As an afterthought he added another two pairs of white ones with the grey band. His mom had said get PLENTY, after all. Then he called it quits. They were done.

“Where’s the cart?” Miguel stood, and stretched.

“Over by the…” began Elliott, beginning to stand too.

“There you are!” His mom spotted them as their faces appeared above the island. She, his dad and two siblings – plus an array of carts – were gathered around the underwear sale table. Sam was concentrating on his GameBoy, Natty was playing eye-spy with their dad.

“I’m just getting underpants for Sam,” His mom lifted out a pair of twins cast-offs as they approached. “Shall I get some for you? There’s plenty on sale here?”

“It’s fine Mom,” he replied hurriedly. “I'm all sorted.”

“LOOK, Elliott’s got SpongeBob knickers!” shouted Natty excitedly, pointing at his cart.

“No Natty, I haven’t…” Elliott began, but halted as he glanced down to see SpongeBob grinning back. There was only one answer.

“I couldn’t resist!” admitted Miguel, sniggering. “She had her heart set on them!”

“You’re worse than she is,” Elliott moaned.

“I want SpongeBob,” whined Sam, waking up to what was going on.

“Here – have them!” Elliott sighed, pushing them into his brother’s greedy hands. Sam didn’t keep them long, as their mother checked the price tag and put them back on the display.

"Did you get everything Elliott?" she asked, not waiting for an answer but digging through his cart to check for herself.

“I think so Mom,” he replied patiently.

“Nice,” she nodded, holding a shirt against him to examine, taking a moment to check the size too. “I take it that Miguel picked out most of what’s in here?” she ventured, satisfied she’d seen enough not to worry.

“Hey! Not everything!”

“Well, I think I need about another ten minutes, and then we’re done,” she added at last.

In fact, it was closer to twenty before they finally joined the line at the checkouts. Six cart-loads in total! It was telling that nobody chose to join the line behind them.

‘Oh my’ was all the check-out girl could say. The items were loaded onto the belt and began to edge towards her.

Being the first cart in the line, Elliott laid everything of his onto the belt and then he and Miguel packed it all carefully into bags as it arrived at the other end. Each item had it’s own story to tell, in the way that it had ended up in their cart and, when the scanner beeped as his speedos passed through, he couldn’t help but grin!