In Safe Hands - 13. Chapter 13

In Safe Hands
by Riley Jericho

Chapter Thirteen

Still disorientated by the vivid dream, Elliott dropped back onto his pillow. Though the night was cool, freshened by the break of the weather that had been gathering all day, he was sweating. It had all seemed so immediate, so real; like dreams can often be, though he couldn’t remember anything quite so intense…or so stimulating! Feeling uncomfortable hard, he rolled over onto his stomach, to hide the evidence.

“Sorry…bad dream…”

From nearby, Miguel whispered “Are you okay?”

Even though he now remembered that Miguel’s bed was pushed up close, and that they were sharing a room, he was surprised at the voice so close. He turned to see the outline of a familiar face, filled with concern.

“I’m fine. Really.” He gathered himself and slipped out of bed into the semi-dark, to go to the toilet. Closing the door behind himself, he switched on the light. With difficulty he emptied his bladder. He wasn’t fine and the dream was still close enough, that he could still remember much of the confused, intimate detail.

* * *

Several hours earlier…

… it looks like Mama was right,” grinned Miguel shortly after they arrived at the party. They eyed the enormous multi-colored pile of wrapped presents, depositing their own in the same place.

Taking the only things they were now carrying – swimwear, wrapped in towels – Miguel, Elliott and Alejandro made their way around the back of the house, to where Estela's birthday party was getting into swing.

An extremely plump girl passed them, heading back the way they had come. Giving her space to pass on the narrow pathway, Elliott looked about, in awe of the surroundings of the enormous villa where Estela Fernandez and her family, lived. “It’s huge!” he muttered.

“Don’t say that about Marisela!” Alejandro sniggered. “She’s a nice girl really!”

“N0 – I didn’t mean that,” Elliott said hurriedly, not quite picking up on the wind-up. “I meant the house…”

Alejandro smirked, but left it. “It is, isn’t it. I don’t think they’re short of a few Euros. You get used to it.”

Arriving at the rear of the enormous property, their senses were assaulted by lights, lively music and the enticing smell of spicy food, reminding Elliott that he was already hungry. A huge, gazebo-like, structure stretched across an extensive patio, and floodlights pushed back the dusk. Almost everywhere, strings of colourful, Christmas-style lights, crisscrossed magically. Much of the area under the gazebo was clear, creating an impromptu dance floor in front of the DJ. At the edges and spilling out from under the canvas, tables and chairs extended out onto the vast lawn and around the pool area.

Many were there, but Elliott could see more arriving. Taking their towels, they explored, but didn’t get far before Estela caught them, wanting to introduce them to more of her friends. Full of excitable chatter, he couldn’t do anything to resist her as she took him by the arm, to escort him around new arrivals.

For him, it was a case of ‘grit your teeth’ and put up with it!

Finally, they got to sit down, securing a table a lot nearer to the dance floor than he cared. They draped their towels across the backs of the chairs. Even once they’d sat, Estela kept turning up with more of her girlfriends. He felt like he was on show!

“I’m think I might go and get some food,” he said, finally excusing himself.

Miguel, who had hung on his shoulder throughout the ordeal, was being grilled by one of Estela’s girlfriends.

“I’m coming to too, Elli!” he muttered, trying rather obviously to get away from the antics of the petite girl who wouldn’t let go of him. At least Alejandro had disappeared. However, the girl wasn’t to be so easily dislodged and she followed them both through the noisy throng of young people, chattering inanely about things of spectacular insignificance.

The food consisted of a huge buffet, spread out along the length of the extensive veranda that came off the back of the house. The trestle tables were already heavily laden, but even as they reached the front of the line and picked up disposable plates, staff from the kitchen area walked by, searching for a space to squeeze in yet more platters.

“Do you think it’s enough?” An older voice murmured alongside him, and Elliott turned to see Estela’s mother, Señora Fernandez, gazing at the spread, with perplexity. He thought she HAD to be joking but, as she caught his eye, it appeared not.

“Thank you so much for having us, Señora,” he said, as politely as he could muster. She stared at him through narrowed eyes and he squirmed. Why did this lady make him feel so uncomfortable?

"We're glad you could come Elliott," she returned, speaking smoothly and distinctly. "And how about you, Miguel. Is your father still painting?"

Miguel joined them. "Yes, Señora. They send their greetings." It was not exactly true and, from the slight movement of her aristocratic eyebrows, Elliott had the impression that she didn't care a toss anyway!

                                       * * *

"Ah, Olivia." Gabriela Fernandez spotted the girl who'd been stalking Miguel. She prided herself on knowing everyone's name - there was a kind of power in it! "Tell me about school. How is Estela doing? What do you all get up to in your spare time?" And what boys is she seeing? The girl was a nitwit, and easy prey. She could see her swallow, all ready spill the beans on her daughter.

Excellent!

Released, the boys grabbed a polite plateful of food, and scurried away.

Briefly, Gabriela Fernandez glanced at the retreating figures as they threaded back through the food line, to return to their table. She chewed her lip thoughtfully. Perhaps it was for the good that Estela hung around with the queer boy, Alejandro? Of one thing she was certain, well behaved or not, boys like Elliott and Miguel were NOT right for her daughter. She needed to get Estela away from this poxy small town, unscathed and untouched.

Estela needed to stay focused, concentrate on her studies and go forward to a credible university. Let her finish her education and THEN meet someone; a young man with credentials, and a future. A doctor would be perfect! Estela could work for a seemly length of time, if she wanted to. There was nothing wrong in that. A few years, perhaps? Then she should settle down to giving her grandchildren, before she became too old to shape her daughter’s offspring!

She turned her attention back to the hapless Olivia.

"Now Olivia, walk with me a little. I just need to get a few things from the kitchen - perhaps you can help me?"

                                       * * *

Half an hour later, the table that Miguel and Elliott had bagged had expanded. Estela had decided it would act as her base and, inevitably, other tables, filled with those who wanted to consider themselves part of her inner core, were dragged closer, making a tight cluster. To his discomfort, Elliott found himself at the centre.

They'd made numerous return trips to the food table and desserts were being rumored. Miguel seemed insatiable, but he’d declined the last outing, deciding to leave space for something sweet and tasty.

The truth was, he was beginning to relax and enjoy himself, though had yet to venture anywhere near the dance floor. As the first few bars of 'The Birdy Song' started, almost everyone leapt to their feet - except him. He knew the tune, but that was as far as it ever got!

"Come on Elliott. There's NO WAY that you're not doing this!" declared Estela, grabbing his hand, and with unexpected strength, pulled him out of his chair.

"No...” he complained, trying to shake here off. “I don't really know what to do."

Estela wasn't having it. She seemed determined that everyone was going to have a good time, whether they liked it or not! "Just copy me," she grinned, guiding him right into the very centre of the fray.

With that sickeningly awful feeling, that came with the belief that EVERY eye was fixed only on him - which of course it wasn't - he did what he was told. And, actually, after a bit, he found it was fun!

Next to him, even Miguel was leaping around like a total fool, and he got past his own embarrassment and stopped worrying about it. Before long he was waving his arms and shaking his bum like the best of them - and loving it! One dance led to another and then another and, before long, he was completely hooked.

Why had he never tried this before?

* * *

Twenty minutes later, resting for a few minutes at their table, Miguel looked on bemused. A less frenetic song launched and Elliott took to it seamlessly, moving opposite a raven-haired beauty. The girl certainly had cool dress sense, but would she be Elliott's type, he wondered. He'd never really thought about it before, but couldn’t help but do so now. He didn't know the girl at all. No doubt she was one of Estela's school friends. Whoever she was, in the subtle pairings that the dance floor allowed, she clearly felt that Elliott had become ‘hers’. In a way that was natural for him, Elliott had turned to her, to complete her movements, as they moved to the music.

Would Elliott be attracted to her Miguel mused? If looks were important, he couldn't go wrong - but looks weren't everything.

So - would she be his type, he asked himself again? And what was his type, if it wasn’t to be him? Of course, it wasn't unheard of - two people falling for each other whilst on holiday. The kind of holiday romance that never lasted.

Without being too obvious, he studied Elli and the unknown girl. It was the type of moment that Papa would want to paint, he decided. His father had tried to teach him, but he’d not taken to it much. Perhaps because he could never ‘see’ it like his father did.

But this? This he could see.

It’s what Papa had always kept trying to tell him. It has to tell a story, Miguel. Great pictures are just that, because they carry a story, ready to be interpreted by the person stepping into them. The skill of the artist is to leave clues…a trail to be followed…

Clues? Oh yes – they were all there. THIS he could paint…if he could actually paint that was!

The girl would be brooding, filled with dark energy. Strong yet subtle. Hungry for her prey, yet patient. So very patient.

Elliott was a gazelle, playing a dangerous game without knowing it. Dancing always just out of reach; turning and twirling on light feet. Naively beautiful; pure energy and light.

Around about them, he could see others watching too. Wistful. Maybe even a little jealous.

Even gazelles tire and, perhaps, eventually he would too and become mesmerised; fascinated and magnetized by her. Maybe later, when the music became softer and more romantic, she would move closer, touching gently; inviting, until she began to control his movements to subdue him. Strength gone, he would succumb. Later, still bewitched, maybe Elliott would open himself to her, and kiss her as she drew him down on her in the bed.

It would be his first time.

Someone passed in front of him and broke the spell. Miguel shook his head. Just STOP it, he commanded himself. Morosely he turned away, and sipped his drink.

Recently he'd come across a short film clip. It was some cute storyboard depicting a typical teen school dance, maybe not too different from tonight.

In the clip, a cute guy, no older than himself, sits alone at the edge of the dance floor, trying to build up courage to ask someone for a dance. Finally the boy makes up his mind and stands. Crossing the dance floor, he pauses in front of a boy and a girl, both seated together on the other side. The girl looks up hopefully. In her head she’s already accepting the assumed offer, making ready to stand. But, unexpectedly, he ignores her and holds out his hand to the other one.

The boy.

God how that had made him SO ANGRY! The well-meaning adults who made those kinds of videos - what did THEY know?

The video had been made in Norway, or Sweden, or somewhere like that. No voices, just an untranslatable strap line that faded out to the credits. One that might just have well said, "OK, that's it mate, you're utterly FUCKED!"

He'd raged at it and later, in the bath, alone, had cried. Life would never be like that, and no guy in his right mind could EVER go up to another, and ask for a dance!

Not in any world he lived in.

From the dance floor, movement caught his eye again. For someone who'd moaned that he didn't dance, Elliott was a complete surprise. He moved quite naturally, both in step with the music AND with the girl in front of him. Not jigging around embarrassingly like some foolish marionette, but smooth, and with growing confidence.

Was there nothing he couldn't do?

The girl wasn't bad herself and, jealously, he could see they were a good couple. The white purity of Elli’s tee shirt and fair hair contrasting her dark brooding energy. The closer he watched the way Elliott moved, the more he could see that it was just a natural extension of his normal self. Nothing was put on, or false, or done for show or to attract attention.

She wouldn't know that: not like he did.

He rested his head on his arms and tried to guess what it could be like, if it were him dancing with Elli, matching his moves and mood until the music brought their union.

SHIT - STOP IT!

Sighing, he looked up again and, with irritation, saw that Alejandro had joined the couple, to make a threesome. He could see Elliott grinning, and a knife twisted in his gut.

"They look great, don't they," a familiar voice noted, and he looked up to see Estella.

"They do, I guess,” he replied, wondering which suggested ‘coupling’ was the worst. “Is she from your school?"

"What? Oh – Lydia you mean?" Estella seemed distant. “Yes.” She paused. "Listen, my mother wants me to get some wine from the cellar. Do you want to help me?"

Miguel was torn between wanting to stay and watch Elliott, and wanting to see the Fernandez wine cellar. Eventually he shrugged. "Sure, I can help. I can't believe you're actually putting wine out for everyone, are you?"

"You wish!" laughed Estela. "No, it's for the adults."

In fact there were quite a number of grown-ups - most whom had brought offspring to her party. They were enjoying the evening in another part of the house. It seemed that all the parents were welcome, though he knew her mother well enough to gather that only a select few seemed to be aware of the invitation.

He followed her, assuming they would go into the house. He’d never been in a cellar before, but expected to pass by the vigilant guards who's job it was to keep the teen party outside. They would probably enter an unmarked door – under the main stairs - down some uneven stone steps, and into a cool, stonewalled and rather dank space. He was a bit taken aback when she led him around the house, down a path, and through a belt of trees that sheltered an outbuilding from view.

“It’s a warehouse!” he exclaimed, stating the obvious.

Estela ignored him, but took a key she’d been carrying in her hand. She pushed it into the lock of a serious-looking door. Clearing the deadbolt, she stepped inside. Miguel stood in the doorway and watched her punch a code into a building alarm console. Then she stabbed at a row of switches. Banks of fluorescent tubes up in the roof space shuddered in surprise, and flickered into existence, marching out in front of them into the darkness.

"I know what you're thinking," Estela grunted, picking up two empty bottle crates and passing one to him. "But before you say it, my father stores all the wine for the restaurants here."

His eyes were still wide. "But, for goodness sake, Estela, there must be thousands of bottles here! How many restaurants do you own?"

"A few." Her reply was demure.

"Such as?"

"Does it matter?" she returned, a little more stiffly.

"I was just asking, that's all," he shrugged . He heard the taut undertones and knew not to press. "So - what bottles do they want?"

Estela sighed. "Okay, I'm sorry. I just don't like being treated differently."

"Because your family have money? Why would anyone do that?"

"You'd be surprised. You can't buy friends - though I don't think my mother gets that," she muttered. "Sorry - I shouldn't talk like that either!"

Miguel grinned. "I'm a good counselor, though I have to warn you, my rates might be a little higher, just because it's you. But hey, you can afford it!"

Estela burst out laughing. "Fair enough,” she giggled. “But if I'm paying by the hour, then shift it and start finding bottles!" She reeled off the names of several Spanish Riocha reds, and they went hunting.

"There was something I did want to ask you," she said at last. It had been quite fun as they'd argued over, and selected, a dozen or more bottles of expensive red wine. She sat down on a stack of crates. "It's important….

She’d gone quiet, and Miguel glanced at her, expecting some wind-up. She looked thoughtful; serious; even a little flustered. She had the look of someone who...Oh crap!

Alarm bells went off.

Why did Estela look like she was going to ask him out? OH MY GOD, that was it…she was! Something warned him that the only reason she’d brought him here was to get him alone to ask for a date!

He squirmed. What the hell was he going to do? Tell her 'it's not you, it's me'?

Even though that was pretty close to the truth?

The totally crappy thing was that, as a friend, he really liked Estela and now it was going to become awkward - and on her birthday, for God's sake!

She waited expectantly and he stared at her dumbfounded, until it finally rushed out of him. "Estela, I'm not really…I errr…well, I..." The excuses gathered momentum in his head and began to tumble forth, but got tangled up with her next sentence.

"It's about Elliott," she said.

Elliott?

"Elliott? Oh...I thought..."

"Yes, Elliott. What did you think I..." Estela stopped mid sentence, realising belatedly how flustered he looked. She put two and two together. Ooohh – awkward!

"What about Elliott?" he said quickly, trying to get them back on track.

"Actually, it's Ale..."

"Alejandro? What about him?" Miguel felt his jaw tightening.

"Okay," she continued, going a little pink, "it's just...well, he really likes Elli.”

“He likes Elli?”

Even though none of what she was saying was new to Miguel, he felt a certain shock at hearing it from someone else. So much so, that he didn’t even react to her use of Elliott’s familiar name – something only HE had been given permission to use. The crate he was holding became heavier, and he put it down on the ground.

“I mean, you know he's gay, right?” Estela continued.

“He's gay...”

“Of course. Ale is gay. You knew that - we already talked about it! Anyway, it's just that he’d quite like to...well, you know what I mean. I know it's a lot to ask, but I don’t want to see him get hurt.”

“Hurt?” replied Miguel, woodenly.

“Him - and Elli too, for that matter,” agreed Estela. “I think they’re both great, but guys together can be SO complicated – you know what I mean.” She sighed, shaking her head.

Complicated? You’re not wrong!

“Anyway,” Estela rushed on. ”You know Elliott better than anyone. I wondered if you happened to know?”

“Know what?” said Miguel stupidly, his thoughts flying all over the place.

“If he’s gay, of course! Miguel, haven’t you been listening?”

He wrenched himself out of his spin, hoping she couldn’t hear his heart thumping inside his chest. “Oh… well…I don’t…it’s not something I’ve thought about,” he lied, trying not to swallow or look guilty. “It’s not something me and Elli have ever talked about.”

That bit was true anyway!

“But you’d KNOW, right?” she pressed. “As a guy, you’d know if he was gay?”

“Why would I know?” Miguel muttered a little uncomfortably. How the hell can anyone know? “And anyway,” he added. “Why does Alejandro think Elliott might be – you know – like him?” That had to be the most important question!

“Well I’m not sure of that, either,” sniffed Estela, scratching her nose. “Though to be honest, I’ve known him long enough to know he's rarely wrong about stuff like that.”

‘So?”

“Well, has Elli ever mentioned a girlfriend or anything? Has he said he even likes girls?” Estela demanded.

Miguel shook his head, getting uptight now that it was beginning to feel like the Spanish Inquisition.

“What about guys, then?” added Estela. “Has he said anything about Alejandro…you know, that might mean…”

“Can we not talk about this?” interrupted Miguel suddenly. “I can’t really help you ‘cos honestly I don't know - and, well, I don’t really want to know who Alejandro fancies. Maybe it's best if he just stays away from Elliott.” With that, he picked up his crate and walked to the door.

He waited for her, silently, by the door as she locked up, and it stayed like that as they walked back towards the house. He felt like total crap. She probably thought he had something against gay guys! Wordlessly he followed her to the kitchen, put down the crate and beat an exit.

* * *

"MIGUEL! Where the heck have you been?" Elliott spotted him at last, by the drinks table. "I've been looking for you everywhere!"

"I was with Estela, helping her with some stuff,” he replied. “You seemed busy."

For the first time since Elliott had come into his carefully controlled world, Miguel felt a tinge of anger. After all he'd shared of himself with Elli, he felt let down.

Go on - go back to dancing with Alejandro, if you like him so much!

Elliott, on the other hand, seemed completely oblivious to his tension. "Come on, I'm boiling. Let's go swimming,"

They returned to their chairs at the edge of the dance floor to pick up their towels. The girl, Lydia, was sitting in his seat, and smiled brightly as they returned. "Come on," she said, half standing and reaching for Elliott’s hand, "let's dance again."

"Later maybe, Lydia," said Elliott. "We're going in the pool first." Miguel gathered their stuff. “Oh, this is my friend. Miguel."

Lydia glanced briefly at Miguel, and then back to him. "You're going swimming?"

"Yep, we were planning to," nodded Elliott. "Best to get in, before it starts raining, so we don't get wet." He looked serious, gazing up into the darkness to where thick clouds had fully gathered. Miguel snickered, but Lydia looked perplexed; the joke lost on her. The humour flicked away his irritation too. It wasn't Elliott's fault that people liked him, nor was it his fault that Estela had cornered him in their wine cellar.

"Are you coming then?" Elliott asked Lydia. She shook her head and settled back down. "OK, see you later."

As they moved away, Miguel read the small telltale signs of disappointment in her features. This was the thing about Elliott, he sighed to himself, and what made him so agonisingly attractive as a person. He was often completely oblivious to himself. But, in a good way. A natural way. Most of the time he didn't have any idea what other people saw in him.

The pair stepped out from under the gazebo, and he followed a few paces behind Elliott. He noticed heads turn to observe them...well, Elliott really. He stood out amongst the crowd. Not just because of his fair hair in this darker skinned southern European region, but because he WAS different.

Skirting between a pair of close-set tables, Elli accidently knocked someone's towel off the back of their chair. "Oh, I'm really sorry!" he said, immediately bending over to pick up the already damp towel. Miguel watched yet another the girl become captured by an accent that spoke flawless Spanish, with an aroma of American twang.

Aside from himself, he caught the eyes of several of the girls, tracking to where the light grey waistband rode over the creamy peach of Elliott's underwear. The soft cotton lifted clear of his baggy jeans as he'd leaned across the back of her chair. He could read it in a handful of twitching lips, 'what a HOTTY!'

Hell, they weren't wrong either!

Earlier that afternoon, he and Elliott had picked out clothing for that evening. The pair of them were in and out of all kinds of clothes, and it had been a lot of fun. Even Elliott really got into planning what to wear.

'I didn't think you were THAT fat! What about a belt?' Elliott had sniggered as the loose jeans he'd tried, slipped down around his waist.

'No, just let them sag, Elli,' he’d suggested. 'It looks a lot cooler, and the tee shirt keeps your middle covered. Lots of guys are wearing them like that now.'

Elli had complained at first that it had felt a bit strange - like his jeans were falling off. It looked now like he’d got used it, as they were now perched a LOT lower than he normally wore them, resting part way down his bum. The blue jeans were complemented by a designer label, white, tee shirt. Once the makeover was complete, both of them had admired the finished product with satisfaction,

Sagging was an art form and even he thought that some saggers looked pretty gross - just not Elliott. He’d chosen the peach briefs for Elli himself whilst the American had been taking his shower. The style swung naturally low on the hips, but the jeans he’d lent him swung lower. Frankly, the end result probably looked sexier than if he'd stood there, only in his underwear!

"Here's your towel. Sorry..." Elliott offered the item back, after picking it up.

Maybe the girl just wasn't used to the young guys being polite, but she blushed furiously, and the gaggle of hens at her table clucked with girly enthusiasm. Elliott stammered, but was saved by another interruption.

"Are you two going in the pool?" Alejandro appeared at the table out of nowhere. He was carrying his own towel and usual red shorts. "Cool! I'll come too. Let's go change."

Striding purposely across the grass, Miguel kept his feelings to himself.

* * *

It was fully dark now, and they left the bright lights of the patio for one of the two changing tents, erected out on the lawn. A guard was strategically placed, making sure the guys didn't stray into the wrong one or, to be fair, vice-versa! Inside the entrance of each, a curtain denied line-of-sight to those who remained hopeful. As they went in, they almost ran headlong into a group of guys who'd just changed.

Inside, there were lights, but they weren't great; just enough to send back the shadows around half a dozen plain tables, lined up against the sides. Already, mounds of clothes made untidy piles across most of the table space and, other than a couple of other guys still changing, the tent was unoccupied.

Taking a table at the far end, away from where the unknown teens were undressing, Elliott peeled off his, now sweaty, t-shirt. Slipping the button, the loose jeans fell down without much encouragement. He stepped out of them and picked them up, ready to fold.

"You're the guy down at the nets - the American kid - aren't you?"

“I guess you mean me.” Partly undressed, Elliott turned to the source of the question. “Hi – I’m Elliott. Are you Estela’s friends, then?” He thought he recognised one of them. They looked older.

Alejandro knew them both. The one who hadn’t yet spoken was stocky, with a swarthy, pock-marked face. He was known to get nasty. A bully, all the way through school. The other – the one who had spoken to Elliott - he was nice enough. He and Estela’s brother, Emilio, were pretty close.

The stocky one drew on a pair of swim shorts to cover up his substantial hairy bits, gave his balls a good scratching, peered short sightedly at Elliott and shook his head. “No. Emilio invited us.”

“Oh.”

“So, is it true you’re American?” the first asked. A little taller, his movements were fluid. Elliott realised why he seemed familiar. He'd seen him at the nets, too.

"Yep - though..." He paused. The rest was complicated. "I'm just here for a bit…on holiday," he continued, keeping it simple. "I've seen you at the nets too. You're good."

Throughout this short exchange, Miguel could see that Alejandro’s eyes kept shifting across for secretive glances at Elliott. It irritated him, though he couldn’t help staring himself, either. He shuffled indecisively as Elliott and the older teen continued to chat about their shared interest in beach volleyball.

The more they talked, the more Elliott found he liked the older teen. He’d seen him play, and he WAS good.

“So where did you learn to play?” asked the guy. He took off his jeans and then removed a pair of trendy, brightly coloured, boxer briefs. Caught up in the discussion, Elliott automatically copied his motions. He slipped off his own - actually Miguel’s – well-fitting briefs, and held them in his hand, while he paused to try to explain why it had been in Brazil that he’d first picked up the game.

Distracted, it was a while before he began to think about finding his white speedos!

At the same time, he observed the older teen with interest. If he counted himself, his brother, Miguel and also that spotty guy with all the hair, something in the back of his brain reminded him that this was only the fifth dick he'd ever seen. A pretty mediocre score for someone his age!

A lot bigger than his own, puberty had run its course and the one belonging to Emilio's friend hung down thick and heavy. Proud, even in the gloom.

And circumcised.

That was odd, he mused. From the table, he picked up the towel that had his speedos tucked in them. More to the point, if THAT was what a circumcision was MEANT to be like, Sam's really WAS weird! Even in the poor light, he could make out the subtle change of skin tone where the boy had been neatly cut though, unknown to Elliott, it had not been as a baby, like Sam’s had been.

Just as odd was the fact that the guy didn't seem to grow much hair down there. It seemed sparse. Perhaps not all guys were able to grow lots of pubes? He’d find out soon enough, when he started going to school, if what Miguel said about school showers, was true! He looked down at his own package, grateful for what he had.

If the older boy realised he was being critically examined, he made no show of it. Whilst he didn’t seem to be deliberately flaunting himself, he too seemed to be enjoying the exchange. He paused, swim shorts in hand, as he listened to Elliott talk about Brazil.

Nice guy.

Back across the other end of the tent, Miguel knew he had to stop prevaricating. He’d taken off his t-shirt, but couldn’t put it off any longer. Loitering while everyone else got on with changing, looked suspicious. Quickly he pushed down both his jeans and briefs in one fell swoop, and stepped out of them.

They weren’t talking now, but he could see that Elliott was still turned towards Emilio’s friend. He started to look for his speedos, and glanced up, a few moments later to realise that Elliott was still staring. At the angle he was standing, he could see EXACTLY where that gaze was focused, and it hit him like a ton of bricks! Elliott Carter was checking out another guy's dick!

What the hell did that mean? Could Alejandro actually be right, after all?

Distracted, he reached to where he’d been sure he’d left his towel and speedos. There was nothing there. He checked the floor around where he was standing. Nothing.

SHIT! Where the hell was his stuff?