My father passed away a year ago and while going through his things in the attic I came across a padded envelope tucked behind the drawer of an old desk. I opened it with bated breath expecting to find some family heirloom or at least a wad of money inside. Instead it contained a yellow swimming costume - what my father used to call 'trunks' - and some photos of a really cute South American boy who answered absolutely every requirement I had been looking for in another guy. In some of the photos he was wearing the costume but in others he was completely naked and what's more in a state of supreme excitement, his dick standing up straight and tall like a flagpole on the 4th of July. I couldn't tell when the photos were taken but the costume and the color printing indicated it was probably before I was born. The gorgeous guy looked about eighteen and on the back of the horniest photo was his address. His name was Enrico Cortez and he was from Ecuador.

I sat down on the floor of the attic and spread the photos out before me. I had no idea my father was into other men. It's quite a shock when you discover things like that especially when your dad's no longer with you to stand up for himself or to tell you all about it. Maybe it was just an adolescent fling. I mean I had two younger sisters and a little brother and I was sure he'd loved my mother. I put the pictures back in the envelope and went to sleep with them under my pillow. I woke up with images of 'My father is a fag' written on my bedroom wall. Perversely I smelt the yellow bathing costume and tried to imagine the guy's gorgeous dick inside it.

Next morning I wrote a letter informing Enrico Cortez that my father had recently passed away and that I'd found his address in my dad's desk. Naturally I didn't say anything about the photos. Ten days later there was a letter waiting for me from Ecuador thanking me for my kindness. It was a really nice eloquent letter expressing regret for my father's passing and asking for news and photos of my family. It seems that he and Dad had lost touch over twenty years ago. I wondered why.

I wrote back and in the next letter Enrico sent photos of his wife and two children but strangely enough not one of himself. Still I had more than one of him already and hopefully he wouldn't have changed that much in twenty years. Anyway I was too busy looking at the photo of his elder son Orlando who was the spitting image of his father. As far as I could see that is, as the vital part was missing. He was just about the same age too. A bit younger than me though. I'm twenty-two. Enrico said I was welcome to Ecuador any time but he'd been thinking of sending Orlando to England for the summer to improve his English. Maybe attend a summer course. Could he stay with us?

"Another mouth to feed," said my mother who couldn't quite understand what had prompted me to write to a complete stranger and invite his son to stay.. "I'll pay for his keep." I said. She agreed reluctantly but didn't have much choice as it was my house as much as hers. My father had left it to us both. Anyway my sisters and my brother were going to stay with my grandparents in August.

I won't keep you in suspense waiting for Orlando to arrive but will jump fast-forward to when I met him at the airport. He was just what I'd expected. Even better actually. After all, seeing someone in the flesh is usually a big improvement on seeing them in a photo especially when they're as dishy as Orlando turned out to be. Naturally we had to share a room, but unfortunately not a bed. To start off with at any rate. I'm happy to say things 'developed' quickly between us. I loved him from the first moment I set eyes on him. I loved his body, his face, his hair, even his name. And of course I was sure I was going to love his dick too and prayed it was going to love me. It didn't take me long to find out what it looked like either as he didn't wear underwear and slept just in a t-shirt. During one of our more intimate moments he explained to me why.

"It's like keeping a bird in a cage," he said. "I want my bird to spread its wings and be free."

I thought this sentence was very poetic for somebody who professed not to speak English and of course this philosophy gave me ample opportunity to study his dick although I soon began to feel overdressed in my nerdy pajamas. I decided to take them off and let it all hang out so to speak.

My mother was a great believer in pajamas. Once I was invited to spend the weekend in London with this rich kid I'd picked up in Cowes. He had central heating and silk sheets on the bed so I got into the habit of sleeping luxuriously (and also lustfully) in the buff when I was visiting him. My mother couldn't understand my sudden fascination with London and was also curious to know why I didn't have a girl friend. While helping me pack she noticed the absence of my pajamas.

"Where are your pajamas?" she asked.

"I don't wear pajamas anymore," I said disparagingly as if it were some sign of liberation.

My mother was shocked, "You can't sleep in strange sheets without pajamas," she said.

Now seeing Orlando's dick flapping freely I decided to follow suit only the darn thing soon grew hard with the excitement of its new freedom and the constant sight of my guest's juicy appendage.

Orlando didn't turn a hair and looked at my nine-inch erection as if it was the most natural sight in the world. "You have a nice dick," he said. "It must make some girl very happy."

"I want it to make you happy," I said, straight off without thinking and that's how we started.

There's something rather wonderful about touching somebody's dick for the first time especially when you've been dreaming of that moment for what seems forever and especially when you're the one responsible for having that dick in your room and in your bed and, of course, eventually in your mouth or in your ass. It's like you've written the perfect film script and then suddenly somebody has given you the chance to direct it and choose your favourite actor. And what makes the whole thing all the more beautiful and precious is there's nothing sordid about it. Everything unfolds naturally just as you've planned it. He went down on me first and I closed my eyes and let him play my dick like a flute. Although maybe clarinet would have been more strategically correct. Anyway he used only his lips and the tip of his tongue and literally blew me. Blew my mind too. And that was only for starters. He may only have been just eighteen but I sure learned a lot from him.

Correct me if I'm wrong you linguists but in the two Latin languages I know - French and Italian - there doesn't seem to be a direct translation of our word 'moist.' They've got 'wet' and they've got 'damp' and they've got 'humid' but they ain't got no 'moist.' I don't know if the same applies in Spanish but Orlando definitely had a handle on the word. I had a moist mouth, a moist dick, a moist ass and even moist eyes by the time he'd finished with me. He also taught me the wonders of 'slow' and 'glow'. I'm afraid I'm from the old school of slam, bam and wham when it comes to butt fucks but he taught me how to take it long and slow until my ass was glowing like a spicy hot paella. His verbal endearments were something to write home about too. Until he got to work on me I thought French was the most erotic language with its horny, guttural sounds but that was before Orlando started whispering sweet Spanish nothings into my ears. I tell you man that was something else.

He slipped in and out of my ass like a steel sword in a silk sheath. As a teenager I'd been hung up on Antonio Banderas in 'Zorro' now here I was hanging on, my breath coming in short, sharp sobs, as my own special swordsman touched my ass to distraction until I was on my way slowly but surely to heaven. It was a long, languid ascent but when we finally got there all the colours of the rainbow flashed before my eyes. Just before he came he pulled out of me and lets his cum flakes float down on me like cotton flock. Even that seemed to be in slow motion.

"That was great," he said to me in Spanish but I understood every word.

From that day forth we slept in the same bed. Sometimes mine, sometimes his. We had to be sure we got both beds crumpled as I didn't want my mother to grow suspicious. She'd already made canny comments as to what lazy boys we were spending so much time in bed and I was terrified she'd get to see - or smell -- our spunk It's not easy making love under your parent's roof.

We always slept on a special sheet which I had to remember to lay out religiously every night and fold up carefully every morning. Symbolically, I kept it in the trunk in the attic. My mother never went there as she was afraid of mice. That sheet was our saving grace as Orlando bled the first time I fucked him. He made a lot of noise too. Fortunately my bedroom is at the top of the house, just under the attic. But even so, next morning, my mother asked if one of us was having a nightmare.

I began to wonder if she knew exactly what was going on between us. It's hard to hide loving looks and touching hands and easy intimacy. Especially from your mother. "We're just good friends" probably wouldn't have cut it with her. Also I had many a lingering doubt that she may have seen my Dad behaving in a similar way with some guy. Presumably not Orlando's father. I mean if so she'd have mentioned knowing or meeting him. Or would she? And if my Dad and his Dad had been an item why had they split up? Trunks in the attic and skeletons in the closet.

"You really must take Orlando out more," is all she said.

"I'll take him to the regatta on Saturday," I said. "Anyway I've been busy teaching him English."

"You can do that just as well outside," she said acidly. She was really losing her cool. I decided not to wait till Saturday and took Orlando swimming. On beaches over here you get changed in what we call chalets. I suppose you'd call them beach huts but they're very small. Just big enough for two people to squeeze in together, which can be nice. Orlando was fascinated by them.

"Let's fuck in one of them," he said.

"They have very thin walls," I said. "You can hear everything."

"That only makes it more exciting," said my perverted friend.

"Just as long as you don't scream out like the other night. You'll get us arrested."

"Do it to me soft and slow," he said. "Like I taught you."

"I'll try," I said, "But there's no accounting for my dick when it gets excited."

We were both hard even before we entered the chalet. For convenience sake he was already wearing his swimming costume under his trousers so for once his not-so-little bird was trapped inside its cotton cage. We were so aroused we almost forgot where we were as we banged against the walls and knocked over the little stool. I ground my groin against him and swallowed the haze of lust in his sex-hungry eyes before I swallowed his tongue. Simultaneously, I grabbed his butt and worked his costume down over his dick before he could soil the garment with his semen. He was secreting so much pre-cum I could have used it as sun block. Forgetting all about fucking him I slid my tongue out of his mouth and down his ab-track to lick the shaft of his throbbing erection.

"Yes, yes, yes," he hissed as he fed me with his love juice.

He came in gulps and spasms and I gulped it all down, not wasting a drop. Then I kissed him. His tongue was so hungry for me and so hot and receptive - and moist - that I shot my load all over his six-pack. He'd gotten me so excited. My knees went limp and he had to hang on to me otherwise I swear I would have fallen to the floor. I'd never felt like this in all my twenty-two years. As I gazed once more at the mixture of love and lust in his eyes it suddenly dawned on me him that I had what I'd always wanted. The love of another man. One I wanted to love right back.

He didn't say anything. It wasn't necessary. Somehow we both just knew. We cleaned each other up as much as possible and had a shower before we finally went swimming.

Afterwards we came back to the cabin and stripped off our wet things. Orlando was shivering. He was naturally accustomed to warmer climes. I wrapped a towel round him and hugged him to me. That's when it was the turn of my eyes to become moist. In fact I began to cry like a baby, my boner brushing against his thigh while I did so All part of life's little idiosyncrasies I suppose. Hardness and softness together. He rubbed my boner and told me he loved me too. In Spanish which was a special bonus. I repeated the words albeit with an English accent.

"Only another ten days and it'll be time for you to leave." I said

"We might have fallen out of love by then," he said.

"I don't think so," I said, dropping the towel and caressing his ass.

Since I'd taken his virginity during the first week of his visit he'd grown into quite a butt slut. I think I must have fucked him at least ten times in three days. Mostly when my mother was out playing bridge but once in the middle of the afternoon when she came back unexpectedly.

"Would you like some tea?" she called up the stairs. "I'm just making some."

"Yes please," we wheezed mid-coitus. "Just coming," and burst out laughing hysterically.

It's a wonder she didn't come up the stairs and catch us at it. We loved dangerously. Even here in the chalet we weren't exactly safe. I could hear people talking outside and in the chalet next to us.

"Are you ready for a silent fuck before we go home?" I asked him.

"I'm always ready," he said, stroking my dick.

"Turn round then," I told him, "And put your foot on the stool, like a good boy."

I loved fucking him with his leg up. I could see his balls dangling between his legs and the outline of his dick. I also loved to pass the palm of my hand under his scrotum, hear him sigh, let his balls droop into my hand, then slide my hand up his shaft and help myself to some homemade lubricant. Next I would tickle his asshole with the tip of my dick and drive him wild with a finger here, a tongue there and, just when he'd almost given up hope, a lusty stab of my rock-hard nine-incher.

The horny little devil would cry out "Fuck me, for God's sake fuck me." Only he would say it in Spanish and I would insist on English and on perfect pronunciation too. Once he achieved that I would tease him and ask wherever he had learned such vulgar English and whoever could have taught him, at which he would whimper and rub his horny little ass against my dick and repeat, "Fuck me, fuck me," in both languages so eventually I had to take pity on him and stick it in him. Usually when he was least expecting it. Which is why he cried out.

This time I shortened the preliminaries a bit and oozed my way into him. As he leaned back to take as much as possible of me inside him I ran my hands over his chest and squeezed his nipples. He writhed and he moaned and when I put my hand over his mouth to muffle his cries I got blood all over it. He'd bitten his lip in an effort not to cry out. When I kissed him later I drank the blood.

I think that chalet fuck must have been one of the best we ever had. There's nothing quite as horny and exciting as a long, slow silent fuck. Silent that is except for the slurp of my dick going in, out and up his ass combined with the sluttish hissing coming from between his lips and the sloshing sounds coming from his suckling pig love slot. He said horny things to me in Spanish and with each thrust of my dick I was telling him I loved him in the best and most effective language I knew.

I came copiously inside him.

"I'm not going to be able to live without your fucks," he said, as he hiccuped to a climax.

"Me neither," I said, wiping my dick on his mouth. "What are we going to do?"

"You'd better come back with me." he said, licking me clean. "I'll tell my father."

"Not everything," I said.

"Of course," he laughed.

"Of course yes or of course no?" I asked him. He didn't answer but kissed my dick instead.

We managed to outwit my mother's well-founded suspicions for the next week or so and continued to make love at all hours of the day and night but she wasn't at all surprised when Orlando's father called to thank her for her hospitality and to ask if I could stay with his family on an exchange visit.

"I hope you get to see a bit more of his country than he saw of yours," she said.

As I prepared for my unexpected departure I was tempted to tell Orlando about the photos and also about his dad and my dad and about history repeating itself. But I didn't want to take the risk of that particular part of history repeating itself. He might not understand. Or worse might even get upset. I knew I couldn't bear to be parted from him for twenty minutes let alone twenty years so I tucked the photos back where I found them and threw away our sex sheet before my mother got her hands on it. Of course I kept the yellow bathing costume. I couldn't bring my self to throw that away.

We're off tomorrow. I don't know yet what the future holds in store for me but I hope it will be worth writing to you about. Rest assured I won't leave you in mid-jerk-off but will tell you all about it as soon as it happens. That's if you want to know of course. And I'm sure you do.

So please remember sex marks this spot.

Hasta luego from Joncy.