The Curious Kid Miguel in Ecuador

I'd noticed him first in Bucay, and he me: and who would not have noticed him? Alone among the churning passengers awaiting the train's departure, he was immaculately dressed in white, right down to his shoes. He spoke no more English than I Spanish, but our paths seemed to cross repeatedly as the throngs moved about during the long wait as the train was assembled. He disappeared while the engine was being re-railed after our first attempt to assault the Andes, yet when at last the train got under way, I saw him scamper aboard the lone first-class car. He waved to me as he did so, and for once I found it difficult to focus on the operation of the steam engine, on which I sat, which was, after all, the reason I had traveled to Ecuador in the first place.

Like everything in Ecuador, the train runs on LAST - "Latin American Standard Time". By the time we had laboriously climbed to the isolated mountain town of Huigra, it was dark. And it was here I learned the train would not be going on up to Alausi, because there was not enough fuel! "He" was nowhere to be found, and it was with some difficulty that I eventually found spartan lodgings for the night, mindful of the relatively comfortable room back in Guayaquil that I might otherwise have occupied.

The next day found me anxiously waiting - again interminably - for the return trip to Bucay. I stayed close to, and mostly on - the engine, as steam is one of my passions. And while waiting, "he" returned, still dressed immaculately in white. And again, he sought me out. He was fascinated with the collection of photos I had with me from my stay 14 years earlier; but I'd already given away all the copies I had with me. I managed to explain to Miguel (learning names is not that difficult in Spanish) that I had more copies in Guayaquil, which I'd gladly give him if he would visit me there. In what passed for a halting "conversation", I discovered Miguelito's (he did not mind when I applied the familiar diminutive) father worked for the railroad; so of course they had friends all up and down the line. As the day wore on, Miguel brought some of them up on the engine to meet me; he seemed proud to show off his "gringo" friend, and I certainly did not mind being seen with him! He was gorgeous; I'd pegged him at 16, but when he showed me his ID card I learned this boyish Ecuadoreno would soon be 19.

His dark, polished skin contrasted so markedly with his clothes, and here he was paying all sorts of attention to ME! He was fascinated by my camera, which I suppose he thought was new and expensive, but which in truth was a Minolta I had inherited from my Dad, and which was as old as Miguel himself! As the day wore on I tried over and over to get a good shot of him, but every time I even picked up the camera, he was ready to posture and pose: I concluded he knew full well what a cute thing he was, all 150cm of him; it became apparent after a while that my 183cm was at least one thing he found fascinating about me. And I never did get a really good shot of him, dammit!

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By high noon the train had long been ready to begin the descent, but it was not until after 2 that the clattering telegraph gave orders to get under way. Miguel and I had exhausted our respective repertoires in each others' language, but I'd given him a card from the Grand Hotel with my room number on it, and when at last the mechanists clambered aboard, Miguelito scampered back to the comparative comfort of the first-class car, while I remained in my favorite spot, perched on the tender of the lurching, fire-belching steam engine. For a time, I forgot about Miguel as I was caught up in the glory of real steam; before we arrived in Bucay it rained some, and what with the tendency of a coasting engine to belch water and smoke, when we arrived I must have looked like something the cat dragged in! Since the remaining part of the trip to Guayaquil had a diesel locomotive in which I was not really interested, I elected to take a bus; so I bid Miguel farewell with a reminder to look me up at the Grand...

On the outskirts of Bucay the bus picked up extra passengers who had to stand, and shortly I noticed a youngster wedged between me, the seat, and his parents. He was all but asleep on his feet. So, with a smile at his folks, I picked him up and put him in my lap, where he passed out cold. Only on the outskirts of Guayaquil did enough room in the bus develop that his parents could reclaim him. Throughout the long, lurching ride I berated myself for not having stayed on the train, for perhaps it would have been beautiful Miguel who would have fallen asleep on my lap. That possibility caused me to get hard a number of times, but the boy in my lap was oblivious to everything.

I slept late the next day, intending to go to Duran in the afternoon for more train spotting. But shortly after breakfast in the cafe, I saw Miguel nervously pacing the sidewalk outside. I quickly signed my tab, and went to greet him. I'll never forget how his coffee eyes lit up as he spied me; and I was delighted when he gave me an hug, though it proved a trifle difficult due to the difference in our heights! He made it clear he had come to get the photos, which were (of course) in my room, so I invited him to join me there, which he seemed pleased to do. Wild things danced through my head as I slipped the "do not disturb" card on the outer door-knob, ushered him into my small room, and switched on the air conditioner: already the heat and humidity back here at sea- level, were rising.

That was, of course, not all that was rising! Today, Miguel was perhaps a bit more modestly dressed, in muted shades of green that contrasted nicely with his natural color. He would be, I guessed, a "middle-class" youngster, since his Dad worked for the railroad. In the subdued light of my room, his features were softened, but there was a delicateness to them that took my breath away. Every time he looked at me as he tried to use his halting English, I melted inside. I took my time getting out another set of photos: I wanted him there as long as possible, and feared that once he had them he would fly away. Instead, he insisted we go through the pictures again; they had been taken when he was about 5, and when the railroad was in much better health. He was fascinated, but as we slowly maneuvered our way around the language barrier, I noticed he was using the informal you form more often, which I thought unusual, given the disparity in our ages. He also found occasions to touch me here and there as we sat together on the bed poring over the photos, but of this I thought little, as Latinos are "touchy-feely" folks.

Just then, the lights and air-con stopped. All Ecuador was experiencing power outages due to damage to their main hydroelectric plant near Cuenca, and I knew it would be off several hours. I also knew my little room would soon be unbearably warm. "What a Pity", I said.

"Not important", said Miguel, "Come, walk with me".

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I said, "Why not?"

Out on the street, I said, "Where are we going?"

Taking my hand in his, he replied, "Just come with me" - and I was happy enough to do as he asked. We walked to the waterfront on the Guayas River, turned right and walked more slowly, turning back toward town after a mile or so. I suddenly realized he was heading for the infamous Humboldt Hotel, which I remembered so well from my previous visit; at that time it was a handy place to stay, being the semi-official whorehouse. I had not used it for that purpose of course, but due to its nature, there were always taxis around it early in the morning, which made it easy to get to Duran for early train departures. But now, I suppose Miguel thought I needed some "R-&-R", and he would be showing me the way to it. I saw major problems looming ahead!

Sure enough: still grasping my hand, Miguel led me into the Humboldt. It had undergone some "modernization" since I had last stayed there, but I soon found it was only a new facade, behind which still lay the rabbit- warren of mostly tiny rooms, where one was as apt to be eaten by some bugs! And while I caught little of the meaning in Miguel's rapid-fire Spanish with the concierge, it seemed clear he was booking a "short-time" room - I presumed for me and a girl of my choice. "Gawd", I thought, "how AM I going to get myself out of this?" Negotiations concluded, Miguel led me to up four flites of stairs and on to what was, I realized, one of the larger rooms. Still, there was just a bed, a battered table, a couple of chairs, and a somewhat make-shift bathing area in one corner. As the power was still off, it was stiflingly hot and humid, and the walk up the stairs had us both sweating, I far more than he. Miguel picked up a thread-bare towel and wiped the sweat from my brow, then unbuttoned my shirt, removed it, and rubbed me down vigorously. I still expected giggles and a knock on the door at any moment, so this unexpected attention had not yet had its full effect. But when Miguel quickly shed his own shirt, I was emboldened enough to take the towel and do for him as he had done for me, reveling in his youthful brown body.

When I purposely dropped the towel, but continued to rub his back, he leaned back into me, and I began to hope it would be just us two after all. And since he seemed not at all put off by my attention, I let my hands roam freely. When I turned him around to face me, the look of anticipation on his face sent chills up my spine! I took his face in my hands, leaned down towards him; he raised himself on his toes and met my kiss. "No stranger to the ways of men, my angel", I thought, for he met my tongue passionately. When we broke apart, he said, "may I", and grasped my belt-buckle, loosened it, unzipped my fly and within moments had me out of my pants. I sat down on the bed, and with trembling fingers, unsnapped his trousers and pushed them slowly down. He wore snowy white shorts beneath, and that he was erect under them was very obvious!

"I'd like to suck you", I recited from an old phrase-book, as I slipped the shorts down over the head of his shirt; "Yes go ahead", he replied, and with that I buried all of him in my mouth, feeling his wonderful smooth thighs as I did so. He moaned a little, and I feared he would erupt too soon, so I stopped. At this point he hopped onto the bed, passionately threw himself on top of me, and joyfully fucked between my legs, grinding his tummy against my now-raging hard-on. The stifling heat lubricated us as we both dripped with sweat; the bitter-sweet salty taste of his fresh perspiration as we kissed again was as nectar, and the evident enthusiasm with which he threw himself at me was absolutely electrifying. Whereas the night before I had dreamt of such a meeting, here we were, maddened by lust, pawing at each other as if there was to be no tomorrow!

Just then came the dreaded giggles and knock on the door! "Crap", I thought. "They WILL ruin everything, just when the going was getting good. Damn!"

But with a sly smile, Miguel leapt from the bed, unlocked the door, and ushered in two doll-like guys, who introduced themselves to us as "Toy" and "Sportsman", which I recognized as their "professional" names. The door was quickly locked again. Toy and Sport, (as I'll call him "for short"), were clad only in skimpy bathing-suits, which they shed at once. But for once, my better sense took hold; I insisted they show me their ID cards, because these two looked SO young, and I was, after all many miles from home... They seemed disappointed, slipped back into their suits, and scampered out; it was clear from their chatter with Miguel that they would soon be back, and indeed they were - with what certainly looked like "authentic" ID cards, and health cards as well. From these I discovered that "Toy" was Jose, and Sport was really Jaime, and that they were brothers, 19 and 20 years old.

"You want everything?" asked Miguel. What could I say? "Sure!". Sport and Toy immediately shucked their swimsuits again, and jumped on the bed. Miguel pulled up a chair nearby, pushed me into it, and perched on my leg. "We will only look", he said, pointing to his eyes, and turning his (and my!) attention to the boys on the bed. Toy seemed not far past puberty, so smooth and virtually hairless was he, yet there was not an ounce of "baby fat" on his small frame. As he and Sport began to fondle each other, every muscle in Toy's body showed through his flawless skin. Sport resembled him, of course, but was a little "beefier", with a covering of light "fur" that presaged much more to come. As they began to warm each other up, Miguel stroked my cock with his right hand as he hugged himself to me with his left arm behind my back. I fondled him in like manner, and settled in for what appeared to be a "show" in our honor.

And what a show it was! Toy and Sport clearly knew exactly how to turn each other on: before long they were doing a sexy sixty-nine. Both were quite well endowed; neither was cut, but there was no problem in getting their glans' exposed and ready. Pretty soon, Sport began rimming Toy, and when he had prepared his brother with plenty of nature's lube, Sport slipped his cock up Toy's ass expertly. They fucked doggie style for a while, then made a quick switch with Toy on his back and Sport sitting on his cock. Sport's muscular legs worked effortlessly to propel him up and down on Toy's shaft, while Toy "toyed" with Sport's rigid tool. I was getting very hot watching all this, and nearly lost a load because of Miguel's attentions, but he seemed to know just when to stop and let me "cool down". It was not long before Sport grabbed his own cock and with a few strokes and a few brotherly thrusts from Toy, shot his load far up on the other's chest; Toy immediately slathered this all over himself with his hand, and when Sport stood up on the bed, a few strokes brought forth Toy's steaming seed in torrents. Miguel took his hand away from my cock long enough to clap his appreciation for the show, and I did likewise. Without a word, the boys quickly washed themselves in the corner shower, dried each other off, pulled on their swimsuits and darted out the door. "Do you like him?", Miguel asked me.

"Yeah, but I prefer you", I replied in my fractured Spanish.

"Good", he replied, and steered me towards the shower. Here we washed each other just as our entertainers had done. The water was cold, and I confess it dampened my ardor somewhat. This was made worse when, after we toweled off, Miguel began putting on his clothes, indicating that I should do the same. Damn! Was I not to enjoy this gorgeous fellow after all?

Just then the decrepit air conditioner suddenly started up. The noise was deafening. We were back together and fully clothed. "Let's go", Miguel said, grasping my hand once again. Just before he opened the door, he reached up and pulled me down to his mouth and kissed me: "Now..." he whispered, and we went back down the hall, this time down in an elevator, and out into the stifling afternoon heat. He led me toward my hotel, and when a block or so away, stopped. "I go now", he said haltingly, but I come to you tonight. I can't wait to see you again." With that he squeezed my hand, turned and walked away, and in moments was lost in the crowd.

Dispirited, I walked back to the Grand. I was unspeakably horny, with visions of Miguel and his friends cavorting before my eyes, yet I'd had no "relief". I definitely needed a nap! But in our earlier haste to leave, Miguel had left the pictures behind, which gave me a little hope. My room was now freezing, so I killed the air-con and stretched out on the bed. The temptation to relieve my aching balls was very strong. Still, Miguel had said "then", and "this night", and the photos were still with me: there seemed a small chance that he might actually return. I drifted off to sleep, to be awakened by hunger a couple of hours later. I hadn't eaten anything - any food, that is - since breakfast. So I went down to the cafe and had a burger with avocado and chese, washed down with a frosty beer. Then I went back to my room.

About seven, the phone rang. The concierge was on the line. "There is a Mr. Hiessas to see you, and he would like to visit in your room: is that agreeable to you?" he asked. "By all means; he is the son of my friend who works on the railway, so send him up," I replied. "Good, we will hold his identity card at the desk, it is the practice here: he may pick it up as he departs." The phone went dead. Moments later, there was a tap at my door, and when I opened it there was my smiling friend, neatly dressed in a dark brown outfit. I thought it would be brazen at this hour to put the "do no disturb" sign on the OUTside of the door, so left it out of sight. I turned the air-con on low, gathered up the pictures and put them into the pocket of his coat; this he immediately removed, then threw his arms around my waist and hugged me. I stroked his glossy black hair; within seconds, I felt the pressure of his rising cock against my leg, and I'm sure he felt mine somewhere near his belly- button. In no time at all, and with almost no conversation, we were rolling together naked on the bed.

Given the events earlier in the day, I had concluded that Miguel was wise in matters of sex. But as we explored each other's bodies, it dawned on me that he really had much to learn. Many of his actions were tentative and hesitant, though he appeared quick to learn that what he sensed felt good for me also felt good for himself. As our foreplay intensified, he became more bold, yet I could have sworn, when he finally took my cock in his mouth, that it was his first. His explorations heightened his spirit of adventure, and despite some initial clumsiness, he soon had me panting, and more than once I had to stop his actions, because I wanted this episode to last as long as possible. Just looking at his splendid young body sent me into a frenzy, and to have him pawing at ME was so glorious that I really had to hold myself back. One way to achieve this, of course, was to do unto him as he was doing unto me; he writhed in bliss as I tongued him all over; and when I finally worked my way up his thighs, licked his almost hairless balls, and then swallowed his cock, he suddenly exploded in a frenzied orgasm, grasping my arms, thrusting his pelvis towards my eager throat, and exclaiming something in Spanish I did not understand, but which I took to be complimentary.

When at last he was spent, and I had consumed every drop of his life juices, he relaxed, and I stretched out beside him. Whereas earlier my balls had been aching, now they were the source of near-pain: I was STILL unrelieved, and STILL unspeakably horney. And I feared mightily that Miguel, having reached Nirvana, would take his leave. But after a brief interval, he opened his eyes and seemed immediately drawn to my raging hard-on. He played with it by hand (dangerous, under the circumstances!), and then - to my astonishment and delight - grasped my hand and placed it on his backside. Surely, I thought, he does not want me to enter there; but he rolled on to his stomach, still holding my hand "there", and humped the bed and wiggled his behind in a manner MOST inviting! "Are you sure you want this?" I whispered as I lightly nibbled on his ear. "Yes, please, I want you inside me", he replied.

Now, I thought, I will learn for sure if he is a virgin! Quickly I retrieved a packet of Astro from my luggage, and began to apply it to the crack between his lovely cheeks. "What is that?" he asked.

"Lubrication", I answered with the nearest cognate I could think of.

"Oh yes," he murmured. He winced as I began to insert a well-lubricated finger into his bung-hole; the tightness assured me that I was indeed entering virgin territory. I knew that if I managed to get my cock in there, it would be take no more than a few thrusts before I would shoot: indeed, just fingering him had me so hot I feared I would lose it before I got inside. But a bit of time and the lube worked their magic; he was relaxing, loosening up. With my free hand I massaged his back, his arms, the backs of his legs; and when he seemed ready, I took aim and began to enter him. He resisted only a little, and then very slowly, I pushed past his sphincter, and was presently buried to the hilt. I nibbled the nape of his neck, and he made "satisfied" sorts of sounds; I was not hurting him, but I knew for sure he had never been fucked before. Then it happened: I withdrew only slightly, and he moved his ass back to follow me, and when I thrust a second time I fired my wad! There was no stopping it, and as he wriggled his ass underneath me, I pumped wave after wave of my cum into him. He reached back with both hands and pulled me deeply into himself, apparently not wanting my orgasm to stop. But of course it eventually subsided, and I relaxed heavily on him, totally spent.

When I had, after some little while, grown soft inside him, I gently and slowly withdrew; he turned and once again hugged me to himself vigorously. "Did you like it?" I asked. "Yes it was amazing" he replied. At this point I realized he was rubbing his cock, now hard again, against my leg. Still hugging me close, he began to hump my thigh, and when I kissed him and our tongues met again, he shot another load of youthful juices, and with a free hand rubbed the effusion on my leg, then on my cock; he jacked me quickly to a second orgasm, which copiously sprayed us both, and which he spread all over our bodies with his hand.

We relaxed a while, then he stirred himself and led me into the bathroom, where we washed each other in warm water and fragrant soap. Then, after a vigorous rubbing down, he turned down the bed, and still nude like myself, slipped under the sheet and beckoned me to join him. We quickly fell asleep, wrapped tightly in each others' arms.

I must have slept deeply, indeed: for when I awoke in the morning, he was gone. I found a little note, evidently written before he'd arrived. "Thank you for having me", it said, and was signed, "with love, Miguel Hiessas". I still cherish that note, but I never saw Miguel again.

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