Loving Luiz
By: Morris Henderson
(Copyright 2007 by the author)
 

The author retains all rights. No reproductions are allowed without the author's consent. Comments are appreciated at...

PART 1

 Chapter 1 

Although his English was good, his thick accent and bronze complexion unmistakably identified him as Hispanic. I first thought that he was about 13 or 14 years old, judging from his height and thin frame but a second look convinced me that he was probably 15. He was shabbily dressed in worn and torn cut-off jeans, a tee shirt that hung loosely over his torso, and discount store sneakers that looked like they would be completely worn out within a month or so.  His clothes were old and worn but both he and his clothes were free of the dirt and grime that one often sees on neglected children.  Except for his cleanliness, he looked like a hundred other orphan or neglected boys that prowled the streets of the downtown area asking for a handout.

I was sitting on a bench overlooking a grassy field, enjoying the early spring sunshine and trying to decide whether to eat out or fix supper at home. To my back was a wooded area. I hadn't seen the boy approach so he must have come out from the woods.

There was something else that set this boy apart.  In spite of his ragged clothes, he was stunningly attractive.  The jet-black of his hair was echoed by his deep brown eyes that nestled engagingly beneath arching eye brows.  His nose and lips were more European than native American yet his bronze, blemish-free complexion revealed his heritage.

"Mister, can you help me?" he had asked. I was sure he wanted some cash, ostensibly to buy food but possibly to squander on pot or booze.  I had been approached by many children since moving into an apartment on the outskirts of downtown after graduating from college. All appeared to be destitute and trying to cope with the curse of poverty but I had learned that a few were faking it and "earned" as much as many adults in minimum wage jobs. For a youngster who couldn't legally hold a job, it was a way either to support bad habits and addictions or to supplement a family's income. I was always willing to help the latter but unwilling to help a youngster who was a fraud or would waste the money getting high. The trouble was, you couldn't tell one from the other most of the time.

There was something about this boy's demeanor, however, that indicated he was genuinely distraught so I decided to let him make his case. I hoped that I could determine in a conversation whether he deserved my help. "What's the problem?" I asked.

"My Papa didn't come home from work," he said with either a practiced or real expression of concern on his face. "I'm afraid something bad has happened."

"Maybe he just got delayed," I said.

"No," he said. "That was Monday. I haven't seen him in three days." Tears appeared in his eyes and he dropped his head, possibly to avoid being seen crying. It's hard to summon tears on command so I began to think that the boy had a real problem.

"Have you talked to the police?" I asked.

"No!" he exclaimed. "Don't call the police! They'll take me away, send me back, and I'll never find my Papa!"

"Calm down," I urged as if it would do any good when he was so obviously upset. "I won't call the police. You said they would send you back. What did you mean?"

"To Tijuana. Papa told me never to talk to the police or we'd both be sent back. But if I can't find him, they'll send me back. Then I'll never find him." His tears were now flowing freely and he only brushed them away with no attempt to hide them.

"Okay," I said. "I'll help if I can but you'll have to tell me more. Come sit down and tell me about it. By the way, my name's Jake. What's yours?"

"Luiz. Can you help me find my Papa?"

"Perhaps," I said noncommittally. "But you'll have to tell me more about him and what happened."

The boy related the events surrounding his father's disappearance.  His father worked as a day laborer. Most days he would walk to a location where other day laborers gathered and would usually be hired by someone who needed help with gardening, cleaning, remodeling, or odd jobs. He always returned home, although sometimes it was late in the evening, with enough cash to buy groceries and a little to sock away to pay rent on a one-room apartment over a Laundromat. The boy didn't attend school because his father was afraid the authorities would find out they were in the country illegally. Instead, he spent his days watching television, reading in the library, roaming the neighborhood, and avoiding authority figures. During the evening, his father would review with him what he had read in the library and encouraged him to learn as much as he could so he could have a better life than they currently had. The boy's mother died years ago in Tijuana. Shortly after that, the father lost his job at a cafe and the two of them snuck across the border to join Luiz's uncle. When they arrived, however, they learned the uncle had been in a bar fight and was arrested and deported. They decided to stay, hoping to earn enough money to return to Mexico but living expenses consumed nearly everything that the father could earn as an undocumented day laborer.

"Papa is a good man," Luiz said earnestly. "He doesn't cause trouble for anybody. I don't know what happened to him. I don't know how to find him.  Can you help, please?"

The despair and frustration was obvious in his expression. I couldn't deny him help although I had no clue as to how. I certainly couldn't promise something that I couldn't deliver and I knew it would be nearly impossible to help without contacting the authorities, which Luiz had emphatically ruled out.  There was, however, one bit of help I could offer if my suspicions were correct. "Have you had anything to eat lately?" I asked.

"Yesterday," he replied. "An apple and some peanut butter. Papa brings home groceries but they're gone...he's gone. I must find him."

"Let's go over to McDonalds," I suggested. "We can think better on a full stomach."

He gave me a pained expression and said, "But I have no money."

"My treat. You can have whatever you want."

He dropped his head and stared at the ground. "Papa says it's not good to beg for food. He says we must earn what we get."

"But I'm inviting a new friend to dinner. Surely you can accept an invitation from a friend."

Luiz glanced up, grinned, and said, "Gracias...sorry, thank you. I forgot.  Papa says to speak English."

We walked to the McDonald's where I encouraged Luiz to order anything he wanted. He ate enough for two but I realized he was just catching up from a long time with no food. As we ate, I asked for more information about his father. Enrique Loberto was 32 years old with black hair and bronze complexion typical of a Latino. He had a mustache in Mexico but shaved it soon after crossing the border. His six-foot frame was muscular and he had a scar on the back of his left hand from an accident. Like Luiz, he was proficient in English but had a more pronounced accent.

As Luiz spoke, his affection for and admiration of his father was evident. I decided that I would do everything I could to help find the missing man.  Moreover, I decided that Luiz should stay with me while we tried to find out what had happened. I just couldn't let Luiz stay alone worrying about his father.

We walked to their meager lodgings--clean but sparsely furnished--and left a note telling Enrique, should he return and not find his son at home, that Luiz was with me. I added my address and phone number fervently hoping that I would receive a call from Enrique. Luiz gathered a few clothes and toiletries into a paper sack and we left.

We then walked to my apartment. On the way, Luiz asked, "Why are you being so nice...to help me...the food...letting me stay with you?"

"Simple," I replied, "We're amigos and friends do favors for friends."

"When I saw you on the bench," he said, "I didn't know if you would even listen to me. Other men just told me to go away. But I knew I had to find Papa so I asked you. I thank you very much."

By the time we reached my apartment, I had formulated the beginnings of a plan. Tom, a college classmate, had taken a job with the local newspaper and, based on occasional conversations, I knew that he had developed some contacts with the police. Perhaps he could use those contacts to gather information without filing a missing person report. In the meantime, I would check with the hospitals and clinics to see if an Enrique Loberto had been treated or admitted.

When I told Luiz of my plan, he was elated until I mentioned that my friend could possibly contact the police. The sudden increase in his anxiety was palpable. "No!" he shouted. "They'll send me back without Papa. I have to find Papa." He settled down, however, when I assured him that my friend would be sure to keep everything confidential.

It was late--too late to begin searching--and time to go to bed. The first of what would surely be many problems confronted me. I had only one bedroom with only a double bed and no sofa for Luiz to sleep on. I remembered only one bed in Luiz's apartment; he was obviously sleeping with his father so it would not bother him to share a bed. However, my reservations were more troubling. As a gay man, I didn't know how I would handle the arrangement. To that point, I had had no interest in Luiz sexually. He was a minor and just a boy who needed help. Could I continue to regard him in the same way when we were in bed together?

Chapter 2

"Time to shower and go to bed," I said. "Tomorrow, we'll begin looking for your father."

"Shower?" he asked. "I've never had a shower. I've only used a tub."

"So, it will be a new experience, then."

He hesitated a moment before saying, "Will you show me how?"

The first image that came to mind was showering with him but I quickly suppressed it and said, "Come on. I'll show you how to get the shower started." We walked to the bathroom where I demonstrated how to turn on the water and adjust the temperature. "I'll go get you a towel," I said as I walked out into the hallway to the linen closet. I was not prepared for what I saw when I returned. Luiz was standing, facing me, completely naked.  A thick patch of pubic hair grew above a somewhat larger than average sized, uncut cock that looked even bigger on his thin body. The much deeper bronze color of his cock contrasted with the rest of his body.  His ball sack hung down from the weight of his balls.  Luiz was only 15 but it was patently clear that he had passed completely through puberty and his male organs were fully mature.

Unable to control my actions, I gasped.  My eyes seemed riveted to his crotch. I regained my senses when Luiz said apologetically, "Sorry. Papa said it was okay be naked with friends. We are friends, aren't we?"

"Yes," I stammered. "We're friends. It's okay. You haven't done anything wrong. Now step in the shower and get washed up. You know how to turn off the water?"

"Yes," he replied.  As he turned and stepped into the shower, I got a quick glance at his nicely rounded ass cheeks.  The boy apparently had no reservations about being naked in front of me but the effect on me was disturbing.  When I first saw him approach me on the park bench, I was impressed with his good looks.  His naked body, although somewhat thin, was even more good looking and triggered thoughts in my mind that I knew I would have to suppress.

I returned to the living room where I sat unable to get the image of his naked body out of my mind nor the guilt feelings for being attracted to an underage boy. It would be, I concluded, a difficult time for me, a gay man that had not had male companionship for over a year.

Fifteen minutes later, I heard the shower turn off. Five minutes after that, he appeared in the living room with a towel wrapped around his waist. I suggested that he crawl into bed while I showered. He disappeared into the bedroom and I took a quick shower. I omitted my customary jerk in the shower out of fear that Luiz would come into the bathroom and catch me but with the image of his naked body still in my mind, I had to concentrate on other things to keep from sprouting an erection.

Having dried off, I put on a clean pair of boxers, opting for modesty instead of my usual habit of sleeping in the nude. When I returned to the bedroom, Luiz was in bed but awake and watching me as I set the alarm, turned out the light, and crawled into bed beside him.

"You're a nice man," Luiz said.

"Just a friend helping his new friend," I replied.

"Will we find Papa?"

"I don't know," I replied honestly, "But we'll do everything we can to look for him."

"Thank you for helping me," he said as he laid an arm across my chest and cuddled up to me. It was, I was sure, an innocent gesture but it had an electrifying effect on me. His warm, smooth skin against mine stirred feelings that I knew I must quell. As we laid there, I feared for his father whom I had never met, I feared for Luiz who was distraught although temporarily at ease, and I feared that I wouldn't be able to control my urges. I had grown, in a very short time, to admire Luiz's courage, his affection for his father, and his discipline in learning English to merge into a new culture.

Soon, Luiz's deep, steady breathing signaled that he had fallen asleep but I lay awake for some time trying to think of ways to locate his father and, if it came to that, what to do if we could not find him.

The alarm buzzed. Almost unconsciously, I hit the snooze button and began to shake off the fuzz of a deep sleep. Luiz heard the alarm, too, and snuggled up to me, his chest against my back, an arm over the top of me.  Although I was not yet fully awake, I felt his hard cock pressed against my ass cheek. Habitually, I started to reach down to fondle the stiff rod just as I had done so many times with my roommate in college. Fortunately, I awoke enough to realize it was Luiz, not my roommate, and I extracted myself from his embrace to head for the bathroom.

After my morning piss, I returned to the bedroom to find Luiz sitting up in bed smiling at me with the blanket covering his lap and legs. We said good morning to each other and I began to get dressed. Luiz looked nervously at me and, when my back was turned, bolted out the door and into the bathroom. I caught a glimpse of his bare ass just before he disappeared down the hall, which told me that he had been sleeping nude. Five minutes later, he returned, walking in as naked as when I saw him before his shower.  "I thought you were running away," I joked.

His face flushed and he said, "I had to pee."

"In a bit of a hurry, I noticed." His face blushed even more and I guessed the reason. "Morning woodie?" I asked.

"Woodie? What does that mean?"

"It's American slang. It means a boner, a stiffie, a hard-on." His puzzled expression told me that those terms were equally mysterious to him. "It means your penis gets hard and stands up. It's really quite normal."

"Oh, woodie means erection." he replied with a flash of understanding. "I was afraid..." He stopped in mid-sentence.  I didn't know whether he was groping for an English word or was hesitant to finish what he had started to say.

"Afraid of what?" I asked.

"Well...we sleep together. I didn't want you to think..." Again he interrupted himself.

"No, Luiz. It's quite natural and nothing to be ashamed of." I was referring to his sprouting a boner but he interpreted it differently.

"You think it's okay for men to be together...to like each other?"

His question might have meant many things. I chose to give a very neutral answer. "Sure. We're two men. I like you and hope you like me. There's nothing wrong with that. Now get dressed and we'll have breakfast."

"Oh," he said but still with a puzzled look on his face. Over breakfast, it became clear that his curiosity was not satisfied. "It's okay to like men?" he asked.

"Sure. Why not?"

"Papa says it's not right. He says men should like women."

He seemed to be getting closer to talking about gay relationships but his wording was equivocal. At another time, I would pursue the topic more to find out what he really meant but now was not the time. "It's okay to like men. It's okay to like women," I replied and abruptly changed the subject.  "I have to go to work but I think I can get the afternoon off. Will you be all right while I'm gone?"

"Of course. I'm alone most days."

"You can stay here if you want," I said. "I'll give you a spare key if you want to leave and come back."

Normally, I would not be comfortable letting a near-stranger stay alone in my apartment but somehow I knew that Luiz could be trusted. I was sure that he wouldn't steal anything and all my confidential stuff -- including financial records and pornography -- that were safely locked up in my desk.

"Help yourself to anything in the cupboard or refrigerator if you get hungry," I said as I headed for the door. "I'm hoping to be home by 1:00 if I get the afternoon off. Otherwise, it will be about 5:30."

I felt terrible all morning knowing that Luiz would be worrying about his father so I was relieved when my manager granted the afternoon off. I hurried home and arrived about 12:30 to find Luiz gone. He had left no note as to his whereabouts, which increased my concern for him. However, just before 1:00, I heard the key in the door and Luiz walked in saying, "Jake. I'm glad you're here." He ran to me, wrapped his arms around me, and held me tightly. I returned his hug.

"I'm glad to see you, too," I said. "Is everything all right?"

"It is now," he replied as he hugged me more tightly. "I was afraid you wouldn't come back...like Papa."

Luiz was 15 but had experienced something like the separation anxiety of a toddler whose parent drops him off at day care for the first time. He was beyond being a little boy but not yet a mature man. He had the physical equipment of a grown man and that tempted me in inappropriate ways but he retained vestiges of a child's emotions and that seemed to be the reason why I wanted so desperately to help him.

We ate lunch and I spent most of the afternoon on the phone. I first called Tom, my classmate at the newspaper. He wanted more information than I cared to reveal or was able to provide but he eventually agreed to do what he could with his contacts at the police department. I then called every hospital and clinic in the phone book asking if Enrique Loberto had been admitted or treated and released.

By 4:00, I had zero results and Luiz had grown visibly upset. In spite of my frequent encouragement that there was still a chance of finding his father, my own hope was fading and my comments were sounding hollow. When I made the last fruitless call, Luiz's courage failed him. He began to sob. I sat beside him, put an arm around his shoulders, and let him cry with his head buried in my chest. My own tears started to flow out of sympathy for the boy.

At 5:30, I fixed dinner but as we sat somberly at the kitchen table, neither of us spoke and neither of us had much of an appetite. The phone rang at just past 6:00 and startled us both. It was Tom.  He first told me how hard it had been to get any information. Expecting that he had also struck out, I thanked him for his effort but then he said, "I think we may have found the missing person. There's a John Doe in the morgue that fits his description including the scar on the hand."

Fortunately, I realized that Luiz was listening to my side of the conversation and that I couldn't reveal by my reaction what I had heard. I simply said, "Tell me more."

A body had been found in an alley not far from the day laborer pick up point but had no identification. He died from blunt force trauma to the back of the head. Apparently, it was a robbery because no wallet, cash, watch, or anything of value was on the body. I wanted more details but Luiz obviously sensed my concern and impatiently asked, "What is it, Jake? Have they found Papa?"

"Thanks," I said over the phone. "I've got to go now. I'll talk to you later."

Tom said, "I heard the boy. I don't envy you having to tell him. Call me at home as soon as you can."

It was the most difficult thing I had done in my life. Luiz, an outwardly brave but inwardly fragile 15-year-old boy had lost the only person that was dear to him. He sobbed hysterically while I held him close, trying to communicate that he wasn't alone in the world. He asked what had happened and I knew that I would have to be honest and tell him.  He then screamed in anger at the low-life bastards that had killed his father. He angrily cursed God and fate that allowed it to happen. Over the course of almost an hour, his hysterical sobs subsided to steady crying while I continued to hold him and wished fervently that I could ease his pain.

With his head still buried in my chest and our arms wrapped around each other, he said, "What's going to happen to me now, Jake? I'm all alone now."

"You're not alone," I corrected him. "Not as long as I'm here. You can live with me and I'll take care of you. You've lost your mother and now your father but you still have me. I can never take the place of your father but I can look out for you. I can help you. I can love you."

That last promise about loving him was not much of a stretch because I had become very attached to the young boy. I had given no thought to becoming a surrogate father to him but in spite of the inevitable problems, I knew that's what I wanted to do. It was not mere sympathy, either. I admired his courage, relative maturity, intelligence, and values.

Luiz lifted his head and looked into my eyes, saying, "Oh, Jake. I'm so lucky to have found you."

"We're both lucky, Luiz. You don't just have me, we have each other."

Luiz crawled into my lap and re-buried his head into my chest but continued to cry. I knew his tears were for his father but I also hoped that they indicated some measure of gratitude to and affection for me. About 30 minutes later, his crying stopped and shortly after that his deep breathing told me he had fallen asleep. He barely stirred when I arose, carried him to the bedroom, put him in bed, removed only his shoes, and covered him up.

Chapter 3

I returned to the living room and called Tom. There was little more he could tell me about Enrique's death but he did volunteer the information that the body could be claimed by an adult who could identify the body and provide proof of relationship. I explained that Luiz was the only relative but he was only 15. Moreover, I wasn't sure he could stand the trauma of claiming his father's remains. I thanked Tom again for his efforts and hung up the phone. I sat for a long time trying to decide what I could do to ease Luiz's pain, how to retrieve his father for a proper burial, and how to care for Luiz until he grew up. By nearly midnight, I had the beginnings of a plan and I went to bed.

Luiz was sleeping soundly where I laid him. I took off my clothes and crawled into bed being careful not to wake the boy. Sleep, when it came, was fitful as I continued to worry about Luiz. Sometime in the middle of the night, I was awakened by Luiz getting out of bed. He went into the bathroom but returned shortly having likely emptied his bladder. He removed all his clothes and got back into bed.

"Are you all right?" I asked.

"Yes," he said simply and immediately snuggled up to me.

I put my arms around him and said, "I'm here for you, Luiz. I'll always be here for you."

Were it not for his tragedy, my concern about his future, and the fact that he was just a boy, his embrace would have been erotic. Instead, it gave me a good feeling to be able to comfort him.

I hadn't set the alarm because there was no need to get up on a Saturday but we woke at about 7:00. Luiz was still glued to me and I could feel his hard-on pressed against my leg. Whatever embarrassment he felt about his erection the previous morning was obviously no longer concerning him.

He spoke first. "Can I see Papa? I want to say goodbye."

I hadn't expected that question. In fact, I had been hoping to avoid even talking about his help in identifying the body for a day or so. "Are you sure?" I asked.

"It's something I must do, Jake. Can you help me? Can I see Papa?"

"I think I can arrange it," I said, hoping that I could. "But I'll need your help."

"My help? What can I do?"

"Let's get dressed and we'll talk about it," I replied.

He got out of bed, naked, and not the least shy about my seeing his stiff cock. As he went into the bathroom, I said, "Hurry, I have to pee, too." I got out of bed, opened a drawer, and searched for a clean pair of boxers.  Just as I had removed my boxers and was about to put on the clean pair, Luiz returned. "You get woodie, too," he exclaimed. Although I quickly pulled my boxers up, I noticed that his eyes were focused on my crotch.  I attributed it to mere curiosity.

Dressed, we sat at the kitchen table eating breakfast and I asked, "Did your father attend church?"

"Yes. We went to mass every Sunday that Papa didn't work."

That was the first key in my plan but other things would also have to fall into place for my plan to work. As I outlined my plan to Luiz, he seemed pleased and even offered a few refinements.

First, we went to Luiz's old apartment. He gathered some personal things -- all of his clothes, some of his father's papers from a box in the closet, a few photographs, almost everything but the furniture. There wasn't much; it fit into two boxes that we carried back to my apartment. I told Luiz to put on his "church" clothes and we went over to see the parish priest at St. Francis.

Father Garcia was distressed to learn of Enrique's death and willing to help with my plan -- more to the point, to help Luiz. He agreed to meet us at the morgue on Monday morning and to conduct a funeral. "Unfortunately," he said, "The parish's cemetery is full. I can't offer you a plot there."

"That's no concern, Father," I said. "I will arrange for burial...and, of course, take care of any expenses you incur."

"You're very kind," he said. "We would be grateful for a small donation."

Turning to Luiz, he asked, "Do you have relatives here or will you be going back to Mexico?"

Luiz dropped his head and said softly, "I have no relatives. It was just Papa and me."

"Luiz can live with me," I quickly added. "I'll take care of him until he is grown."

"Bless you," the priest said as Luiz looked up at me with tears in his eyes, the first since the previous night. Turning to Luiz, the priest said, "Maybe you should go into the chapel and light a candle for your father." I was surprised by the suggestion but Luiz promptly left. When he had gone, the priest said to me, "It's clear to me that you are a kind man...to care for the boy. And it's clear that he has come to depend on you. But Luiz is a special boy and has ...how can I say this? Luiz needs special guidance. Are you prepared to give it to him?"

"I understand," I said. "He's lost both his parents. I think I can help him through the grieving and..."

The priest interrupted me. "That's a problem, of course. But Luiz also has a...well...special problem that he must work through.

"And that problem is?" I asked.

The priest thought for a moment with a worried expression. "I'm afraid I can't tell you. Confidentiality of the confessional. The problem may or may not manifest itself but if it does, you must be prepared to provide special guidance. I know I'm being vague but I felt you ought to know that the responsibilities you are taking on may include more than with most boys."

The priest's ambiguity began to annoy me and my irritation must have been evident in my reply. "So what is it? How can I be prepared if you won't tell me? Is it a health problem? Behavior? With respect, father, you haven't told me anything."

"I apologize, my son," the priest said. "I really can't say any more. Perhaps I shouldn't have even mentioned it because I see that it has upset you. I just wanted to let you know that you may be facing more than you currently realize. I also want to assure you that you can come to me for help at any time."

My annoyance had escalated to irritation. I wanted to tell the priest that his warning was no help at all. Fortunately, I remembered that he had agreed to meet us at the morgue so I just thanked him for the help and left to collect Luiz. On my way to the chapel, I tried to resolve the mystery. What would a boy say to a priest in confessional that may or may not manifest itself as a major problem for me to deal with? Only one answer fit the sparse facts, which included Luiz's questions to me about liking men. Luiz may be gay.  I knew I could help him through that but I had doubts about my ability to control myself if he came on to me.

Our next stop was back at my apartment where we examined his father's documents. I was pleased to see Luiz's Mexican birth certificate and a faded newspaper article mentioning his mother's death. I hoped that the documents and the help of Father Garcia would be enough to satisfy the bureaucrats at the morgue although I still had serious concerns, not the least of which was how Luiz could cope with seeing his dead father.

My plan included keeping Luiz occupied but allowing the possibility that he might need some quiet time -- alone or with me -- to grieve. I suggested we do some shopping and he agreed. At Wal-Mart, we filled a cart with groceries and I let Luiz help me choose what to buy. We then crossed to the other side of the store where I directed him to the boy's clothing section. He objected, but yielded to my insistence, and we checked out with new shirts, pants, socks, shoes, and underwear for him.

After dinner, we set about to arrange his things in my bedroom. I cleared space in the closet and drawers for his clothes and, for a while, he seemed quite happy over the new situation. It was tangible evidence that he had a place to stay, to be safe, and someone to look after him. By the time we finished, it was late -- time for a shower and bed.

Luiz showered first and when I crawled into bed, he snuggled up to me as he had done before. "Thank you, Jake," he whispered in my ear. "For finding Papa, for letting me stay here, for the clothes, for everything. I don't know what I'd have done if you weren't so kind to me."

"I'm happy to help a wonderful boy, Luiz." I hugged him and added, "The only thing that matters to me now is you." We fell asleep in each other's arms.

We spent the day at the zoo. I thought it might be a welcome diversion for Luiz and I was right because he almost ran from one exhibit to the next and seemed to forget about his father. We had dinner at a little restaurant near Balboa Park and returned to my apartment about 9:30.

"Tomorrow is a big day, Luiz. Are you sure you want to go see your father?"

"Yes. I must. I have to tell him good bye."

Early the next morning, I called in sick to work. We met Father Garcia at the morgue at 8:00. With the priest's help, we convinced the bureaucrats that we could identify their "John Doe" and thereby relieve them of the responsibility of investigating his identity.

I couldn't have been more proud of Luiz's courage, resolve, and affection for his father. His composure was admirable...until the attendant rolled out the body and uncovered the face. Luiz gasped, ran to his father, and cried out, "Papa! Papa!" He stared at his father's face for a moment until his emotions took over and he started to cry. I walked over to him and put my arm around his shoulder to comfort him. He buried his head into my chest. A few moments later, his tears subsided and he looked at his father. "Good bye, Papa. "You're in heaven now. I know you're all right. I'm all right too. I have a new home and a nice man who will take care of me. But you know that, don't you? I love you Papa. I guess you know that, too. I promise to make you proud of me. I won't forget what you taught me. I'll study and stay out of trouble just like you said. I love you Papa." He then fell silent, his eyes cast upwards as though he were either praying for his father or perhaps wordlessly talking to his beloved Papa.

I glanced at Father Garcia who, like me, had tears in his eyes. After several minutes, I asked Luiz, "Are you ready to go now?"

"Yes," he murmured as he put his hand in mine. "I think Papa is happy now. No more work. No more worry. Not even about me because you've been so good to me." We returned to the morgue's office. Father Garcia confirmed the identity and I signed papers to arrange for transfer of the body to a funeral home.

Two days later, there was a graveside service conducted by Father Garcia.  Luiz cried but, considering everything, he was in remarkable control of his emotions. On the drive back to my apartment, Luiz said, "Why are you so nice?"

"Because I like you, Luiz. You're a marvelous young man. I'm proud of you.  Your coming to live with me makes me very happy." I meant every word.

Over the next few days, we resumed our new-normal routine. I would go to work in the morning and Luiz would spend time at the library and cleaning the apartment. He even had dinner started when I came home in the evening. We sometimes watched TV after dinner but frequently spent time after dinner in much the same way as he had done with his father. He told me of the books he had read and we discussed them. I was constantly amazed at his thirst for knowledge and grasp of what he read. He knew more about the Constitution and civics than I did ("I need to know that to become an American," he said). He was remarkably familiar with biology, history, and geography but I found that I had to help him a lot with math and the intricacies of English grammar.

Sleeping together also  became routine.  Luiz would often go to bed before I did.  On those nights, he would stir no matter how carefully I slipped into bed.  Apparently without fully awakening, he would cuddle up to me with an arm across my chest.  For the first week or two, I found his nude body pressed against mine erotic but, over time, I was able to suppress my feelings.  I had, in fact, reached a point of merely enjoying him next to me with only rare feelings of lust.

I was taken aback when one evening after dinner when he said, "I read all about homosexuality today."

To be continued...

Feedback always welcome:     

Posted:06/29/07