Santiago returned to his room. The door was open. He could barely discern the shape of someone sitting on his bed. When he came nearer he saw that it was McIntyre. Santiago stumbled as he crossed the room. Had it been McIntyre’s foot? He heard a voice demanding answers to questions he had not understood. McIntyre’s hands toyed with the strings of Santiago’s pants and he stepped out of them when they fell to the floor, letting himself fall onto the bed, remembering he had left his peg in the twin’s room..., and the voice grew louder as McIntyre became angry at seeing the absent harness and device, realizing that one of his rules had been broken..., and the angry words flowed around him and over him as his arms became too heavy and his legs seemed detached as he saw the naked man with lust in his eyes approach and kneel between his raised legs and he saw his own erection standing at a most peculiar angle and he had a notion to laugh as somewhere in the miles of space between himself and McIntyre, the man’s rage dissipated into something else and like an observer in a dream Santiago watched himself be raped.
The clouds drifted lazily over the distant hills and somewhere in the distance behind him he heard an eagle’s cry. He turned and saw it soaring, silhouetted against the setting sun, its wings spread, tail fanned by an updraft, head and sleek body aimed sharply downward. The bird sped across the space between earth and sky and with a sudden shift in direction it shot upward again, smooth like an arrow, reaching incredible heights, completely unencumbered by any force but its own wish to break with its earthly bounds to escape forever in the heavens. Santiago felt the air rushing past his face and over his wings and the pressure of it against his breast as his sharp eyes saw for miles from horizon to horizon with the valleys and their ribbon-like streams and rivers and the blue mirror lakes and the ocean ahead spreading out forever forward; all brilliant and iridescent. It took so little effort to slightly alter his tail or wingtips to change the direction and speed of his flight! With the sound of rushing wind in his ears and the sun’s heat on his face, the beautifully joyous freedom of this space so filled him that tears came.
His head ached and every joint in his body was filled with fire. The memory of the dream caused such a pain in his heart that a depression overcame him, one so crushing that he could not rise from his bed. Santiago knew he was expected in the parlor but he had no notion of the time. The thought of having himself served up like a meal from a bill of fare made his mind seek the escape of the dream but it was not to be. He knew his absence would be cause for rebuke. His feet did not want to respond. With effort he raised himself and washed his face at the stand beside the bed. The ice water made him shiver. He splashed beneath his arms, soaping them and then rinsing. He did the same between his legs where there were still traces of McIntyre’s dried semen, trying to clean all the places that might give the clients objection to his smell. Although some of the men were fond of the odor of smegma, most were repelled by it. Santiago hated the thought of being found repulsive so he kept himself very clean, unlike other boys who had to be threatened with punishment before they would wash. He combed his hair, now long from not having had it cut they way his father once insisted. It reached his shoulders in luxurious strands that curled and fell in waves. He brushed his teeth and took a small clove to chew. The sound of the piano came from the floor below. The evening had begun.
Santiago entered the parlor to find that he was not late, but in fact, was early. Only Richard and the Mute were there. Soon they were joined by several other boys, followed by the twins who were led in by McIntyre’s men. Both looked like force had been used to get them there.
Flowers had been placed about the room. Lamps only glowed in the center space and the perimeters were in shadows where couches and divans were discretely hidden. McIntyre stood at the bar with a glass of champagne in hand.
“Step up boys, have a drink. Soon our customers will arrive and I want you to be in the pink, bursting with a glow that will radiate your youth. And for Christ’s-sake, remember you are not whores! You will be little innocent boys unsure of what the men are after, coy and seductive with your pretty eyes and asses always close enough for them to see but not too close enough for them to touch too soon. We will make them yearn for you! You must give them just enough of promise without appearing too knowing. Keep yourself innocent until they begin making love to you. Then do well what you have been taught! Remember what you have learned in the past few days. Remember!”
They drank, some in deep anticipation of the new adventure and others knowing already what it would bring. Each boy was naked and carried his own towel on his arm to be exchanged after every encounter. In that manner an accounting of each boy’s activity could be logged in his name.
“Draw the curtain, Huang!”
McIntyre motioned to the Chinaman, who pulled at a rope that drew apart a red velvet curtain. The stage was lit by a row of candles along its edge. Ten stools were lined side by side. It was a small stage with the stools no more than two feet apart and three feet high. Each stool had a wooden peg embedded in the seat with a potion of it protruding below. Each boy was assigned a stool according to his correspondingly sized peg.
“There they are boys! Find your stool..., look for the number that matches your peg. Grease it up and have a seat. Oh..., I almost forgot.”
McIntyre snapped his fingers and the Chinaman brought out some water-pipes.
“Before we get down to business let us have a little toast. To our success!”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Anthony Boles was forty-five years old. He was a successful man, was married, and he loved boys.
At twenty, Anthony had come to California from the northern coast where his father had owned and operated a trading post that dealt in goods exchanged for furs and whale-oil. Most of the business had been with Russian vessels. Anthony Bolen had spent three years on a ship as a cabin-boy sailing the high seas. His father had recognized the wanderlust in his son’s eyes and had allowed him the initial voyage with a ship’s captain with whom he had done business. That Captain had quickly perceived the boy’s loneliness and ambivalent sexuality, and had become father and lover to the lad. At eighteen, Anthony had returned home to take over his father’s business when the man died.
Shortly after his arrival Anthony met his wife, a Russian girl of no great beauty, but built for the difficulties of the northern wilderness. Soon after the marriage he became dissatisfied with the cold, damp weather of the region and chose to seek a warmer climate. Anthony Bolen sold what he could and abandoned the rest, and with his wife and new-born son, boarded a ship for the south. When they docked at the little town on the bay and he understood what was happening there, he saw his opportunity in the growing needs of the area. Anthony established himself as a major supplier of household goods and cloth. He branched into importing lumber for the boom town when he saw how scarce it was in the surrounding countryside. Eventually two sawmills were opened in the eastern hills. In two years Bolen became one of the wealthiest men in San Francisco. The Bolen Building, a large wooden structure built close to the waterfront on Washington Street, housed a store, warehouse, and a small hotel frequented by seamen.
Anthony loved his wife. He loved his children. He fell in lust with the boys he bedded. He often bought them off the street or along the waterfront, but this source was not discreetly to his liking. Then he began using the services provided by Belle Pendergast and Samuel McIntyre when they became available. He had taken particular care to disguise himself when he had used the streets but with McIntyre’s and Belle’s boys, his money and influence insured privacy. He paid them well and treated the boys with kindness and respect. Everyone liked Anthony Bolen.
Anthony fell in love when he met Vincent. He found the boy to be unusually attractive, bright, and a joy to be with. They grew close and something of a friendship formed between them. Vincent had been McIntyre’s boy. McIntyre was not one to promote exclusive relationships so Anthony began to see Vincent without the bordello owner’s knowledge and set sums o
f money aside each time they met. Then he met Santiago.
From the first night he set eyes on him and saw the small frame, the long, angular face with the coal-black eyes that flashed with a Latin passion, he became obsessed with the vision of the boy. Not a moment passed, not a sun set without having his thoughts filled with Santiago. And as he visualized him he became overwhelmed with the passion and it was this passion and the fear of it that had kept him away from the boy for so long.
Anthony had decided to attend McIntyre’s first night opening. The thought of a peg-house aroused his curiosity and appetite. He had made the excuse of attending a meeting with several ship-captains to negotiate cargo. His wife had looked suspicious but as always, had nodded and had asked no questions.
It was with shock then that Anthony Bolen stood before a small stage and saw, as the curtain opened and the line of naked boys seated on their pegged stools were revealed, the boy who had so captured his heart some months before. Santiago, his face brooding, eyes flashing, his sex partially aroused, excited by the event, stood out from all the rest.
Anthony knew immediately that he intended to have the boy at any cost. He stood mesmerized, looking at Santiago’s slender body and graceful flanks, the partially turgid cock and silken chest with hardened nipples. Anthony’s breath came in stifled gasps and without touching himself, he had an orgasm. He could not take his eyes away from Santiago, those eyes..., penetratingly sexual, finding the soul of the man who could not look away, and he knew that the boy had seen his private vulnerability.
When Santiago had noticed Anthony Bolen, he had nodded as a sign of acquiescence. Bolen immediately approached McIntyre and bought Santiago for two hours for the price of one hundred dollars an hour. It was the most he had ever paid to spend time with anyone! McIntyre had noted Bolen’s excitement and had taken advantage of it, having decided to demand a high price for Santiago of anyone who sought him. The boy was easily the most handsome and best physically endowed of his boys, and the most versatile.
With a bottle of wine in hand, they retreated to Santiago’s room. Santiago was pleased that Bolen had purchased his services. He had thought often about his gold nugget and of the man who held it, wondering if he would ever see him again to get it back. In Vincent’s absence Santiago’s only contact with Bolen had been severed. Now he felt relieved and he felt comfortable in the man’s presence as he remembered what Vincent had said of his gentleness and kindness.
“By God, Santiago, I am so pleased to see you here. You know boy, seeing you on that stage caused me to have an orgasm. I’m still wet with you. But for now it is not necessary for you to sit there naked like that, although I do love looking at you that way. Please, put some clothing on if you would be more comfortable. I can wait for the proper time.”
“You really do not mind?”
“Please..., I want you to be comfortable.”
“Gracias..., but it is I who is supposed to worry about your comfort, Señor. Thank you for thinking of me.”
“So my boy, we meet again!”
Santiago put a finger to his lips to indicate a need for discretion.
“I never know who may be standing outside my door,” he whispered. “Be cautious of what you say!”
Bolen continued the conversation in a lowered tone. “I simply wanted to reassure you that a certain object is still in my hands and will continue to be safe with me until you decide you want it.”
“I can leave it with you, yes?”
Bolen nodded.
“How should I contact you, should I need to?”
The man withdrew a piece of paper from his pocket. He began to draw a map.
“These are the streets outside this building. If you follow this route and come to the corner of Kearney and Washington streets, you will walk along Kearney and toward the waterfront. There, you will see a large brick warehouse on the left. You will find someone there day and night when I am not present. You can always reach me there.”
Santiago studied the map then tore it in little pieces. “I will be there to see you in not too long, I hope. But there are things here that I need to do.”
Bolen looked at Santiago and leaned close.
“You like doing this, don’t you!”
“I do.”
“Is it the drugs he gives you?”
“They help!”
“But there is more to it?”
“Yes, much more. I do not wish to talk here. I have my reasons, and one of them is this one...”
Santiago came to Bolen and sat in his lap and put both arms around his neck. The bulge beneath the thin fabric of Santiago’s pants moved the cloth as it began to rise. He wiped the sweat from Bolen’s brow and smiled, his gleaming teeth parted by a protruding tongue that came close, touching the man’s ears, his neck, his mouth.
Two hours passed as though they had been minutes. Anthony Bolen was not sorry he had spent the money and had received more than he had expected. Always alert to opportunity, Santiago’s mind worked on how he might use Bolen to his best advantage. He made love to Anthony Bolen with an intent and ardor that left the man exhausted and the smile on his face as he drank the wine that Santiago had just poured, told him he had succeeded.
“You make me want to come back, Santiago!”
“But I do want you to come back! Are you still seeing Vincent?”
“Yes. You and he were quite good friends, were you not?”
“Yes, I think so. I miss him, even if he did have something to do with the time I was beaten and robbed. He saved my...,” but Santiago did not say the word out of fear of being overheard. Bolen understood.
Santiago sat crossed-legged on the bed, looking into Bolen’s eyes.
“You like him very much?”
“Yes, I do..., very much. He is a good boy in many ways.”
“You like me?”
“Yes I like you very much!”
“More than Vincent?”
“Why? Would it make a difference if I did?”
Santiago shrugged, drinking the last of the wine.
“I want you to like me.”
“But I do!”
“When will you come back?”
“As soon as I can get away again.”
“Are you going to see Vincent soon?”
Bolen saw Santiago’s jealousy. But Bolen had to admit that Vincent could not match Santiago’s looks or ardor.
“I will be seeing him in two days. Is there anything I can tell him for you?”
“Yes, tell him I miss him. I am sorry we do not live together anymore.”
“He speaks of you quite often, too.”
“What does he say?”
“He said he liked you too. But I think it went a little deeper than what he was willing to admit.”
“What do you mean?
“I think his caring for you went beyond friendship. I think he was beginning to fall in love with you.”
Bolen saw the boy’s surprise.
“Yes, he all but told me that. You did not realize it, did you?”
“What did he say?”
Time had passed and Bolen began to dress. He took a folded bill from his pocket and placed it in Santiago’s hand, putting a finger to his lips, and continued in a whisper.
“Vincent was happy when he was passed on to Belle because he disliked working for McIntyre. He also said that another reason he was glad he left was because he disliked getting emotionally involved with anyone, and that was happening. At first I was silly enough to believe he was referring to me, but then he started speaking about you and the manner in which he spoke showed that he cared a great deal for you. You see, Vincent does not want to have to need anyone. I know that sometimes he resents me because he does feel a dependence on me.”
“I did not realize Vincent felt that way.” Santiago was startled by the revelation.
“I know,” Bolen walked to the door. “He seldom makes his feelings known.”
Bolen took Santiago’s hand. “Thank y
ou,” he said, kissing the boy’s forehead. “I would like to come back to see you. Sometimes McIntyre gets nervous when a customer shows too much interest in one boy, and he makes that boy less accessible. But in this case I think the correct sum of money will convince him to be more tolerant. Still, we must not show too much enthusiasm for each other.”
Bolen opened the door as one of McIntyre’s men approached.
“The boss wants to see you in his office,” he pointed a finger at Santiago. When he was gone, Bolen kissed the boy again.
“Take care of yourself my little friend. I will give your regards to Vincent.”
Santiago inserted his peg and went to McIntyre. As he passed through the parlor he looked for the twins, but they were not to be seen. There were several groups of men and boys sitting alone or with others, all seemingly enjoying themselves in games of cards and dice. Champagne flowed freely and waterpipes of opium smoked continuously.
McIntyre was in his office sitting at the divan with the naked Mariposa at his feet. The room was filled with the heavy and sweet smell of the drug. The mute, his eyes barely open, leaned drunkenly against McIntyre’s legs.
“Aw..., come in my boy..., come in. Here, have some!”
McIntyre held out the long pipe stem.
“You wanted me?”
“Sit,” the man commanded. “Have some, then we will talk.”
Santiago puffed as he filled his lungs with the smoke and let himself be carried by it. He sat in the chair opposite McIntyre, his bare feet feeling the luxurious pile of the carpet. The room was hot and dark, with only one small lamp lit.
“Well lad you seem to have become one of our favorites. Three men have asked for your services tonight. Our Mr. Bolen was willing to offer the most money however, so we sold you to him. You like him, don’t you?”
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