Tatawaw

©2009 Herb Cat. Do not reproduce or distribute this story without the author's permission.

As an author, I welcome feedback from readers. Please send any comments about this story, positive or negative, to Herbcatwriter@yahoo.com. Thank you.

.oOo.
Chapter 1 - Hermie will be happy at Tatawaw

We have three hours to kill in Houston, Continental's hub. The flight from Mexico City touched down a little after 2:30 and the one to Edmonton doesn't depart until six. We find the fast food court. Then the video arcade. Of course we make stops in the men's room as well. I help Hermie use the urinal which was still a new experience for him. In the slums of Mexico City he used outhouses, squat holes, or just peed on the side of the muddy streets. Showing him this new technology gives me a chance to admire and handle his adorable little hairless uncut cocoa nail, as well as allow him the opportunity to look at my equipment. He has seen men peeing often enough that my big cock flaccid doesn't seem to impress him though. I am tempted to show him my hardon. Tempted to teach him about blow jobs. Tempted to fuck his tight little virgin asshole! But I manage to resist. He'll be learning all those lessons in due time and in a much more conducive environment. I can wait a few more days until Hermie is ready to play those games.

I think about Fr. Ricardo however. He has spent the last six months with the boy, sharing his own bed, giving him his daily bath. The priest must have the will of a saint to resist the temptation so long. This morning, after giving Hermie and me a delicious breakfast, the good priest had to send us on our way. He took out a St. Christopher medal and hung it around the boy's head. I saw tears in his eyes, that he tried to hide from the lad. He was going to miss his little Hermano, but he knew the seven-year old would be happy at Tatawaw. With the support of all the men there and the blessing of the saint, Hermie was bound to thrive in his new life in the Canadian Rockies.

The December Texas sun has already set when the Edmonton flight takes off. I settle into my roomy seat. Tatawaw's director, Percy Comley, insists his staff always fly first class. When the seat belt light goes off, I unbuckle and nod to my seven-year old charge that he could also. He immediately stands and stares out the window, as he did for the first flight. The scenery is primarily clouds, punctuated with the occasional mountaintop, and the less frequent lights of a town or city. But he can see a million stars. It's a wondrous sight for my little fellow passenger, on an airplane for the first time in his young life.

There are only three other passengers in first class, so Sven, the young flight attendant with his blond locks and well-fitted uniform, is bending over backwards trying to find things to do for us. "Can I get you a pillow or blanket, Sir?"

I look up and smile at Sven. I think about Harry, the brunette attendant on the southbound flight five days ago. He and I enjoyed a fabulous fuck in the lavatory. As much as I wouldn't mind repeating the experience with this towhead, I have to resist the temptation. My present business is to deliver Little Hermie safe and sound to Tatawaw. When I pat the lad's sweet ass, he turns and smiles at me with those saucer wide black eyes. "Tired?" I ask. Hermano screws up his face and I repeat the question in Spanish.

"No. Señor Larry." He grins and returns to the show outside. I wonder when the kid will conk out. It amazes me that he's still so wide awake. Fr. Ricardo told me Hermie was up at 7, all excited about his big trip. It's now twelve hours later.

I finally turn back to Sven, whose package is mere inches from my eyes. "Not right now, thank you."

I let the boy stare out the window and enjoy whatever fantasies he has swirling in his head. I put the earphones on and begin to think about this past week. It's Saturday and I've spent the last three days in Mexico City, going from one bureau to another, getting all the paperwork in order so I could take this orphan out of the country. Take him to his new life. But that also gave me time to begin to bond with the youngster and also get to know Fr. Ricardo.

The self-sacrificing priest, now in his mid 50s, has devoted the last twenty years, serving the poor in the slums of Mexico City. As I accompanied him on his rounds, I saw he is as concerned about physical needs as spiritual. And whether he's giving out food, clothing, medicine, or the elements of the mass, the good man is revered by all in his parish.

He explained that five years ago, the local bishop thought he was working too hard and suggested, no insisted, he take a break before he worked himself into an early grave. The bishop authorized a sabbatical so Fr. Ricardo could spend a year at Newman Theological College in Edmonton and complete his Masters of Theology. It was a good change for the man. That year revitalized his engine. He palled around with two other students, one from Detroit, Michigan, the other from Regina, Saskatchewan. The three priests became known as the three musketeers, going out every Friday night for a beer, and taking time on weekends to hunt and hike together. Sharing a tent, they also shared their innermost secrets, confiding in each other things they'd never even told their own bishops. Things in fact, they were reluctant to admit to themselves.

The Canadian suggested they spend winter break at Tatawaw. He had been to Tatawaw before and knew it had some diversions his fellow students would enjoy. They could spend their days skiing and their nights enjoying a different form of entertainment.

Fr. Ricardo recalled his five days at Tatawaw with fondness. He had spent most of his time there with Chip, a nine-year old who had been at Tatawaw less than a year. A former street urchin from Montreal, Chip reminded the priest of so many kids in his parish, and he knew Chip would have been heading for trouble if someone had not rescued him and brought him to Tatawaw. "He was always a happy kid. Everyone used to call him 'Chipmunk'."

The Father was pleased when I told him that Chip is still there. At 14, he's the second oldest boy in the place. It's been years since anyone dared call him Chipmunk. A typical teenager, he often has an attitude, and comes close to being insolent to the staff. But beneath his snotty exterior hides a sweetheart. An excellent student, he has developed a handsome athletic physique but kept his boyish face, which he capitalizes on to curry favor with the guests, who tend to prefer younger boys. Charm replaces cheekiness, as he plays them like johns. Being older, he'll often share a drink with his guest, or a smoke, or a game of pool. The man often suggests a little wager, and of course Chip the hustler will come away with a tidy sum. He will be leaving Tatawaw when he turns 16, but is already in line for an apprenticeship on a cruise ship out of British Columbia.

After Fr. Ricardo went back to Mexico, he kept in touch with Comley, who was very interested in the priest's work with the poor. Our director adopted the Mexican parish as his personal charity, and encourages the wealthy guests to send generous contributions to the priest to help him carry on his good work.

So Fr. Ricardo knows first hand that Hermie will be happy and well cared for at Tatawaw. That he will get a first rate education. And that he will enjoy the intimate company of Tatawaw's adult male clientele.

.oOo.

As an author, I welcome feedback from readers. Please send any comments about this story, positive or negative, to Herbcatwriter@yahoo.com. Thank you.