There was a hint of desperation to the voice. Jason used to trust the voice implicitly. Now he was not so sure. Yet would it pick up on his hesitation... Would it know that he had discovered things that perhaps Mara did not want him to know?Jason tried to avoid any stray thoughts and silently acquiesced, crossing over to the stairs and heading up to the second floor.The moans grew more ominous to him as he approached the landing. They were not just desperate, but pleading as well, and growing. But me, I’m anice guy, fatally nice, you know. And I look at hisface and I think, “I know what that’s like. I know whatthat need is, how it burns. How many times have I achedfor a helping hand too? Besides, he just wants me towatch. No problem.”“Okay.” I shrugged. “Where?”“Maybe in a car? Or we can go back inside?”“Inside.” I didn’t want to let him into my car, and Ididn’t want to risk his. I’m nice but. The sound of the gurgling water as it bounced its way over and around the small rocks only added to the enchantment of the singing birds, bright blue sky and green trees.There were breaks in the woods and tall grass grew along the sides of the deepening wash. The little stream had grown to be a couple of feet wide and the water splashed its way down over little cliffs a foot or two high and onto flat rocks before continuing its journey.The sides of the wash were becoming steep and my girlfriend. Satisfied I pick up my books again. Abdellah Taïa, a Moroccan writer who writes about a young gay in Tangier and Paris. I brought the French version and the Dutch translation to freshen up my rusty French. When I doze off, Arhur comes to call me for lunch. He must be the youngest servant, someone who does all kinds of odd jobs. Around eighteen years old, particularly beautiful dark skin and a handsome face. A washed-out t-shirt and thin khaki pants, through which I see the contours of his cock..