It felt good. Big and hard, and he had a lot offoreskin. I'd hardly ever seen a guy with that. But it felt wonderful.And all the time, I'm thinking... "You're making yourself a fag." I didn'tcare. The only time I stopped was when he started to shoot, and I pulledmy hand away. It squirted a lot, all over the floor. "You're cool," hetold me, and walked out. I washed my hands in the sink there for a long time that day. Icouldn't quit thinking about it, how it felt in my hand. And wondering. The tall man looked me over. The best description of it was he looked me over like one looks over a car or a boat they are thinking of buying. His cold, dispassionate eyes traveled from my face down my body and back up. I felt my pride rise up and I met his gaze defiantly.“My name is Jack. Do you speak English?”“Yes.”“Tell me your name and age and something about you in English please.”“I am Andula and I am 14 and a half. My mother died a month ago.”“Very nice English. Tell me Andula, do you. More

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