With a snarl, the boy regards me. Even though he's smaller, his look is fierce and he looks pretty strong. His green eyes fix on mine and he says with a wicked smirk, "Gilipollas! Bienvenido a la cadena alimentaria!" He takes a couple threatening steps towards me and I back against the wall.
"Lo siento, chico." I stutter, not understanding what was obviously some kind of insult. "Lo siento, amigo." I pointed at myself. "Americano stupido." Then I point at his foot. "Tu... ped... tu pedes es... bueno?" I feel like a fool, but the boy's snarl cooled down. He backs away, then says in English, "You American - you need to be more Spanish."
"Oh, thank god. I'm sorry about your foot. Let me buy you a croissant to make it up to you."
The boy smiles at me, still not very kindly, and says. "It's okay. Ya encontré el almuerzo." He licks his lips. "Come with me. I will help you fit in. You will be Spanish before the end of the day! Come on, you will get a tour!" Now his disposition is cheery. He leads me out into the restaurant pulling me by the hand. Curious to see some sights, I follow my impromptu tour guide.
He passes by his friends and announces, "Lo voy a llevar a casa. Lo digeriré en paz. ¡Hasta mañana!" His friends giggle. One calls out, "Lo veras mañana!" His friends giggle again. The boy makes a grossed out face and sticks out his tongue. But then he winks at me as we leave. I look at the boy quizzically.
"I told them I would help you get a real Spanish experience, but you need a lot of help." He says quickly, still leading me by the hand out into the street.
"¿Cómo te llamas?" I ask him, impressed with my limited Spanish.
Unimpressed, he responds quickly, "Juan. Quiet and follow me. I'll show you something amazing!"
Feeling better, I allow the kid to lead me down the streets, through alleys, and see a lot of interesting stuff, but he never tells me anything. Finally, we end up in a dead end. He stands between me and the exit of the alleyway. "Take off your clothes." he says, his face murderously serious.
"What? No way, kid! Look. I'm sorry about your foot, but if you want to mug me, just take my money." I pull out my walled and hand him some cash. He pockets the bills and says, "You heard me, American. Take off your clothes."
I try to walk around him, but Juan's footballer instincts are fast, he tackles me, and before I know it, I'm on my face in the alleyway, he's kneeling on my butt, and peeling my shirt off. "What are you doing? Juan, I thought you were going to give me tour. You don't need my clothes. Go buy some."
"You are going on a tour." He whispers in my ear as he whips my shirt over my head, and fluidly presses his knees into the small of my back, turns around and tugs my shorts down to my ankles. "Hey! Wait!" I try to buck him off, but he presses his weigh into my spine. I feel it groan and submit to the boy. After he takes off my shorts, he tosses them in a garbage dumpster. Then, standing on either side of my face, he bends over and lifts me up by the head.
"I told you you would be Spanish by the end of the day, he says quietly. Then, he barks cruelly. You'll be Spanish - my Spanish shit!
"What!?" I gasp.
"It will be a... how do you say it... an improvement!" He pushes me back against the wall.
"Juan... no, please don't!" I stammer.
"Disfruta tu viaje," he says and lunges at me, his mouth open wide. My scream is lost behind his teeth as his lips clamp shut around the back of my head. My face slides over his slimy smelly tongue toward the back of the preteen's mouth. His throat greedily opens to accept its meal. I scream for help, but he quickly swallows, forcing his head down over mine, engulfing me in his moist ingestion.
He is surprisingly strong and blocks every punch or kick I throw at him. As his undulating gullet forces me down, the smell, pressure, and heat become unbearable. He pins my arms to my side by holding my wrists in place and keeps swallowing his American meal. Soon, my head passes through a tight ring into the boy's smelly stomach. He lifts his neck, miraculously transferring my weight to shift downward. Now he just lets gravity do the ingesting. I curl up in the steamy and slimy sac, already coated in tingly goo. As he engulfs my legs which are kicking uselessly around, I wonder how many other grown men have met their fate in his cramped belly. He noisily noms my ankles and slurps them in, licking between my toes. Now, I am coated entirely in this kid's slimy digestive secretions. He swallows with finality and in seconds, I'm curled up in a ball in his stomach.
I feel Juan stagger away from the scene of the crime. Apparently he led me to his home, because he waddles a short distance and plops down into a chair. "Juan! I'm sorry - if it's about your foot, I apologized - please! I don't want to be your food!" I hear his stomach gurgle around me. He leans on one butt cheek and farts. "Or.. your shit!"
"One last lesson in being Spanish, mi comida." He giggles. "Say, 'Voy a ser tu mierda."
"VOY AH SARE TOO ME-AIR-DUH." I stammer in a horrible accent. "Now, let me out!"
He smiles and says sleepily, "Tonight. You're still too American."
I begin to panic as he snoozes.
Te digeriré ahora
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