Lost boy.

He did seem drunk. Or stoned. Or both.

I don't know why I stopped.

It was not like the first time I saw a tourist being sick in the gutter.

Was it because he was alone? Was it because this was my neighbourhood and not the centre of the city? Was it because of the hair that escaped from under his cap? His torn shorts with the skinny legs peeping out?  The red rash on his calf? He seemed vulnerable, sitting there on the pavement. It was dark already, the shops were closed and there was hardly anyone on the street.

So I stopped. I leaned my bike against a tree and kneeled beside him.

He moaned.

I put my hand on his shoulder.

"Are you alright?"

He looked up, weird smile on his face and his eyes were red and small - but breathtakingly blue, like the sea, and with incredibly long lashes. And yeah, stoned, definitely stoned.

"Uhhhh.....I'm kind of lost." he mumbled.

"Where do you need to go?" I asked.

"Uhmmm.....I kind of forgot." He giggled.

"You know where you are now?"

"Utrecht!" He said with a smug face, one brow lifted. Impish.

"Actually, no. You're in Amsterdam."

"Fuck..." He took his head in his hands and moaned again.

And at the same moment it thundered and a sudden downpour started filling the gutters and drains.  I told him to jump on the back of my bike.  

"Hold on." I yelled as I tried to gather speed by standing on the pedals of my bike. He was as light as a feather, but still a bit heavier than me. With trouble I tried to keep balance, but we moved forward and he couldn't stop laughing. After a minute or so I could maintain a constant tempo and he became more quiet. Only an occasional giggle while he had clasped his arms around my waist and his head leaned against my back.

I heard him hum. The sound vibrated through my spine.
And so I cycled through the city, with him behind me on the carrier.

Taking an unknown guy home. I must have been mad, but I felt strangely happy.

"Mind your head." I said as we climbed the steep stairs to my apartment on the top floor.

The ceiling was low. But despite my warning he hit his head anyway, even though he was short. Like really short. I was surprised. He was so well in proportion that I didn't realize he was tiny.

 (I keep saying this because most guys in my country are tall, like giants.)

But he, this tiny American, he was like a perfect elf. A drunken, stoned and soaking wet, elf.

He held his forehand while he shook off the cap that hid his hair.

"Ouch."

"Oefff." I replied, staring at him.

He was gorgeous. A curtain of wet golden brown hair fell over his shoulders and part of his face, wavy long unkempt hair. Almost the same colour as the corduroy jacket he was wearing.

"Let me have a look." I took his wrist and pulled his hand away to see the bruise that was already forming on his forehead.

"You have a slight cut." I told him while making a paper towel wet and softly dabbing the wound.

He sat on my kitchen chair, just looked up at me cleaning that cut.

Those incredible blue eyes had changed a bit. They were darker. His brow was furrowed, yet he smiled. His mouth was a bit odd. Perfect pink and full lips, but not shaped like ordinary lips, more sculpted - distinct cupid bow. Like a pixie. His lips opened a bit and I saw beautiful white teeth and a hint of a round pink tongue.

He said something but didn't make a sound.

And I bowed my head and kissed him.

Just like that.

His lips were as soft as I expected them, and warm. I traced his upper lip with my tongue and he delicately bit my bottom lip. His hands reached up and touched my neck, cheeks and moving to the back of my head. His fingers tangled in my hair. Pulling me closer.

The phone rang. At first I didn't hear it because my ears were ringing. I got off his lap, mouthed an apology and picked up the horn.

It was my boss.

The guy walked to my record player and put on some music - Blood Sugar Sex Magik. He started moving around to the music. I watched the funky moves of that lean body in fascination, and it distracted me from the conversation with my employer. He was cute!

"Hello, are you there!" My boss yelled through the phone.

So I left the room to concentrate and continued the call in the stairway.

My boss wanted me to take over an assignment tomorrow morning. I had to be in the studio early. Make a portrait. Black and white. Anton Corbijn style, so I had to think of a location to go to with the celeb, an upcoming rock star. A picture for the cover of a monthly magazine. My boss couldn't be there, but he was sure I would handle it just fine.

Nervously I was biting my nails when I returned into my room.  My first real assignment! Not as an assistant, but as an independent photographer.

Wow.

The music was still playing, but the guy wasn't there.

I saw his jacket lying on the ground though. And when I picked it up I saw his t-shirt hanging over a lamp. And a shoe carelessly flung away. Another shoe. His socks in my yucca plant. A trail of clothes leading to my bed, in which the elf had landed - on his back, asleep or passed out, now totally naked.

Spread out on my pillow was his beautiful long hair. His skin was smooth and glowed, with here and there a little mole or freckle and his cheeks were flushed.

I thought he was tiny. Well, yeah maybe. But not everything was tiny. He was lean, muscular and huge. Because resting on his thigh was this perfect dick.

He was just gorgeous.

"Oh shit." I whispered.

And then he cupped his dick in one hand and rolled over. Perfect little ass too.

After staring a while I turned and walked to my kitchenette to make some warm milk with honey.

I changed the record for some late night Chet Baker, drank my milk and picked up one of my cameras. Changed the objective. Fumbled around a bit. Brushed me teeth. Washed. Put on an old tee and walked back to my bed, camera with me.

I looked at him through the viewfinder. Sighed. Clicked.

Climbed on the bed.
Stood above him.
Click.

"Turn around." I softly mumbled.

With a moan he obeyed. Still asleep. Click.

"Can you put an arm above your head?"

With a drowsy movement he did what I asked.

"Jeesz." I mumbled when I saw his stunning armpit. Click. Bushy. Click. Sexy.

Click.
Click.

The red rash on his calf was the irritated skin caused by a tattoo. A fresh tattoo. Earth first.
Click.

"What are you doing?" Deep sleepy voice.

His eyes were open. Furrowed brow.

"Don't take my picture."

"Sorry." I said. "Habit." I put away the camera. "Move over please."
His face changed into an inviting smile as he made room and lifted the sheets.

I was lying in my bed, with this perfect stranger, spooning. He was holding me close, warm and cozy, with his omnipresent dick against my butt.

I picked up my watch. Time to get up.
With reluctance I lifted his hand that held one of my breasts and slid out of the bed.
He breathed an inaudible protest, but turned around, in a deep slumber.

A shower, quick breakfast.
I had to go to work.

The guy was still asleep.
So I left him a note.

"Dear you,

When you know where you are and want to leave you can just pull the door behind you.
If you are still lost you can stay and when I come back from work we can sort things out.
When you know where you are and want to stay that is fine too.
There is muesli and milk, coffee or tea. Make yourself at home.
When you leave don't take anything that isn't yours because I will curse you forever.

Me.

PS. I liked kissing you (understatement)."

In the studio I had to make preparations for the shoot that morning. I whistled, I was energetic, and I felt incredible. Like walking on clouds.
I was filled with inspiration.

As my boss had said through the phone the day before, the job was for the cover of a successful national music magazine, a young band from the States touring in Europe. The lead singer only. Some close ups. Black and white. Outdoor.

Being an assistant of a famous photographer was a challenge sometimes. A lot of fun, though. I was proud. He trusted me with this assignment.

The back alley would be the perfect location. Bricks, industrial, a bit of graffiti.

But I was getting anxious. What if that upcoming celeb didn't show up? Those rock stars could be erratic.

An hour later, the doorbell rang. I rushed to the door and when I opened it I saw the back of a guy in a familiar jacket and hair stashed away under a small cap, showing a cute but strong neck.

When he turned around I saw surprise on his angelic face. And my mouth must have dropped open when he said with his deep, soft voice and a wicked smile that showed his dimples.

"So you'll curse me.....uhm....what about what you took from me, witch?"