Edwin

Remember what it was like to be young?

Of course you do, though it may be hard when the latest disco-bunny kid you've picked up wants to dance the night away until 5 o'clock in the morning - and you'd rather be long tucked up in bed after a wild evening at home with a good book and a cup of warm milk.

And weren't vacations one of the most frustrating features of being a kid?

There you were, desperate to get off to Fort Lauderdale, Mykonos, Prague, Sitges or another of the world's hotspots you'd read about in that gay magazine you'd bought when you managed to slip away for a minute from the high school class visit to New York.

And there were mom and dad, planning yet again the annual trip to spend a couple of weeks with grandma in Boise, Idaho.

So travel is one of the rites of passage of growing up, I guess, and when you're young you just can't understand those folks who go to the same favourite destination on every vacation.

Until, that is, you find it yourself.

For me that happened three or four years ago when I discovered Costa Rica.

And, to be more specific, San José.

And, to be more specific still, Big Dick's Guest House on the outskirts of town.

Now you'll probably recall how, a couple of months ago, I told you about my first visit there when I met Nick, the hot number who worked behind the bar when he wasn't working the guests, and his young friend José.

At that point I realised that I'd discovered my personal paradise and, as soon as I got back to the US, rescheduled all my future vacations to San Jose.

The next few vacations were great. I worked out all the fantasies I'd ever had with a succession of beautiful bar boys, pretty porters and cocky concierges.

Everything I'd ever wanted.

Big Dick's apparently endless supply of hot - and extremely willing - staff made every vacation special.

Until just a few months ago.

When I visited last September I got the bad news.

There'd been a raid.

Angered by negative "sex tourist" stories in the press, the San José police had cracked down on places like Big Dick's (to my intense frustration, only at this point, when it was too late, did I discover that there were others!)

And now Dick's was as clean as a whistle - the sort of place that mom and dad could even take Boise grandma!

So when I went to take my long-booked Christmas vacation a couple of weeks ago, my hopes were not high and I guessed it was likely to be my final trip to San José. In fact, I was so pessimistic of my chances that I didn't just leave the condoms behind but even my Calvins - after all, if no-one's going to be checking out a guy's underwear he may as well leave the best at home and wear PriceRite.
Sure enough, on my arrival at Big Dick's my apprehensions were confirmed. As far as I was concerned, it might as well have been re-christened No Dicks.

Until the last day, that was, when - in a spirit of nostalgia rather than any great optimism -
I climbed the rickety stairs to the rooftop balcony - the scene, you'll recall, of several of my earlier successes.

To my intense surprise, I was not alone.

Already there and sitting opposite my own chair was one of the most handsome boys I'd seen in San José so far this trip.

We might have been in the midst of a moral-minority inspired police crackdown, but you'd never have guessed it from the way this hot kid behaved.

Within just a couple of minutes of my arrival he had taken off his vest, was rubbing his rapidly hardening dick through his jeans and pushing the waistband down over his tightly muscled belly. (Thank God he wasn't wearing Calvins either - I would have felt so cheap!)