My parents were extremely strict with me and, because of this, I suffered a kind of breakdown when I was sixteen. Something in me snapped and I became totally and uncontrollably rebellious. I withdrew from everything, and was even kept down a year at school because of it.

I had no friends-the people I met were always older than me, and there was too much hypocrisy among my fellow students. So it was that I began to make friends with other boys in my neighbourhood, the same age as me or younger.

We amused ourselves with games and pranks. In short, I was trying to make up for lost time.

It was then I got to know Pablo, a year younger than me, and his brother Erick who at that time must have been about eleven. Erick had dark olive skin and beautiful chestnut eyes.

I began to know the guys better, and we ended up organising little trips to my cousin's house. There was a rooftop terrace there, where we would spend the night in a tent. Sometimes we would even play naked in the swimming pool at my house.

Erick was one of the smallest in the group, and it always fell to me to carry him on our walks into the country so that he wouldn't get left behind.

I was certainly very interested in him, and I admit that I found him attractive. But nothing had ever happened, and I certainly wouldn't have dared say anything if it hadn't been for what happened one day.

The group had returned all sweaty from our walk to a nearby hill, and we took a shower at my house. When we were getting changed, Erick waited until the two of us were on our own and kissed me on the lips. It was a furtive, child-like kiss; and not a trick, but sincere and warm as only boys of that age can be. I was dumbstruck, not knowing how to react, and nothing further happened that day.

I came to trust the sincerity of his behaviour towards me, and happily noticed that I was the one whose help he sought out.

One time when we were sleeping on the terrace, a huge downpour drenched the supposedly waterproof tent and I was thoroughly soaked. We decided to spend the night in the house, and went to my cousin's room where we undressed and settled down all on the same bed.

Someone lent Erick a large T-shirt to sleep in, and he looked quite funny in it, but I slept naked. It didn't bother me, as we'd all seen each other naked before.

I was delighted that he pressed his back up against me, without caring that the others might notice.

Seeing that I had the opportunity I caressed his body and embraced him from behind, hoping to fall asleep like this. But it wasn't to be. He turned over and, for the very first time, we kissed long and passionately, as if we never wanted it to end.

Our relationship lasted about three years. I even changed schools so I could go to his.

We passed many happy times together, the two of us kissing hidden away in the courtyard behind our school, in the middle of the night. We made love many times. I say "love" because that's what it was-love, not just sex: sharing the same feelings, and joining our bodies in a passionate union.

If one of us didn't feel like doing it, we'd just lie on the bed, chatting and listening to music.

We knew everything about each other, but even so I didn't realise then what we really were: I had no idea what "homosexual" meant, I only knew that I loved him more than life itself, that I was infatuated with him, and that I couldn't bear the feeling I had that one day he might change his mind and think differently about what we did together.

If you're not careful the things you fear will become reality, and that is what happened.

We saw less of each other when I left that school. As an undergraduate I had little free time, and on top of this I had to take a job. Little by little I was losing him.

In the three years of our relationship he told me three times that he loved me. And at least, whenever I needed comfort and would ask him, he responded by closing his eyes and kissing me tenderly on my mouth.

Once I tried to rekindle our relationship, but something in him was different. I didn't want to insist. I had thought that time would heal, but now I know it only makes things worse.

That was two and a half years ago, and since then I have found no-one else who means as much to me.
He now suffers terribly from adolescent acne, but even so I love him.

It reminds me of a song:

"If you love something, let it go. If it returns it is yours; if not, it never belonged to you."

To Erick, with the same love as always.

José-Angel