THE RESCUER CHAPTER 2: THE RECOGNITION

"What's been going on that you've been watching me?"

The question from Carlos fell like a stone in still water.

And there I knew that everything was real.

That I wasn't dreaming.

That this was actually happening.

For a second that seemed eternal, my brain short-circuited.

And something in my nervous system was activated.

An electric discharge that ran through my spine.

From the nape of my neck to my ass.

As if every nerve in my 70-year-old body had recognized something that my conscious mind still didn't understand.

The scientists talk about this.

Dopamine.

The hormone of pleasure and reward.

It shoots up when your brain identifies something you need.

Oxytocin.

The hormone of bonding.

It's released when you feel a deep connection.

Adrenaline.

The hormone of danger.

It prepares you to flee or fight.

But this was different.

It wasn't just attraction.

It was recognition.

As if every cell in my body was saying: "Him. He's the one".

As if my reptilian brain, the most primitive one, the one that's been evolving for millions of years, had identified something essential.

Danger.

And at the same time, salvation.

My amygdala, the part of the brain that processes fear, was activated like an alarm.

"This man can destroy you".

But my hypothalamus, the part that regulates sexual desire, responded:

"And you need him to do it".

I felt panic.

Shame.

Excitement.

All mixed together.

Panic because I knew he had discovered me.

That he had been watching me.

And that he knew everything.

Shame because at my age, a man made me feel like a horny and clumsy teenager.

And excitement.

Damn.

An excitement I hadn't felt in decades.

Maybe never.

My cock, which had been half asleep for years, got hard under my swimsuit.

Quickly.

Hard.

As if my body had recovered 40 years in one go.

Carlos looked at me fixedly.

With a calm smile.

Without haste.

Without doubt.

As if he knew exactly what was going on in my head.

And in my cock.

"You're Spanish, right?" he asked.

His voice was deep.

Low.

With that Andalusian accent that made me feel at home and lost at the same time.

I nodded.

My throat was dry.

As if I hadn't drunk water for hours.

"Yes," I managed to say.

My voice sounded hoarse.

Weak.

"You can tell," he said with a smile that didn't reach his eyes.

"Even though you've been here for months".

How the hell did he know I'd been here for months?

I hadn't said it.

I hadn't mentioned it to anyon...