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Paul was struggling, 18 and at college he’d been asked to write an essay on his heritage. It was meant to be a way of showing how well you handled historical research, but Paul just couldn’t find anything. His father was a mix of German, English, Norwegian, Canadian and the rest of Caucasian world. His mother though was Hispanic, she claimed 100% Mexican, but his grandfather always talked about Chile and Brazil. He’d wanted to write about that heritage, but his mother had come over illegally when she was 4. All he knew were the stories, and there was very few from before his grandfather uprooted the family from Mexico and crossed the border. He knew this grandfather had been a gardener and janitor, his grandmother had been maid as some very rich familie’s mansion. He remembered hearing stories about his uncle Jose, who’d been a pool boy when he was teen. The guy still ran a pool cleaning business, but he was running the accounts instead of netting up leafs. His mother was the success story, won a scholarship to Harvard, became a lawyer, married a Senator’s son and set up her own law firm with a couple girls from her sorority. Every bit the American Dream, but that only filled 300 words. Paul’s head thudded against his notepad as he sighed in frustration. He looked up from his desk and out the window onto the campus green below. It was pitch black outside, but then a streak of light rocketed across the sky. “A shooting star” Paul grinned “What the fuck, I wish I was more in touch with my heritage” he wished Nothing happened, Paul shook his head, he was an idiot to even try that. Thankfully he was alone in his room. He gave up and dropped his pen and climbed into bed. ——————————————————————————————————————————— Pablo woke, the warm summer sun beaming down onto him. He rose from the sun lounger, rubbing sleep from his eyes. He scratched at his dark beard, his rich dark skin tight over his bulging bicep. What the fuck, Pablo thought, no Paul, my name is Paul, he reminded himself. His room was gone, instead he stood in a lush garden, a massive olympic sized pool in front of him. A huge mansion surrounding the garden. He scanned the area for his clothes, only a net on a long stick next to the lounger waited for him. Pablo bounced his pecs, his perky dark nipples erect in the sun. He gave them a pull, Paul screamed internally. Paul tried to focus, but his mind was cloudy. He took a step and felt his thick long legs stomp down with each step. But something heavy got his attention. He looked down, he was in white swim trunks and they were bulging. “Christ thats big” he muttered, but not in english, only Spanish He gripped his throat, he’d hardly ever spoken Spanish, his mother didn’t even speak it. No that wasn’t right, Paul…. no, Pablo thought. His mother only spoke Spanish, or she had before Pablo jumped the border. He ran a hand down his abs, cupping his large bulge in his hand. Pablo grinned, thank god he was beautiful, he knew looks got you places in America. He had a nice room in the guest house, an easy job lounging around the pool and all he had to do was walk around in tiny trunks or undies so that the old man living in the mansion got a treat. He rubbed the back of his head, his bicep bulging again. Paul fading from his mind, a rich hispanic heritage replacing him, the language, songs, folk stories. It would of made an amazing essay, if Pablo was in university and not cleaning a pool. Pablo bent and touched his toes, giving the old man a good view from the kitchen window of his plump bubble butt.