My Father the Czar
                             Copyright 1998
                   Library of Congress number: 98-96138
                          by AUTHOR22@aol.com
                          All rights reserved


Chapter Seven

Olga was not happy about the winter cruise on the Mediterranean. Her
beau was a senior at the Imperial Naval Academy and could not be
invited without jeopardizing his studies.

Alex-T and Tatiana were both fantasizing about ways they might be able
to make Piotr Veliky their own personal attendant. The Tsarevich even
went as far as inquiring of Derevenko if he had leave coming.

The luncheon on the Standart had increased Piotr's discomfort. Now
instead of having just one member of the Imperial Family interested in
him, he had two.  Then the memory of the niece of Father Rasputin
pressing her crotch so tightly against him at the dance was interwoven
with the passionate, but unfulfilled, night with Tatiana. Several
times, in the quiet privacy of the cellar, she had "accidentally"
brushed her hand over his throbbing Erektsee-ya (erection). He had
felt the heat of every inch of it pulsing. To him it felt like the
heat within his chlen was so intense that it caused the temperature in
the small room to soar.

Every member of the ship's crew knew who the enlisted man was that the
Peterburgskie Wedomosti (Petersburg News) had referred to in that
infamous article. Most of his mates were envious of his good fortune,
others made jokes about the size of his chlen and the pleasure the
Grand Duchess must have derived from it.

Several weeks had passed since the publication of the story about the
Imperial Ball when Piotr had a need to go into the city to purchase a
few toilet articles. He had paused alongside a military uniform shop,
covetously examining a tailor-made seaman's dress uniform. The target
of his interest had been made so that it hugged the body of the
display dummy. The dark blue material was far better quality than navy
issue. The pectoral muscles were clearly defined as were the buttocks.
A smile spread across his lips as he noticed that the proprietor had
added properly shaped padding in the crotch.

The price tag was turned over so he could not read it. After entering
the establishment the clerk came toward him.

"May I help you sir?"

"How much for the dress blues?"

The price mentioned was astronomical. Sadly, Piotr said, "Thank you,"
and left the shop.

Next door was a small bar which catered to military men. He decided
that a beer would be in order. He did not notice the man in the brown
business suit who followed him into the pub, but a few minutes later
they were sitting side by side at the bar, each with a foam filled
glass before them.

The stranger said, "You would think a bar like this would give a
sailor a break instead of a glass of suds."

Veliky, who had been thinking about the ridiculous price of the
tailor-made uniform simply grunted in agreement without realizing he
was engaging a stranger in conversation.

"What ship are you off of mate?"

For no reason Piotr replied, "The Yaroslav."

The man looked at him a little oddly, but said nothing further about
the fact that the Yaroslav had left St. Petersburg reportedly in route
to the Mediterranean. "This beer is all foam." The stranger then
addressed the barman, "Another round if you please, and this time no
suds."

The empty glasses were whisked away, and replaced by two new ones.
Tiny bubbles formed in the amber fluid along the sides of the glass.
When they broke loose they rose toward the surface. "Now that's
better." He pushed a 20 Ruble note toward the proprietor. "You worked
here long?"

"Yep, I owns the place."

"You know the tailor next door?"

"Sure do, he comes in here every night drumming up business."

"If I made it worth your while, how much do you think you could buy a
set of those tailor made blues for?"

"About half. What you got in mind?" Piotr's attention was suddenly
drawn to the conversation.

"My mate, here was looking at them. But on a seaman's pay he can't
afford that kind of money."

The bartender looked at the man, then at the sailor with a very
suspicious look in his eye.  The man quickly added, "It's nothing like
that friend. The boy needs the uniform and I would like to help him
get it. I have some work that needs attending to and he could help. So
it's the work in exchange for the uniform.  A fair trade."

Piotr had caught the barman's inference, blushed, turned toward the
stranger and said, "Thanks for the beer Mister, but no thanks for the
work. I'm studying for the Naval Academy and can't spare the time."
With that the sailor quickly moved out of the bar and then ran full
speed toward the Standart.

The Barman looked at his only customer with an evil smile on his face.
"Sorry your bit of fun got away."

With no malice in his voice, the man in the brown suit replied, "I'm a
reporter for the Peterburgskie Wedomosti and that kid is the one that
got caught at the dance the Tsarevich gave back in September. If you
see him in here again call me at this number. The paper pays good
money for tips that lead to a story." He pushed the card next to the
twenty rubles.

The reporter left the pub, looked down the street toward the naval
base knowing full well his quarry would not be in sight, then strolled
in the same direction. At the gate he flashed his press credentials at
the guard and continued toward where the imperial yacht was docked.

An hour later Piotr Veliky crossed the quarter deck in route to the
crew's quarters. He was stunned to see the stranger from the bar
sitting on a dock side barrel watching the ship. Piotr turned on his
heel and walked back towards the Captain's Cabin. He knocked at the
door. He was bid to enter.

"Captain I have something strange to report." He recounted the
incident in the pub and the presence of the stranger alongside the
ship. The Captain sent a messenger ashore to report the observer to
base security. A few minutes later the stranger was gone. Half-an-hour
later one of Piotr's shipmates told him the Captain wanted to see him.
It was then he learned the identity of the stranger.

The man had identified himself to base security as a reporter for the
Petersburg News. A telephone call to the editor confirmed his position
as one of their best men. Dispite the mans position the military asked
him to leave. He was told that the Czar was not onboard the Standart,
and that the newspaper's interest in the other members of the Imperial
family were not welcome.

Unlike his shipmates on the Yaroslav the crew of the Standart were all
older men who did not go ashore and frequent the local bars. Even
though they were on a first name basis with all of the members of the
imperial family, none of them had enjoyed the personal attention that
had been directed toward Veliky. Every crewman had at one time or
another been approached by the press, but they had been cautioned not
to divulge any information about either the ship or its passengers.
But no one on-board the Standart, and that included her commanding
officer, had ever been the center of so much interest.

A week later a second page story appeared featuring a picture of a
much younger Piotr standing alongside his father in front of the
hunting lodge in Spala. The article was short, but informed the reader
that young sixteen year old Piotr Veliky was the son of a game keeper
at the Imperial Hunting Lodge in Poland. It went on to ask the
question, "Why was it that this handsome lad had been taken into the
Imperial Navy when so many older and more qualified men could not
enlist?" The story then pointed out that Velsky had been assigned to
the Yaroslav in St. Petersburg and, when the Yaroslav left the
Capitol, the young sailor was transferred to the imperial yacht. He
was the youngest crewman ever assigned to the Standart. The story
ended with a question, "What was Piotr Veliky doing at the
aristocratic Imperial Ball given by the Imperial children?"

Piotr had not seen the newspaper, but the next day he chanced to go
ashore to do some shopping. As he walked along the street it seemed
that everyone recognized him. Some even followed him. In dismay he
retreated to the safety of his ship and used his spare time to study
for the Naval Academy.

The Czar, on the other hand, was immediately aware of the story. Hours
before the first paper hit the streets, a copy of it had been sent to
the palace by a pressman who was also a member of the security police.
The fact that this incident was lingering in the press did not disturb
the Czar as much as had the original article since he had immediately
made sure that the security leak which precipitated that first article
had been dealt with.

At lunch, the matter of the news story was discussed with the
children.  Alex was visibly upset, presuming correctly that the young
sailor would be intimidated by public attention. It was Tatiana,
however, that made the comment, "I will certainly be happy when we get
away from St. Petersburg. How soon do you think we can leave Papa?"

"Right now would be a bad time. The Duma (legislature) has created
many new laws and policies. Their views are so diverse that I must
read each and every one in great detail and I probably will reject
most of them."

The Czarina suggested, "Then why don't I take the children. It will
take several weeks to sail to the English Channel, down the coast and
into the Mediterranean. When you can break away, you can take the
train to Yalta and join us there."

The Czar contemplated his wife's suggestion while peeling an orange.
When he had removed the last of the rind, he looked up and said,
"Could you stop in Kiel or Bremerhaven and talk to your Cousin Willy?
Recently his actions have been very antagonistic toward us."

Catherine kicked Alex-T under the table. "Papa, Mr. Gilliard and the
other tutors will be traveling with us, won't they?"

"Of Course. You will not become derelict in your studies."

Alex continued, "Then Catherine must come along as well?"

The Czar looked up sharply, glancing between the two children. A proud
fatherly smile spread across his lips. "Of course Alex, of course." He
glanced toward his wife whose smile had been replaced by a scowl, then
continued, "...with her uncle's permission of course."

                              + + + + +

                The First Charade by Alex-P/Catherine

                              + + + + +

The following excerpt was taken from the diary of the boy with many
names: Sean, Peter, Alex-P, Catherine.

"Most of the first year with the Romanov's was unlike anything I could
have imagined in my wildest dreams.

"Under the careful guidance of Gregori Rasputin, who both the Imperial
children and I called Uncle Gregori, Alex-T (The Tsarevich), and
myself were constantly changing places. We learned to submerge
ourselves in our alter-characters. In my opinion, Alex-T assumed the
character of Catherine far more convincingly than did I.

"What was even more peculiar was the attitude that Uncle Gregori
showed toward Catherine when she was played by Alex-T as compared with
the times when me that had adopted the feminine role. His attitude
could not have been more obvious than during the special dance classes
given by Nijinsky. When it was me who pranced around the dance floor,
Uncle Gregori was ALWAYS present. Yet when I played the role of the
Tsarevich Uncle would leave Nijinsky and Catherine unsupervised. When
I asked the reason, he replied, 'The Tsarevich needs more practice in
the feminine role.'

"Despite my closeness with my 'twin' the subject of what was happening
in those 'private' lessons brought down a total wall of isolation.
Yet, we would discuss sex. In actuality, we were both learning more
about sex from each other than we were from anyone else.

"About a week before we were scheduled to leave on the Mediterranean
vacation, something happened which changed everything; yet, I could
not be...even now...absolutely sure what had happened. Alex-T was
playing the role of Catherine and working with Nijinsky while Uncle
Gregori and me as the Tsarevich, strolled around the palace grounds.
It was really the first time we had tried the charade in public. We
kept our distance from everyone while still making certain we could be
seen. The holding of my buttocks together was becoming so much second
nature that it was difficult to switch between the rhythmic movement
with which we were characterizing Catherine and the strut we were now
exaggerating for the role of the Tsarevich.

"It was more than an hour later that we returned to Alex's classroom.
He and Nijinsky were still practicing body movements. Uncle Gregori
was the first to notice that Alex-T was moving oddly. His buttocks
were clamped together tighter than I had ever noticed and his
movements were not smooth. His teacher was wearing a  'cat that ate
the Canary' smile. Shortly thereafter, we switched costumes (and
roles) whereupon Alex-T excused himself from further studies and
retired to his bedroom.

"Later, I asked him what had happened in our absence. He scowled at me
and refused to discuss the subject any further.

"It was the next morning, when he had crawled into my bed, that our
dry humping turned wet; Alex-T had ejaculated between my legs.

"In eager anticipation of that next step in my own development, I lied
to Uncle Gregori telling him that 'my' dry climaxes had turned wet.
'Ah! Little one, then it is time for that part of your studies to
begin. Has the Tsarevich yet reached that stage?'

"I had not anticipated that question and blushed as I struggled for an
answer. How could I reply without admitting that we had been sharing
those intimate experiences? Fortunately he did not wait for my reply
and instead said, 'Soon, and certainly before you go to the Standart,
we should visit The Islands.' He grinned at me conspiratorially and
added, 'The Capitol's "Village of the Gypsies".'

Even though my heart was pounding in my breast, even though my Chlen
was taking command, I exercised willpower and asked casually, 'Oh?
Will there be anyone there that I know?'

"An incident in the Barents Sea had created a political problem with
Germany. One of their fishing boats had been found poaching in Russian
waters. A Russian patrol boat had seized the craft and impounded it.
The captain and crew were being held in Moscow. The German Ambassador
had telephoned the Czar to intercede. A few days later, on a Friday,
the Czar took the Imperial Train to Moscow leaving his family at home.
He was not expected to return before Wednesday.

"Uncle Gregori made an unexpected visit and announced that he wished
to take his niece and the Tsarevich to see the Ballet on Saturday
night in celebration of her (my) eleventh birthday. Afterward they
would spend the night either at his apartment or at the Winter Palace.
The Czarina, being the only parent present, expressed reservations as
no security had been arranged. He chuckled slightly and told her that
they would not need it as the Tsarevich would be incognito. It
required a great deal of persuasion before she agreed and then, only
if the Tsarevich spent Saturday night on-board the Imperial yacht.

"We arrived at Uncle Gregori's apartment shortly after four in the
afternoon. He had beckoned us to follow him into his bedroom, then he
took two identical sets of clothing from his wardrobe and laid them on
the bed. 'Tonight you will both be boys. Put the clothes on.'

"The garments were far from elegant. They consisted of a pair of
trousers, a white cotton shirt, a cap and a cloth jacket. While more
luxurious than anything I had worn in our rural village, they were far
lower in quality than what even the servants wore at the palace.

"Once we were both dressed and standing side by side we did, indeed,
look like twins. Uncle Gregory produced a bottle of a dark hair
coloring which could be washed out. When we left his apartment we
looked like a pair of black-haired peasant twins. No one would have
guessed that either one of us was the future Czar of all of the
Russias.

"Alex-T was cautioned to try to speak in the same peasant manner that
Gregori and I were intentionally sliding back into. As the evening
progressed, it was interesting to note how much easier it was to use
the slang of the peasantry than it was to learn the stilted, upper
crust speech of the aristocracy. Uncle commented, 'It is because it is
the natural language of the people.'

"We did not attend the Ballet, but instead had dinner at 'The
Aquarium' - a favorite club of Uncle Gregori's.

"We were seated at a table next to a glass wall which separated us
from huge tanks of brightly colored fish. The entire room was
surrounded by similar aquaria giving the effect that it was 'we' who
were in the tank being observed by the aquatic creatures.

"The fish had a 'sturdy look' to them. The back and ventral area were
moderately curved. The head area was short and 'wide' while the body
was short but strong, supporting a short, narrowly forked tail fin.
Pectoral, anal and pelvic fins were paddle shaped and were carried
stiffly jutting form their bodies.

"The tanks were lit from the side at an angle which caused the skin to
reflect a bright, metallic sheen in even, overlapping rows. The colors
appeared quite variable, ranging from a 'wild' gray-green through
crimson red; yet, the orange or red fish were marked very attractively
with black fins and lips.

"The waiter hovered nearby as we inspected the menu. The Tsarevich
asked for Lobster while Uncle Gregori and I settled for a delicious
white fish found only in the Arctic.

"I noticed that something had caught the eye of Alex-T and turned to
watch whatever it was that was intriguing him. There were two yellow
and black striped fish in an odd stance, like a male dog which was
sniffing at the rear of a female. But, what made it even stranger was
that the rear fish was taking the tail of its lover into its mouth.
Alex-T must have felt my gaze. His eyes turned toward mine and he
suddenly blushed.

"Uncle Gregori mistook our interest and commented that those fish were
imported from China. As we looked toward the other tanks, I was amazed
at the variety. The sign under the tank of the gobbling fish read,
'Red Hibuna'. I asked, 'Why Red, they are black and yellow?' It was
then that the rear fish separated itself from its mate. Alex-T gasped
as we both saw that it had eaten away a good portion of the other's
tail.

"In the dim light of the room both of us, Alex-T and Alex-P, looked
older and were treated as adults. We enjoyed both a fine dinner and
fine wines. The club featured live entertainment which stirred the
soul. Costumed dancers moved to the rhythms of a string quartet. While
not quite gypsy music, it was similar enough to make adjourning our
party to the camp of the gypsies the natural thing to do next.

"Uncle Gregori was extolling the virtues of the evening yet to come.
We took a taxi to the outskirts of the city. Signs were not needed to
tell us that we had passed into a culturally different district. The
Novaya Derevenya was a collection of large,  open areas though they
were small by rural standards. Many were arranged like a gypsy
caravan. Each house had, parked alongside it, several covered wagons.
Beyond the wagons was a barn which presumably housed the horses.

"The gypsies lived in families in this district. We had been told to
expect an extravagant evening. Gypsies from Moscow were deemed to be
vastly superior, more authentic, better singers than any others and
the greatest of them all was Varya Panina. It was to her brother's
home that we were going.

"There were great, stirring sounds coming from the sprawled out
enclosure that served as both home and show place.

If there had ever been conventional furniture in the large room, it
had been removed and replaced by long, rough, wooden tables. Seating
was on hard benches made from the same material. "'Guests', as their
customers were called, were drinking from both bottles and glasses.

"A half-naked gypsy man in his mid-twenties suddenly appeared as the
resounding thump and metallic ring of a Riqq (tambourine) compelled
the audience to pay homage to the presence of this smoldering gypsy.
His face was sculpted by thin wisps of beard and he seemed unfazed by
the enormous amount of attention he attracted.

"His feet hammered the floor with the intensity of a woodpecker on
oak. As he pirouetted perspiration spun off in a silver shower. There
was both precision and passion in each movement of his tall, slim
body.

Faster and faster his legs followed his torso. His fingers leapt, his
arms spun in an erotic, angry, yet spiritual dance which retained the
fire, the passion and the mysticism of the Roma (gypsy).

"In periods of relaxation between fits of passion, the viewer found
himself caught in a well woven net of sensations. The lighting in the
room was only that of a fireplace. The Rhythmic sounds were solely the
ancient Riqq and the feet of the dancer; yet, there was more to the
adventure, the audience itself had been caught up into the dance.

I looked across at Alex-T. He seemed mesmerized by the raw sex of the
dance. Aside from the obvious bulge in the dancers white skin-tight
trousers, there was nothing truly obscene; yet, I noticed that I was
not the only person in the room, nor even at our table, whose chlen
had been stirred by this powerful experience.

"There was a different pattern now upon the walls as a gypsy girl spun
into the center of the room. Translated in her body movements was a
feeling of anguish, not happiness. She moved on, weaving a spell,
while the musician underlined the story with the magic strings of his
Balkan. Each of them, dancer and guitarist alike, conspired in their
dual re-creation of the ancient story of love, pathos and fulfillment.

"The gypsies danced and twirled like the dervishes of history, knowing
that the more the slave was asked to do, the more they loved doing it.
In dreamy, wild eyed moments, it was unquestionably certain that the
gypsies were now ready to share their slave, their passion and their
music and, in doing so, make the participants more capable of coping
with the trials of everyday life.

"Uncle Gregori leaned toward us and whispered, 'I have engaged twin
gypsy girls who will teach you many things. They will soon join us and
we will become part of the dancing.'

"I glanced at the Tsarevich. There was an eager smile upon his lips.
Rasputin bid we raise our drinks in a toast. 'To all that the night
holds for us!' As our glasses clinked, the three of us repeated as a
single harmonious voice the phrase, 'To all that the night holds for
us.'

"That night held a great deal for both of us.

"The entertainment had progressed to the point where the dancers were
inviting the guests to dance with them.

"By that time Gregori had found two women to whom he was attracted.
The older one was the prettiest, but it was the younger one who
brought the twins to our table. They were both dressed in bright red
skirts and white blouses embroidered with patterns of colorful
flowers. A vest-like jacket of blue completed their ensemble. Their
hair was jet black and hung well below their shoulders. Neither was
plump like so many of the rural women. Just looking at them built my
passions almost beyond control. The only thing I could think of was
getting one of them into bed.

"They sat with us a short time sharing our drinks. The one who had
attached herself to me asked me if I danced.

"I nodded 'yes.'

"As we reached the dancers she said, 'This music is from the Gypsy
people of southern Poland, Nowy Sacz. Do you know it?'

"I shook my head, 'No. I am from the Yekaterinburg district on the
eastern side of the Ural mountains.'

"'Ah! Not too many years ago we would have been at war. Now we love.'
Even though the others were moving in a high spirited dance, she was
holding me close. We were dancing to a different rhythm.

"I glanced toward the Tsarevich and suddenly saw him in a different
light.  There was a flush of excitement in his face and his laugh was
somewhat animalistic with some humorous quality projected by his
youthful energy.  I was amazed that he didn't just walk. His grace in
motion was incredible. He danced, he gamboled, he glided, he flew but
never just 'walked'. His entire body communicated his being like a
ballet dancer.  Movement and expression melded together to create a
natural work of art, a testimony to Nijinsky's talents as a teacher.

"I was also watching my gypsy girl's eyes, her face and her lips. I
bumped into another couple. It was Alex-T. The sisters spoke to each
other, then asked, 'Would you like to go on a hay ride?'

"I looked around for Uncle Gregori. He was nowhere in sight. The
Tsarevich answered for us both. 'That would be delightful.'

"We left the others and walked out back behind the barn. There was a
wagon filled with hay, but no horses. The girls jumped up on the back
of the wagon and pulled us into the soft hay. There were no
preliminaries. By consensus, it became a race to see who could get out
of their clothes the fastest. I won the contest. I only had to remove
shoes, shirt and trousers while both girls wore skirts, blouses,
underwear and stockings. The Tsarevich could have come in second, but
his attention was devoted to the removal of his girl's clothing.

"Even though the night air was cold and crisp, I felt none of it as my
blood coursed through my veins in anticipation of the next few
minutes. The girls were laying side by side. Alex-T watched me as I
slid between her legs. Moments later he was duplicating my every
movement. The bright moonlight highlighted his buttocks as it moved in
and out. The girl was teaching him well. I was rapidly approaching my
climax when, unexpectedly, I felt his foot against mine. That link
between us took me over the edge and I ejaculated. Without actually
seeing the seed of my loins, I knew that it had happened.

"It was three-thirty in the morning when Uncle Gregori dropped me at
his apartment. He then escorted the Tsarevich to the Standart."


                              + + + + +

               Catherine's birthday according to Alex-T

                              + + + + +

The gypsy girls were more than I had expected. Ever since Catherine
arrived at the palace and he had told me of his Katrina, I had dreamed
of playing with a girl. The humping with Catherine in his bedroom had
become almost a daily occurrence; but, it was not until the incident
with Nijinsky that my ability to ejaculate came about.

Even now, I am uncertain how I felt about that incident. As soon as
Catherine had switched into my clothes and left with Uncle Gregori
that afternoon, my teacher changed the subject.

"You must learn to walk like a dancer. You must hold your buttocks
tightly." He demonstrated what he meant, then continued, "Now you try
it."

I thought I had done a pretty good imitation but he was dissatisfied.

"No, no, no. It must be so tight that you could hold an envelope
between them while walking. Here, I will show you." With that, he
slipped out of his pants and walked over to the desk. I had not seen
him naked and was astonished. His chlen was soft but quite large. He
noticed that I was staring at that part of his body but ignored it. He
placed the envelope between his cheeks and then walked across the
room. When he stopped in front of me he ordered, "Remove your dance
costume Alex and practice the exercise." Nijinsky glanced away self-
consciously, suddenly unable to look at me, his student. Together we
walked to the side of the room.

I straightened up, grasped a wooden rail and began to stretch. My
limbered legs lifted easily to the rail where I locked one foot behind
it and stretched. My black tights pulled into the crease of my groin
and accentuated the small rounded lump of my comparatively formless
crotch.

My instructor shrugged and leaned back against the rail. "I saw you
dance at the ball. There you seemed more relaxed, moving with a
dancer's skill." I grew breathless with a feeling of uncertainty, but
his voice was soft and calming as I began to unwind. "You danced
beautifully. I found you most attractive."

"It was only ballroom dancing, " I said self-depreciatingly. "Mother
suggested that I study ballet but papa says that would not be suitable
for the next ruler of our country."

"Ballroom dancing is still useful." He turned and also began
stretching at the bar. "Of course it doesn't take as much talent as
ballet, but it's good for your timing." The man smiled again. "I'm
pleased that you do so well."

"Yes,  Vaslav," I replied. He stopped stretching, straightened
up, and hesitated before he turned to face me.

"You are already a good dancer. By the time you are in your teens you
will be very good. Maybe you will even be a great dancer in time.
Sooner or later you will need to think about the commitment it will
take to do that."

"You forget, I have a much greater role to play and dancing is only a
small part of that."

"Then we must get back to the task at hand. Remove your tights so that
we may practice your movements while holding the envelope."

I hesitated as my petooshock stiffened, "Come, come Alex you must
practice this walk before the others return."

After I had slipped out of my tights, he took both of his hands and
separated my cheeks, then allowed them to close grasping the envelope.
But as I walked it fell to the floor.

"We must try that again. If it tickles you can't hold it. Now bend
over and let me see if there is a problem."

I could feel his hot breath on my backside as he inspected my crack.
That combined with what I remembered of his chlen brought me to full
erection. The warmth became stronger and bathed the inner parts of
both cheeks. There was a wet tickle --a warm, pleasant, wet tickle.
Deep inside of me it felt like something was churning and my
petooshock got so hard that it felt like it would break. The wet
tickle turned into a wet probing as I realized what was happening.
Involuntarily I pushed back trying to admit more of his tongue. The
probe began to push gently in and out as I rocked to meet it. His hand
reached between my legs and grasped my penis. When his tongue probed
deeper my hips swung to help him bury it. When he withdrew my movement
then drove my chlen into his hand. The pace built. It was like I was
in a euphoric haze within which I was aware only of each frantic
second bathed in the hedonistic sensation of that moment; I could not
stop. The feelings built to an incredible peak, then suddenly I felt
my chlen pulse and I knew my seed had been deposited in his hand. I
turned around, "Open your hand I want to see." There was a small
amount of a sticky translucent substance in his palm. I ran my finger
through it, testing its consistency, assuring myself that my climax
had turned from dry to wet.

"We need to practice this exercise if we are to master your moving
like a dancer." I did not know what to say, but nodded my head in
agreement. Then he hurriedly added, "Our practice must be our secret.
You can confide in no one, not even Catherine if you wish for me to
teach you."

It was those thoughts that played again and again through my mind as I
lay with the gypsy girl in the hay wagon.

The pleasures were unique and memorable: but, by two-thirty, we had
left Novaya Dereveny en route to the naval base where I was to spend
the rest of the night. Uncle Gregori dropped Alex-P at his apartment
and then escorted me to the base.

Gate security apparently had been alerted to expect my arrival and
Uncle Gregori left me at the foot of the gangway.

I was surprised to see Piotr Veliky on the quarter deck. There was no
sign of recognition on his face as he stood there blocking my way.
Before he could say anything I said, "Piotr what are you doing up at
this time of night?"

He looked closer and still did not recognize me until he noticed a
black smudge on my forehead where the hair dye had run. I am sure that
he didn't realize what he was doing as he reached over and rubbed his
thumb through the smudge. Then quite abruptly he snapped his heels
together and saluted, "My Tsarevich what has happened to you?"

I told him the highlights of the nights adventure, then asked, "What
time do you get off duty?" He glanced at the quarter deck clock and
replied, "In about fifteen minutes. Four O'clock."

"Could you come to my cabin and help me wash this stuff out of my
hair. I need to do that before I go to sleep otherwise it will get on
everything."

Piotr saluted and said, "Of course my Tsarevich."

"Piotr, by now we should be on a first name basis. Alex, not Tsarevich
--Please."

I crossed the quarter deck and entered the passageway that led to the
passenger section and to my cabin.

My mirror reflected the smudge on my forehead and I noticed several
other dark streaks below the hair line. Carefully I removed my shoes,
trousers and shirt, then sat in a chair awaiting Piotr's arrival.
Longingly I looked at the bed and hoped that Piotr would come soon. My
head nodded into the first stages of sleep. A knock on my door brought
me back to consciousness and I opened the door. Piotr stood there with
a smile on his face. "My Tsarev... " He broke in mid-sentence as I
glared at him, then started over, "Alex tell me about your evening.
You said that your uncle took you to the Gypsies? And that you danced
all night?"

I had pulled a chair into my bathroom and placed it before the sink.
"Can you rinse this hair dye out while we talk?" I sat there with my
head over the sink. Piotr touched my hair, then looked at his finger;
it was black.

"I must change into something else. I must not get that black stuff on
my uniform."

"Take your uniform off, that way you won't get it dirty," I said.

Piotr hesitated, then said, "I am embarrassed my Tsar.... Alex, but I
am wearing no underwear."

"Don't worry about that, my eyes will be closed most of the time."

Shyly, Piotr began to remove his clothes. He kept glancing my way to
see if I was looking but didn't realize that I had a view of him from
the mirror.

His shoes seemed to take for ever, but finally the second shoe dropped
to the floor. Then he pulled his jumper over his head and I had my
first view of his hairless chest with its well developed pectoral
muscles. Again he glanced my way before releasing the first button of
his trousers, then quickly he slid them to the floor, turned away from
me, folded them, and laid them over the towel rack. His buttocks were
much more developed than mine but just as hairless. When he turned
back toward me his chlen seemed a little bigger than when it had first
peeked at me.

Quickly I closed my eyes as he came back to me. Then he turned on the
hot and cold water faucets and partially filled the sink. I leaned my
head forward and he then carefully ladled the warm water over my hair.

"We danced all evening, Piotr. Uncle Gregori had engaged a gypsy girl
to teach me to dance. It was a lot of fun but a bit tiring."

It wasn't until I heard a chuckle from Piotr that I realized the
memory had given me an Erektsee-ya (erection). My chlen was poking its
way through my undershorts. I was glad that my face was in the sink as
I was sure that I was blushing.

"It looks like you were doing more than dancing. Please tell me more."

There is nothing like passion to remove barriers. I turned my head
slightly and ventured to peek. I got a momentary glimpse of Piotr's
pubic area just before the soapy water forced me to close my eyes.
Nestled in a mound of dark hair was a sizable and erect chlen. He
pushed my face further into the sink as he continued to wash. Then I
detailed the hay ride leaving out only that the girls had been twins
and that there had been two Alexes in the wagon.

I could feel the radiating heat of his chlen warming my cheek. "You
are a lucky boy. I have been wanting to have my way with a woman. I
almost did the other night when..." He stopped in mid-sentence when he
realized that he was talking about my sister. "Raise your head and let
me dry your hair." As I sat up he tossed a towel over my head and
began vigorously rubbing my scalp. I opened my eyes, but could see
nothing as the cloth covered my face. His fingers ceased to rub and I
heard a noise a few feet away from me. Piotr was buttoning his
trousers as I removed the towel.

"I don't think there is any black dye left in your hair.  If you would
like I can come back in the morning and rinse it again."

I told him thank you, but "No".

I was already in my bed when the lights went out and I heard the door
close behind my friend.

                              + + + + +

It was far too early when I heard the ship come alive. Breakfast was
being served in the crew's mess. As careful as the ships designers had
been, they had not been successful in isolating the passenger spaces.
Judging from the light (or lack there of) in my cabin it could not
have been much past six o'clock and that meant that I had slept for
less than three hours.

My stomach insisted that it needed my attention even more so than my
petooshock. At first I thought about calling for breakfast. It was
then that I realized Deverenko was not with me and I didn't know how
to do it. Instead I slipped on the clothes I had discarded the night
before and found my way to the food line in the crews mess. The boy in
front of me did not look around and the one that came next was behind
me and could not see my face.

"What have they got, Shit on a Shingle again?"

I turned to the fellow who had spoken and said, "I haven't the
faintest idea, but I am so hungry I will eat anything."

The man still had not looked at me, but grabbed his crotch and said,
"Then you can have some of this buddy." It was then that his eyes
engaged my face. In shock he turned first red, then white. "Oh my God!
I am sorry your Imperial Highness. I did not realize it was you."

I tried to put him at ease by saying, "Given a choice I'd prefer pork
sausage."  He was on the verge of collapse. He handed his tray to the
man behind him and ran out of the mess hall.

I looked around hoping to see Piotr, but he was not there. No one in
the serving line looked at the faces of those to whom they were
dispensing breakfast. My tray was full when I heard a commotion behind
me. The mess-men had been alerted to my presence well after the fact.

My presence seemed to disrupt the serving of breakfast, so I carried
my tray to my cabin. A ship's steward who was standing alongside my
door, came to attention and opened the way for me. "Your Imperial
Highness you should have called me."

He looked over my tray at the toast covered with gravy and I
commented, "Shit on a shingle looks pretty good this early in the
morning." The expression on his face was one of shock but he said
nothing.

Piotr appeared at my door and peered in. I said, "Come in and join me
for breakfast." I asked my steward to run down to the crews mess and
bring back a tray for my guest.

I motioned for him to sit opposite me. I got the impression that he
was feeling more comfortable in my presence.

"Did you sleep well," he asked?

I nodded in the affirmative as I was chewing on a bite of the toast.

"I would like to hear more of your adventures last night."

"It is too early for such thoughts," I grumbled.

He looked disappointed but continued, "Where is this gypsy place you
went to? Some night maybe I will find my way there." Then with eager
eyes he said, "How does one meet a gypsy girl?" Then in an
afterthought he asked, "Do they cost a lot of money?"

I had not seen money change hands once we had left the Aquarium so I
could not tell him. I changed the subject, "Are there any traces of
dye in my hair?"

He walked behind me and began running his fingers slowly through my
hair. "No sir, not that I can see. But would you like for me to rinse
it anyway?  Maybe you will feel like telling me about last night's
adventures."

The memory of that momentary glimpse of his enlarged chlen standing
proudly in his pubic forest tempted me. Before I could take advantage
of the opportunity there was a light tapping on my door. It was
Derevenko, he had come to fetch me home.


                              + + + + +

                        Then things got worse.
                         by Alex-P/Catherine

                              + + + + +

When the Czar returned home he was far from a happy man. The incident
with the German fishing boat had been escalated by a Moscow based
radical political group.

In an effort to keep peace, the Czar had given into the demands of the
German Ambassador and released the impounded vessel and its crew.

A radical group, known as the "Red Russians", published a weekly,
underground newspaper, "Pravda". Usually the paper appeared on
Sundays, but on this occasion they had published a special midweek
edition. Featured on the front page was a cartoon drawing which showed
the Kaiser holding puppet strings for a doll that looked remarkably
like the Czarina, who in turn held the strings of a doll that looked
remarkably like the Czar. At the side of the drawing was a German boat
overflowing with fish whose crew was making obscene gestures toward
the Czar.

The story that accompanied the drawing did not make reference to the
illustration, but did go out of its way to underline the relationship
between the Czarina and the Kaiser.

In a third page editorial the newspaper raged on about the unfitness
of Nicholas the Second to rule. It ended with a call to all "true
Russians" to force the Czar to either abdicate or establish a powerful
committee whose foreign affairs rulings would be absolute.

Unlike the Petersburg News, Pravda did not publish under an Imperial
franchise; they were an illegal publisher. The paper enjoyed a much
greater circulation than did the News partly because of its outlandish
stories and partly because it was more fun to read.

The Czar suspected that the paper was actually printed by various
printing houses throughout western Russia.

In an unprecedented appearance, he spoke to the Duma threatening to
abolish the legislature, re-establish absolute rule, make the printing
and distribution of all newspapers a treasonable offense and suspend
all citizen participation in the process of governing.

The political climate calmed down despite the efforts of the Red
Russians. They seemed to loose focus and shifted their attacks to
various other matters including Uncle Gregori.

Two weeks after The Czar had returned from Moscow, Alex-T had a mishap
during his "private tutoring" with Nijinsky. The boy was bleeding from
the Anus. We both went into shock when he was forced to confide in me.
Immediately I sought the advice of Uncle Gregori. In an emergency
change of plans we switched roles and Catherine was faced with coping
with her first "period", while I, as the Tsarevich, was suddenly
healed by Uncle Gregorie's prayers. As a matter of fact Uncle
Gregorie's prayers did seem to help as Alex-T recovered in less than
ten days.

In the meantime, I was forced into the role continously and constantly
worried that the other members of the Imperial family would detect the
switch.

Uncle Gregori told me to relax and that everything would be all right.
He was correct. Even the Czar seemed pleased with my more athletic
interests during that period. In that short time I felt the warmth of
his paternal love.

Our dancing lessons came to an end after a heated discussion between
Nijinsky and Rasputin. When the dancer left the palace grounds, he did
so hurriedly. Later I learned that Uncle had threatened to tell the
Czar of Nijinsky's escapades with his son. Within a week I heard that
he had accepted a position with the Paris company of the Ballet Ruse.

After the political row subsided, the only thing on everyone's mind
was the Mediterranean Cruise. We each had made long lists of which of
our possessions we wished to have moved to the Imperial yacht.

Poor Piotr was constantly being asked to "help me with this", or "help
me with that" by both Tatiana and Alex-T. All of this "extra duty"
caused Captain Prokoshov to temporarily assign the young seaman as an
assistant to the Imperial family when any member was on-board.

Winter was almost at an end when we finally boarded the Standart for
the trip to the Mediterranean. High on the list of priorities was a
visit between the Kaiser and his cousin the Czarina.

My cabin was opposite that of Alex-T. His sisters shared two larger
cabins further down the passageway.

We had come aboard the night before we were to depart. The first leg
of our trip would take us to Helsinki. If we got underway at eight in
the morning we would be docked in Finland before night fall.

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