My Father the Czar
Copyright 1998
Library of Congress number: 98-96138
by AUTHOR22@aol.com
All rights reserved
Chapter Ten
EXPLANATION: The author wishes to increase the pace of dialog in this
chapter by using the following symbolism: [C/P] means the preceding
dialog was spoken by Catherine/Alex-P, while [T] refers to Alex-T the
Tsarevich.
+ + + + +
It had been a long day for the two boys which had started far too
early; however, it had been an exciting one: the running of the bulls
and the bullfights. Of course the previous night had also been a long
one. Going to bed at four in the morning and then getting up three
hours later would have tired most people but Alex-T and Alex-P both
had boundless energy.
Despite the lateness of the hour, despite their having proceeded
through the day at break neck speed, they still were alert and curious
about what Piotr and Tatiana were doing.
It was Alex-T who had seen Piotr bidding his sister goodnight with a
gentle kiss on the cheek, then proceeded to his own bed chamber. It
was something of a surprise when the sailor had turned on his heels
and walked downstairs and out of the front door.
"Pssst." It was Alex-P who stuck his head out of his doorway. "What's
going on?"
"Don't know. Piotr just went outside. I would have thought his ass
would be dragging by now."
The two boys walked across the hallway to a verandah which overlooked
the main court yard. From there they witnessed the encounter with the
stranger in the trench coat and broad-brimmed hat. They wondered who
he was.
Piotr returned to the castle. He had moved much faster than the boys
had anticipated and thus they were trapped on the verandah. From their
hiding place they saw the girl servant who bid him enter his bed
chamber. Catherine/Alex-P said, "Lucky Piotr." Alex-T responded, "Not
if my sister finds out."
The Tsarevich had put his arm around Catherine, pulling them closer
together. "I miss our early morning exercises, don't you?"
"Do you think we would be missed if we disappeared for an hour or
two?" [C/P]
"You mean right now?" [T]
"Yes." [C/P]
"I don't know. Mama already said good night, so I doubt if she will
return." [T]
"What about your valet? [C/P]
"And your 'maid of honor'? How do you keep her from seeing your
petooshock (little cock)?" [T]
Alex-P began to laugh. "You obviously haven't seen it recently. It has
been growing. And yours?" [C/P]
"Let's find someplace private and I will show you. I think I know of a
place. There is a large closet next to Piotr's bedroom. The house
keeping staff stores brooms and things in there." [T]
The two boys crossed the hallway, paused at the door, looked both ways
to make certain they were not being observed and then slipped
noiselessly inside the dark room. From within they could hear the
sound of Piotr's voice and that of a girl. "I am in the mood for
another of your baths and back massages. Would you draw the water?"
The girl's voice sounded huskily: "It is already for you my love. May
I have the pleasure of undressing you?"
The voices faded away as Piotr and his body servant went into the
bathroom.
Disappointedly, the two Alex's left the closet, forgetting why they
had first entered and said good night.
+ + + + +
Piotr had been back onboard the Standart since Monday morning. The
vessel had been moved into a shipyard where repairs on the boilers
were being made. It was a noisy environment. Even though his bunk was
far from luxurious, it still was more like "home" than the room that
had been given him at Pena Castle.
There was not a lot to do while the ship was in the yard but the
Captain used that opportunity to have the crew undertake every minute
detail of maintenance; every piece of iron work was chipped and re-
painted, every piece of brass work was polished till it shone like
gold.
The boy had used most of Monday to recuperate from his adventure at
the castle. The "Maid" that had invaded his room had all but worn out
his petooshock, yet she had a way about her of making him want even
more. In that regard she was very good at extracting information.
The only problem lay in the fact that Piotr didn't known any military
secrets. But if he wanted to continue the relationship he needed to
find a source of information that would satisfy her needs ... then she
would satisfy his.
Tuesday had been more like an extension of Monday; more cleaning, more
polishing and an opportunity to get his uniforms in shape. He had
brought the Portuguese officer's uniform onboard wrapped in paper. He
was not about to show it to anyone. He hoped that, once they were
away from Lisbon, he could find a tailor who could convert it into a
Russian naval uniform; something suitable for a cadet at the Naval
Academy.
Everyone was getting ready to go into town as the day drew to a close.
Piotr had not given much thought to joining his shipmates. He was
crossing the quarterdeck when he noticed Sasha Romkoski, the reporter
from St. Petersburg, sitting dockside on a crate looking up at the
ship. Their gaze met and Sasha raised his hand in greeting, then made
arm signals asking if Piotr was coming ashore.
It was then the sailor realized that the reporter might be the supply
of information he needed. He walked over to the railing and shouted
down. "Can you wait for about a half-hour while I change clothes?"
"Sure thing. Have you seen much of Lisbon?"
Piotr shook his head "No" and then went below to his quarters.
Twenty five minutes later he walked down the gangplank and joined his
new friend.
"Did you ask Catherine Rasputin about an interview?"
"No, I didn't get a chance to be alone with her."
The two strolled along with sailors from the ship as they exited the
shipyard and then continued toward town. They passed several bars
before Sasha suggested, "How about a beer. I could use one. Portugal
is too damned hot for me."
Piotr nodded "Yes".
They were just about abreast of another bar when Sasha raised his arms
and flagged down a cab. "Let's find a pub where it's not all military.
OK?"
The reporter gave the driver a name, the man nodded his head in the
affirmative and they climbed aboard. The vehicle hurtled down the
cobblestone street huddled against the castle walls, and down the
hillside as they entered the Almfa district.
Like a North African souk, its Moorish origins were betrayed by
closely packed houses and narrow winding lanes overhung with laundry.
Fifteen minutes later they entered a rather plush establishment.
Piotr made a comment about it seeming too expensive. Sasha replied,
"That's one of the advantages of having an expense account. This is on
the Wedomosti (newspaper)."
They settled into a dark booth in the back of the establishment. A
very sexy looking dark haired waitress with large breasts asked what
they would like to drink. In Portuguese he ordered two dark beers,
then said in Russian: "And I'd like to suck on one of those." To their
surprise the waitress responded in Russian, "The left one is ten
pesos, the right fifteen."
Sasha burst out laughing. "Well that will teach me to keep my mouth
shut."
Piotr replied, "Shut. Hell no, it will teach you to keep your mouth
open."
Three beers later Piotr decided to put his cards on the table. Maybe
the reporter would be willing to help him out. He reasoned they both
needed information.
"Sasha, I have met this incredibly luscious girl who can do things
with my chlen that I never even dreamed of. But I know she is doing it
in an attempt to get information from me about the English and the
Germans. At first I thought you had put her up to it. Did you?"
The reporter shook his head, "No. But tell me more."
The sailor described, in great detail, every aspect of the encounter;
the kind of information she was seeking and how skilled she was in
sexual activities. "I will get you that interview with Catherine if
you will tell me all you know about German Submarines, and Airships."
"Well, I don't know much about submarines or airships but I will tell
you what I do know if you will tell me how you became involved with
the Imperial family."
"You won't believe this but it all started with a fart."
"A fart? You must be kidding me."
Piotr then described that first meeting on board the Yaroslav. The
reporter chuckled several times before the story ended.
"Your turn. Tell me about submarines and airships."
"As I said, I don't know a great deal but I'll give you enough to keep
the girl interested. And I will try to find out more.
"First you have to understand about displacement. A ship, like the
Standart, is like a large pan which you place in a sink full of water.
As long as the weight of the vessel and the stuff in the vessel is
less than the water it pushes down into, it will float. But if you
fill the pan, or the vessel, with water then the weight of the hull
with the water in it will be enough to allow the hull to sink to the
bottom. Now a submarine is very much like any other ship except that
it is totally enclosed. Inside of the submarine is enough air so that
the total weight of the vessel, including the air, is less than the
total weight of the water the submarine displaces. There are two ways
to make the submarine go down. One way is to take water on board until
the weight of the vessel is heavier than the water it displaces; the
other is by propulsion motors and a screw. Combining the two methods
makes it easier to maneuver. Since oxygen is at a premium, they cannot
run engines fueled by oil. They have to use electricity so they have
huge batteries that run electric motors. Then when they are on the
surface, they use oil fueled engines to both run the craft and
recharge the batteries. Do you understand?"
Piotr looked quite pleased. He not only understood but could see that
he might be able to string the girl along; make her believe he knew
far more than he did. "...And the Airships?"
"Pretty much the same as submarines except that they float in air
instead of water. The airship is filled with a gas that is lighter
than air. If the storage space is large enough the ship will rise.
Problem is only two gasses are lighter than air, Hydrogen and Helium.
Hydrogen is readily available. Hydrogen and Oxygen are what water is
made of. But Hydrogen, mixed with Oxygen or air is highly explosive.
The other gas is Helium and there is very little of that in the world.
America seems to have most of it. Germany, England, and America have
all been experimenting with airships.
The reporter paused for a moment then continued "...If you told her
that you've heard of a Helium source in Russia, she probably would
give you anything you wanted in hopes you could find out more."
Piotr looked deeply into his beer, hesitated a moment, obviously
changing the subject and asked: "Why did you try to pick me up in St.
Petersburg? You couldn't have known about the Tsarevich's interest in
me.
"Wrong. We heard about your being arrested on the grounds of the
Alexander Palace after the dance, and anything or anyone involving the
palace or the Romanovs is news. For instance, Rasputin is news. There
was an incident I covered when Rasputin was the center of controversy.
The paper received a tip had been about a special 'hearing' and said
that the paper should send a reporter who would then get a story that
would blow the top off Russian politics; but, it turned out to be so
hilariously funny that no one would have believed it. This weird
looking monk actually grabbed Rasputin by the balls and tried to yank
them off. .....When will you have a chance to speak with Catherine
Rasputin?"
Piotr answered: "Not until this weekend. The Imperial party is staying
at the palace, but the ship's crew is still quartered on the Standart.
--Unless something unforeseen comes up, I presume it will be Friday
night. --But, you must understand that the Tsarevich and Tatiana are
totally unpredictable."
"That will give me until Thursday to learn more about submarines and
airships and to put together additional plausible information that
should get you laid again. How difficult do you think it will be to
arrange for the interview?"
"Talking with her is not a problem, but talking to her alone may be.
She is treated like one of the family. She and the Tsarevich are
almost inseparable."
"She is thirteen is she not? The Romanov's are a pretty prolific
family. Do you think the Tsarevich's interest in her is more than
companionship?"
Piotr paused for a moment, thinking that question over. "You mean 'do
you think they are fucking?'"
The reporter nodded his head "Yes".
"The few times I danced with her, I felt it was more than just
dancing. She has a way of rubbing her crotch up against mine which
hardens my chlen in seconds."
The reporter sat back in his chair, looking at his guest in a new
light. "Hmmm. That brings to mind another question that has been
lurking in the back of my mind. It has to do with Nijinsky .....but
let's have another beer first."
They had two more beers before Sasha felt it reasonable to continue
with this new line of questioning. The only obstacle was that he was
developing a genuine liking for the lad, ...but a source is a source!
No good reporter would ever let something like 'friendship' get in the
way of a good story.
"Going back to last year, when palace security arrested you after the
ball, how did that happen?"
Piotr pushed his hat further back on his head and explained about his
evening with Tatiana in the cellar of the palace. All of the guests
had gone, she had to go to bed and he needed to return to the ship.
Sasha prompted, "That dance was the beginning of a short lived, close
relationship between Nijinsky and the Tsarevich, under the eye of old
Rasputin himself. Then, quite suddenly, both Nijinsky and his buddy
Stravinsky left the Imperial Academy of Music and took up residence in
Paris. I have to ask myself 'why'? ...Cause and effect you know."
Piotr put his elbows on the table and looked as Sasha with somewhat
dark eyes. "I have no idea; but, for a short while, he and Catherine
were very close. He was even giving her private dancing lessons. Well,
not exactly private ...sometimes it was both Catherine and the
Tsarevich. You don't think he was fucking her do you?"
"Never know, but I would not give odds on it. Well, drink up and let's
get out of here. I'll drop you off at the shipyard, but can we get
together again Thursday night? We can go over the submarine and
airship information. You want your lady friend to think she is prying
the information out of you."
+ + + + +
Sasha Romokosi and Piotr Veliky took a cab to the shipyard. After
dropping the sailor, the reporter gave the driver the address of a
nearby bar.
This particular establishment was frequented by newsmen -because of
the variety of the bar's clientele; sellers, and buyers of
information; military personnel -because of the low prices and the
frequency with which they were offered free drinks by fellow patrons.
Newsmen are notoriously frugal, but gregarious. Sellers and buyers of
information usually had deep pockets. The military personnel could
easily get drunk, laid and enriched. Thus, it was to this
establishment that Sasha went in order to fulfill his promise to
Piotr.
He stood at the bar and proclaimed to all those within earshot that he
would buy a drink for anyone who could tell him about submarines and
airships.
This public request from a well known reporter, broadcast to all, made
it evident that this was a request for story information, not an
attempt at espionage.
The first to respond were fellow journalists from America, England,
France, and Germany. The information he purchased with drinks had all
been published; was public knowledge; or once used in background
studies. It was plentiful and detailed.
One reporter from America had been given a ride in an Airship. Four
facts of value came to light: 1. Airships needed ballast just like sea
ships and submarines did; without it the craft bounced around so much
that people got sick. 2. most of the world's airships were inflated by
Hydrogen and no one in their right mind would ride in one of those.
Helium, on the other hand was quite safe. 3. America is the major
source of Helium but they do not sell any to Germany. Thus the English
and the American airships are reasonably safe, while those from
Germany can be time bombs. The fourth and last fact that Sasha gleaned
was that there appeared to be a connection between sources of Helium
and sources of petroleum. In America the Helium deposits are all found
in the vicinity of oil fields.
It was a reporter from Sweden who made that connection and commented
that the Black and Caspian Seas might be rich in Helium. Then, of
course, there was Azerbaijan --which everyone knew was Russia's prized
oil production center.
The only serious problem Sasha saw in the idea that Russia had a
Helium supply in those mentioned areas was that they were too
accessible; the information too easily verifiable. On the other hand,
a rumor about a source in Siberia could take months or even years to
check out.
+ + + + +
Senorita Juanita Maria Rodriguez was neither a prostitute nor a
foreign agent. She was a servant employed by the Portuguese government
to see to the needs of guests at Pena Palace. It was she who had been
assigned to Piotr.
The pay was not particularly good, but she continually met new and
interesting people.
Her aunt was the housekeeper at the Palace. Her uncle appeared to do
nothing, yet was deferred to as an important person.
It was to her uncle that she brought pieces of information gleaned
from those she served. The monetary rewards were small, but
appreciated. The commendations made her feel good about herself, and
her contribution to her family.
Her uncle saw to it that every member of his family attended school
and concentrated on the study of foreign languages.
The reason that her uncle was a very important person in Lisbon in
1914 was that he was an information broker. Representatives of every
government would tell him their needs and he would attempt to supply
them. His sources were not spies or enemy agents, nor were they
traitors. His information came to him from his many cousins, aunts,
uncles, sisters and brothers who served visitors to Lisbon.
All of the servants working at Pena Palace were Rodriguez, as was the
waitress in the bar to which Sasha had taken Piotr.
Senior Rodriguez maintained detailed files in which every tiny piece
of information was noted. Each day began with a private talk with each
of his relatives. During the conversations he would take constant
notes and occasionally ask that a particular point be expanded upon.
In mid afternoon of each day, Senior Rodriguez would enjoy drinks at
many of the bars which catered to foreign nationals. It was at these
establishments where he would meet with those interested in purchasing
what he had to sell. Thus, a casual conversation with an employee of
the German Consulate in the Hofbrau was not out of place and neither
was one with the British Consul at Britannia's Pub.
+ + + + +
The Standart was halfway between Lisbon and Tangiers when the Kaiser
began examining reports that had accumulated overnight. One report was
particularly distressing: two of his Zeppelins had collided in a
windstorm resulting in an explosion and the total destruction of both
ships plus their crews. A second document was an intelligence report.
It appeared that Russia had found deposits of Helium in western
Siberia. While his heart cried from the loss of the crews of his two
airships, he became quite angry that his Russian cousin had not told
him of the Helium.
A radiogram sent by Sasha Romkoski to his paper in St. Petersburg had
been intercepted and placed on the desk of the editor of Pravda in
Moscow and on the desk of the German Ambassador to Russia who, within
minutes, had received a second radiogram from the Kaiser himself.
The German Ambassador sent an undercover agent to Yekaterinburg for
first hand information. The editor of Pravda picked up the telephone
and called the chief mining engineer for the Yekaterinburg district,
Nicholas Ipatiev.
Even though the Yekaterinburg district was quite large, encompassing
almost 62,000 square miles, it was an area of which Ipatiev had
intimate knowledge. The request for information from his friends in
Moscow had asked him to verify the existence of Helium in the oil
fields of his area. He scratched his head while looking through mounds
of reports and maps. The only likely area had to be around Tyumen. He
began to wonder if he had been kept in the dark by over-ambitious
underlings.
The next day he returned the call from Moscow. He neither confirmed
nor denied the report; instead, he said that he was not 'permitted' to
either confirm nor deny the report. However, in a lengthy letter to
his friend, mentor and superior in St. Petersburg, he wrote that it
'appeared' that Helium had been discovered in the Tyumen district and
that he would be scheduling a lengthy geological expedition within the
next two weeks.
Both his telephone call to Moscow and his letter to St. Petersburg
were intercepted, resulting in confirmation reports of the existence
of Helium within the intelligence communities of Germany, Portugal,
England and America. Oddly, the Czar's secret police were the last to
hear.
+ + + + +
Alex-T was in a foul mood. He banged into the aft lounge, looked
around and, when he spotted his sister Olga, bore down upon her in a
state of fury.
The emotional level was so high, the words flung at such high
velocity, that it was impossible to understand the basis for the
dispute.
Olga was a force of her own who returned the assault syllable by
syllable; yet, she did not exhibit the signs of real anger as did the
Tsarevich whose face was red with indignation and whose neck veins
pulsed with rage. Olga's countenance had switched from a momentary
defense to one of a sly stare suggesting that, if her brother didn't
hold his tongue, she would vindicate herself in a way that he would
regret.
In a final proclamation he responded: "You should thank your lucky
stars that this isn't France! I would have your head. You have
forgotten to whom you are speaking!" He turned away and marched toward
the doorway but, before he could exit the room, Olga said: "I don't
know why you are so upset Alex, all boys do it. It's just that most
people would make certain that the door is locked first."
Anastasia and Marie stared at each other in confusion. Tatiana started
to giggle and it took all of Catherine/Alex-P's will power to stop
from laughing.
The Czarina entered the lounge and asked what had so upset Alex. Her
daughters assured her that it was a minor misunderstanding. She turned
toward Catherine and suggested: "Be a dear and go after Alex. See if
you can calm him down."
She then addressed her children: "I have received a some what
confusing message from your father. Last Sunday's edition of the
Petersurgskie Wedomosti contained an article describing how a Russian
Naval seaman enjoyed the disreputable Reaperbahn district in Hamburg.
The Standart was not mentioned by name, but there have been no other
Russian vessels in Hamburg. Additionally the story mentioned that at
least one of the Russians was female."
"But Mama," Marie interrupted, "Have you forgotten that you forbade us
to leave the ship?" She hesitated as she realized that the story must
have been about Catherine and Piotr.
"No. I had not forgotten. And I know that none of you have disobeyed
me. I have asked Captain Prokoshov to look into the matter. If there
is any truth in the story, then it must have been Catherine and one of
our crew." She turned toward Tatiana, looked her straight in the eye
and asked: "It was Piotr and Catherine wasn't it?"
The girl was quick to reply, "But Mama, how can we be so sure unless
we actually read the story in its entirety? Uncle Gregori has, on
numerous occasions, dwelt upon the importance of knowing all of the
facts before drawing a conclusion." Then, very pointedly, she added:
"Even Papa has said that the Wedomosti has been too quick to report
matters that have not been proven to be fact. Look at that mess they
made of our Dance with Stravinsky. That was another instance in which
poor Piotr was blamed for something he didn't do."
After several seconds of silence Olga asked: "I hear that Tangiers is
a delightful city. I hope you won't restrict us to the ship again.
There seems to be little value in our visiting foreign ports if we are
not allowed to go ashore."
The Czarina thought about that for a moment, then said that she would
talk to Captain Prokoshov about forming a security detail from the
ranks of the crew with our tutor, Mr. Gilliard, acting as a tour
guide.
+ + + + +
The sun was beating down on the Imperial family as they lay out on the
main deck, just forward of the bridge.
Chairs, tables and lounges had been placed to provide indoor comforts
out of doors.
They had chosen this spot so that they could watch the northern shores
of the Straits of Gibraltar as they navigated into the bay around
which the city of Tangiers had grown.
+ + + + +
According to Alex-T
+ + + + +
The ship slowed almost to a stop as we approached the channel markers.
The Captain had received a signal that we needed to wait as the dock
space we were to occupy still had a freighter tied up. We were a
little early and they were a little late.
High above us we could see the Kasbah; its ancient buildings a
reminder that we were entering the world of Allah. I am not certain if
it was the North African sun which made the buildings whiter and the
roofs redder than they had been in Lisbon. Even so, no one would
confuse the two cities.
This had been part of the British Empire for hundreds of years, yet
the stamp of the city was definitely that of Morocco, not London. Like
so many of the colonies, there were few signs of the occupation.
England's hand was not a heavy one.
Once the freighter had cleared the channel, we proceeded without
incident to our assigned wharf.
Our crew, under the command of Captain Prokoshov, soon had us tied up
to the dock. Hundreds of Arabs, dressed in their traditional robes,
watched our arrival. The older ones seemed fascinated by our presence.
The younger ones, mostly children, clamored in anticipation of selling
native handicrafts to their newest visitors.
Three men came onboard; one wore the uniform of a British Major, one a
business suit and the third Arab robes. After talking with Captain
Prokoshov, they were shown into the aft lounge. Mother sent Piotr to
summon us to join them.
The Major expressed concern about our security, if we should leave the
Standart, and asked us not to venture out until the morrow. At that
time he could assemble a security guard from his garrison who would
work with the security detail Prokoshov had created. Our itinerary was
to be coordinated by our tutor Mr. Gilliard; however, an officer from
the garrison would be in charge of the process.
Both the crew and our party were tired so, after an early dinner, we
retired.
Ten-thirty. Late enough - the sun had gone down, the bazaar stalls had
been closed for hours and the streets were deserted. I wrote a short
note to Catherine, changed into a Russian Seaman's uniform and slipped
the message under Alex-P's door. Quietly, I slipped off of the ship
while the man on the quarter-deck was occupied elsewhere. I headed off
along the dock - down into the heart of the city. As I expected, the
streets were quiet; there was some noise coming from a cafe as I
walked past, but not much.
I walked down a few more blocks, then turned to pass along the closed
stalls down the still dusty street to the central square. As soon as
I rounded the building, I could see them standing there on the corner
eying the occasional passer by.
I noticed a tall Arab boy with deep black hair, dressed in form-
fitting white pants and open red shirt. He cut a striking figure, --a
true creature of the night. I hoped they might direct me to where the
action was.
A passing tourist called out to me -he had mistaken me for one of the
hustlers. I flashed a smile at him and shook my head 'thanks, but no
thanks'. Even if I had been interested, I had other plans for the
evening. I reached the opposite corner and crossed over to the group.
I recognize them all - not by name, but by their profession. We were
two thousand miles south of the Reaperbahn, yet they were part of the
same brotherhood.
Their eyes looked me over. I was obviously not a customer for their
wares, so they did not offer ... except for one. The one I had first
noticed looked into my eyes, a smile forming across his lips. I spoke
to him in Russian. He shook his head not understanding, then replied
in what I presumed was Arabic. The contest was on. We were both
reaching out through our mutual efforts to communicate.
His hands slipped into a pouch he was carrying over his shoulder and
withdrew a book. After leafing through it, he stopped and held the
page open for me to see. I moved closer and noticed his pleasant musky
odor. The picture he showed me was of two boys sucking each other's
cocks. He tapped the book and mentioned a price. At first I thought he
was offering to service me. Then I realized the amount asked for was
far too low. He was trying to sell me the book.
I look at him appraisingly - the firm calves and thighs, the shadow
cast by the bulge barely hidden in those tight button-fly pants, the
taper of his torso as the red silk shirt hugged his body. At the end
of a chain around his neck glistened a golden cock and balls gleaming
against his smooth chest.
I pointed at the necklace and the book in an attempt to bargain for
both. He cocked his head to the side, smiled -his pearl-white teeth
sparkling between darkly sensuous lips- and winked at me saying
something which I interpreted as meaning "Sure, why not?". But,
instead of offering me either of the two items, he grabbed my hand and
lead me away from the group.
An adventure on my own was what I had been seeking; it was why I had
left the ship alone. Hopefully no one would discover my absence.
We meandered around the darkened streets of the city. Past the music,
the bars and on into a quiet residential neighborhood. We 'talked' as
we wandered from light post to light post. We began to understand one
another, not by the words, but by the intonation and body movements. A
camaraderie was quickly building. He clearly was in charge, but I felt
comfortable with him.
He drew me into the courtyard of a house where his "brothers" were
drinking beer. They ignored us and we ignored them.
For my part, it was love at first sight; for him, maybe ...but who
knows. I knew, or at least suspected, that he was a hustler - he was
older, wiser and apparently had appointed himself my protector. My
heart beat faster in contemplation of all that might come to pass.
We "talked" for a while and then he breached the topic of his
profession. I told him I already knew and that I didn't care. He was
surprised, but very happy. He took me into a room and closed the door.
He pointed to the bed and motioned for me to sit. My chlen had grown
very stiff and tented my trousers. I expected further directions
-probably to remove my clothing- but, instead, he went into a small
alcove and returned with two glasses, then sat beside me. We clinked
our glasses together in a toast. I leaned back not concealing my
rigidity. He rolled over me, his eyes inches away from mine, his warm
breath caused a chill to run up and down the length of my spine. He
spoke softly. I returned the sound saying, "You are beautiful."
From that point on, we simply stared at each other, then touched in a
gentle loving way. He made no move to investigate my passion, being
content with our close proximity, the sharing of our breath and the
view. I did not ask for more and he did not offer. In a way, I am
glad of this - I'm not sure how I would have responded. It was not as
though sensuality had not played a part in our relationship - it had!
-a large part - but not sex itself ... yet.
Suddenly he lifted himself from me and strode through a different
doorway. Soon I heard the sound of a running shower. I looked around
the room and noticed several magazines laying on a low table. As I
waited for him to finish showering, I thumbed through some of the
magazines which were filled with sexual photographs; boys with girls,
boys with boys and girls with girls.
The water stopped. The bathroom door opened and he walked out wearing
only a small white towel wrapped around his narrow waist. His hair
was still wet, water droplets sparkled on his skin. Watching him
cross the room drove me to heights of passion. The smooth, hairless
skin; the small, dark nipples on the well-formed, but not over-
developed chest; the taper of his torso from his chest to the towel-
clad hips; the long, athletic legs and, of course, the package that
the towel was barely hiding. Standing like that, he looked
particularly vulnerable; yet, a strong and capable defender. He
appeared younger now, fresh from the shower. Seeing him like that, I
forgot that he was the older of the two of us.
He glanced over at me, observing how I watched him. He grinned, --a
mischievous grin that made him look even more boyish. Sweet,
unintelligible words crossed his lips that spoke volumes. I remained
silent, but slowly rose from the bed and crossed the space that
separated us. My right hand reached out to touch his face - to caress
his cheek, his shoulder and to fondle the amulet still hanging from
his neck. My left hand found his chest and began to play with his
right nipple, then it ran over his stomach and around his waist. He
drew me to him, our lips met and opened. Slowly our tongues explored
each other's mouths, teeth and lips. His hands unbutton my shirt as
mine wandered down along the base of his back, then over his towel-
clad butt. The towel fell to the floor as he unbuckled my belt and
flicked open the buttons of my pants. He started to work the smooth
cotton fabric of my pants down over my buttocks - breathlessly I broke
the kiss and grabbed his hands.
"Wait!" He nodded, understanding. I looked at him again - oh, god,
how I loved him! How I wanted him! I took a deep breath, let it out
slowly, then said: "Okay, I'm ready. Am I? Yes! I am."
In that instant, I began to let my imagination run loose. With this
beautiful, Arab boy, I wanted to experience what I had learned from
Najinski plus all those other things I had only dreamed of. Still
holding his hands, I led him back to his bed. We lowered ourselves
onto the mattress, hands rapidly exploring each other's bodies. He
slid my shirt over my shoulders and down my arms. We embraced - a
long, passionate, violent embrace, which ended with us lying next to
each other on the bed. I was still in my pants even though they were
totally open, while my Arab boy was totally nude. I brushed my
fingers over his hairless body as he ran his through the hair on my
head.
I leaned forward, catching his lower lip between my teeth and nibbled
lightly. His tongue flicked out to run along my lips. I kissed him, a
light peck on the lips, followed by one on the cheek as I worked my
way to his left ear. I nibbled on the earlobe, running my tongue
along the lower edge, then I caught a small gold ring that pierced his
ear and teased it with my tongue. Slowly my kisses and nibbles moved
down his neck, along the muscles of his shoulders to his armpit.
Clean, hairless, ...Ah!... the scent of an Arab youth fresh from the
shower. I ran my lips across his chest to one of his nipples. The
sensitive nub of flesh tightened as I played with it with my tongue
and teeth. My fingers got the same response from the other nipple.
The boy moaned softly.
Eventually, I moved on and found the amulet. Playfully, I placed my
lips around the golden cock head and then drew its shaft into my mouth
until the tiny testicles were resting on my lips. My hands slid up
over his chest and shoulders to grasp his arms and caress his biceps.
My mouth continued downward, exploring the taut, smooth skin of his
belly. My tongue flicked into and around his navel. A spasm -
ticklish? I guessed I had found one of his sensitive spots.
As my hands glided down the outer contours of his body, I ran my
tongue across his firm stomach to the place where his right leg joined
the torso. I slid an arm under his leg, raising it, to run my lips
along his inner thigh. Slowly I worked my way up to my goal - the
perfectly shaped balls in their smooth sac, the light dusting of dark
fuzz and the beautiful rod which had been getting harder all of the
time. Using my teeth, I nipped lightly at his nuts, feathering my
fingers along the underside of his chlen at the same time. He moaned,
his breathing had become heavy, ragged.
After marveling at the esthetic beauty of his eggs, I took them in my
mouth - first one, then the other - and hummed from the back of my
throat. My right hand wrapped firmly around his shaft, then I started
moving it back and forth, my thumb paid special attention to the
sensitive "V" below the glans. I could feel his cock starting to
pulse, his body tensing.
In a gasping voice he shouted something that could only have meant
"Stop," his voice cracking, while shaking his head. I reluctantly
released him as he struggled to bring himself back under control. I
slid myself back up the bed to lay alongside him. I stretched out on
my side, one elbow supporting me so I could look down at him. He
opened his beautiful dark eyes and looked up at me.
Gleefully he said something, grinned at me and became the aggressor.
He sat up as I laid back on the bed and he worked my pants down over
my legs. The air felt strangely cool as his hands slid up the inside
of my legs, then up over my thighs. His fingers were gentle and
delicate against my skin, yet they held the strength, power and fire
of a lightning bolt. The anticipation was incredible and I was already
as hard as I had ever been in my life.
He ran his hand over my chlen and fondled my balls. All my senses
blazed at his loving touch. Then he stretched out, laying his body on
top of mine. As our lips touched, I put my arms around him and hugged
him to me.
Frowning, he said something, -commanding me to be his slave. Abashed,
I let my arms drop to my sides and closed my eyes, allowing myself to
fully appreciate what his hands were doing to my body. Back and forth
they flowed, exploring everywhere. Occasionally he leaned over and
kissed me fleetingly. It was impossible to tell where he would kiss
next and the anticipation of his movements were driving me wild.
The effect he was having on me was amazing - every nerve in my body
was screaming with pleasure and anticipation. Eventually a pattern
emerged - he would slowly work his way to the center of my body, to my
incredibly raging cock. Finally, he leaned forward and took my
throbbing member into his mouth. Oh, god! This was beyond anything I
had ever experienced. As his mouth ministered to my chlen, his hands
kept moving - running through my sparse pubic hair, massaging my nuts,
rubbing the sensitive area behind them. I was fighting to keep myself
from shooting right then - and I didn't think I could hold off much
longer. My blood was pounding in my head, my breathing was rapid-fire.
I reached down to run my fingers through his hair and to pull his head
away from my chlen -I wanted this moment of our sharing to go on
forever.
Desperately I grabbed his arms and drew him back up to me. He was
just as hard as he was before - his erection hadn't diminished at all.
We embrace again, naked bodies pressed firmly together. I felt the
heat of his hard cock against my own. We kissed, mouths merging
together as we tried to grind our two bodies into just one. We rubbed
against one another, hands running along each other's neck, back and
ass. I slid my hand along his left leg as he slid up against mine.
My hand moved along his thigh, between us and I grasped our cocks
together. His hand moved to join mine. We shifted positions and,
once again, I supported myself over his handsome body. We each
caressed the other's hard-on. I was again getting close - as was he.
Faster and faster our hands flew. I could feel his beautiful cock
throb as he shot gob after gob of his creamy substance all over his
bare chest and stomach. The sight and the action of his hand were too
much for me - I could not hold back anymore and sprayed my seed across
his body as well -spurt after spurt flew between our bodies until I
was totally drained and exhausted, a warm glow flowed through my body
replacing my absent seed. I let my elbow slide out from under me,
lowering myself onto my Arab lover's supple form, slipping my arms
around him, holding him to me. He wrapped himself around me as well
and our bodies seemed to melt together. I kissed him softly and
whispered, "I love you." He tightened his hug around my body, telling
me that he understood and we both drifted into gentle to sleep,
enfolded lovingly in each other's embrace.
Hours later, I woke with a nibbling sensation on my ear lobe and hot
breath on the side of my face. It was still dark outside. He slowly
nudged me into consciousness, then prompted me to dress.
There was no one in the courtyard as we left his abode and walked back
toward the corner where I had met him. His companions were still
there, watching as an occasional tourist passed their way. They
welcomed his return. Something was said and two of the boys laughed.
My Arab lover then turned to me and handed me the book he had first
showed me. He then again mentioned the sum. I handed him several
English pounds that he showed the others, then put them in his pouch.
I looked at him -wondering what I should do next. My heart wanted to
enfold him in my arms and again tell him of my love for him, but he
had now re-entered his own world ... a world of which I could never be
a part. He smiled that wonderful smile of his as I clasped the book to
my heart, turned and began walking toward the docks
I could hear them talking as I found my way back to the Standart. I
waited, hidden in the shadows, until I saw Piotr on the quarter-deck.
He looked at me curiously as I boarded the ship. "Alex where have you
been? No one was to leave the ship."
I told him that I had gone for a stroll.
Later in my cabin, as I undressed, I discovered a golden chain about
my neck, a beautifully sculpted cock and balls pointed toward my own.
An inch above where the chain passed next to my shoulder was an oblong
bruise, the kind that I had teased Tatiana about after the ball in St.
Petersburg. A warm and radiant feeling swept through my body as these
two "gifts" carried my mind and my heart back to the most wonderful
night I had ever experienced; a memory I shall carry throughout my
life.
The next morning, pangs of hunger woke me. As I glanced into the
mirror, while dressing, I was reminded of a new concern, thus I
rummaged through a drawer of shirts until I found a high necked polo
shirt.
Breakfast was being served under umbrellas on the Focsle deck. It
wasn't formal. We simply drifted into it, helped ourselves to a
buffet, ate and then wandered back to our cabins.
There was a knock at my door. It was Alex-P/Catherine with my note in
his hand. Not waiting for an invitation he pushed his way past me and
sat on the edge of my bed. "So what is this all about?"
I described part of my stroll and said that I had purchased a couple
of things from a street vendor, then showed him the book of pictures
and the necklace.
In showing him the necklace, I had lowered the collar of my shirt. He
fondled the amulet, then noticed the bruise. "You are not telling me
everything? I wish you had taken me with you."
As I was about to speak, Piotr knocked on my door, Alex-P/Catherine
quickly released my collar and stepped back away from me just as Piotr
entered and told us that we were to assemble on the Focsle deck for a
tour of the city.
Mr. Gilliard was holding forth, commenting on the historical
significance of Tangiers. During the past century it had been the
diplomatic center of Morocco.
"The city started to attract large groups of people even in ancient
times. Phoenicians and Carthaginians established commerce in Tangiers
well before our era and the Romans adopted it as the capital of a
province they called Mauritania-Tingitane. An invasion, by Vandals
and Wisigoths, delivered it from the Romans, then it was occupied by
the Arabs in the year 682.
"In 1437, it was occupied by the Portuguese; thereafter, it was
conquered by the Spaniards in 1578 and the English in 1661. It was in
1684 that Tangiers became, again, an Arab territory occupied by the
troops of Moulay Ismael...."
He droned on and on as though we were in our class room being taught
history lessons. The British Major joined us and Gilliard stopped
talking.
Captain Prokoshov took the floor and introduced our British host to
each member of the Imperial family, including Catherine Rasputin.
Waiting in the background were six English soldiers and six of the
Standart crew.
The proposed tour would be partly on foot and partly by motor car. Our
first stop would be the nearby Bazaar. There were nine people in the
Imperial Party: The Czarina, her four daughters, the Tsarevich,
Catherine Rasputin, Mr. Gilliard, and Piotr.
The security detail represented an additional 14 people: Six British
soldiers, Six sailors from the Standart, Captain Prokoshov and the
Major.
For the first time since we had left St. Petersburg, protocol was
being observed. As we set foot on the dock, I found myself flanked by
two Britts in full-dress uniform and the entire Imperial party was
within a ring of body guards. Leading this parade of twenty three were
Captain Prokoshov and the Major.
Unlike the previous night, the stalls were open for business. As we
approached, security were shooing people out of our path until the
only ones present were those working in the Bazaar and our party.
I began looking at the trinkets offered for sale, hopping to find a
duplicate of my amulet. I thought it would be a nice gift for Alex-P,
and also for Piotr. However, I found nothing even close.
We had now reached the last stall in the Bazaar. To my surprise and
wonder, the boy that stood behind the counter was my dark haired Arab
boy from last night. Our gaze locked in full recognition of each
other, but, before I could react, Olga demanded his attention. There
was a bracelet among his wares which struck her fancy.
Mr. Gilliard stepped over next to me, "My Tsarevich, if there is
anything that is of interest to you, the Major can translate for you."
"Ask the boy if he has any other necklaces for sale."
The Major spoke rapidly in what I presumed to be Arabic. I heard the
word Tsarevich repeated several times. The boy shook his head.The
Major said: "No. Everything they carry is on display." --and we were
herded back toward the open end of the street.
Six touring cars had been brought next to the Bazaar, we boarded them.
Someone said that we were going to visit the Grand Mosque built by
Moulay Ismael.
I looked back at the last stall. The boy stood tall and handsome,
looking in my direction. His eyes must have been following me as we
walked away. For just a moment I raised my arm to say good-bye and
quickly lowered my hand to touch my collar over where the bruise lay.
He waved back and I felt, as much as saw, his gentle smile. Then just
as rapidly as we had arrived, we were gone and I wondered if I would
ever see my Arab lover again. As I turned away, I noticed that Alex-
P/Catherine was watching me intensely.
The great mosque had impressive gates. Unlike most of the other
buildings in the city this one had a green tiled roof.
From there we were taken to the Mendoubia Palace. The gardens were
beautiful and had many ancient cannon. Mendoubia, we were told, meant
"Representative of the Sultan."
We ended the day with a visit to the old Phoenician Tombs on the
outskirts of the city.
This particular evening, if it is remembered for nothing else, should
be remembered for its strange sunset. It looked like the end of the
world. My mind dug out the memory of my Arab youth. All the heavens
seemed covered with a quite vivid and palpable plumage; you could only
say that the sky was full of feathers ...and of feathers that almost
brushed the face. Across the greater part of the dome, they were gray
with the strangest tints of violet and mauve and an unnatural pink or
pale green; but, towards the west, the whole display grew past
description, transparent and passionate. The last red-hot plumes of
color covered up the sun like something too good to be seen
--shrouding my memories in a surrealist mist. The whole panorama
seemed so close to the earth, that it suggested nothing but a violent
secrecy. The very empyrean seemed even to be a secret. The entire
experience impressed upon one that splendid smallness which is the
soul of mankind. The very sky itself seemed minuet by comparison. I
knew, then, that his memory would remain with me for the rest of my
life; yet, like a dream, it had little substance. I could still touch
the necklace and the book, but the love-bruise would fade. The boy
would marry and have many children. I would become the ruler of
Russia. --Yet, there was always hope, hope that a miracle might turn
this magic dust into reality.
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