Date: Sat, 05 Sep 1998 07:59:59 +0000
From: Andrej Koymasky <andrejkoymasky@geocities.com>
Subject: Akim-Akim-02

SECOND

Piero dictated the composition title and started to walk between the
desks, while his pupils began to think about how to develop it. Out of
the window it was possible to see the top of the trees on the boulevard,
from which rose, just attenuated, the traffic noise. He also looked at
the classroom walls, whitewashed the last time who knows how many years
before, the desks, neither old nor new, the neon lamps with the lights
out.  The bright sun was filtered through the lower part of the glass
which was unwashed (the top part was washed just once a month)...

Piero saw himself in his memory, a student in that same high school,
just about ten years before: all seemed unchanged. Just some colleagues,
his former professors, some beadles, one of the ladies, a secretary, had
grown older... But not the building, it was still the same. He saw
himself in the third row, fourth desk, when he passed small sheets to
Carla during the mathematics tests. Who knows how many small sheets his
students were passing behind his back, he thought smiling to himself.
Piero was a "strict" teacher, but he was always available to his
students. He was always stern with his students, probably to compensate
for the insecurity deriving from his young age. He was a conscientious
teacher and he did all he could to help his students, to interest them
in his discipline, to give them, more than a generic "culture", a method
of study, a method of reason and to analyze not so much the passages
selected from the literature, but rather the ideas, the concepts, the
contents, life in a word. His boys, at least for a great part, answered
to his commitment.

He looked at Carlo Alberto Tola. That bashful and timid boy was one of
his favorite students. He knew he should not have any preferences and
anyway he tried not to be influenced in his judgment, but Carlo Alberto
was special, to him. In the first year he has seen this small boy from
the middle school, he was an introvert, closed, almost unable to express
himself. Now, in the second year, even if he remained reserved and
quiet, he had to wake up.  He had made incredible improvements and was
able to speak and to reason in a remarkable way, and to plead his points
of view. Piero knew, without any sense of false humility nor stupid
pride, that the merits of the boy, was essentially his own: he had
worked on that boy with care and had succeeded. Of course, some of the
credit also went to some of his other colleagues and above all of the
boy himself. But Piero did remember the fights in the teachers councils
to defend Carlo Alberto.  At the beginning, he was judged to be "a
hopeless case" by more than one colleague. A school report, filled with
low marks at the end of the first term of the first year, had let him
pass at the end of the school year. Now, at the end of the first term of
the second year, his reports were much better, with an average near the
70 percentile.

Like most of his other pupils, Carlo Alberto didn't appeal to him on a
physical level. The fact was that he was not interested in adolescents,
and that anyway he would never have an affair with one of his pupils,
Carlo Alberto physically wasn't really his type. No. But in some ways he
was his "creature" of whom he was very proud. Piero thought that perhaps
he would have had some difficulties if he were a teacher in the fifth
year, where the boys, now eighteen, could start to appeal to him. At
times he crossed some of them in the corridors, sometimes even his
former students, that had developed in boys with really sensual,
attractive bodies. But he didn't take risks with his students, yet
little boys having just started, or barely surpassed the threshold of
puberty.

"Caterina, don't try to look at your book. It isn't honest!" he suddenly
said, staring at the girl that blushed and bent her head on her papers,
starting to bite her pen.

Piero looked at his watch: still one hour and fifteen minutes.

He recalled Carla, and himself... Carla and her marriage a few months
before. When he saw her with the white veil and the wedding dress, he
had whispered to her:

"Aren't you beautiful! At last you can show off your white veil, the
dream of every woman."

and she, always whispering, had answered: "Bullshit! The white veil
isn't the dream of any woman."

"Really?" he had answered, sniggering, "... and, what is, then?"

"To be respected as a person and not labeled as a female and used."

"I was joking, come on... you know me, no?"

And with the air to pull his leg but looking straight in his eyes, she
said: "I know you, you say? I don't really know you at all..."     [are
you comfortable with this change?]

Piero asked himself what she intended to tell him. Did she suspect his
homosexuality? But inside himself he shook his head and told himself to
be careful not to be paranoiac.

"Thirty more minutes, boys. Try to draw your conclusions..." Piero
warned, going back to his desk.

He sat, let his eyes slowly run on those twenty two students committed
to giving their best in that composition, who just for pride, who just
to impress him, who just for the "mark"; but some of them, just for the
pleasure to write, to express themselves. Piero loved to write, he
always loved it. When he asked Carla what present she wanted for her
wedding, she answered:

"One of your stories. You'll write it for me and publish it with a
dedication to me."

Piero accepted. So he wrote the story titled "Complicity" where, with
fantasy names and settings, he described their complicity as high school
students in helping each other in the studies, and in the oral and
written tests. The result was a good story, filled with humor and
sweetness. The publisher immediately accepted the manuscript. Carla was
delighted with the story and was very moved when she recognized herself
as the "Pinuccia" in the story. It wasn't ease to get Carla moved, she
was a self confident woman, energetic, strong willed, very strong. She
absolutely wasn't romantic, on the contrary, she was rather a
pragmatist, her feet steadily on the ground. Piero admired her, for the
way she had been able to handle her relation with Beppe until she drove
him, without ever forcing him, to want to marry her. Beppe was a very
handsome man (at times Piero, envied Carla) and good natured. They were
a nice couple, without any doubt.

The bell rang and Piero collected the boys test papers. He waited a few
minutes for the stragglers to turn in their papers, then he went out in
the corridor with the bundle of compositions and the class registers,
crossing the bawling confusion of the boys enjoying the break and
entered the teachers room.

"Hi Gribaudo, is everything going okay?"

"Yes, and you?" he mechanically answered his colleague of Classical
Greek, who was leaving the room.

"Yes, but one of my sons is  in bed with a fever."

"Which one, the little one?" Piero asked out of courtesy.

"No, the older one, Raffaele."

"Nothing serious, I hope..."

"No no, just a laryngitis."

"Well, best wishes..."

He had only met his colleague's oldest son a few time: he was a big boy,
nineteen years old, a medical student freshman, a little clumsy but with
a nice smile that was attractive to him. That's it, Piero was always
fascinated by the way people smiles. It is impossible to find two people
smiling in the same way. And from the smile it's possible to sense a lot
about the value (or better the values) of a person. One of the first
things that could attract him in a man was his smile, his way of
smiling.

He recalled the first time, he went to a gay club. It was the bar "Blue
Angel", a disco, now closed. While he had been in a disco several times,
with his classmates, none had been gay. When he got the address of that
disco on Po Street, not far from his University, he decided to go.
Before entering it, he hesitated for a long time and checked up and down
the arcades with the faint fear that somebody knowing him could see him
entering in that club and therefore understand he too was a faggot. But
at last he decided, saying to himself that... so much the worse, if it
happened. He paid the cover charge and went down the narrow stairs to
the underground disco.

At first sight it was a disco like many others, a little more narrow,
perhaps, but with the same lights, the same music, the same crowd. He
was surprised to see that there were also women, less than in a straight
disco, but more than just a few. Just after he realized that some of
those women were really transvestites, other lesbians, but there were
also some girls that just liked to be in a gay ambiance.

That first time he didn't dance, nor did he talk with anybody. He
remained seated in a corner to slowly sip his whisky and to observe. He
wasn't bored at all. He looked at that varied humanity, not so different
from that of the other discos. Several of the boys attracted his eyes,
but nobody seemed interested in him... Probably right because he never
smiled, he thought later.

Some of the boys were dancing on the dance floor in front of big wall
mirrors, looking absorbed in their reflections, almost if they were
performing just for themselves. Others danced as couples. He loved to
see, for the first time, two males dancing together. He felt it was
beautiful. During the few slow songs, the couples held on tight,
touched, in a discrete but sexy way. Piero asked himself what one could
feel to be so near, so in contact with a nice male body. He wanted to
try... soon or later he would try.

Three evenings later he was again at the Blue Angel. After he was there
about an hour, in a moment when the dance floor was neither too empty
nor too crowded, he decided to go and dance. It wasn't rare to see boys
dancing alone, hence he didn't feel strange. Little by little he let
himself be seized by the music and let himself go with the dance. It was
agreeable. He had the sensation that everybody was dancing with
everybody - he was no longer alone.

After awhile he noticed a boy, almost his age, that was dancing in front
of him and looking at him, quite as if he wanted to tell him: "look, I'm
dancing for you." He wasn't a handsome boy, but he was agreeable and,
above all, he had a beautiful smile, slightly roguish. Piero answered to
his smile and the other made a wave with his hand, almost as to salute.
He answered with a nod and another smile. For a while they danced one in
front of the other, one for the other. Then, when the DJ changed the
music, the other nodded with his head to leave the dance floor inviting
Piero to follow. Piero followed him.

They sat in a corner and, trying to talk over the volume of the music,
the other, bending toward him, said:

"Hi, my name's Luigi."

"Hi, I'm Piero."

"I never seen you here, before. Where do you hide?"

"This is just the second time I've been here..."

"Where did you go, before?"

"Nowhere. To me... all this is new."

"New? You mean... never patronized gay clubs?"

"No, never."

"But... you too are gay, right?"

"Yes, I presume yes."

"You presume? Do you mean you are still a virgin?"

Piero smiled. He had never thought of himself as a virgin. Until then,
he had always put that word as only relating to a woman. But he
understood that yes, he was a virgin, so he nodded yes and felt he was
blushing. But the colored lights of the club must have masked is light
flush.

"Well, then... we have to celebrate. A virgin at our times, and here, is
for sure a rarity!"

Piero again nodded and followed him at the bar counter. Luigi offered
him a drink.

"How old are you, Piero?"

"Twenty. And you?"

"Twenty... and five."

"I thought less, I figured you were my same age."

"How nice, thank you! And... tell me, what is your type?"

"My type? I don't know, I never thought about that."

"Ah, I see. You are my type but... good god, a virgin... I feel rather
embarrassed."

"Embarrassed? For me?"

"Yes. The first time for a virgin has to be something special and I
don't know if I'd be able to give you something special..."

"You... did you have something special, your first time?"

"I?" Luigi asked sniggering, "No, not at all. My first time I was
thirteen. I was almost raped by my rowing coach, in the boats depot. Not
very romantic, anyway."

"Oh, then... it must have been unpleasant." Piero said trying to imagine
the scene of the boy raped by his coach amidst the boats.

"No, not unpleasant, on the contrary... He was a handsome man and he
knew how to do it. A little painful the first times, but pleasurable
enough to let me want to do it again, and again... And then, to tell the
truth, I had provoked him - I wanted him to be the first to... to take
my cherry. So he fucked me good. But it was just raw sex, without a
little bit of tenderness. He was really skilled, I must say... And the
first time, I think, especially the first time, it has to be done with
lot of tenderness, I think... Aren't you a little.. scared, thinking of
your first time?" Luigi asked looking him in his eyes and brushing his
wrist with his fingertips in a kind of light caress.

"No, I don't know... well, perhaps a little hesitant. I don't  know... I
wouldn't know what to do, how..."

"Did you have some girls, right? There's not much difference... well,
goodness, there is a difference, to tell the truth, anyway..." Luigi
said softly laughing.

"No, never..."

Luigi nodded, now serious. Then, put his empty glass on the counter,
said with half a smile to Piero:

"Would you like to... to try it with me?"

Piero, at that straight proposal felt a quiver and, not being able to
voice his feelings, nodded yes. Luigi smiled and took his hand. It was a
firm grasp, not strong but virile, agreeable, that transmitted to him a
sweet sense of warmth.

"Do you have a place?" Luigi asked, his eyes shining at the iridescent
lights of the room.

"No, I live with my family...!

"I see. Me too. That is, not really but with my boyfriend. He is not
jealous, lets me have my escapades, but we never bring our conquests
home..."

Piero smiled thinking that he was a "conquest" and thought that he would
have liked to have a steady boyfriend, possibly one like Luigi... How it
would be to live as couple, to have his own flat where they could live
this intimacy... Luigi again squeezed lightly his hand and he felt ready
to follow him everywhere, to do anything the other would have requested
him. But Luigi, with a regretful voice, said:

"Then, unhappily, we can do nothing, at least tonight. I'm sorry, I like
you a lot."

"Me too..." Piero managed to murmur, feeling a little dazed at that
first approach, at that first evidence that he was desirable.

"Do you feel like going out for a while and have a walk? Chat a little?"
Luigi proposed. Piero nodded yes.

They walked to the Murazzi and strolled up and down along the river
banks. It was agreeable to be near Luigi, so closed to him. Piero felt
attracted by that male, handsome, winning, self confident... They talk
about lot of things (but not about sex). Then Piero realized it was near
two 'o clock in the morning and said he had to go back home.

"I'll drive you, I've got a car." Luigi proposed.

"No thank you, I too have a car."

"Ah. Can we meet again? For instance there in the disco?"

"Sure, with pleasure. Do you want my telephone number?"

"No. Never give your telephone or address to people you don't know well.
Embarrassing things could happen, especially for you, still living with
your family! If we meet, it will there, in the disco."

Then Luigi looked all around, saw they were alone, girded Piero's waist
drawing him nearer and kissed him in the mouth. Piero's first kiss. It
was pleasurable, electrifying, and Piero had a sudden, strong hard on
that the other felt with his body. Luigi, moving a little away, smiled
at him:

"It's a pity we cannot... but who knows, possibly next time. I'll take
you to your car, now... before I start to undress you here, as I would
like..."

Smiling, they moved away. They went up to the square. Piero took his car
and they said farewell.

At home, he went to bed and, thinking of Luigi, he slowly masturbated,
trying to imagine the other undressing him there at the Murazzi, and
then embracing to make love standing, like the two he had seen in the
bushes, accompanied by the discreet song of the river, caressed by the
fresh breeze of the night, heedless of the danger of be seen... and
after, Luigi would kiss him deeply in his mouth again, as he had done,
but that second kiss would have been the seal of their intimacy, of
their union and not just the expression of a desire.

That night he dreamed we was on a bed (his own? or that of another?)
naked, on his tummy, with a naked male on him (probably the same
Luigi...) that slowly penetrated him and fucked him for a long, long
time, while with one hand grasped Piero's hard member, pressed against
the mattress...

Next morning he woke up, recalling the vivid dream, decided that sooner
or later he would succeed in making it happen, to make it real... If
just he could have a place all for himself...

So he started to look in the "Stampa" newspaper ads, looking even just
for a small mansard, even a tiny single room, enough to put inside a
bed, or even just a mattress. A place all for him... he had little
money, but... A place where he could bring his "conquests" and be able
to live hours of pleasure, of intimacy.

The following week he met Luigi again. They danced together, talked,
excited each other with light contacts full of desire, kissed again in a
corner of the disco, Piero against the wall and Luigi pressed on him,
feeling with a quiver of pleasure the reciprocal erections, the mutual
desire, but at the end they had to say bye bye again without being able
to do more.

That evening Luigi had introduced him to a couple of his friends. One
was Marco, the other Tony. Marco was really beautiful, but he didn't
like him. He was full of money an hence... of himself. Tony instead was
likable, but physically he wasn't attracted by him, because he was
fatty, an irregular face, teeth not straight nor white, coarse hair...
Anyway he had passed a good evening and his desire for Luigi had
strengthened, widened. He started to feel his virginity like a burden.
When they parted, he said to Luigi:

"You really cannot find a place to go, you and I?"

"No, not yet. But I'm trying. Who knows... I too am looking forward to
be alone with you, in some quiet place..."

Those words had pleased Piero: they were the explicit promise of future
pleasures...

Piero put his registers in his personal drawer, the compositions in his
case, exchanged some words with his colleagues about some labor union
problems, then set out for his home.

It was now five years that he had lived alone. He had found a mini
apartment, a mansard on Madama Cristina Street, downtown. When told his
parents he wanted to live by himself, contrary to his expectations, not
only did they not oppose, but his father said that if he would be in
trouble with the money, to furnish it or to pay the rent, he could rely
on his help. At times you create problems in your mind, that you
discover are nonexistent.

So, from the age twenty one, Piero was free and master of his life.