Date: Sun, 18 Sep 2005 23:53:24 +0100
From: Mike Arram <marram@wanadoo.co.uk>
Subject: Heart of Oskar Prinz - 8

The following story describes people and places wholly fictional, although
based on some element of reality.  How much is really up to you to decide.
There is a place called Ruthenia, but it is not the Rothenia depicted here.
It won't take long for the alert reader to realise that my Rothenia is
unapologetically borrowed from Anthony Hope's magnificent creation of
Ruritania, although updated for the twenty-first century.
  This is my third attempt at gay erotic fiction.  The earlier ones are
'The Decent Inn' and 'Terry and the Peachers' which can be found in the
Nifty archive under the College section.  Excuse the self-indulgence of the
crossover references, but they did amuse me.
  The story contains graphic depictions of sex between adult males.  If the
reading or possessing of such material as this is illegal in your place of
residence please leave this site immediately and do not proceed further.
If you are under the legal age to read this, please do not do so.





VIII


They arrived back at Will's hotel at five, and he resisted earnest
invitations to spend the evening with the others.  Terry was keen to check
out the National Rothenian Opera, and as he said this Will was even more
torn.  He saw it in Terry's eyes.  This was even more important than that
they were both gay.  'Terry, you're ... a singer?'
  'Yes, sweet babe, I most certainly am.'
  'You should hear him in the bathroom, Will,' laughed Ramon.
  'Tenor or bass?' asked Will tremulously.
  'Tenor and I don't mean tenor baritone ... no, not you too!' Terry was
transfixed with delight.  'My God, do you know how rare we are?'
  Will hurled himself into Terry's arms shouting, 'My dream man!  You're
out of here Ramon, I've found the love of my life!'  Terry hugged him back,
spun him around and whooped.
  'You've got to come out with us tonight, sweet babe, it's the Magic
Flute.'
  'Damn, bugger and blast,' cursed Will, 'I've got no choice, it's a prior
engagement.'
  Something of the true situation must have showed in his eyes.  He saw
Ramon whisper into Terry's ear and smile and saw Terry look knowing.  Matt
missed the signals, but expressed his regrets, and said that he hoped that
he would join them again tomorrow for the tour of royal abbeys in the north
of the country.  Will said that he would love to.
  Once up in his room he was at the phone like a shot.  There was no sign
of Harry.  The phone burred and clicked, and a familiar voice said 'Prosim!
Oskar.'
  'It's me!'
  'Will!  This is good.  Are you free tonight?  I hope you've had enough of
tourism and that dreadful Club Liberation.'
  'For the moment, maybe.  What do you suggest?'
  'I'm meeting some friends, maybe you will come so that we can practise
our English on you?'
  'Love to, and maybe I should learn some Rothenian.'
  'Do you have German?'
  'A little.'
  'That's a start.  I shall come for you at seven. Ahoi men leblen.'
  'What?'
  'You'll know one day.'  Oskar hung up.
  There was still no sign of Harry at seven, when Will saw Oskar picking
his way across the Flavienplaz.  He was emerging from the lift as Oskar
entered the lobby.  He was looking cool in a leather jacket and well-cut
jeans with a thick studded belt.  He was wearing shades and a small grin.
Will shook hands the formal Rothenian way, and Oskar looked pleased.  He
took his arm and they walked out together arm in arm as Will knew that
young male Rothenians often did.  He was delighted at the gesture.
  They walked down Mikhelstrasse, Oskar pointing out things of interest.
He indicated a run down hotel just off Flavienplaz.
  'That was the Gestapo headquarters during the Occupation.  You see those
flowers?  Above them is a stone that records all the freedom fighters
executed in the basement.  There are four hundred names, and one of them
was my father's uncle.  He was only seventeen, but a brave boy.  He blew up
railway lines in Husbrau.'
  They paused in tribute and looked up.  Although it was alphabetical, he
saw no one called Prinz recorded there, but then he knew little about
Rothenian naming practices, so he ignored it.  It never occurred to him for
a moment that Oskar would lie to him.
  They took a sidestreet off Mikhelstrasse, and Oskar hauled Will on to a
passing tram of the old fashioned sort as it rumbled by.  He paid the lady
conductor, and they took a slatted wooden seat.
  'Where are we going?'
  'To Bila Palaz, or the University quarter.  I feel more comfortable
there.  I got wolf- whistled on the Rodolferplaz on the way to your hotel
by a group of Americans.  I expect they recognised me.'
  'Bummer,' said Will.
  'What!  Where does my rear end come into it?'
  'Er ... it means, crap, bad, sort of thing.  It's not a buttock-related
word.'
  'Ah.  Bummer.  It just about sums up the downside of being a gay porn
actor.  People think they own your ass.'
  'How come Rothenians don't seem to know about it?'
  'Maybe a few do, but we are a polite people.  But my films are not on
sale in Rothenia or the Czech Republic, my employer restricts sales to
protect his actors, so by the time I retire not many people will ever have
seen them and most of those wouldn't say anything even if they had.'
  'Are you out to your family and friends, Oskar?'
  'Er ... sort of.  My sister, I know she knows, but the films not; she
thinks I am just an unsuccessful model.  My university friends are straight
boys, and I have never mentioned I am gay, though they know it very well of
course.  It doesn't register with most of them.  Rothenian social life is
very segregated.  Boys go out with boys, and girls with girls.  It's a
wonder we survive as a nation.'
  Will laughed.  The tram rumbled past the grand Radhaus of the New City
with its massive tower, and eventually turned left screeching on to
Lindenstrasse.  Once through the city wall, it ran out into another large
square surrounded with Classical buildings, a huge national tricolour
flapping from a gigantic central flagstaff.  City and State Police were
everywhere, in their respective blue and black uniforms.
  'This is the Parliament and the ministries.  The University is the next
stop.'
  They alighted on a low platform in a street lined with small cafés.  The
tram clanged off towards its terminus.  Oskar led him to a small
half-hidden door, and pushed it open.  A bar lay behind.  The lady at the
counter smiled at Oskar and greeted him with a stream of Rothenian.  He
chatted back.  She eyed Will curiously.  Oskar led him into a back room,
where there were already three young men crowded around a small table.
  'Oskar!'  High fives were exchanged and there were embraces.  Will
suddenly felt extremely shy and left out of things.  But then Oskar
introduced him and there were smiles and formal handshakes.
  He sat down, the boys smiled and stared at him, as if expecting him to do
something.
 'You are not American, then,' said the boy called Rodolf.
  'Er no ... English.'  Will replied.
  'Oskar was always loser.  Americans have money.  Have you been to
America?'
  Oskar cut in, 'Rodolf has a fixation with the United States, a result of
his extreme ignorance of the world.'
  'I have been to the States,' Will replied.  'My parents took me to Disney
World when I was fourteen and my sister was ten.'
  'Cool.'  Rodolf was briefly impressed.  Drinks arrived, and Will bolted
his.  This was going to be a tough night.
  But it turned out better than he expected.  The boys soon were talking
about their course, their backgrounds and their families.  He was in a fair
way to getting to like them after two more drinks and a half hour of
relaxation.  They were devoted to Oskar, judging by the stream of joking
insults that went in his direction.  Will couldn't work out if they knew
about his life on DVD, but he guessed not.  They clearly knew he was gay,
though, and they assumed correctly that Will was too.  But they had no hang
ups about it.
  He focussed more and more on a boy called Tomas, the one that sparred
most with Oskar.  He knew him.
  In a lull in the conversation he asked Tomas directly, 'Were you with
Oskar last night, when he chased off the mugger?'
  Tomas laughed, 'I was.  Brave Rothenian warriors, were we not?  He had
knife I think.  And where did you sleep last night, Will?'
  'I think you know.'
  'Oskar is very generous boy.  He has many friends and he deserves them.
And he must like you much.  You are first of his lovers he has ever brought
to meet us here.  I think you know that he likes very much to sleep with
men, yet he does not always like men he sleeps with.  There is something
new with you.  Maybe it is because you are English, who knows.'
  'Why are you always joking at him?'
  'It is my way, I suppose, but although I like ... love ... him – though
not in that way, you understand - he does infuriate.  He is Rothenian
through and through, hopeless romantic like we all are, but in his case he
could be so much more than he is.  He has great talents, and I do not just
mean in bed.  I expect it is his background.'
  'His background ...?'  Will began, but Tomas was sharing a joke about one
of their lecturers with the third boy, Peotr.
  After ninety minutes, Will was confident and sparring back and forth with
the other boys.  Like most Central Europeans they were addicted to
politics, and happy to discuss them at length and in depth, unlike British
people.  The EU was the topic of the moment, and the conversion of the
krona to the euro.  Will, being a teacher, was pretty well up on the
subject, and happy to argue about anything.  He found himself defending the
pound's integrity with growing passion and enthusiasm.  The battle raged
round the table and eyes grew bright.  People appeared at the door to
listen, and Will heard whispered translations of his points being made
among the onlookers.  He caught Oskar's look at one point.  The boy was
proud of him and excited.  At one point there was even applause for one of
his arguments.
  At eleven, things began to wind down, and people looked for their coats.
The boys slapped him on the back and embraced him.  He was 'Friend Willem',
or the diminutive 'Willemu'.  They all lurched out into the dark street,
happy and exalted.  They caught the last tram to the Rodolferplaz, and said
goodbye at Oskar's stop on Lindenstrasse.  The others were singing national
songs as they went off.
  Oskar turned to him when they were at last alone together, his eyes were
still shining.  He took Will's arm and led him towards his apartment.
Neither of them thought of the hotel for a moment.

Late at night, after a passionate coupling, with Will happy to be bottom
and his rectum still outraged at the size of Oskar's intruding member, he
found himself smiling into his lover's smiling face.  'You are a special
person, Will.  I am so glad we met.'  A sudden tremor passed across it,
'But you must leave soon.'
  'I fly out on Sunday.'
  'Only one more night.  That is ... sad.  Will you stay with me tomorrow?'
  Will's heart lurched, 'I'm so sorry, Oskar, but some friends want me to
go on a drive with them.'  Then he remembered who the friends were and he
grinned.  'But I don't think they'll mind at all if you come along, quite
the opposite in fact.'
  'What, are they Marc Bennett fans?'
  'Er ... I don't know.  They are gay though.'  He was willing to guess
that Terry knew his porn, but he was not sure about Matt and Ramon.  'Will
you come with me?'
  'You met my friends tonight and were happy, so now it is my turn.'
  Will gave a secret little smile, 'I think you will find it interesting.'
Oskar looked mildly suspicious, but let it pass.

After a small breakfast of Oskar's disgusting muesli ('I have to be careful
of my body, Will') and after taking Marietta for her morning
constitutional, they strolled by some back streets to come out on
Flavienplaz.
  'So why are you being so mysterious about these friends of yours, my
Will?'  Oskar said as they approached the square.  'I take it that they are
English?'
  'Two of them are, the other is Spanish American.  The English guys went
to the same university as me, and one of them used to be my neighbour.'
There, said Will to himself, that's all true, well ... sort of.
  Oskar sat in reception while Will went up to change.  There were two
bodies in the bed, and Harry was snoring.  The other guy seemed a bit older
than Harry this time, from what Will could see of his hair and skin.  He
silently changed and scribbled a brief note, in the unlikely event that
Harry was worried about him.
  Matt's limousine arrived on time.  Will ran out to greet his friends, who
were perfectly happy for Oskar to accompany them, once he had explained the
circumstances.
  Oskar followed Will out, and poked his head round the door confidently.
Will would have paid money to see the face he pulled when he saw who was in
the back seat.  'But at least I did not faint,' he later whispered.
  Ramon nudged him as Oskar was paying homage to Matt, and whispered, 'You
sly dog, Will.  You've been in the city three days and you walk off with
what must be the hottest babe in the place.  I'm real envious.  He must be
amazing in bed.'
  Will whispered back, 'You wouldn't believe.'
  It was clear enough that Matt and Ramon had no idea who Oskar really was,
which was a relief.  Of Terry, Will was not entirely sure, but he smiled
and shook Oskar's hand happily enough.  Perhaps the brief appraising stare
was just the result of his profession.
  Crowded into the back, with Oskar and Will on the fold down seats behind
the driver, they chatted amiably as the car drove off, although Oskar was
clearly in awe of Matt, and kept staring at him.  Matt wasn't bothered.  He
was used to it.  He had a map on his knee, and as they left the limits of
Strelzen, he invited Oskar to change places with Terry and talk them
through the route.
  'We're going first to the Marienkloster at Medeln,' he announced.
  'Ach,' said Oskar, 'Then I think I know why.  It is the Good Lady Osra
that you wish to visit, yes?'
  'You call her that?'
  'Yes, the "Dobra Dama" is what the old peasants of the countryside call
her.  She was very much loved by all, but especially the poor.  There are
many folk tales about her, her beauty, her wilfulness and her kindness.  I
like to believe them.'
 'We must talk about this sometime, Oskar.'
  'Is this the Princess Osra whose picture we saw in the palace?'  Ramon
asked.
  'That's the lady,' Matt confirmed. 'She retired to the abbey of Medeln
after her husband died, and lived with the nuns for twelve years, doing
good works and stuff.  She died and was buried there.  There's a stunning
monument raised by her nephew, King Ferdinand.  You can hardly believe the
pictures.  Have you seen it, Oskar?'
  'Yes.  And it is stunning.  Medeln is not far from Terlenehem where I was
a boy and where my sister and brother still live.'
  'We can call in if you like,' offered Matt.
  Oskar looked momentarily put out and gave a glance at Will under his long
lashes, 'That is kind, but they are not expecting me, and it would not be
fair to them.  I shall see them in a week or two in any case.'
  Oskar borrowed the map and pointed Terlenehem out to Will.  He described
the countryside of Husbrau with an engaging affection.  He also gave his
comments on the other sites that Matt wanted to visit and some advice on a
good place for lunch.
  It was nearly eleven thirty when they reached the abbey, a plain medieval
church, a little overshadowed by the princely baroque cloister and domestic
range that had grown up beside it.
  Oskar led them into the abbey through the west door. 'The nuns were
driven out under the dictator Horvath, and the abbey became a reformatory.
Although the new government has restored it to the Church and the EU has
funded repair and reconstruction, the sisters have not returned.  It is
sad.  My father the ...,' and then he choked off, and, darting a glance at
Will, said instead.  '... what I meant to say is that the sisters were
remembered kindly by the people.  Princess Osra left much money for
charity, and the nuns spent it handsomely on schools and the old.  They
were good days when the nuns lived in Medeln.  Now they are gone people are
the poorer.'
  By then they were in the dark church.  It was a simple Romanesque
structure for the most part.  It had obviously been lavishly restored
recently.  The space of the church was clear and clean, and modern lighting
complemented its austerity.  The one exception to the simplicity of the
building was to the north of the high altar, where a baroque chapel of St
Ursula had been constructed.  On the east side was raised an elaborate
altar piece but this was more than matched by a huge tomb on the west side.
  They stood staring at the mass of sculpture climbing up to the roof.
Above the plinth was an open sarcophagus out of which a skeletal Death was
stealing, a bit like Dracula rising from his grave, tattered drapes around
him and a scythe in hand.  He seemed unmistakably pissed off about
something, probably the fact that a draped and beautiful Osra was taking
off from the top of the sarcophagus's broken lid, borne up by angels into a
mass of gilded rays of light and white marble clouds, out of which the
Virgin Mary was reaching down to clasp her hand.
  'Bit overpowering that,' Terry murmured.  What does the inscription say
Will?'
  Will looked closely at the side of the sarcophagus, where he read:

ORATE pro anima Osrae filiae fidelissimi regis Henrici Ruritanensis
sororisque Rudolphi regis quondam ducissae Mittelheimensis et nuper
abbatissae in commendam huius domus Medelnensis.  Amica pauperum et amita
regis Ferdinandi.  Rex pro illa hoc tumulum aedificavit sed pauperes
aeternam domum ea assecuraverunt.  AMEN.

  'Which means,' he said, 'Pray for the soul of Osra, daughter of Henry,
most faithful king of Ruritania, and sister of King Rudolf; of late duchess
of Mittelheim and lately commendatory abbess of this house of Medeln.  To
the poor she was a friend and to King Ferdinand she was an aunt.  The king
built her a tomb, but the poor have obtained for her an eternal home.
Amen.'
  There's a bit of wordplay there which you can't translate, a pun on amica
(friend) and amita (aunt) but I like it, it's elegant.'
  Oskar looked astonished, and after a moment pounded Will on the back,
'Well done my Will!  You are a real scholar!  Bravo!'
  The others also smiled and congratulated him.  Matt asked Oskar about the
domestic range and whether it was possible to get in there, and Oskar went
off to find the caretaker.  Will took his digital camera out and began
taking pictures.  They had a good hour there, especially when Matt realised
that it had been Osra who rebuilt the nuns' cloister and her monogram and
heraldry was all over it.  There was also a statue of the lady herself in
the cloister arcades, its extended hand curiously polished where
generations of the poor had kissed the stone in memory of her generosity,
as Oskar explained.
  'That little fact is worth its weight in gold, Oskar.  You can build a
whole documentary round a simple thing like that,' said Matt gratefully.
Oskar glowed.
  They followed his advice about lunch, which they took in a country inn in
the hills above Terlenehem.  The meal was spicy and rich, a stew from wild
boar meat with apricots, that Oskar recommended.
  As they sipped the sparkling sweet wine of the district, Terry grinned
and asked, 'Come on Will, tell us how you met Oskar.  I didn't see you pick
him up in Liberation, so where did you find him?'
  Will smiled, a little embarrassed, and told them about his midnight
adventure.  The others were intrigued.
  'I'll certainly be able to recognise the bastard again,' he commented,
'his BO was distinctive.  Do police do nasal ID parades?'
  Oskar looked bemused until they explained it again, and then he gave a
small laugh.
  'Did you see him?' Terry asked him.
  'Only as a dark running figure when Tomas and I chased after him.  Then
there was just poor Will looking very distraught.  I could do nothing else
but go to bed with him so as to preserve the honour of my country,' he
added mischievously.
  Ramon said warmly, 'I think there are other reasons to want to go to bed
with Will, and I for one can clearly see what they are.'  Will blushed
scarlet.
  Matt was looking appraisingly at Will.  'Look, Will, when are you going
back home?'
  Will's face fell like a landslip.  He had successfully put that to the
back of his mind, but a day in Oskar's company was making the prospect of
separation all the more agonising.  'Tomorrow,' he replied unhappily.
  'But haven't you got a long summer holiday ahead of you?'
  'Yup, and an empty bank balance to finance it.'
  'Ah.  But that shouldn't be an obstacle to you.'
  'What do you mean?'
  'Will my lad, you've already been invaluable in two days as an unpaid
research associate on this project.  Why not stay here at my expense and
carry on after I've gone?  One thing I can't do is hit the local archives
and libraries and stack up references.  Marlowe Productions prides itself
on the depth of its project research and, as Jeremy Faber convinced me, you
could be the best in the business.'
  'You're offering me a job?'
  'I'm offering you a job.'
  'Sorry Matt, but teaching kids was what I was born to do.  I'm not giving
it up for anyone.'
  Matt seemed disappointed, then brightened, 'OK.  But you still have the
summer, and there's no law which says you can't pick up extra cash by a
short term contract.'
  Will grinned and looked over at an eagerly listening Oskar, 'Now you're
talking,' he grinned.  'But I'll need the proverbial native guide ... a
bright and attractive local media studies student would certainly fit the
bill.'
  Matt turned to Oskar, 'What about it?'
  Oskar leapt up and kissed an astonished Matt full on the mouth, then fell
back in his seat, 'Oh my God, what did I just do!'
  'Fulfilled my every adolescent fantasy,' replied Will, a little sourly.