Date: Thu, 16 Nov 2006 21:26:33 +0000
From: Jo Vincent <joad130@hotmail.com>
Subject: Mystery and Mayhem at St Mark's: 14

		      Mystery and Mayhem At St Mark's

				    by

				   Joel

             Some of the Characters Appearing:
Mark Henry Foster            The story-teller
Tristan (Tris) Price-Williams    His well-proportioned boyfriend
Francis Michael [Microbe] Foster  Alias Toad:  just growing and wondering
Ivo Richie Carr              Mark's cousin:  chunky and cheeky with it
Adam Benjamin Carr    Ditto, as his twin
Francesco Matteoli       Designer and Uncle of Mark and Francis
Aldo Leopardi              Companion of Uncle Francesco
Ernesto di Cremona     An Italian cousin
Guido Faldi                  The hairy 18 year-old poolboy
Pietro Faldi                  Guido's younger cousin
Senora Faldi                Guido's Mum: Uncle Francesco's cook
Charles Fane-Stuart     The 'Servant of the Chapel'
Mirabelle Fane-Stuart  'Mother'


          14.  An eventful Summer.

     As soon as Frankie finished school the three of us flew out to Italy.
Aldo was in a flap.  Uncle Francesco had made a great impression at the
Milan fashion show but some other designer had withdrawn from a big summer
show in Rome and he'd been asked to present a new collection.  The problem
was it was short notice and half the costumes weren't ready.  In fact
because of secrecy quite a few were being hand-crafted at the Villa in a
converted barn by a small army of seamstresses.  These items were the male
half of the show and Tris and I were roped in to try the things on to see
if they hung right or whatever.  As the head seamstress seemed to spend
most of her time screeching in rapid Italian we gathered little of what she
said as we twirled and strutted in sometimes quite bizarre outfits.  David
Beckham wasn't in it.  He may have paraded in a sarong with Victoria's
knickers on underneath.  We had to parade in skimpy undies while we were
swathed in various very exotic fabrics while Uncle Francesco and his chief
designer made copious sketches for the clothes to be constructed.  Francis
was chuntering at being left out but Ernesto turned up a couple of days
after we arrived and kept him fairly quiet.

     But Francis was persistent.  At the evening meal he demanded to know
why there weren't fashionable clothes for boys of his age.  He went on
about the designer crap he and his friends had to buy otherwise they were
not thought to be with it.  Why didn't Uncle produce some things for trendy
boys like him?

     I thought Unc was going to kiss him then and there.  There were
hurried consultations and next day there were sketch pads full of
boardshorts, tops, caps, trainers, knee and elbow pads which seemed rather
bizarre to elderly teens like Tris and me but were pronounced fab or the
equivalent in younger teenage argot of the time by Frankie and his
side-kick.  In fact, Ernesto did some of the basic sketches which were
fallen on by Unc's designer.  Frankie also said what about trendy clothes
for youngsters like him when they had to take 'chicks to the flicks'?  What
a phrase, but it was directed at Aldo who adored American 60's slang.  A
new flurry of activity meant tops, jackets, trousers and so on being
planned.  He and Ernesto then had to model possible combinations but were
firmly told that the show models were tightly controlled so they wouldn't
be appearing in Rome but....  I could see the headlines, Foster's Fashion
Inc.!!  Still it kept the two lads occupied and Tris and I could indulge
our passions - albeit with closed windows after last year's confessions.
From what we could ascertain the pair were also occupied nightly as well.

     In between all the trying on of clothes we all managed to get good
overall tans and even Ernesto, who had been a bit hesitant last year, now
showed his all on all occasions.  His all was quite impressive, especially
the luxurious hair which the now-eighteen-year-old was sprouting.  His cock
was a very plump floppy length and I was well aware than both Tris and I
were stared at by this rather desirable hunky lad.  And, of course, we all
stared at the pool- boy, Signora Faldi's pride and joy.  Guido was even
hairier than Ernesto and strutted his stuff cleaning the pool most
assiduously almost every day.  Ernesto told us that Uncle Francesco was
paying his fees to go through medical school as his mother was such a
valued member of the household.  So Guido was assured of a good career.

     Anyway, whether it was the warmth, or the good food, or the tasting of
exquisite wines, or, purely and simply our hormonal states, both Tris and I
were completely horny all the time.  I think we wanked or sucked two or
three times a day.  Of course, we had only had our right hands to assuage
our needs for most of the preceding year, so we did everything to make up
for all that lost time.  We always started our lengthy sessions by just
caressing each other and feeling each other's bodies.  Touching with light
fingers then exploring with tongues on those erogenous points we had
discovered on each other.  Mine started with my top lip and just under my
chin whereas Tris went bananas when his ear lobes were nibbled and he was
licked on his neck below his ears.

     His greatest joy was, as I held his now more than seven inches of
thick boymeat, of me pulling down his foreskin and just teasing that tight
little piece of skin which anchored the skin to the rear of his rod just
below his crown.  Licking my thumb and then playing with his cock like that
caused him to moan softly and hold me tighter as his lovely prick throbbed
and hardened even more.

     In return, he would touch my right nipple with the tip of his tongue
and gently ring the raised skin around it which was guaranteed to send me
into the second major stage of ecstasy.  He would move down leaving a just
discernible trail of saliva, flattening the fine hairs which were now
beginning to appear as a black downy coat between and across my pecs.  His
tongue would then traverse my increasingly hairy stomach until he reached
my navel and he would lap and explore the depth of that most sensitive
structure.  Finally, he would follow that now dense trail which led within
an inch or so to my luxuriant black bush.

     This was my signal to take up the position so that our mouths and
tongues could take over the play on our equal massive shafts, licking each
other again on that so sensitive area under the ridge.  Then we would use
our tongues to stroke the tight skin of the glans until simultaneously we
would engulf those so, so sensitive swellings.  On numerous occasions just
these actions were sufficient to cause the familiar subterranean pulsations
heralding the release of that monstrously powerful reflex.  Both of us said
we had hair-trigger reactions so that first, major outpouring of the day,
which so often occurred when we woke in the morning still wrapped in
other's arms or spooned up close after the previous night's intense
love-making, was quickly achieved but was still of immense satisfaction.
Tris said nothing set him off so much as the scent of my body at those
times, which retained the smell of the sweat and sex of the night before.

     In the evenings our love-making generally started in the same way and
we alternated with one particular thing we both loved.  This was softly
lapping at each other's ball-sacs and taking each ball in turn into our
mouths and gently sucking on it.  Our tongues would then explore the slope
of hard but responsive flesh just beneath our balls, probing and examining
it with our sensitive tongues as if they were antennae receiving signals.
Then on upwards, as our prongs would be steel-hard, or seeming-so, but both
of us had quite pronounced softer indentations running from the base of our
rods up to that so responsive skin below the ridge.  Tonguing into that
groove was a dependable summons to our spunk squirting machinery to prime
itself for a maximum explosion into mouths yearning for that taste of the
other's self.  That taste to be shared with tongues that smeared the
mixture over lips, cheeks and chins, to then be licked away cleanly once
the original had been swallowed and ingested, but the craving for more
still existed.

     Sometimes we lay and slept but often we needed more.  Our tongues
would start their duelling dance again and hands would grasp cocks which
may not have softened much after the first marvellous release of boycream
but which would rapidly harden and yearn for the incessant rhythm which
seemed inbuilt into our systems.  We would keep matching pace, engrossed in
the feelings rising within us, until within strokes of each other we would
unload, unleashing with terrible force, more of our precious semen.  Then,
kissing so tenderly, we would sleep.

     We fucked less often - both of us found the preparation somewhat
tiresome - but we needed that feeling of being filled by the other.  We
both loved to be fucked and to fuck.  Neither of us liked shagging
doggy-style as we felt we could not share our love properly that way We
loved to fuck watching the other's face and their reactions, and to share
kisses and hugs. We shared the preparation and tried to prolong the action
so the one being fucked underwent the longest possible experience of having
the other's prick seeking and stimulating that internal sensitive area.  As
both of us could hardly sustain more than a few full insertions and
movements of our pricks when fucking the other before shooting our load we
knew that, once our pricks were full in, a second discharge would take
longer and so prolong the pleasure of the other.  We joked about our
premature ejaculations but that first feeling of being totally within, and
the usual rhythmic clamping and releasing once fully in, was sufficient for
randy boys to come almost without warning.  But randy boys were always
capable of producing that second most satisfactory climactic event.  In
between the kisses and hugs were invariable and helped to maintain a very
high level of mutual horniness.

     So we took it, share and share about, perhaps only fucking the other a
couple of nights after the experience of being fucked.  In between, we knew
that whatever we did was with love and a total commitment to each other.
We did joke about what it might be like to experience Nesto's lithe and
wiry body - he was much shorter than either of us and we wondered what it
would be like to have him sandwiched between us - like a nice thick slice
of pastrami between two pieces of succulent toasted brown bread as Tris
said.  Our fantasies about Guido centred on the dimensions of the sausage
which was outlined by the rather tight small pair of bathing trunks he wore
while cleaning the pool.  We would wantonly stare as he dropped his shorts
before getting into the pool to free or clean a filter but we were never
rewarded with a complete viewing of his equipment as he just drip-dried
before pulling on his shorts again.  He would come across to us four lying
naked on the upper terrace but never responded to our invitations to join
us.  He was always 'troppo occupato', too busy, though he did stare quite
openly at the boy flesh so honestly displayed.  Was he shy because his
penis was not very big, especially as Tris was almost as big soft as hard,
or was he worried in case we might make advances.  It was no secret that at
least two of us sunning ourselves were as Uncle Francesco and Aldo,
finocchio, a somewhat less than polite word for being gay.

     We had informed Ernesto of our relationship because of Frankie's
revelations about last year and he had just nodded and said he understood.
That was insufficient for Toad who had taught him a few good old English
swear words in return for a few gobbets of Italian invective.  Toad told us
the Italian word a couple of days later and got a smack on his bare arse
from Tris while I threatened him with instant castration if he repeated
such things in Aldo or Uncle's hearing.

     Uncle Francesco was in his element with us being so useful and he and
Aldo were so in love, too.  In fact, we all kept early nights, eating
usually at eight at night and drifting off to bed before eleven.  Although
Aldo never referred to Tris and I as lovers he gave us knowing smiles every
day when he greeted us.  Unc had to go off to Rome to supervise the
presentation at the fashion show and Aldo went to join him for the final
few days to organise the festivities.  While they were away Ivo and Adam
arrived.  Ivo rather pale from city-life in France, but Adam was a bronzed
Hercules.  He said that lugging bricks and digging holes and trenches for
pipes had been very hard work but it had paid off.  Ivo said he expected
Adam had expended enough youthful energy through the work to confine his
solitary wanking to five times a day, and you could tell it was so often by
the rough corns he'd developed on the palms of his hands.  Ivo ended up in
the pool for that quip disturbing Frankie and Nesto who were swimming
leisurely lengths.

     Adam maintained the callouses were the result of good honest labour
using his hands in the pursuit of hard-earned cash.  He did say he had
suffered somewhat from heat rash around the groin area after wearing a pair
of Ivo's cut-offs on the motor-bike.  Ivo was now also a fully competent
rider and that little rift in the lute had been mended as he was now
allowed to share equally the handling of the bike with Adam .  "As long as
he pays his share of the petrol!" was Adam's comment.

     To get something to relieve the itchiness he'd gone into a chemist's
in the town where the new building was taking place.

     "Thought of you and that bloody mad organ wallah in Under Milk Wood,
you know Organ Morgan, couldn't keep his hands off it just like you!" he
laughed.  "It's true, Greg Murray said that bit was all about excessive
masturbation which Dylan Thomas was addicted to.  At least, Greg was
certain he was."

     "What the hell are you rambling on about?"  Ivo asked.  "You get a bit
of sun on your head and it softens your brain even more.  And what has Greg
Murray got to do with it?"

     "Shut up, brother dear, or I'll have to get Guido to ram his nice big
sausage in your gob as far as it will go!"  We had been eyeing Guido for
the past half-hour as he meticulously used the pool vacuum-cleaner and had
been diligently scrubbing the tiles clad in just a ragged pair of shorts
and a broad smile.  The cheeky sod knew we were looking at him and he bent
and stretched to show off his muscled legs and hairy chest.  We'd had sotto
voce bets on the length of his tool which caused only a smallish bulge as
he bent back and my bet of four and a half inches was so far the maximum
dimension.  It had to be sotto voce as Big-Lugs and Nesto were lolling on
sun-beds about ten feet away.  We noted renewed attention to the
conversation by the pair.  "Greg Murray is reading English and he
said....."

     "Oh, get on with it!" said Ivo in mock exasperation, "What did you get
for your itch?  Nitric acid, I guess, as you've only got one ball now!"

     This last caused rather a stir ten feet away.

     "I'm telling the tale," said Adam.  "Ignore him.  As I was saying,
Marky..."  He emphasized 'Marky'.  "...I was sorely afflicted and went into
this chemist shop and a very nice young lady was behind the counter..."

     "...And you can guess, can't you?  Please Miss, my balls are sore,
have you got anything to ease my suffering, but first, you must inspect
them...."  interrupted Ivo, "Anything to get some unsuspecting girl into
his clutches.  Or better still, to get some unsuspecting girl to clutch his
minuscule tackle!"

     "Bollocks!" said Adam and went on quickly before Ivo could make some
obvious observation.  "I just asked for some Savlon and while she was
getting it I noticed the chemist's qualifications on a certificate behind
the counter.  Henry P Jones MPS FRCO.  Jones the Chemist and Jones the
Organ!" He laughed.  "There were four Jones's on the site and they all had
nicknames to distinguish them.  Jones the Brick and Jones the Lead, 'cause
he was the plumber, and there were two Dai Jones.  Dai Jones the Chippy and
Dai Jones the Office."

     Ivo was making sneery faces and nodding his head from side to side
indicating he thought his dear brother was a stupid bugger.  "Who the fuck
wants to know all the Jones's in Wales.  Must be millions of them.  You'd
be Jones the Stupid with Sore Balls!"

     "And did the medication work?" asked Tris sententiously, "Or did you
have to return for further consultation with Miss Jones the Testicle
Tester?"

     "She wasn't Miss Jones, her name was Myfanwy Williams."

     "And how far did you get?  You never told me!"  Ivo's interest was
raised.  "First or second base, or the whole hog?"

     "You are just disgusting," said Adam, now in the ascendant.  "I was
able to ascertain her name quite simply as she had a badge displaying it on
her amply filled white coat."

     "Ughh" was Ivo's only comment while Tris and I grinned at each other.

     Of course, underlying all my happiness and enjoyment of the holiday
was a little niggle.  Actually, a big niggle.  I had my A Level results to
come and I needed the required levels to start at St Mark's.  On the
fateful August day Mum phoned.  Should she open the envelope?, she teased.
I guessed she already had.  Would I like to wait until Dad got home to
break the news?  She laughed.  "You've got them," she said with her
wonderful laugh, "All four, tops."

     I turned and hugged Tris who, having heard me answer the phone, had
crept up behind me.  "We'll be together," was all I could say.  Mum was
telling me how pleased she was and was there anything I wanted.  I just
said, "I've got Tris."  She laughed and said I was to tell her brother to
spoil me rotten.  I said he already was and, yes, we were all being good
boys.  I didn't add that we didn't need much clean underwear as most of the
day we wore nothing at all.

     Signora Faldi contacted Unc and he ordered her to produce the best
meal she could.  She did, and the eight of us were waited on not only by
Signora Faldi's usual two ladies but also by Guido and a young lad of about
fourteen, his cousin, Pietro.  Both were in Matteoli creations for the
super-trendy teenager and flaunted their sensual beauty as only young
Italians can.  They and the dinner were superb!

     At the beginning of the next week Unc and Aldo returned triumphant.
The show had been a great success and their presentation had sent the
fashion critics into raptures, especially the kept secret appearance of a
dozen young adolescents displaying the very latest in what every young lad
should be, and would be, wearing.  Frankie nearly went into his own rapture
when he saw the heap of clothing which was now his.  He and his pals would
be so hip or whatever and no one could diss them for wearing anything more
than three weeks old as this was so fab, brill, phat, wicked..., ....words
so outre escaped his lips and were lost to posterity before they could be
recorded.

     We older ones were given the choice of anything left hanging in the
workroom.  I chose a heavily brocaded jacket and very tight dark green
beautifully cut trousers, plus a selection of strange shirts and tops until
Tris reminded me of the excess baggage charges when flying home.  Unc then
presented Tris and me with cheques for a thousand pounds each for acting as
models while the clothes were being cut and assembled.  As soon as Tris
said he would put it towards a lap-top Unc said he shouldn't, he would
arrange for both of us to receive the latest model.  Frankie and Nesto got
the same treatment with written contracts that when eighteen they would
receive a percentage of the profits from the sale of the items designed or
suggested by them.  Nesto was immediately signed up for a course in design
in Milan with the promise he would be attending the best college of fashion
in London as well later.  The twins were not left out but also had their
pick plus a cheque for themselves as well.

     Unc was in a really expansive mood.  He arranged for all of us to go
to the best restaurant in the town.  "My reputation will be so enhanced,"
he said, as we paraded in his creations before setting out, "Six of the
handsomest young men in the Universe and they are with me and my Aldo."  We
pointed out this was partly true as we were certain that Frankie was a
clone of ET.  He sneered and mouthed reprisals later.  What we didn't
expect were the three photographers who were waiting for us as we stepped
from the two large limousines in front of the restaurant.  Those photos
appeared in all the local papers and in Rome, Florence and Milan and a
phone call from Mum wanted to know if we realised we were in one of the
Sunday supplements!

     I was sitting next to Aldo in the restaurant when something caught my
eye.  I was thunderstruck and nearly forgot to pop the succulent gobbet of
seafood starter into my salivating mouth.  On the little finger of Aldo's
left hand was a signet ring which I was certain was identical to the one
Charles wore!  On looking closer I could see it was a leopard standing up
on its back legs, its face looking outwards and it's front paws held up
with claws exposed.  I didn't say anything as I didn't want to distract him
in any way on such a celebratory evening by asking questions.

     In bed that night Tris and I were so full of food and beautiful wines
all we could do was hold each other.  Of course that holding was fruitful
as we flooded each other's bellies and stomachs with streamers of boycream
which, no doubt, was enhanced by the subtle flavours of the goodies
consumed that evening.  As we lay contentedly after, I told Tris what I had
noticed.  He had noticed too as he had seen that ring of Charles's and
thought it might be the crest of Downing College which had 'The Scratching
Cat' as their insignia.  Why had Aldo, or Charles for that matter, any
connection with that College?  On the other hand, I said, perhaps it wasn't
just the crest of a Cambridge College but of a family.  Tris said we should
just comment on it when a suitable opportunity arose.

     At lunch next day we were all on the shaded terrace being served by
Signora Faldi's two assistants and young Pietro who kept catching Frankie
and Nesto's eyes and smiling.  No, I didn't think the pair had exercised
their horny charms on him yet, but the looks hinted at a certain offer
which, if.....

     Tris was also eyeing the lad as well.  Perhaps also seeing the lad's
interest.  Pietro had that dark-eyed beauty one saw all the time in
Renaissance paintings.  "Keep your eyes off young Pietro," I informed Tris
in a quiet whisper, "I'm not bailing you out for seducing a minor!"

     "He's beautiful, though," said Tris, "He's just like that copy of a
Botticelli painting in the dining room, isn't he?

     I saw Tris also eyeing the signet ring which Aldo, with his expressive
gestures, was displaying for all to see.

     "That's a lovely ring, Aldo," Tris said, "It looks like the crest of
one of the Cambridge Colleges.  I think it's Downing."

     Aldo held up his hand and gazed at the ring then shook his head.
"This was my father's ring," he said, "It is our family crest.  When my
father told me to leave I could only take a few things and when he died my
mother sent me this."

     The happy group became rather sombre.  What did Aldo mean by 'When my
father told me to leave'?  Uncle Francesco was sitting opposite him.

     "You should tell them - it will help - you have kept it to yourself
for too long," Unc said.

     I was sitting next to Uncle and looked at Aldo.  I could see there
were tears in his eyes.

     "I will tell," he said, "You have been lucky, like Francesco,..."  He
turned and took Tris's hand in his and gripped it.  "...Your father
understood, his father understood.  My father was very strict.  He was very
Catholic and when he found I was....."  He paused.  "....He said I was not
human and I could go and live with my lover...  He said more than that but
the Italian is too gross and insulting to repeat ever...  ..And I could
pack and leave and I was his son no longer."

     "He came and has been with me ever since," Uncle said softly, "He has
been my whole life since that day.  We had met four years before that.  I
had almost finished my studies in architecture and Aldo was just seventeen
and in his last year in the collegio - a boarding school run by very strict
priests.  We met at a party and it was just electric.  We both knew - we
loved each other his last holiday before he left school.  I went to America
for five years and worked in a film studio as a designer but we wrote to
each other every week.  When I came back Aldo was in London.  He had
persuaded his father to let him study fashion design...."

     "....No, my father thought I was studying Art but I did something I
really wanted... ," Aldo looked at Uncle Francesco.  "..I came back from
London rather hurriedly and it was then my father found the letters from
Francesco.  He didn't find them, his valet did... an evil man who had tried
to seduce me when I was just fourteen and hated me because I resisted.  He
had caught me doing what all boys do and threatened to tell my father
unless...  I said I wouldn't and that drew his bluff...  ...But he hated me
from that moment on.
  He had searched my room and found my secret hiding place.  When I arrived
home my father gave me twenty-four hours to leave the house.  I packed and
went within an hour.  It nearly broke my mother's heart.  My father died
three years later and my mother died last year.  I was the last of the
Leopaldi's...."  He held up the ring.  ".....I have this, my father's
title, his palazzo in Venice, his money, but not his love..."  He looked
across at Francesco.  "...But I have his love!"

     There was a sudden surge.  Tris was one side and Adam was on the other
side and they both simultaneously put their arms round him.  "You have our
love, too," said Tris.  "True," said Adam.  I looked at Frankie and Nesto
who were sitting side by side at the end of the table.  Both were in tears.

     Frankie got up and when round to Aldo.  "I love you, too, I am so sad.
I couldn't bear it if my father didn't love me.  He loves Marky and Tris
and they love each other."

     Uncle Francesco beckoned to Nesto and said something to him in rapid
Italian.  Nesto smiled and wiped his tears away.

     I looked at Tris.  The mention of London and a rapid calculation of
his age, less twenty-one or so, would fit.  Neither of us said anything.
There had been enough revelations for today.  There was one question I had
to ask Ivo.

     At dinner that evening we heard a little more.  Aldo was more his old
self.  He said his family had been in Venice for centuries and had been
very influential in the old Republic but had never forgiven Napoleon for
conquering the city and allowing the Austrians to take it over on his
departure to exile.  The old titles had also disappeared over the years but
he could still be styled Count Leopaldi if he really felt grand.  The old
Palazzo Leopaldi was leased to an American firm of designers and
consultants who paid a small rent on the understanding of keeping the place
in good repair.  There were valuable pictures, one or two of which were in
the Villa, but the others were stored, or on loan to galleries.  "The
Botticelli boy?" whispered a stunned Tris.  Aldo smiled.  "That's not a
copy."

     After dinner we four older boys were sitting on our upper terrace
while Frankie and Nesto went off to their room to indulge in some nefarious
activity or play with Frankie's Gameboy.  "Both!" said Tris nastily.  "They
say teen-age boys are suffering from Repetitive Strain Injury to their
wrists through playing those computer games.  I would have thought all boys
have always suffered from that through other wrist movements.  Especially
you, young Marky!" he said, much to the amusement of the other two, who, I
said, would be in the Guinness Book of Records for speed of wrist action if
it could ever be measured.

     I thought it might be an opportune moment to ask Ivo.  "Ivo, when you
said Charles had found those letters did he say who they were actually
addressed to?"

     Ivo grinned.  "I think I know what you're getting at.  That was the
other thing he was agitated about.  He said they all started 'My Dearest
Margaret'.  But Mother's name is Mirabelle, he said."

     "Yes," I said, "Mum saw an article about her and her decorating in a
women's mag and that said her name was Mirabelle."

     "Bet she changed it!" said Adam.  "And the Fane-Stuart name seems a
bit made up.  She's in the London telephone directory, though.  They live
in Hornton Street just opposite Harrods so that's why he's always on about
it.  Ivo had to phone him at Christmas as he hadn't left him with the
service rota and he had to arrange the choir practices.  Be easier if Drew
wasn't involved!"

     Ivo laughed.  "I actually spoke to her.  I asked if Charles was there
and there was this shout, 'Charles dear, there's a boy on the phone!'
Sounded just like him when he does one of his characters.  She wanted to
know where I was phoning from and when I said Dorset she said it was a pity
I was so far away as Charles didn't get out enough."

     "Imagine the two dear boys taking tea together in Harrods - another
teacake dearest?  - and that would be Ivo asking," said Adam with a flutter
of eyelashes and an elegant hand flourish.

     "Bed, sweetie-pie," said Ivo, getting up and looming over his equally
tall but recumbent brother, "And if you touch that implement of yours
tonight and keep me awake I'll tie the little bugger in knots!"

     "You'll have a job," said Tris, "What I saw on display this afternoon
was no bigger than that bit of gristle you had on the side of your
plate...."

     "Up yours, mate!" said Adam trying to get up without falling over.
He'd had more wine than the rest of us.  "Your tiny prong couldn't get a
winkle out of a pin....  Oh, Gawd, help me up Marky, my tongue's gone to
sleep, I mean my leg has, Oh Gawd!"

     With a bit of a heave we got him into the bedroom where, I am afraid,
three evil- minded boys removed his clothing with rapidity and were loud in
their intentions of raping him in turn while he was held helpless and
protesting strongly across the bed exposing a very inviting, now browned,
butt.  Tris being more perfidious than the more innocent brother and the
even more innocent cousin of the hapless, less than virile young male at
the moment spreadeagled there, was driven by lust or depravity to part his
cheeks to expose that secret part that, truth be told, we had explored
fully on a previous occasion.

     We were laughing so hard that I, for one, had real tears of mirth
running down my cheeks.  I mopped up one or two and with a damp finger
caressed that crinkled rosebud until Adam was either squirming with
expectant delight, or shivering with dread.  With a resounding slap from
three hands on those lovely cheeks we let go as he was displaying the
makings of a hard-on in his not inconsiderable weapon pushed down between
his legs.  "Over to you," said Tris to Ivo giving him a high five as we
departed for our own room and a continuation of our own almost incessant
love-making.

     "I could fuck the pair of them anytime if I didn't have you,"
whispered Tris as he began that awesome trek down my body which held me in
his thrall.  "Me, too," I whispered back.  But we had each other and that
was enough.

     Next day I primed the other three and then asked Uncle Francesco after
breakfast if we four could talk privately with him and Aldo.  No, it wasn't
anything about our own relationships but we thought we might have something
to impart.  Unc sent Frankie and Nesto off under the wing of Guido the
pool-boy, together with his cousin, young Pietro, to take a much wanted
boat trip they had been hankering after.  With them gone Uncle Francesco
called for coffee and we repaired to his very beautiful study.

     I was the one to ask questions.  "Aldo, when you were in London did
you know..."  Here I took a guess.  "....Margaret Stuart?"

     Aldo's eyes opened wide and he dropped the cup he was holding which
shattered on the marble floor.  Uncle Francesco looked at him and shook his
head when he made an attempt to retrieve the myriad pieces.

     "Yes, ....I did," he breathed at last.

     Now for it.  "I think we know your son."

     The effect was startling.  He jumped up and fell to his knees,
clasping his hands together, his eyes tightly shut in prayer, "Maria!
Maria!  Madre di dio!"  he cried out, "Lasciare e vero!  Mio figlio!  Mio
figlio!  Oh Dio!"

     Uncle Francesco knelt down too and held his lover in his arms.  They
were both weeping.  I think we all felt very emotional, too.

     Uncle Francesco looked up at me.  He nodded.  "Let it be true!  You
are sure?  He has a son?  I knew he thought a girl was pregnant, but he was
never sure."

     Very quickly I outlined our findings, or theory, whichever way it
seemed right.  Ivo asked if Aldo knew anything about Margaret Stuart's
family.  He said he had met an aunt once whose name was Laura - he paused
for a long time then - "She was from Scotland, yes, she had a Mac name -
yes!  It has hit me, it rhymed, McFane!"  We four looked at each other.
Another piece of the jigsaw.

     I asked, "Did you ever give her any jewellery?"

     He looked up at me and smiled.  "I gave her my ring.  Just like this
one my father had."

     "Aldo," I said, "We are quite sure.  We have found your son.  He is
Charles Fane- Stuart and he is a student at St Mark's."

     "And his mother?  She will hate me!"

     "His mother is Mirabelle Fane-Stuart now!" I said.

     Aldo laughed.  "She used that name Mirabelle when she acted."

     It was Ivo who got things organised.  He phoned International
Directory Inquiries and found the Fane-Stuart telephone number in London.
Ivo got through to the number and spoke to a very startled Charles.  He
told him carefully what we had pieced together and that we had almost
certainly found his father.  Aldo came up and said, "Ask him where a
birthmark is that his mother has."

     We were almost crowded round the receiver and heard Charles shout out,
"A birthmark!  She has a heart-shaped one on her left wrist.  She says it
is her lucky talisman!"

     Aldo heard that and snatched the phone from Ivo.  "Charles, I am your
father, I am sure.  Please come to see me or I will come to you!"

     Uncle Francesco took over.  Aldo handed him the 'phone.  "This is
Francesco Matteoli, I am Mark and Francis's uncle.  Stay by your phone.  I
will arrange a seat for you on the next flight here!"

     At half past nine that evening we four were driven to the airport
where a father and son met for the first time.  Gone were the Clarissa
histrionics - they just clutched each other and wept.  Charles had brought
the three letters.  Yes.  They had been written by Aldo.  He explained that
he had got a little drunk at the end of the course party and he and
Margaret had gone to bed together.  His first and only time.  He remembered
little about it.  A month or so later, when he was waiting for the course
results, she told him she was pregnant.  He was shocked.  He wasn't in love
- only with Francesco, who would be home soon from America.  He panicked
and left for Italy as soon as possible after depositing all the money he
could lay his hands on - about ten thousand pounds - in a bank account for
Margaret.  At his final goodbye he implored her not to have an abortion and
he gave her the ring and, literally, fled.  The three letters he had
written on the last three days he was in England.  Could Charles ever
forgive him?

     It was odd.  We had never made any connection between Charles and Aldo
in the way of their looks but when they stood side by side, Charles a
couple of inches taller, there was a striking likeness in their features.
Father and son!

     A great mystery solved.  Of course, Frankie and Nesto were excited as
well when we returned from the airport.  Frankie had a quizzical look as he
confronted Charles again after having met him that time in Cambridge.  "I
suppose if you are Aldo's son and I'm Uncle Francesco's nephew, then I'm
Uncle Aldo's nephew, too, which makes me your cousin."

     "Best of luck to you, Charles, you're welcome to him!" I said, "Throw
him a crust every two days and he's less likely to bite your leg off if you
get too near!"

     Charles hugged Frankie.  "I couldn't ask more than to have you and
lovely Mark as my cousins."  He turned and smiled at Ivo and Adam and
Nesto.  "And to be part of a family."

     So, Mother had to be contacted in the States.  She was completely
shattered by the news but confirmed all she knew.  Aldo had been Arnoldo
Leppard while at college so all was now in place.  Did she and Aldo want to
meet?  Perhaps.  There was no future for the pair.  Charles would be their
go-between.  It transpired that the money Aldo had left behind had been
well-used.  Margaret - or Mirabelle as she became - had great flair and
ability and had spent some of it to set herself up as an interior
decorator.  Her first clients were very influential and she had blossomed
and made a great deal of money at the time when oil money was flooding in.
So Charles had been sent to Public School and discovered his acting ability
there.

     Unc and Aldo were fascinated about his role as Clarissa and a couple
of days later we witnessed the transformation with Clarissa as dressed by
the House of Matteoli.  We also learned that Charles did not consider
himself to be gay, perhaps he was bi, he thought, but just enjoyed fooling
people with his act and his mannerisms.  We told him that in no way should
he change and we would all keep his secret.  He flew back to London to
break the news to his Great-Aunt Laura who was coming to stay until Mother
returned from the States in October.

     Of course, it was almost time for Frankie to leave as school was due
to start.  A good deal of chuntering only silenced when a second minor
earthquake was threatened.  Our Grandmama Matteoli, a very feisty lady,
intended to come back to Italy after umpteen years living with her sister
in New York.  She had been a ballet dancer and had taken the fancy of the
elderly Signor Matteoli, who at the age of sixty married her when she was
twenty-two.  Grandpapa Matteoli had lasted until he was ninety-one and
Grandmama had then decided she wanted to lived in New York because of the
opera and ballet and exhibitions and she had joined her sister who was
caring for her own very aged husband, who then conveniently died and left
the pair an immense fortune, shared equally between them.  Most upsetting
Dad said once, as the sister thought it most unfair and the two rowed
incessantly

     I had only seen Grandmama once, when I was about eight, and she had
come to London for a week just to see a friend who was supposed to be dying
but didn't.  I remembered someone who looked very elegant, just like Mum
but older, who spoke with a broad American accent and who took me up to
Hamley's toyshop and bought a small electric train set for me and a
medium-sized Tigger for Francis.  Dad always said that other than being
tighter than Scrooge, she was a human dynamo and sparks generally flew from
such objects.  Mum said it was too true.  She had always been relieved when
Mama decided to move to the States.  Now Uncle Francesco was set the task
of finding somewhere for her to live and have it furnished ready for Monday
the fifth of November when she would be arriving.

     Mum was ordered to drop everything and come out on the next available
flight.  She and Aldo then spent three days looking at possibly suitable
properties and decided on a well- proportioned second floor flat in a nice
part of the city but sufficiently far away from the Villa.....- and not too
close to her other sister, Nesto's grandmother - another spiky creature
according to Aldo in an unguarded moment.  Mum then arranged the furnishing
and I was most impressed with her efficiency.  She then bundled a
protesting Frankie up and the pair flew back to England.

     The four big boys as we called ourselves were then left with Nesto as
a willing slave and we could ogle Guido without Frankie there to comment on
the frequency of older boys getting hard-ons when sunning themselves.

     We were a bit worried if Nesto might think he was being left out of
things.  Nothing was happening anyway between the twins and us but we were
always joshing each other and quite a bit of the conversation could be
construed that Tris and I were actively fucking the twins at every
opportunity and it was a wonder they could walk as their holes were
ravished by our incessant demands.  The 'couldn't walk bit' came about
because Adam tripped and slightly twisted his ankle and so came down to
breakfast one day with a limp.  Nesto listened to a ribald recital then of
how Tris and I had caused the injury by insisting he should join us in our
bed and be our slave for the night.  Poor Nesto looked from one to the
other of us - I must say his grasp of English was now really superb - but I
think a few of the double entendres passed him by.

     Nesto also seemed to spend more time helping Guido, not only with his
pool duties but in general tidying of the Villa's extensive grounds.  There
was an old gardener who came a couple of mornings a week but there were
paths to be swept and pergolas to be kept tidied and trimmed.

     I think Tris was more sensitive to the nuances of behaviour between
the pair and one afternoon, near the end of our stay, the twins went off
into the city to buy presents to take home and we were left watching Nesto
and Guido working closely together clipping and gathering trailing vines on
a pergola.  Tris nudged me.  "Watch the pair, I think something's up."

     We noted they kept glancing up at us.  They seemed unaware we were
also watching them as we were lying back, sunglasses on, either dozing or
reading.  "They're off," murmured Tris, "Give them five minutes."

     They had put the tools they were using behind a couple of large
plant-pots and were strolling - a little too nonchalantly - in the
direction of Unc's pride and joy, a rather ornate rococo-style grotto with
several decorated rooms.

     We gave them five minutes and went the other way round the garden
following a shaded path.  We walked stealthily into the entrance of the
grotto, then walked to the third room, more secluded than the others.  We
were in comparative darkness while they were illuminated by a shaft of
sunshine coming through a side window.  We hunkered down and watched the
sex play between two very aroused, naked, late teenagers.  They had used
the padded cushions usually on the seat around the wall as their bed.  They
were lip-locked when we first arrived but gradually the love-making got
more frenzied as they licked and nipped at each other's nipples and necks.
In all this Nesto was on his back, with the smaller Guido lying on top of
him, as he caressed the pool-boy's muscular torso.  Guido was well prepared
as he had a small bottle which must have contained some kind of lubricant
on the floor nearby.  Nesto began whispering something that sounded like
'favore...  favore...' which Guido took as the signal for the next stage.
He lifted Nesto's longer legs over his broad shoulders, uncapped the bottle
and drizzled some on the exposed wrinkled entrance.  He was also murmuring
and we saw one, then two fingers enter and soon young Nesto was prepared.

     We were correct in our surmise that Guido did not possess a massive
penis.  I was the best guesser at four and half inches.  It was perhaps
five but sturdily plump.  They were too far gone in their joint murmurings
to hear us as we both had to shift our positions with a wink and a grin as
we both had massive hard-ons of our own.  Guido's little ramrod must have
been steel hard as when he sought entry it never wavered.  Nesto grunted as
the head pierced him.  He grunted again as the base of Guido's pelvis hit
him on that first full thrust.  Guido must have had great self-control as
he started a slow but fiercesome fuck, drawing almost out and thrusting
fully in, and keeping that rhythm up to the joint, almost muffled, cries of
quiet delight.  With supreme effort Guido drew Nesto's rear up so he could
bend his torso until he could reach Nesto's lips.  We watched as they
tongue-fucked and fucked together until with a little cry Guido's whole
pelvis jerked massively about four times as he delivered so much spunk
there were droplets running down Nesto's crack even before he had withdrawn
completely.  We had watched the most loving encounter and waited until they
had lain quiet for some time, and as we crept away as silently as possible,
noted the spread pool of Nesto's own boycream among the dark hairs on his
own belly.

     That encounter was not just a fuck for fuck's sake.  We had witnessed
two young men who really loved each other.  So, our macho Guido, mother's
pride and joy, might get married some day, but, when we discussed what we
had seen, we bet that any encounter he might have in the future would have
to be something in excess of that worship of two bodies so together in an
ornate grotto on a very warm Italian late summer's day.

     That warm night we spent in full accord with each other recreating
that blissful scene we had observed that afternoon.  Tris prepared me and
in the first encounter tried and succeeded in prolonging his fuck until we
had both emptied our ready to overflow reservoirs in almost simultaneous
actions.  An hour later I tried to emulate his achievement but, after the
preparation and the initial entry, being inside my beloved partner was so
overwhelming, I couldn't contain my second ejaculation of the night any
longer and on a thrust as deep as I could go I came.....  "Stay in!" he
commanded me and within five minutes I started a slow inexorable climb to
that summit of passion again where, some twenty or thirty minutes later, I
felt that unstoppable pattern of deep down surges begin, and, with a moan
of sheer unbounded joy, I unleashed my gift of love and devotion.  As I
withdrew and leaned back to look Tris in the eyes we smiled knowing we had
both achieved a oneness with each other.  I stretched my fingers over his
firm stomach and found the warm stickiness of his own outflowing which had
happened while I was experiencing my own apex of bliss.
  "I love you," was all I could say.  He drew me down until our bodies met
and were sealed together by his semen.  We kissed tenderly and he repeated
my words as we rolled apart.

     Our holiday more or less ended on that high note.  We had a couple of
days to go before we left for home and I to my new life.  We didn't tell
Ivo and Adam what we had witnessed but watched with a little amusement as
over the next three days the boys disappeared each afternoon in that same
direction.  On the last day we showered them with presents, some for young
Pietro as well.  We had found a set of drawing instruments for Nesto and,
to the amusement of all, a stethoscope for Guido.  Young Pietro got a
Game-Boy of his very own and was so overwhelmed he was almost dumbstruck.

     Aldo said he hadn't been so happy in his life - much to the amusement
of Uncle Francesco who wanted to know where he figured in the family
equation now.  He said he hoped acquiring a new nephew didn't prove to be
so expensive as having real ones and the other hangers-on.  Ivo and Adam
moved in on either side of him and said the hangers-on were here to stay
and then kissed him while Aldo took photographs which he said he would send
to Hello! magazine and would expect a large reward not to do so.

To be Continued: