Date: Sat, 29 Jun 2002 23:38:42 +0200
From: Andrej Koymasky <andrej@andrejkoymasky.com>
Subject: Infamous Trade 05/17

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INFAMOUS TRADE
by Andrej Koymasky
(C) 1998 - 2002
written the 20th of July, 1995
translated by the author
English text kindly revised by Jer

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USUAL DISCLAIMER

"INFAMOUS TRADE" is a gay story, with some parts containing graphic scenes
of sex between males. So, if in your land, religion, family, opinion and so
on this is not good for you, it will be better not to read this story. But
if you really want, or because YOU don't care, or because you think you
really want to read it, please be my welcomed guest.

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FIFTH

London - December 7th

The fax annoyed Rowland Preston since it forced him to change his plans at
the last moment.  The fax from Yung Chem reached his Victorian style
mansion in the elegant neighborhood of Chelsea, Cheyenne Walk, at six p.m.
That was just a little before Rowland was about to leave for the premiere
of The Magic Flute at Covent Garden. As he concluded his business in Rome
and Paris, Clown was arriving in London a day ahead of schedule. And he had
to meet him at once. A telephone call would come really soon and inform him
about the time and place of their meeting.

The man read the fax a second time, really annoyed, before throwing it into
the living room fireplace, where a log was cheerfully burning. Then he
called his twenty year old Irish valet, Neal, a former hustler that Rowland
had hired to relieve the nights he was alone, to tell him he didn't want to
be disturbed. Rowland picked up Neil in Piccadilly two years ago. He really
enjoyed the youthful, thuggish impetuosity of the boy who rode him all
night long, without any sign of tiredness. So he fascinated Neil with his
wealth and made the boy a devoted and obedient pet. One always ready to
satisfy him, and without any strings attached. To the boy, it didn't seem
true being able to at last to eat very well and regularly.  He lived in an
elegant house, with a room all to himself, working as a valet with a good
salary. And then there were the energetic rides of his master, rides that
the boy performed with obvious pleasure -- Neal always loved having mature
men as bottoms.

Rowland fervently wanted to attend the Mozart premiere, at which the guest
of honor would be nothing less than the Prince of Wales; but to disobey
Yung Chem's order was out of the question.

Still, in front of the fireplace, wearing only a white caftan embroidered
in gold, under which he was completely naked, Rowland was slowly sipping
his coffee with chocolate and whipped cream, as he considered the
consequences of disregarding the Korean's request. There were two points to
consider. First, meeting Chem one day earlier, meant to receiving one
hundred and twenty five thousand pounds sooner. Second, challenging Chem
was, so to say, not really healthy. Therefore it was just convenient and
wise to be ready for the meeting.

Rowland at once called Lord Winston Mallard to tell the bad news to the
paunchy, seventy year old politician, whose guest he was understood to be.

"Forgive me, Winston! Unhappily we have to cancel our engagement. You will
have to go to theater without me..."

The Lord did not object, showing again, he was devoid of any personality,
as usual. After all he was the man who inherited a fortune worth two
hundred million pounds when he was twenty-two years old, and who had lost
it all before his twenty fifth birthday, making rich not a few obliging big
boys. To Rowland, the fascination of the old Lord resides in his rare
strength of character and in his obligingness in taking him into the most
exclusive milieus of the United Kingdom.

Rowland James Preston was almost sixty. He was a tall, slender Englishman
with a long face. He looked much younger than his age thanks to the
Gerovital and sheep cell treatments he took twice a year in a prestigious
and exclusive clinic in Switzerland. His hair was always carefully dyed,
and the care with which he eliminated any white hair. He was a talented man
with great intelligence, able to pick out immediately the weak points of a
person and to take advantage of them. Behind a fascinating facade, he was
always on guard and revealed very little about himself to others.

He was the owner of Blackberry, a boutique selling clothing and accessories
in the elegant area of Beauchamp Palace, that became a stage for the young
fashion designers from both England and the Continent, mostly the Italian
ones. The fact that a large part of the designers were fresh out of school,
allowed Rowland to pay them cheaply. Notwithstanding that, the prices of
his boutique remained outrageously high.

"It is the fascination of snobbism, my dear Thomas. The real snobs have an
uncontrollable desire to always pay excessively for what they buy. Such
people have always been exploited, don't you think so?" He was used to
saying to his present partner, an arrogant America, twenty four years
younger than himself. Towards whom he was feeling an intense, but badly
placed, love. Thomas often exploited Rowland, rather his behavior was the
basis of their relationship starting eight months previous. It was a real
business contract -- He stayed with Rowland for money and the man kept
Thomas for sex. The most recent present he gave him was a Mercedes 560 SL
with telephone, TV, fridge and bar. In exchange, Thomas promised Rowland to
spend a full five days with him and to give him paradise...

Thirty five year old, Thomas Bronson was an athletic, massive man, half
body builder, nimble, with sleepy eyes, a big nose and blond hair tied in a
pony tail. He was fascinating, witty, and full of gentle enthusiasms. The
kind of behavior typically American, that made him irresistible in the eyes
of the English people, generally bored with the detached manners void of
warmth of their fellow countrymen, but that at the same time made them feel
superior. Besides this aspect, Thomas had revealed himself to be a failure,
and this since the times he was a basketball player at the Miami
University. Rowland had to admit that his man was superficially void of
ethics and as human as a banana. But in the field of sex, the
self-assurance that Thomas had, didn't know limits. Rowland took happy
advantage of that. He never met a man before able to give him such
satisfying orgasms, and consenting so totally to all his requests. Thomas'
erotic exuberance became a reward for Rowland's unusual generosity with
money. And the Englishman was totally satisfied with this situation --
Thomas made him feel youthful, and for this he was ready to pay any price.

Anyway the Blackberry was not his main money source. The boutique just
allowed him to show the tax office employees that he had a legal money
source, and allowed him to travel abroad, presumably to find new promising
designers and new clients. It also allowed him to keep a respectable
appearance, hiding the real source of his earnings, which in reality came
from his trade in sexual boy slaves. With the pseudonym 'Mister Fox', he
recruited and sold boys and adolescents to a wealthy clientele all around
the world. Once a year he also held an auction where he offered his more
docile and handsome slaves. The next one was planned in New York, three
days later.

Rowland was also the President of the Lesley Foundation, a charitable
society created to assist run away adolescents (strictly males), abandoned
or victim of sexual abuse and violence. It had been founded by the
grandfather of his previous lover, and had been enlarged by his father.
When he decided to open it to include the little exiles or refugees without
family from all over the world, he made it a corporation recognized and
backed up by the UNO and the British Crown. Like the boutique, the
Foundation was useful to him to recycle the dirty money he earned in his
auctions and to recruit the best of his future little sex slaves. Among the
clients using his Foundation to wash dirty money, there was also Yung Chem.
All this was unknown to Thomas. Only the saints and the roman catholic
priests are able to keep secrets, and Rowland's man was for sure neither of
these.

Rowland had asked Chem to get him a certain, really expensive object from
Rome, to add to the price that Chem would pay him for the new American boy
that he wanted from Mister Fox and his American partner Dan Firestone. The
boy's name was Terry, and was now in New York under the careful watch of
Firestone. The pictures described him as an adolescent of an unripe and
fresh beauty, with golden hair and an enticing fascination made of a mix of
innocence and mischievousness that many men find absolutely irresistible.
And mainly to the Clown, who preferred white boys.

The pictures, sent by air mail to Chem, had so excited the man that, on the
phone, he had difficulty talking. Rowland had no difficulty understanding
that with Terry, he had Chem completely in his hand.

"A quarter million pounds. Take it or leave it. Otherwise, I will have to
sell him at auction."

"No! I want him! I'll buy him. I absolutely want him."

"With pleasure, darling. Two hundred and twenty five thousand pounds and
the kid is yours."

Chem's voice rose an octave: "Are you crazy? I'll give you one hundred
thousand, and this is already much more than I've ever paid for a boy. One
hundred thousand."

"There is something akin to physical pain seizing me when somebody tries to
bargain and seems he wants cheat me..."

"One hundred and twenty five thousand. I want that boy!"

"Darling, do you remember general Abuja? That Botswana midget who spent a
fortune to introduce bullfighting in his land? It seems to me you always
did business with him, didn't you? Well, he came to see me a few months
ago, and it seems that he was looking just for a subject like Terry. Then
there is an Italian prince, a generous man... And I don't need to tell you
how many emirs and Arab kings of oil who just crave for a kid like that to
bend to their yen. I would be better to take him to the auction, first bid
two hundred. I think it would not be easy for you to win the auction and
anyway you would pay a lot more for him, right? Moreover, you will get a
lot for Elton. What are you complaining about?"

"You really are ungrateful. Are you forgetting all the money you earned
thanks to me, up to now?"

"Nobody is aiming at your head with a gun, darling. You are free to look
elsewhere..."

"No, I want him! You have a devilish ability to make people understand that
you have what they need... All right, two hundred. Not a pound more!"

"Well, then an advance when you come to London and the rest in New York, at
the consign. Ah, while you pass in Rome, will you be so kind to get for me
a small object very important for me? Just a small extra to the sum we just
agreed about..."

"Do you know, Rowland? I think you'll be able to sell your own piss, if you
could."

"How vulgar, darling! It seems that you are forgetting it was me who
introduced you to our precious Dan Firestone. It is thanks to him that your
livestock movements became highly safe and that you earn now mind-boggling
figures! Is it not so?"

"Forgetting? As if you'd allowed me to!"

"The same Firestone who inquiries about your potential clients avoiding
your annoyances and complications. And who opened to you the South-American
channel. You can offend me, if you like it, but pay me."

"You are a real bitch, Rowland."

"Yes, love, that's why we fit so well together. Now listen carefully what I
want you to fetch me from Rome..."

Rowland left home a little before eight p.m. and took the taxi waiting for
him. It was raining. Rowland hated the rain. It reminded him of the
terrible events that put an end to the best period of his life. For six
years, he and his adored Roger lived happily in South Africa. It lasted
until Roger, a true idealist, decided that it was no longer possible to
ignore apartheid. One rainy evening, in Cape Town, a killer shot him as he
publicly backed up the leader Nelson Mandela and his party., the African
National Congress. Roger died, never recovering consciousness, in Rowland's
arms, victim of a hysterical crisis.

Rowland had grown up alternating periods when he had been kept by older
men, with periods when he had been so poor he was on the edge of
starvation. At that time, Rowland did not have his own activities, with
which to extract himself from that crisis. Roger's death forced him to face
a merciless world. He had been compelled to react in his own way. Roger
left him everything as sole heir, thus he opened the Blackberry.

Rowland decided that if in human life a lasting love was impossible, then
nothing else had importance. Human kind was nothing but a toy in the hands
of Fate, insensible and indifferent to his destiny. And thus, one had only
to fight for his own well-being, with no holds barred, without looking
anybody in the face. Anything is fair, and permitted.

Reaching Waterloo station, he left his taxi in front of the main entrance,
paid and bypassed kiosks and stands of books, tired and bored porters,
Jamaican ticket collectors standing at the tracks' entrances, mainly
closed, and continued to walk to the Waterloo Road entrance. Out from this
one, he stopped then several feet from the line of the waiting taxies.

He hated rain. It was raining at Cape Town when a man, dressed like a
priest, shot his man. And rained also on the day when he definitively left
South Africa to return to England with his Roger's ashes. His love for that
man had been so intense that for several months after his death he went to
bed wrapped in Roger's shirt still stained with blood, and cried. Cursed
rain -- it was unbelievable the quantity of tears that Rowland poured on
rain evenings like that one.

A taxi cruised taking the lane, towards him. To avoid it, the man pushed
flat against the wet wall until the car passed. Then he hurried towards the
limousine waiting with the engine on. Opened the back door, Rowland sat at
Chem's side. The Korean raised a glass of champagne.

"Good, I guess we can go, Naoki."

The Japanese driver gently started and stopped near the first taxi in line,
who honked his horn -- three short strokes, then two. Starting his engine,
the driver left the line driving his empty coach, and the 'taken' sign on.
The limousine followed it out of the station. In his travels to London,
Chem followed a strict routine of precautions. For the safety of both, he
refused to meet with Rowland at his home, or at the boutique or at the
Foundation. They always meet in night, in a rented car, and settled their
business along the way. As Naoki was not familiar with London, a taxi
driver was hired to lead the way.

"I find you very well -- I'll say that your American stallion does good to
you. Yes, I'll say that he decidedly is good for you. You seem again a man
in his thirties."

"A passionate, hot and faithful man is the elixir of life," Rowland lied
with a fake satisfied air.

In reality Thomas gave him deep sexual satisfaction, but he continued to
drink and smoke grass, and to stay out too late. Only God knew where Thomas
was at that moment, and what time he would be back. But anyway he would
wake him up, already stark naked and in heat, and would make himself
forgiven for everything, penetrating him for a long time, with hot passion.
Certainly, he didn't give him tenderness like Roger, but about enjoyment,
nobody was able to arouse it in him as much as Thomas. He was a real
stallion in heat, and he knew how to touch and fuck him; making him
completely lose his head. Even if he wasted money like a drunk sailor on
leave, Rowland was happy with that.

The two cars crossed Westminster Bridge, bypassed Parliament and Saint
James Park, then drove towards Constitution Hill at the center of Green
Park.

Chem pointed excitedly to Buckingham Palace on his left: "It's too dark to
tell, but... is the Queen here?"

"Yes, the Royal Flag is flying on Buck House, this week."

Chem seemed happy, almost as if being in London at the same time as the
Queen gave him a peculiar pleasure.

"Champagne?" he offered cheerfully.

"Yes, thank you."

Opening his briefcase, Rowland pulled out two wide sealed envelopes. While
Chem was opening one of them, Rowland sipped his champagne -- Chem for sure
knew wines. The Korean extracted some sheets from the envelope and looked
through them.

Rowland let pass some minutes, then said: "Dan faxed them this morning."

Chem nodded and put them back. They were coded news, as Rowland knew, to be
decoded in private. They were the most recent information about people to
which, in various cities around the world, Chem had to deliver some groups
of kids recruited from various parts of the world. Chem had organized a
practically perfect mechanism. Several autonomous groups gathered the boys
-- refugees from Laos and Bangla Desh, from Mozambique, "ninos da rua" from
Brazil, from the favelas of Colombia, refugees from Bosnia, run away boys
from various countries in Europe, kidnapped boys from China, India,
Russia... and all of them, after they were selected and bought by Chem's
men, were shipped and sent to Roturoa Island, a small island in the Fiji,
that a Chinese man of straw bought for Chem. Here there was the Reception
Center, managed by an International staff personally chosen by Chem.

They were all men and boy-lovers, coming from the Chinese, Italian,
Russian, American Mafia, the French organized crime, a former Medellin's
drug dealer and so on -- the cream of the crop that had two roles, keeping
the useful contacts with their original organizations, and "weaning" the
boys. In other words they had to teach the boys to bend to any sexual
desire of a man towards them, readily and skillfully. Gradually the boys
were divided into three groups -- AAA, the more handsome and acquiescent,
who were sold at the auctions or sold at catalogue to the more wealthy men
of the world. The AA or not so handsome, or not so acquiescent, who were
sent to various "rent a boy" or "escort" agencies who undercover gave also
a service of minors to their chosen clients, or even to elegant brothels
more or less disguised as holiday resorts or hotels, where they worked as
waiters and "bed-boys" for the clients. Last, the A group, the most
restless and difficult, the rebels, who were sold in stock to the various
brothels of lesser level in the Middle and Extreme East, and some African
nations, brothels from where anyway they would never come out alive. The
staff members worked on the island in shifts of six months, and were well
paid. Besides taking their fun...

The Lesley Foundation often collaborated about the AAA group. The selected
boys, with skillfully forged documents, were entrusted to the Foundation
that took care to bring them to the auction's cities, and to fill out all
the "International Adoption" documents for the buyers, so that those men
could cross the borders with their little slaves, without any problem.

Chem insisted with Firestone that he carried out two separated inquiries
about his potential clients. The reports had to contain news on their
personal, professional and financial history. The first inquiry was a
preliminary investigation that happened when the clients, or their men,
contacted Chem. The second one was carried out from another group of people
forty eight hours before the auction or catalogue sale. Both the reports
were then compared with the utmost care about changes, discrepancies, and
if obscure points emerged, even about trivial details, Chem would at once
cease any contact with that subject. Firestone's reports allowed Chem to
seem almost clairvoyant. Yung Chem paid Firestone dearly since his
information allowed him to avoid any problems or difficulty.

In the second envelope, the information was not coded.  A short page about
the good health conditions of Terry Dos Santos, and another one about the
official searches for the disappeared kid. Rowland let him read them to the
end.

Once done, the Korean smiled and said, putting away the two envelopes:
"Good. It is time to pay the debts."

He opened a small panel and pulled out several wads of pounds that he gave
to Rowland one after the other, almost slowly: "Fifty. The first
installment for Terry."

"Thank you so much, darling."

The Korean's hand went back into the panel and extracted a flat box of the
size of a book, closed in a black velvet envelope. The English man had a
short sigh and took it with trembling hands. He extracted it from the
envelope, opened it and pulled out some pieces. It was a chess game, all
the pieces in ivory and onyx, representing splendid miniatures of naked
males in erotic, provocative, lustful poses. It was a chess game that in
1600 the cardinal Colonna had carved by Pietro Bernini. The erect members
of the pawns could smoothly enter between the buttocks of the other pawns,
and the erect members of towers, horses, bishops, king and "queen" could
fit in each other asses or in the open mouths of the pawns. A real jewel of
erotic art.

The previous owner of that masterpiece was the old prince Stefano Della
Torre of Rome, a man who had a real passion for boys sixteen-eighteen year
old that he bought, imprisoned in the underground of his renaissance
mansion in the center of Rome, used until he got tired of them then sold,
usually in bad shape, to a Tunis brothel. The prince, having to face to
some heavy losses in his Stock gambling, had to sell several family jewels
and also that rare piece for which Rowland paid him a really low price (in
reality Chem paid it) accompanied by the promise to send him as a gift,
every two years a new boy. He didn't need at all to give him one of his
best boys, as the prince was interested above all in having a boy in his
complete power and was not interested in the boy's beauty.

To protect himself from thieves and profiteers, like his beloved Thomas,
Rowland kept in a safety box at the Shepherd Market Deposit Center all his
valuables, the bulk of his money, and also his precious handbook with all
the data on the transactions of boys he'd had, data about his clients and
their sexual preferences about the boy-slaves, records of the recycling
operations of dirty money through the Foundation and his boutique.

The Deposit Center was open three hundred sixty six days a year (sixty six
in the leap years, the Center was proud to underline) and twenty four hours
a day and offered very good safety guarantees. It also allowed its clients
to avoid the usual bank restrictions and above all the inquiries from the
tax office. Rowland could have access to his safety box just showing a
picture and giving his fingerprints that were compared by a computer with
those on file. Then he had to enter his secret number. To open the box were
needed two keys, one in Rowland's hands, the other in the Deposit Center
hands. The clients were not registered at the center with their names, but
just with a four digit number, that was changed by the computer after each
visit and given to the client when he left the Center, in a sealed
envelope.

Rowland gave Don Firestone and Jacques Roux a copy of the sexual
preferences of his clients, but after having changed their real names to a
three digit number, to allow them to find American or South American
adolescents fitting the requests of his clients. It was that way Firestone
came to know what Chem desired and the figure he would pay to have an
adorable kid like Terry. So he kidnapped him.

"Can we conclude the rest of our business, now?" Rowland asked.

The Korean took up a suitcase from the floor of the car and deposed it at
the Englishman's side. He opened it and turned it so that Rowland could see
the content -- wads of a hundred dollars, orderly placed inside.

"Eight millions." he simply said.

Rowland took a note from the suitcase and examined it with a magnifier. He
repeated the same operation with nine other notes slipped out here and
there. Then he closed the suitcase containing Chem's earnings for the sale
of the boys of the groups AA and A, a sale that had to save his life.

Chem kept secret his problems with the general Kim Jong.  Dan Firestone,
some how, learned about it and informed Rowland. Dan, who knew everything
about everybody, and that Rowland found rather likable in his primitive
rudeness, treated with a certain amount of deference Mister Fox, possibly
also because of his accent and his manners of an English gentleman.

Rowland was going to "wash" Chem's money through his Foundation. Officially
a certain Real estate Company in Hong Kong was making the Foundation a
short term loan of eight million dollars. The sum would be deposed in the
Foundation's bank on Jersey Island, in the Channel. Later the bank would
send back the money to the Hong Kong Real Estate, and the interest, around
eight hundred thousand dollars, would be shared in equally between Rowland
personal account and the Foundation's.

"Drop me at my Deposit Center. I want to immediately put everything in a
safe place. Tomorrow morning the money will be in its way to the Channel.
And tell the taxi driver to wait for me at the entrance. Call me tomorrow
at the boutique. When are you planning to leave England?" Rowland asked to
Chem.

"If the information Firestone sent is all positive, and all goes well, I
think I'll leave the day after tomorrow. I still haven't decided if I want
to leave my money here or to bring it with me."

Stupid little Shit, Rowland thought, you really think I don't know your
secrets? Chem had three ways to take money out of England and he knew all
three of them, including the one that the Korean had so carefully hidden.
Chem had the help of the Korean government to move his huge sums from one
country to another, thanks to the Embassies and Consulates and to the
Secret service -- he simply could use the diplomatic bag. Rowland knew that
because Don discovered it. When Dan Firestone knew that Chem, in his visits
abroad went to his Embassy or Consulate, called his contact at the CIA and
through the expert of the Korean Consulate in New York, a man infiltrated
by the CIA, the Korean government being unaware of that, he came to know
about all Chem's money movements.

"Will you go to New York as scheduled?" Chem asked.

"Yes, twenty four hours after you. I heard that Elton, your ex-boy, is
already in New York for the auction. I think you will get a wonderful sum
on him. Ah, you know, I was planning to held next year's auction in Sidney.
What do you think of that?"

"And Thomas?"

"I just told him the usual pretext I am going to see some young designers
and also that I am planning to open a branch of the Blueberry in New York."

"Is he all right, anyway, your big American male?"

"Certainly yes. Always healthy like a fish. He is trying a new method to
become rich, I think. But I really have no idea how. He has been really
vague. In my opinion, as always, he has no head. They have to be just
fantasies. Oh, by the way, I have a little thing for you."

He extracted from his suitcase a big envelope of green paper that he handed
to Chem. He opened it curiously and pulled out a big, old black and white
picture, slightly yellowed in a corner.

He remained silent for a few moments, then whispered: "Impossible... I
can't believe it!"

He was holding in his hands a snapshot, somewhat blurred by the
enlargement, an 8 by 10, where James Dean was lying, his head on the chest
of a young man of his same age. They both were completely naked on a lawn,
and James was caressing his companion's member, and his own rose, hard,
straight up. Both were smiling towards the camera. In a corner was written
an autograph of the star: "James, to his stallion Derek, in remembrance of
the wonderful nights of passion."

Chem's voice was deeply stirred when he said, caressing the picture: "It's
priceless. So then, it is true what was whispered about him. How did you
get it?"

"From a Canadian young man who draws my models. He bought it from the
stallion in the picture, now and old man, who badly needed money to buy
drugs."

"And you bought it for me?"

"Exactly for you, darling."

This was another lie. In reality Rowland stole it from the young designer
who had unwisely left it near an open window... The young Mathew was
heartbroken at the loss of the relic he was so proud to own, as he was a
fan of James Dean.

"You can't know how much this means to me. I adore the immortal James, I
have all three his movies in original version." He murmured continuing to
caress the picture.

"My poor Roger, may God bless his soul, said that one is always rewarded
for being kind..."

"His movies are eternal... as I wish you to be with your love for your
Thomas..."

Rowland, suddenly far away, didn't catch the sarcasm in Chem's words.
Eternal love. A deep sadness hit him suddenly. Turning his head towards the
car window he looked through the darkened glass, the Serpentine, the
artificial lake of Hide Park, where a strong wind was pushing the moored
boats one against the other.

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CONTINUES IN CHAPTER SIXTH

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In my home page I've put some of my stories. If someone wants to read them,
the URL is

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If you want to send me feed-back, please e-mail at

andrej@andrejkoymasky.com

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