WARNING: The following story contains descriptions of
sexual activity between men and minors, especially boys. If
you are under 18 years of age, READ NO FURTHER. If you are
an opponent of the First Amendment of the U. S.
Constitution, or are morally opposed to sexually explicit
fiction involving minors, READ NO FURTHER. The following
story is intended for fantasy only and is not intended to
contribute in any way to illegal actions by the reader, nor
is it intended to contribute in any way to harmful acts
toward children.
The following story is inspired by Anne Rice's brilliant
novel Cry To Heaven. It is set (due to the laziness of the
author) in a fantasy world somewhat similar to Italy in the
18th century.
Locked in Love
by
Boys-stir-us
Chapter 1.
Stephen strolled among the Cardinal's gardens, hands
clasped behind his back, his brow furrowed. At age 35 he
was celebrated as a war hero, but he had no guiding force in
his life. His wealth and government office were the rewards
for saving his government and country from invasion, but he
was no longer a soldier. What was his life to become? He had
no love of women, and though he had occasionally advantages
of some of his friend Ledio's eunuchs, he found none of them
appealing beyond the beauty of their pale, weak flesh. He
had no hope for love.
In a few moments, he would meet the woman he was to
marry, a woman he had never met. Blossoms budded on the
shrubs the Cardinal's gardeners so carefully maintained. He
paused to stare at a small marble statue of a warrior which
had so often given him a sense of awe. A naked youth
brandished a sword, his lithe limbs straining as though in
the throes of battle. He was indescribably beautiful and
cast in stone forever in his mid-teens. Stephen sighed,
wishing that boys could stay boys. What was the point of
loving a boy when he would grow so quicklly into manhood?
A page wearing a long orange cloak approached from the
stone arch at the entrance to the gardens. Stephen looked
to him sadly. He was being summoned. He swiped at the lace
that tickled his neck and patted his hair. As always, he
eschewed the white wigs so many nobles wore, preferring the
natural luster of his reddish brown shoulder length hair.
It fell in gentle curls to his straight slender shoulders.
He had often been told how strikingly handsome he was,
though it gave him no great pride. After all, what had he
done to earn or deserve his good looks?
The page led him to the drawing room where already an
assemblage awaited. The Count LeFarge and his wife stood
next to their seated daughter, Alexia, the bride-to-be.
Stephen stopped at the threshold and greeted the Cardinal,
kissing his ruby ring during a deep bow.
The introductions, circling around the room beginning
with the remotest of family and working toward the awaiting
Alexia, went tediously on. Stephen endured, smiled at the
right times and paid no attention to anything that was said.
He occasionally glanced at Alexia; however, she was studied
in her appearance, her gaze deferred.
At last he took her hand and complemented her beauty
(and it was not a lie). She smiled shyly and complimented
his great reputation as a general.
"My reputation preceded my office, I fear. And I have
not done one important thing in over a year." He smiled as
he spoke, inflecting none of the self-effacement the words
contained.
"I wasn't told you were modest." She actually
blushed. "Or clever."
"None wants to be the liar on such a crucial occasion,
for one only has a single opportunity to make a first
impression upon one's wife." He paused for a moment.
"Exactly what were you told?" He smiled warily.
She tittered in a very controlled ladylike manner, her
face averted. "Only the most essential secrets."
Her father cleared his throat, clearly as appalled as
his daughter was amused. She laughed musically, with all
the modest self-control any lady must possess. The cleft of
her bosom, pearl white and enticingly ample caught his eye
and he looked away in distress, lest he be caught examining
the goods. She was, of all things, a painter! He could not
imagine her with a brush in hand, her hair in disarray, her
clothing smeared with oil.
A boring dinner, during which they could share no
private words, ensued. A string quartet played softly in one
corner of the great dining hall, and he briefly wished he
were one of the musicians.
Stephen returned to his room at Ledio's palace
exhausted and even more melancholy. This marriage would be
a disaster. He might have made it work if Alexia had lived
up to her billing as an old maid who would refuse any
suitor. A bland and spiritless woman might not see the lack
of passion in him, might bear him several children and leave
him mostly alone. This woman would never be stifled, for
her spirit was graceful and obdurate. He wished he could
love her, but he knew well where his passions lay.
Ledio met him at his chamber door and dismissed the
servant, holding the candlestick himself. "And how do you
like your wife-to-be?" Ledio, himself a general and rather
lusty man of the senate, smiled a little cruelly.
"She is rather too much the woman for me, friend. I
fear I am doomed."
"Quite the opposite, I think. You are blessed."
"What do you mean?"
"I shall not say imprudent things of a royal lady.
You must know me better than that. But the marriage will be
a huge success. Mark my words."
Stephen pushed open the door to his bedchamber. "Oh,
leave a tortured soul in peace."
Ledio caught his wrist, placing the candlestick in his
hand. "I have a surprise inside for you. . ." Stephen
knew it was another eunich--beautiful in flesh, dead in
spirit.
"Not tonight, Ledio. I am exhausted . . . "
"His name is Pablo. He sings opera in Rontind and is
coming to Vendal to try to win the world. He is all the
rave and only 13 years old, so young his voice does not need
the knife to assist it."
"He has not been cut?"
"Of course. Six years ago."
You bed him. Tonight I am not the man for it.
No. This lad is special. You won't find another like
him in your life. He is a gift to my dear friend who fears
that marriage will destroy his passion. Take from him all
the passion you can. He has told me that he is eager to
taste the nectar from a god.
So he thinks me a god? Stephen could not get used to
the adoration heaped upon him by the entire land.
As does every mortal who lives due to your genius.
Is he skilled in the art of love?
I don't know, Stephen. I've not tasted this bud. He
has assured me that in exchange for the honor of a night
with you he will surrender himself to me for the duration of
the opera. A gelded lad with his beauty is sure to have a
wealth of experience. Go in and look upon him. He awaits
you.
Stephen entered and slid the bolt behind him. Three
tapers burned in the room, all on the writing desk which was
littered with his papers. On the giant bed lay a small waif
with shoulder length hair and breeches. He wore no shoes or
shirt and his milky skin glowed in the candle light.
The boy rose quickly but with measured grace as Stephen
entered. Good evening, Excellency.
Call me Stephen, he said rather curtly. He quickly
warmed to the sight of the boy, who possessed a beauty any
woman would be jealous of. His long blond hair hung in
rivulets of curls. Widely-spaced, oversized brown
eyesdominated the face. The reed-thin nose was perfectly
straight and without upturn, the lips pale but voluptuous.
The boy bowed low, and quivered visibly before raising
ever slightly and saying in a golden light voice, Do I
offend thee?
What is it you seek here, Pablo? His tone had become
gentle as the lad's beauty began to work its charm.
The boy blushed. I want nothing more than to lie next
to you, perhaps even to bring you a few moments pleasure.
And why have you removed your shirt? he asked,
setting the taper next to the bed before sitting wearily.
He sighed from fatigue, though every moment in the presence
of this rare youth kindled his small spark of lust to a
greater flame.
The boy looked ready to cry. Master Ledio told me you
might be reluctant to grant me your favor. He said it would
entice you to look upon my bare chest.
Are you completely free of guile to speak so plainly?
Stephen began to think the boy might be emotionally intact,
an unusual quality in a gelded boy. Most were bitter or
angy, or worse, dead inside from the knowledge they were
objects of desire--whether it be desire for the arts or
desires of the flesh--and would never have the life of a
man.
Excellency, I am awed by your presence. . .I can't. .
.couldn't imagine speaking to you without an open heart.
If you have removed your shirt to make me wild with
lust, why have you not removed your breeches?"
The boy looked around the room as if to take flight.
He was locked securely within. I didn't want to offend. I
am perhaps not beautiful enough. And I have been...I am
castrato... so that I may sing longer. . . . But my
body. . . .I am mutilated.
Will you yield to me? Stephen knew he was being
cruel and hated himself for it, but after being so powerless
in the Cardinal's drawing room and at his table he felt his
blood warming. Plus, he reveled in the sincereity, the
particular type of vulnerability that comes from the flux of
pride and submission. He enjoyed seeing this youth as a
youth--not a eunich.
In all ways, my lord.
First, call me Stephen.
Yes, Excellency, the boy said with bowed head.
Do it.
Yes, Stephen. His voice, for the first time sounded
strained instead of musical.
I would like for you to seduce me.
I miss your meaning, the boy muttered in confusion.
First, show your sex to me.
Sir...?
Undress completely.
The boy trembled for a moment, then began unbuttoning
his breeches. He discarded his clothing on the floor and
stood, a small and trembling child, offering himself to the
man's inspection. Above the shriveled empty sac, a penis no
bigger than a 6 year old's drooped lifelessly.
Stephen gazed for a long time, feeling the thrum of his
pulse within his breeches. Before him stood beauty as
surely as in the lifeless statue in the garden. But this
beauty was hot with life. And eager to yield.
The boy stifled a sob and turned away and Stephen was
filled with the beauty of two narrow orbs of exquisite
shape. The thighs were slender, no thicker than the bones
of the knee. Only the feet seemed oversized, having grown
in anticipation of the ascent to manhood which was, of
course, to be mostly thwarted.
Stephen snapped out of his silence, and tenderly said,
Why do you weep?
I am not worthy of you and I cannot bear your
rejection.
It is I who feels unworthy. You are the most
beautiful creature I have ever seen. Only in paintings and
statues have I seen a form to equal yours. Your beauty has
stilled a deep water inside me and released a thousand
snakes of lust upon this room. I am caught between
responding to those two forces.
The boy looked at him and smiled and Stephen felt
amazed that such beauty could emanate from a living thing.
Will you sing for me?
Of course, Excellency.
Petulantly, he asked, Pablo, when I have ravished you,
will you then call me Stephen? Stephen laughed lightly, his
artificial tirade having been as shocking to the boy as he
had hoped.
Pablo gasped. Then I may stay here with you for
awhile?
Tonight and tomorrow and tomorrow. Stephen spread his
arms dramatically.
The boy beamed, took a step tentatively toward the bed.
Pablo, will you seduce me?
Again, I don't take your meaning, Excellency.
Will you sing a love song to me? Your own creation,
one you compose as you sing.
The boy rose to his full height, less than 5 feet,
obviously suffused with joy. His voice was his great gift
to the world. He would happily share it with this man whom
he revered so deeply. With his voice he could display his
own worth.
And the notes began thin and breathy, pitch perfect,
but obviously under duress. Stephen sat on the bed and
watched the song bird begin to enchant. The song grew in
fluidity and pace, though it still stayed slow and
melancholy. He sang of a distant love, of a longing without
hope of fulfillment.
The song changed. He began to sing of a great man, of
a small boy who would be the ring on the man's giant finger.
He wove a perfect melody with trills and impossibly high
notes, a voice suffused with beauty and longing and
sometimes passion, sometimes awe. The notes were always hit
effortlessly. As he sang obscure metaphors to sexual
coupling, his tiny penis twitched and rose. When he
finished his song he was fully erect and the foreskin had
partially retracted from his obviously aroused member. The
lust and beauty in his singing would have aroused any man
no matter how deep his attraction for women.
He stood rooted at the foot of the bed as the last note
died. The boy, ever confident in his great voice, carried
that confidence to the intimacy at hand. He walked straight
to Stephen and began unbuttoning the lace at his throat.
He had bared the man's chest and was exploring its
hairy surface when Stephen reached out and brushed his
fingernail across the boy's nipple. Pablo moaned and then
began convulsing as his dry orgasm shook his very being.
Stephen steadied him as he nearly collapsed, then pulled the
boy onto the bed.
"Thank you, Excellency."
"For what?" he asked softly.
"Letting me sing for you."
Stephen rose and quickly undressed himself. He stood
for a moment over the youth who was fast regaining his
senses. Stephen's balls were drawn tight and they ached
with lust. His cock had never been more firm, pointing
toward heaven. A large silken dollop of pre-cum dangled
three inches below the glans. The foreskin had been
surpassed by the fiery knob. Only the lowest ridge of
corona remained covered.
My lord, is it real?
The boy referred to the immense cock, but Stephen had
asked the same question silently, for all this seemed like a
drunken wet dream. As Stephen climbed onto the bed, the
boy, on his back, drew his knees up, offering himself to be
taken.
His instincts took control and Stephen brought himself
between the legs, brought his sex close to that tiny pink
opening now fully offered. His sanity nearly returned and
Stephen paused.
Take me, Excellency. Please. Put yourself inside me
at once.
There would be time for lovemaking later. He brought
the glans to the heated flesh and again paused. We need
lubrication.
It is already done. Before you arrived, the boy
panted.
Stephen brought himself to bear. With no results. The
opening was unyielding. He felt on the edge of losing
control and ejaculating on the sheets like a teenager. As
he pressed harder he saw the look of longing on the boy's
angelic face transformed to physical pain. He felt no
entrance, just a depression of the sphincter as it held its
chastity, yet was propelled inward. He increased the
pressure, feeling his staff might break in half. The boy
gasped in pain, his eyes wide. Stephen retreated back onto
his heels.
No. NO! Take me, Pablo cried fiercely.
You are too tight.
Break into me, sire. Use whatever force you must. I
am yours. His voice was suffused with a sort of panic.
I am filled with lust that I might obey and hurt you
severely; however, it is not to be. Were I to attempt such
forceable entry, I would orgasm without gaining entrance. I
fear I may orgasm as I sit here in repose looking upon your
splendor.
I promise I won't cry out, no matter what. I don't
care if I die here!
Stephen sat on the edge of the bed. Crawl between my
legs and take my seed into your throat. Confused, the boy
raised on one elbow. For the love of God, please hurry!
The youth scampered into position, plunging his mouth
full onto the wide knob, his teeth striking a knife shaped
pain into Stephen's brain. The boy brought his mouth
deeper, and in wonder and lust, brought a hand to the man's
scrotum, which was drawn tight.
The boy rubbed the churning orbs as he slid his lips
along the phallus. Suddenly he squeezed the orbs together
and Stephen went over the brink, falling into a white hot
abyss of spasms and gasping, his body jolted in spasms
beyond mortal control.
As his climax passed he became aware he was holding the
lad's head in both hands and that the boy was sputtering and
gasping for breath. He swallowed loudly and almost gagged.
Stephen could feel the boy's gorge rising. He didn't
release the head, but pulled it free of his shaft and
brought the face to his face.
He kissed the boy's lips tasting the saliva and slime
of his own seed upon them. The boy, gasping in his face,
was unable to return the kiss.
Ten minutes later, they lay side by side on the bed,
the boy nestled in the crook of his arm, his leg draped
across Stephen's thigh. He stroked the boy's hair. Have
you never been sodomized before?
Yes, sir. But not by a man.
The words sounded strange but Stephen knew his meaning-
-eunuchs.
Still it seems it can't be true.
When I was six all the older boys had me. I was in my
first week at the conservatory when I was taken by 14 boys
in a night. Seven of them claimed me after that and I
served them every night for three weeks. I was bleeding and
exhausted and wanting to die. I finally went to the Maestro
and told him of my trouble. He slapped me, then raped me,
and this truly hurt for his penis was at least 4 inches in
length, a full inch more than any who had taken me before.
As I lay sobbing he said that a eunuch has only two
gifts to give to the world, his mouth--for song and sucking-
-and his anus. He said unless I was a virtuoso, an opera
singer, I must do anything the rich want of me. So I became
the best singer in the academy. So I could choose my
lovers.
And you haven't chosen since?
I have not been taken since I took the stage, two
years ago. It seems my body has forgotten how.
I will teach it if you will let me.
Let you? Did you not hear my pleas?
Stephen reached between the boy's legs and touched his
little pucker. I will stretch it and lubricate it and it
will yield.
And for half an hour, the man's fingers worked on the
tight, seemingly inelastic orifice. The boy bore it well,
never losing his intensity even though he never fully
regained his erection.
When he did finally take the boy, he did it with the
boy facing down. The opening yielded slowly to him and he
worked himself inside with loving patience. Suddenly the
boy cried out, I can feel your hairy orbs! It was clearly
a victory cry. With previous eunuchs he had been able to
protract the sodomy for 20 minutes or more. This boy
crested his passion within minutes.
The second time the boy lay on his back, using his
fingers to pinch at the man's sensitive nipples. His organ
regained its passion during the second coupling. Minutes
after spending, Stephen used his lips and tongue to bring
the boy to his dry spasms.
Stephen, you own my soul. There is nothing I wouldn't
do to please you. The boy kissed his eyelids as he spoke,
his hand caressing the collarbone, the soft flesh of the
neck. Pablo was finally comfortable in the presence of the
man.
You must go to your chamber, Pablo, for dawn already
threatens to find you here.
Will I see you tonight? There is only one more day
till the opera begins.
Are you forgetting your promise to Ledio?
The boy's energy drained as his face paled. He told
you? He will let me break my oath. He must.
Your word must mean something Pablo, or you will never
be regarded in the manner you desire.
Can I stop on the way to his chamber tomorrow and
receive you in my mouth?
Perhaps.
Chapter 2.
At the hour when Pablo left Stephen's chamber, Demian,
a boy 12 years of age rose with his back to the stone wall
of the alley, his hand held to his throbbing lip. He could
feel blood seep onto the back of his hand, staining his
besmirched shirt.
Let me hear you sing, waif, or I shall beat you until
you bleed to death in this alley. Demian looked at the
dark forms in the alleyway, three men, all huge and smelling
of wine. They closed him in their semi-circle. They had
dragged him to this alley after he played minstrel,
serenading with a group of other children. Come now, your
highest note. Ring it pure.
Demian knew he was dead. These men could have no
purpose other than to torture and rape him for their
pleasure. They were obviously little more than street
beggars, large though not strong men. Of course by sheer
weight they could do what they wanted with him. A rope
around his neck, held securely by the man who obviously led
them kept him from bolting past them.
He summoned his breath and sang poorly, a fragile but
very high note.
The leader said to no one in particular. He must be
the one. The voice has not yet changed at all. He
brandished a stiletto and said, Remove your clothing.
Quickly.
Demian complied as quickly as he could, knowing his
only hope was to cooperate fully with the men. He knew he
would take their coarse, filthy organs into his mouth,
swallow their seed if that was their desire. His brother,
who had been doing these deeds for years, had told him all
about it. His brother, Darian, favored child before his
parent's murder, the only person Demian had ever even wanted
sex with, therefore the only who had refused him, saying,
You are a child like me. I like men, hairy powerful men
with cocks the size of your fist. Darian sang on stage in
a little theater company and rarely had time for Demian
since getting the position.
His terror mounted as he was forced onto his back, his
legs brought near his ears to bend his body in two. And the
pawing at his organs, brutish, calloused fingers. And the
trickle of a liquid across the scrotum, feeling cold in the
open night air. Then the pressure and a thin little pain.
Shit. He only has one ballock, the man complained
from the base of Demian's spine. Demian rocked his head in
terror and nausea as he realized what was being done, what
was being taken. He passed out.
He was in a small den, his body wrapped in a blanket
when he awakened. He could hear men talking. Yes, he is
clearly the brother, the one no one will miss, Demian. His
voice lacks nothing. It is straight from God. He was
brought to me this morning by a lout of ill repute. When I
refused to pay him for the castrati, he fled. I can tell
you his name. . . .
Demian was drifting. He remembered bits and pieces.
But that was too much. He wished he remembered less. He
touched himself, then passed out again after he discovered
the flapping sac of skin, his hand wet with his own blood.
A well dressed man ushered another man into the room.
His covers were removed and the elderly frocked man spoke in
disgust. Look at the incision--large and jagged as if from
a dagger. And from the front instead of the rear. The boy
has not only been mutilated, he has been butchered!
The merchant cleared his throat. It is a great
tragedy. But what is done is done. Will you pay me 3
cintar for him?
The man scooped Demian into his strong though old arms.
I'll not pay and therefore become a part of this. I will
take him to the conservatory and summon the police to
investigate. He started out the door.
Surely you don't think I had a part in this? The fear
in the man's voice gave away his guilt and Demian hated him
more than he had ever hated anyone, even the thieves who had
murdered his parents. Again he passed out.
He awakened in a bed with linen. He was bandaged
between his legs, though beneath the bandages his pulse
thrummed in hot pain. He sobbed until no tears could be
produced. He had seen eunuchs in the market, had felt they
were freaks. Now he knew he was a freak also. He would
never become a man. He buried his face into the pillow
wishing he could die.
Ledio cheerfully relinquished his hold on Pablo, and
every night the boy crept into Stephen's chambers. They
tasted and kissed each other everywhere, getting to know all
aspects of one another's bodies. Always Stephen spent in
the boy's bowels. The boy dry orgasmed into Stephen's mouth
or against his hand. Stephen took a box at the opera, and
rapidly became a fan of the music. He enjoyed the company
of composers and instructors and was given a wealth of
knowledge in a short time.
Alexia accompanied him to the opera a week prior to
their marriage, escorted by her mother and sisters. Pablo
invited them backstage and Alexia was delighted to go.
Stephen felt a chillness pervade his spirits. He did not
want to be in the same room with his future wife and his
present boy lover.
Pablo and Alexia hit it off immediately and he felt
awkward standing and listening to them discussing the arts,
music, painting, poetry. They bid farewells and Alexia said
suddenly, We will be wed this Sunday. Could you sing for
us at the wedding party? Oh, please say yes. And you could
spend the night under our roof. I know Stephen really loves
your company.
Pablo blushed his deepest crimson. To Stephen he
asked, Would you like me to perform at your wedding,
Excellency? His voice was low, with an undercurrent of
terror.
What Alexia wants, she shall have. You have the
finest voice in the entire world.
Thank you, Excellency. Perhaps I should continue with
my accommodations at Ledio's. . . .
Nonsense! Alexia exclaimed. You care more for the
company of the young general than the old general, do you
not? I can tell he is enthralled with you. It would be a
privilege to have your beauty and talent under our roof.
Stephen wished for this conversation, attended to by
dozens of interested ears, to end quickly. He was rescued
by a new throng of nobles come to sing the praises of Pablo.
Demian shared a room with three other eunuchs at the
conservatory. By the week's end he still refused to sing
despite being whipped and having his food withheld. In his
groin was a constant pain to remind him of the butchering.
He was called at week's end into the Maestro's office.
"Eunuch, why do you refuse to sing? The man wore
velvet robes and looked a regal 60 years of age, his face
wrinkled, his whiskers making the slightest shadow upon his
face.
I have a name. It is Demian. And I did not chose
this life, sir. He bowed meekly, realizing he should not
hve spoken so openly.
You must put the past behind you and deal with the
life left to you. I will not keep a castrato who refuses to
sing. So you must sing.
I cannot, sir.
But why? The man was clearly impatient. Guido, the
eunuch instructor stood quietly at the door.
I will not let them succeed in their designs for me.
They have already succeeded. You are castrated. You
will never be a man. You are a eunuch!" His fury was no
longer concealed.
I do not wish to be.
If you do not sing then I will send you to the
streets. Where will you go? What will you do? A castrato
is a toy for man's pleasure. It is either pleasing with the
voice or with the flesh. And unless you are a very good
singer, you must provide pleasure in both ways. You simply
have no other choice which is satisfactory.
No choice before me is satisfactory.
Sing for me now.
I am sorry, sir. I cannot.
He turned to Guido. Then this young castrato has no
place here. Expel him at once and give him to the streets.
"Excellency, his voice is so fine. . . ."
"Not if he refuses to use it. Be gone."
Demian wandered the familiar streets of Vendal and
lingered on the edges of canal where gondolas floated by
effortlessly. He then searched for a private place in an
alley which would become his home. Over the next several
days he stole what he needed to eat and kept to himself,
shunning any human contact. And the pain in his groin grew a
little each day. He could scarcely stand the pressure of
clothing against him. He was loath to look at himself;
however, by gently touching, he discovered the pain was not
in the worthless penis they had left but next to it where
the empty scrotum was attached to the hairless flesh
covering his pubic bone.
Chapter 3.
The wedding was a nightmare of formality. Afterward,
in the drawing room of the palace he purchased as their
home, Pablo sang to a small group of family, then retired as
bidden. Soon, separated by glasses of red wine and one
taper, the bride and groom were alone.
Husband, you are afraid.
Yes, he said miserably, knowing it was futile to deny
his fear and misery.
But it is so unnecessary. Have you ever wondered why
I had not married earlier?
No, though I do wonder why you would marry me.
Because of who you are, darling, she laughed.
A war hero does not make a good husband.
I did not refer to your military accomplishments. . .
come with me. She stood and offered her hand. I would
like to show you the bed chamber we will share. It was most
cordial of you to let me design it in private, for I have a
wonderful surprise for you.
The bedroom, lighted by dozens of candles was beautiful
and large as an entertaining room. The bed was huge and
ornate. The room was clearly divided into two domains, with
two writing desks, each occupying its own portion of the
large chamber.
We each have our own doorway to a private chamber.
She led him to a door and pushed it open. This is yours.
I have commissioned a well-known artist to supply the
furnishings. You of course can replace them to suit your
taste, but I wanted this to be your wedding present from me.
He followed her into the room, which contained a bed, a
couple sitting couches and a beautiful jeweled harpsichord.
A statue, two feet high, covered by linen, stood on the
harpsichord. She pulled the covering and said, Do you like
it?
A man sat on a stool. Between his legs was a boy of
about 10 sitting so his head rested on one of the man's
thighs. Both were naked, though the man's sex was hidden
from view by the boy's neck. The man's body was stunningly
similar to Stephen's, though the face was different.
He touched its cool, smooth surface. It is beautiful.
He was embarrassed.
And here, she said, walking to the statue, this one 4
feet high and sitting on the floor next to the bed. She
pulled the cover. Again a nude man seated. A naked boy sat
on his lap, the back of his head resting against the man's
shoulders. The man had one hand upon the boy's neck and the
other on his stomach. The boy's arms were lifted so that his
hands touched the neck of the man who's lap he sat on. The
faces of both were rapture. The boy's sex was angled
ambiguously toward the side. Beneath the boy's legs,
Stephen could see the carefully sculpted testicles of the
man. He walked nearer the statue and was shocked to see the
firm shape of the man's penis as it entered the boy's
slightly raised hips. Sodomy, though mostly concealed, was
clearly detailed!
Do you like it?
It is certainly a surprise.
"Perhaps these peices will serve as inspiration to
those who visit you here. Ledio has told me much about your
tastes. But come. Let me show you my chamber. He
followed wordlessly into the main bedroom and through a door
on her side of the room. Her paintings, voluptuous, hung on
the walls. Each depicted nude women. His cheeks burned as
he realized the women in some paintings were mates in sexual
positions.
I am a lesbian. Didn't you suspect?
No.
Does it bother you?
He laughed. It relieves me greatly.
Now let me explain my desires for our wedding night..
. .
He drank another bottle of wine with her, then
consented to begin. She rang a bell and Pablo, naked and
erect, entered the room. Behind him followed a girl of
about 8 years, equally unclothed. They raised their glasses
in a toast. To our children, she summered. Then the girl
and Pablo began undressing their lovers. Each began to
provide oral pleasure. Stephen was a little drunk and
silently relieved at the unexpected turn of events; he found
his passion rising quickly.
Soon, Alexia, he warned. Alexia quickly fitted a
slender tube into her vagina. Pablo sucked harder,
squeezing the man's testes as the moment approached. He
deftly collected the semen into his mouth and, bringing his
mouth to the tube, spat the semen into the woman.
Alexia bid the girl to bring her the wine as she
remained on her back to let the semen find its way to her
womb. She raised her glass, To a daughter.
Stephen raised his glass and said, To a son. They
both laughed.
Later, in the big bed, he penetrated Pablo, who moaned
as though possessed, while Alexia and the girl looked on.
Pablo kept staring at the naked girl, even as they lay in
repose. You desire her, don't you? Stephen asked.
Yes, the boy said, ashamed. "I have never been around
a naked girl."
Fuck her then, Alexia said, pushing the girl's small
mouth from her vulva.
May I?
The girl lay on her back and spread her legs. Without
hesitation, he plundered her hairless orifice. The boy's
buttocks, seeping Stephen's semen, bounced enticingly as he
stabbed repeatedly. Stephen's staff returned to full
erection during the children's fucking. After coming, Pablo
immediately disengaged himself from the girl and climbed
upon Stephen's lap. He rode the man's pole into his
backside at a full gallop. Stephen was surprised to feel a
lapping at his balls. The girl had climbed between his
legs.
The next day Pablo had to leave with the opera, and
deep melancholy descended upon Stephen. He attended the
opera (which was much less enticing without Pablo on stage),
went to music in drawing rooms, and marveled at his wife's
paintings. He took to wandering streets after dark,
following on the fringe of the traveling minstrels as they
sang beneath the doorways of peasants hoping for a few
coins. Again, he was lost and without purpose.
Stephen, take another boy as your lover, Alexia
prescribed simply.
It isn't so easy. I have to care for them in order to
truly desire them. None of the boys at conservatory
interests me, though I love their singing.
Then find a boy in the streets.
It must be a eunuch."
But why?
It's wrong, what I do to boys. With a eunuch, it's. .
.I don't know. . .less bad. They've already been robbed of
their manhood.
You are so silly. Have you no idea how often men
couple with their own boy children. And with the children
of their brothers and friends? No great harm comes to these
children. They don't lose their 'manhood.' They gain
pleasure and intimate companionship.
It's just the way I feel, Alexia. I don't want you to
rationalize away my conscience.
Then you condemn me for keeping little Marena? She is
no eunuch--I assume she will someday reproduce.
He took her hand. I don't judge you at all, my dear.
I am curious how you came by her, how old she is, what her
past was like...
She is 9 years, I believe. She is not totally
certain. She was orphaned at an early age and lived with an
innkeeper who early on trained her in the art of pleasing
men--first orally, then vaginally, and also anally. I
stayed at the inn and she more or less seduced me. I simply
tipped the innkeeper generously and brought her home with
me. She has been with me for nearly a year.
She is a pretty child.
I don't really love her. She's not a pet or a
servant. More like a relative I've gotten a little too
close to. I also have an adult lover who you shall likely
meet within the week. She is the wife of Meidre.
The Governor? He couldn't hide his shock.
The Governor has a harem of slaves who he forces to
sodomize him often. Have you ever tried that, darling?
Stephen sighed. Not in many years. Once in military
academy I lost a battle to a classmate--a simulation
strategy game. He raped me upon my defeat. It was my last
loss.
"Our land is fortunate your tastes are different from
the Governor's or we'd all be speaking the tongue of the
infidels. She laughed, then excused herself. Later, with
disregard for his safety, Stephen walked the dark streets.
Chapter 4.
Demian looked over his shoulder and turned sharply to
an alley. Earlier he had crept to the theater where his
brother played and tried to look in the door. He knew he
would be arrested if spotted there. The owner had accused
him of theft long ago when Darian first discovered the place
and it discovered him. He had lingered in the alley,
straining his ears, hoping to catch a bit of his brother's
singing.
Then the owner had opened the back entrance and spotted
Demian. He cursed, fearing Demian had come to try to lure
Darian away, and called for his bravos, who came thundering
into the alley. Demian had fled in mortal terror. For
nearly a half hour he had been chased until at last he had
ditched the men. After resting in an alley for a while, he
remained fatigued and weak from hunger. The pain in his
groin was nearly crippling. He searched for a safe place to
sleep. Then the men had spotted him again and the chase had
been on.
They were on his heels as Demian plunged into a another
dark alley. He emerged in the center of a fountained square
with the three bravos closing in. Due to the hour, the brick
plaza appeared deserted.
Demian slipped and fell onto his palms, abrading them.
One of the bravos lifted him by the scruff of the neck. He
received a hard punch to the stomach, and he was surprised
at the intensity of the pain. He groaned but did not cry
out, for his breath had left with a great gust. It seemed
he could not inhale.
The bravo who held him said, When we are finished, you
will remember to stay far away from the theatre. He
casually tossed the boy ten feet through the air. Demian's
shoulder stuck the stones at the base of the fountain and
after a blinding flash of white pain, the shoulder went
numb.
He tried to push himself to his knees, but his right
arm didn't respond. He was kicked on the hip and as he
rolled, a toe caught him in the ribs. The next fell on his
face. And again. He spit blood. Through a veil of blood
and tears he saw the foot again prepare to strike. Suddenly
the foot was gone.
A scuffle ensued between the three men and a strange
defender. One of the bravos went down with a groan. The
defender danced between the other two men, his fists up, his
body crouched and coiled. He was vastly smaller than the
two men, but he moved like lightning. Demian managed to get
to a sitting position. He held his limp right arm with his
left hand and gasped for breath.
The men circled only for a moment, looking for an
opening. Suddenly one of the bravos said, It is He Who Has
Saved Us!
It cannot be. Not at this hour and in this place,
the other said, but both men stepped back. Who are you,
the man said in undisguised terror.
Stephen Montreva. Why do you beat this boy?
The men stepped back further. We do not wish to
quarrel with you, Excellency.
Then answer my question and take your leave.
We work at the Commoners Theater. We were told to
make certain this one does not approach those doors again.
Stephen looked at the bleeding crumpled boy near the
fountain and asked, Do you intend to return to that
theatre?
Not tonight, sire," the boy answered, trying to sound
glib. His voice trebled with his trembling.
For now at least, you have accomplished your mission.
Take your friend with you and quit this place.
The bravos picked up their unconscious associate and
stumbled away.
Who are you, boy?
Demian. He looked at handsome, hawkish man with
some fear. He seemed friendly enough, but Demian knew this
man could have vanquished all three bravos. And more
staggering--this might be He Who Has Saved Us, which was the
street name for the general who had turned back the infidel
invasion when it was certain that the capital city was to
be sacked. Outnumbered 300 to one, he had defeated the
infidel army sufficiently to send it back north. Rumor had
it that he singlehandedly penetrated the enemy camps and
slain all 10 ranking commanders in their beds. All in a
single night! And without awakening the guards. The man was
only a step beneath God and the angels.
Have you no family name?
It matters not. I am orphaned.
I, too, am orphaned, but I carry my family's good
name.
My father was a peasant farmer. Fivacarilli.
Have you shelter?
Demian tried to rise. He ended up sitting on the base
of the fountain. I'm all right. Thank you for helping
me... He couldn't bear to be in the presence of such a
great man, and though he would relish the encounter for his
lifetime, his fear made him anxious for it to come to a
close.
Am I being dismissed? Stephen said with a smile.
Demian's eyes opened wide, soon to be squinted again as
blood dripped into one of them. I meant no disrespect,
Excellency. I only thought...surely you have important
things to...." After a moment, he again found his voice.
"I am unworthy of your attention, Excellency.
Even were that true, how do propose to judge what is
and isn't worthy of my attention? Is not that my choice as
a free citizen?
Again he had overstepped his place with this great man.
Demian felt humiliation and scorn so deep that he began to
sob. He slid to the bricks of the plaza and buried his face
in the crook of his good arm. He stopped sobbing abruptly
when he felt a gentle hand touch his bare arm. The voice
spoken softly into his ear reminded him of his mother as she
had once soothed him.
So, the mighty boy who doesn't cry or even cry out as
he is attacked by three bravos breaks to weeping at a soft
rebuke from a gentle stranger. The hand touched the back
of Demian's neck. It was warm and dry, incredibly light and
smooth. Again I ask, have you shelter?
I have none, Excellency. He had no will to resist
the question.
When did you last sleep in a bed?
Three days ago.
Where is this bed.
It belonged to a man I met along the canals.
Shall I take you to him?
No! I would rather die in the gutter! His passion
held only for a moment, then in a defeated voice, He
attempted to rape me. He remembered the man's caresses,
which he did not mind at first. Then the man crudely clawed
between his legs and touched the sore place. Demian had
been unable to complete the bargain he had struck, and the
man had beaten him in frustration. He would have raped him,
too, but neighbors were knocking on the door to see if
someone needed help.
And before that?
I was a student at the conservatory.
Stephen sat back on his heels. Was this beautiful
child a castrati? He felt his blood quicken, his lust rise.
Then I shall take you there.
I was expelled.
An orphan? expelled? Why?
They had certain rules which I refused to consent to,
the boy answered, meaning that he refused to sing.
Stephen interpreted the answer as indication the boy
had refused to be castrated. He was disappointed. Then he
felt guilty for wishing this beautiful child had been
mutilated. Stephen remembered Alexi encouraging him to take
a lover from the streets. But it was obvious from his story
about the near rape that he didn't want to have sex with
men.
I will take you to my house and have these wounds
attended to. Without waiting for a response, he scooped the
boy into his arms and started home. The boy must have
weighed less that 70 pounds as he was no burden. How old
are you? he asked, expecting a reply of 9 or 10.
Twelve.
He entered the house and awakened his servants, having
one sent out for the physician. Two others he assigned the
task of bathing the boy, who was covered in blood and
smelled as though he had lived in his clothing a week too
long. Stephen went to the bed chamber and found Alexia
sitting on the bed. Marena sat behind her brushing her
hair. Alexia was fully dressed in bedclothes. Marena was
naked, her hairless body looking like that of a boy except
for the lack of the protruding sex bud.
You were certainly out late.
Yes.
Prowling, no doubt. And from your expression and your
solitary entrance, unsuccessfully. Would you like Marena?
Her anus is exquisitely tight.
Marena looked up at Stephen and smiled fetchingly. She
drew her knees up, exposing the wrinkled flesh of her pink
slit.
Actually, I brought a boy home, but he is just a kid
needing help. Not a eunuch."
So sin one night. Not only eunuchs enjoy the pleasure
of a man's company.
This boy has made it clear he is not cut from that
cloth.
"Perhaps he has yet to meet the right tailor."
A servant entered sheepishly.
What is it?
The boy refuses to undress for his bath.
Stephen sighed. He was poorly treated some nights
ago. Probably fears you will do the same to him. I'll come
and talk with him.
But Demian, seated on the edge of the bathing pool,
would not undress, even when Stephen implored him to.
Stephen had the servants wipe his exposed skin with cloths
to remove the blood. The smell could not be extinguished
without full immersion and clean clothing.
The physician came and with a surge of terror, Demian
recognized him. He examined the quivering, stiff, boy, then
came to Stephen's study to consult with him. Demian was at
his heals, looking faint. Stephen sent him to wait across
the room.
The boy needs rest. At least three days in bed. He
is half-starved and low on fluids. The arm is not broken,
though the bruising of the shoulder is massive. In short,
if he takes care of himself he will be fine in a couple of
weeks. The physician, an old military friend scratched his
head. He is a beautiful creature. I can understand your
interest in him as a treasure to look upon, but what good is
a eunuch who refuses to sing and is so proud he will not
disrobe before a possible benefactor?
"Eunuch?" Stephen said, startled.
Of course. I examined this boy at the conservatory
shortly after his operation. He had been butchered by
amateurs. It was clearly against his will. He was expelled
from the Conservatory for refusing to sing. But if he won't
sing, then what is he? A freak. Nothing more. I wouldn't
waste my time with this one.
Thanks for your help, old friend.
He looked across the room at the boy, trying to read
his emotions. Demian lifted his head, but did not make eye
contact, trying to keep his misery beneath the surface.
He came closer and asked, Do you still refuse the
bath?
The boy stiffened, but remained silent.
Come. He said simply and walked to the private
chambers. The boy had followed. You will sleep here.
Please do not leave the room. If you desire anything, food,
drink, company, you can ring the bell on the nightstand. A
servant will enter promptly.
The boy stood, very small, in the center of the room.
Then I am a prisoner here?
Stephen sighed. The kid had a fierce grip on his
dignity, unusual in a castrati. You are a most welcome
guest. I do not wish for you to wander about because this
is my home and I should like to guide you on a tour, which
we can accomplish in the morning.
May I please leave?
Now?
Yes, sir.
It is the middle of the night. You are wounded and
you have no place to go. It is unthinkable that you should
leave a place where you are safe and where there are no
demands placed upon you.
I would like to go.
There was a soft knock at the door leading to their
marriage chamber. Stephen opened the door. Alexia asked,
May I come in?
She strode into the room, dressed in a sheer full
length gown. Her nipples were plainly visible and her hair
brushed to radiance. So this is the little waif that has
stolen your heart.
He wants to leave at once.
She turned to the boy as if stunned. What ever for?
Demian looked at the beautiful woman, so immodestly
dressed and felt a deep terror. She was ever more
frightening than He Who Has Saved Us. I'm sorry.
You want to leave? she repeated.
Yes, please.
Do you know who this man is?
Yes, lady, the greatest man in all of the world. He
was unable to control the trembling in his legs. Even the
hand disabled by the injury to his shoulder trembled. He
gently grasped it with his other hand.
Stephen, will you leave us for a moment.
The boy wants to leave....
You leave--only for a moment. He simply needs an
awareness of what he will be throwing away. Stephen did
not move. Please, dear husband, take your leave.
Stephen looked at the red faced, trembling boy, then
turned and left.
Sit on the bed, child.
Demian more or less stumbled to it.
My husband likes the pleasure of boys. Unfortunately
for him, he is very selective, and though there are many
boys available to him--perhaps hundreds--he has not chosen
one since his last boy left for Rotini. He seems to expect
little from his young lovers. In exchange he treats them to
a life of unsurpassed affection, tenderness, and splendor.
He never did or said a single disrespectful thing to his
last boy. After Pablo departed, Stephen deeply mourned his
loss.
She sat on the bed beside him. Have you ever sexed
with a man?
No.
Then perhaps it is a fear of the unknown. Love
between man and boy is not an equal arrangement. In such a
situation most men degrade their charge, taking oral and
anal satisfaction with no concern for the discomfort of the
child. Not so with Stephen. He worshipped Pablo, and in
every coupling, Stephen said bringing the boy's release was
as important as attaining his own. He caressed the boy's
organ often and skillfully, bringing his orgasms with
regularity and with fierce passion. Of course, even with
Stephen, the relationship will not be an equal one. He will
be the one who decides how and when you join. And though he
enjoys sodomy greatly, he will not offer you the same
favors. One of his greatest pleasure with Pablo was to mount
him and while fucking slowly, rub the boy's erection until
he orgasmed. Does this sound so awful?
`But, lady, I cannot. He knew the pain in his groin
would never allow him to be caressed in such a fashion. Nor
could he let such a great man see his badly butchered
genitals.
Surely it will do you no harm to let him stroke your
little penis, to kiss it's hardness, to spread your legs and
surrender yourself to him. Anal sex is only painful the
first time or so, and with Stephen and his gentleness,
perhaps you will even enjoy the first time.
I cannot. I so wish that I could. Lady, I simply
cannot. I am not what he thinks I am.
He thinks you are a beautiful orphan child who will
gain from being his lover. Is that wrong?
I cannot have sex with him. Please tell him I would
like to but I cannot.
Why will you refuse this?
Demian wanted to say what he believed, to confess he
was a eunuch, incapable of sexual response, cursed to a life
of intense pain in his groin. He couldn't even picture
himself saying the word eunuch. As he struggled to find a
way to express it, she grew impatient, and stood.
Out of respect for a man who attacked three would-be
murderers and saved your life, you must spend the night.
You must truly hate yourself to squander such an
opportunity."
Yes, my lady, he said and buried his head in his
hands.
She left and, though he knew Stephen might enter at any
moment, he sobbed uncontrollably. Stephen opened the door
as if to enter, stopped stiffly, then said, Ring the bell
if you want anything. He withdrew.
The next day Stephen brought him new clothes and showed
him around the grounds of the huge estate. Demian was
amazed by all he saw but had few words to speak. To think
all this could be his to share at least for awhile....if
only he had not had his sex stolen away from him.
At dinner, with Alexia, a girl named Marena, and
Stephen, Demian felt totally alien. He didn't know how to
use the silver or anything else. He did savor the red wine
which tasted delicious and gave him a feeling of floating
slightly. Alexia handed Stephen a letter when the meal was
completed. He opened it and said, It's from Pablo. He says
all is well. The citizens of Rotini have fallen madly for
him and he is forever in demand at parties and dinners. He
has taken with a Cardinal, of all people, who is an avid
sodomite. He also says that his organ has grown, that he
wished he could show it to me in its splendor, knowing how
proud I would be of his virility.
Alexia took the letter from his hand without
permission. He also asks if you have a new lover and if
the boy has a finer arse, a stiffer cock, or a more
beautiful voice. Well Demian, do you have a fine arse, a
stiff cock, and a beautiful voice?
Alexia, Stephen reprimanded.
The boy ran from the table and out into the courtyard,
his cheeks wet with tears.
Stephen followed him. They stood silently in the
twilight beneath a statue of a soldier. Stephen put his arm
around the boy, then pulled him to a bench and set the boy
on his knee. Demian buried his face in the man's ruffled
shirt and cried more.
Alexia didn't mean to be cruel. She is frustrated at
your reluctance to open up to me. You see, she cannot
imagine that anyone could find me unlikable.
Me either.
But you don't like me. It's okay. Truly. I have
had disappointments before. I still want you to stay, and I
expect no affection in return.
I do like you. I am in awe of you. . . .
Then what? Religion? You don't want to commit such a
sin? Let me repeat, you need not sin with me.
No. I have no religion. It is just that. . . .I'm. .
.I'm. . .a....
Stephen stroked the boy's cheek.
I'm a singer, the boy said suddenly, hoping this
would be the clue to let Stephen know.
Stephen wrinkled his brow. Where do you sing? You
said you refused to sing and were expelled from the
conservatory. When the boy didn't answer, he added, Why
did you refuse to sing?
Demian pulled away, stood, his face lighting with a
sudden inspirtion. I have an older brother. He sings at a
theatre near here. The theatre the men told me to stay away
from. Take me there. I would like you to meet my brother,
Darian.
You promised not to go near there.
But if you came with me, they would not mind. Please.
Take me now.
Stephen sighed. You miss your brother?
Yes. I want you to meet him. He looks just like me.
He is 14 years old.
Okay.
The theater owner welcomed Stephen and hardly glanced
at Demian. He was given a bottle and a table, though the
performance was not to start for at least an hour. Stephen
said, Can we see Darian, this boy's brother?
The owner paused. Please, sir. I would be ruined
without his performances.
We will not take your singer, Demian said calmly.
Backstage in his dressing room, Darian stood in
breeches and nothing else, carefully studying his set of
songs, some of which were new. Brother, he said in
surprise. He went over to embrace Demian. Demian lowered
his head to the ear beneath his mouth and whispered,
Please, this is He Who Has Saved Us and though he won't ask
it, he wants to see you naked. Please causally undress and
show yourself as you pretend to get ready.
The embrace broke and Darian bowed as Demian introduced
them. Darian went and bolted the door. Forgive me, I must
get ready for the performance. Please sit. He gestured
to a couple chairs before a mirror. Then he slid his
breeches off and stood naked before them. Now what pants
am I to wear tonight? he said, looking about the room.
Darian had slept with dozens of men and he was a stage
performer. He liked undressing before an appreciative man,
especially a famous, revered and wealthy man.
Stephen was unable to conceal his astonishment. The
boy was beautiful, his body just beginning puberty. His
nearly-adult penis jiggled above a bouncing set of hairless
testicles. With pale skin like Demian, his buttocks looked
like cream. He had a tidy semi-circle of pubic hair.
Do you like my brother? Demian asked.
Demian, why do you do this? He is beautiful. But why
are we here?
Where my brother is perfect, I am incomplete. Darian,
will you go with this man, to live with him, to provide him
with pleasure? I owe him my life.
"Demian, please don't ask that. I cannot leave the
theatre. They would be lost without me. And Vito has
treated me like a son.
More like whore. But, it doesn't matter. I will sing
in your place.
The room became silent. Stephen said, Demian. . . .
But he was interrupted by Darian. You will sing? You
? On this stage?
Gladly. If you will keep your part of the bargain.
And what are you thinking of me? That you can arrange
my companions for me? How could you pretend such arrogance?
Stephen demanded, quite overwhelmed by the whole scene.
Again the boy had tried to do the right thing and it
had failed miserably. Demian burst into tears, his arms
thrown down despite the pain in his shoulder. Alexia said
you liked my form. But I cannot . . . do what you want. I
thought. . . .
Stephen stood. You did not think at all. Stephen
dropped a heavy purse upon the dresser. Darian, there is
more gold when you need it. Just come to my door. Please
convince your brother to return to my house. He is welcome
there for as long as he wishes to stay. He turned and
left. The brothers stared after him.
Darian said, You have rejected and angered the most
loved man in the world.
Demian sat before the mirror, burying his face in his
hands to control his weeping. He wants me to be his lover,
but I cannot!
Darian said, I see your point. He is handsome and
sexy beyond compare, wealthy, intelligent, a patron of the
arts, politically powerful, kind, gentle. . . . Whatever was
I thinking of? Of course, you would dislike him.
You asshole, Demian said, raising his head and
trying to focus his bleary red-rimmed eyes, I love him
absolutely. He sighed and confessed, I am castrati.
What? How?
He told the tale as Darian, still naked, listened
attentively and sympathetically.
That's awful, but why won't you sing? Or make up with
that Stephen guy?
I won't sing because they did this to me so I could
sing like a bird forever. I won't let them succeed.
That's stupid.
And I cannot be his lover because I have too much
pain. I can barely walk and I must sit and rise with care.
He and his wife have made it clear Stephen seeks to please
not only himself but his young lovers. There can be no
pleasing me in this manner.
You mean you don't feel horny?
It's worse torture than that. I dream about him. He
is so perfect. But I can't even think about sex, I grow
cold and afraid and sick. I am in agony all the time. My
sex no longer works and I cannot bear to be a half-woman to
him, cannot bear to be confronted with my loss!
He doesn't know you are castrated?
I can't tell him. I wish I were dead.
Hours later, while aimlessly walking the darkened
streets, a strong hand suddenly closed on Demian's arm. As
he turned in fear, preparing a defense against the attack,
the hand released him. You are Demian?
He turned to flee but the hand grabbed him again to
stop him. When he stopped the arm was released.
Demian, I work for Stephen Mondavi. He has all his
servants searching the city for you. He wants for you to
come to the safety of his house. Will you come with me?
Do I have any choice?
Of course. But bringing you home would win me favor in
His Excellency's eyes.
He sighed. Take me there.
Chapter 5.
Stephen stood in a fourth story window and watched the
boy approach. He touched his hand to his heart, then went
to bed. The next evening, Ledio threw a party for a cousin
of his who was visiting from Rotini. Alexia badgered Demian
until he agreed to attend. He was dressed in such finery as
he had never before imagined. He rode in a carriage ahead
of Stephen and Alexia, along with Marena and three servants.
Demian went almost immediately to a corner when he
entered the huge ballroom in General Ledio's palace.
Overdressed people of all ages milled about as they engaged
in lively conversation. Demian studied Stephen. He loved
to watch the man talk, loved to see the attention afforded
him by all in his comapny. He never bragged or laughed too
loudly or showed any one disrespect. He moved lithely, with
an apparent slowness which was illusory. Stephen had
beautiful blue eyes, and reddish-brown hair that flowed past
his shoulders. A lanky curl hung across his forehead. He
was anglular in frame, slight, but powerful, with large
square shoulders and narrow hips.
Demian made certain to look away before Stephen could
catch him staring. Stephen seemed to look his way often.
The Rotinian cousin had brought a composer and an 16 year
old eunuch with him to entertain the guests. Every one
settled onto the chairs provided by the servants, and the
assemblage became silent. The composer sat before a
harpsichord, his wig a perfect fit, not too full, but
sufficiently covering the head. The castrati was
surprisingly tall, nearly six feet with long gangly arms.
He had the face of an innocent boy; however, one could tell
he had a spoiled brat temperment. Demian looked at the
strange gangly boy and saw what he himself was to become. It
was not a pleasing prospect.
The composition was beautiful, as was the singing.
Demian immediately saw the structure of the piece, caught
its melodic whirlings. It told the tale of a man in love
with a woman, the first movement telling of the formation of
love. The second movement was despair and emptiness,
unrequited love, death. The third movement was an ascenion
to heaven on the wings of love.
The boy sang clearly and he attempted passion; however,
Demian could tell he was bored. Demian knew the boy had
never felt the kind of passion he was attempting to sing
about. Perhaps others could tell also. He also noticed
the composer was struggling to keep the tempo slow during
the first movement, struggling to keep the pace slow during
the second passionate movement, then ironically, struggling
to speed the third and final movement. Not that the music
portrayed this struggle. The struggle was all on the man's
face and in his back and arms. The fingers supplied the
music perfectly.
The applause was thunderous as the boy finished.
Demian felt disappointed and a little terrified to look at
this older boy and get a glimpse of the monster he was to
become. He fled to the gardens.
As he walked among the dark fronds, wallowing in his
self-pity, a voice coldly called to him. Is that a girl or
a very pretty little boy?
He turned to come face to face with a 17 year old he
knew to be Tonio, the son of Ledio. The boy had a look of
menace on his face. In fact, Tonio was bored and looking
for some excitement.
Stop, you piss ant! Demian stopped in his tracks,
his heart hammering in his chest. What is your name?
Demian.
Your family name!
I am an orphan and have none.
Then you sneaked into this party and I have every
right to kill you.
Leave me alone, Demian said, but in his stomach he
knew he would suffer at this young man's hands. He
continued to walk but suddenly the boy lunged against his
shoulder, driving him into a garden wall. His right
shoulder, not yet healed, impacted hard, and Demian fell to
the ground writhing in agony.
He bit his lip to stop groaning.
What a simpering coward, you are, motherless bastard!
He yanked the boy to his feet, an easy task as he outweighed
Demian by nearly 40 pounds. He raised his fist to strike
Demian's face. Demian wasted no time. He kicked Tonie
in the crotch, then kicked him again when the older boy fell
to his knees. The kick to the crotch was especially
satisfying for Demian because he kicked the things that had
been stolen from him. The second kick connected just below
the left eye. Tonio whimpered, Stop. Please stop. Leave
me alone.
As you wish, Demian said. Holding his tingling right
hand in his left hand, he headed for the ballroom. He had
to tell Stephen he was leaving, for he owed the man that,
even though he would never be forgiven for striking General
Ledio's son. Perhaps he would be imprisoned or killed.
Stephen came rushing to him as soon as he entered.
There you are, Demian. Did you like the performance?" He
saw the boy was distraught. "What's wrong? Your shoulder?
It's okay, sir. I merely fell.
You are too graceful for that. Were you in a fight?
Demian could not lie to the man. He was not strong
enough. Sorry, Excellency. Tonio and I had a ... an
incident.
The room suddenly became quiet as Ledio, his son in
tow, made his way directly to them. Is this the boy who
attacked you? Ledio demanded of his son.
Tonio stood in shock. My God. Demian, you are with
Stephen Mondavi?
Yes, he is, Stephen interupted. What sort of
injustice have you wrought?
Now hold on, Ledio warned. But a moment later Tonio
was on the floor at Stephen's feet weeping.
Forgive me, Excellency. I did not know he was in your
care.
Ledio pulled his son to his feet. Stand like a man.
Stephen, it appears my son has harmed your house. Name your
punishment.
No! Demian interjected and stepped between the men.
Courage flooded into him. For days he longed to leave the
house of He Who Has Saved Us. Suddenly he wanted to stay
more than anything. The fight had broken the lid off his
defenses. The self-pity had been consumed by the rage.
Tonio and I had a disagreement and we settled it. The
matter is ended. Tonio and I have made peace.
Tonio flicked a little smile of gratitude, still
apprehensive of the outcome of this ordeal. He knew he
would never pick on a weaker boy again--especially if he did
not know his affiliations.
Demian, I will take you to a physician.
No. This party is only half over, am I correct?
Yes, well, more than half ...
I want to stay.
Demian wandered back to his corner, his arm and
shoulder a ragged ache. He studied the man he worshiped in
every detail. The attraction he felt was not sexual, and he
wasn't surprised for he knew that kind of attraction was
impossible for him now. But even if he had been whole, his
attraction was on a plane that transcended mere genital
pleasure. He wanted to be consumed by the man, heart and
soul.
Then he overheard them nearby--Ledio and Alexia. The
boy refuses to sing and can you believe he has not even
undressed in Stephen's presence? I think Stephen is losing
his mind. He is in a state of constant affliction and every
third word is Demian.
You say this boy is castrati? Ledio asked.
Demian was startled to hear it revealed. Stephen knew
he was castrati?
Without a doubt. The physician confirmed it. And
Stephen refuses to bed any boy who is not castrati. I swear,
I live in terror that Stephen will try to adopt the capon.
Demian edged closer, trying to clear his head. Pablo
was castrati then. It could not be. He had heard the
letter, heard Alexia tell of his fine orgasms. How could
this be when he had nothing to produce seed? How could he
have ignored the great pain?
The Roman castrati is over there trying to seduce
Stephen right now. Demian looked up and saw Stephen stroke
the arrogant boy's hair. They were laughing at some joke.
Alexia continued, Why couldn't Stephen fall for someone
like him, someone worthy of his affections?
Demian could barely contain his rage. I am more
worthy than that monster!
Alexia looked up at him without the slightest show of
surprise. You? You can't even manage to show proper
respect to him. Why don't you run away to the streets and
leave him in peace? His mourning over losing you would be
better than the current hopeless suffering at your hands.
I am unworthy of him, but I am more worthy than that
singer!
In a near whisper, she spat, That singer demonstrates
a willingness to please. Love could spring from a fountain
crafted of that elixer. You show coldness, hostility, even
loathing! Just leave. Go now. Alexia was waving her
hands at him, in a fury. Most people had politely fled the
general vicinity of her somewhat-subdued tirade.
You are his wife, and I am wrong to argue with you.
My apologies. He bowed quickly to her and went straight
toward the harpsichord where the castrati stood fawning over
Stephen.
Excellency, I should like the opportunity to sing for
you.
Stephen looked at him in astonishment. Wonderful! he
exclaimed in obvious joy. I will hire musicians to come over
tomorrow.
I want to sing for you tonight. Right now.
Tonight? Now? That's crazy, Demian. You have not
practiced. And there are many people of influence here.
Alexia came up behind them, a rage still in her voice.
Let the gelding sing.
The words cut into Demian's spirit, but he knew he was
fighting for Stephen's affections and he cared little for
her affections. It didn't matter that everyone else knew he
was castrati--after all, the only person who mattered,
Stephen, knew already. Alexia turned to the singer. Get
your maestro, ask him to play for this boy's singing. Tell
him it is the desire of He Who Has Saved Us.
The composer was there within two minutes. A crowd had
already begun to settle into the chairs in anticipation of
great singing--or great humiliation.
Stephen was frantic, speaking in an urgent, low tone of
voice. Don't do this, Demian. Everyone is here. You will
embarrass yourself and me. When did you last sing?
A month before you met me. He looked away from
Stephen, unwilling to hear more of the man's lack of
confidence, for it eroded his own confidence. To the
composer he said, Will you play the same piece you played
before?
It would be unwise, he said simply. He was in his
late 40's, obviously a castrati himself.
But why? It was a stunning composition.
Thank you. I wrote it only one week ago. This was
the first time it was performed outside the conservatory.
Pick a piece you are familiar with.
The only other songs I know are songs of the
minstrels. But your song soars! I cannot keep its melody
from my head.
You heard it but once.
Do you have a copy of the words?
The composer smiled sadly. Are you castrati? The
man wanted to know if he had the voice worthy of being
castrated. Demian felt his cheeks flush and could not speak
the words. He nodded. I have the score also, so you may
follow the melody.
Servants were alerting the patrons a performance would
begin soon.
I cannot read music, but I can hear the melody.
The Rotinian castrati sneered, I studied and practiced
for three weeks to learn this song. It is over 12 minutes
in length. You will make a total fool of yourself.
Demian turned on him with uncharacteristic confidence.
He loathed the fake boy at that moment, unwilling to
consider himself in the same predicament. No worse than
you did.
The composer and Ledio laughed. Stephen moaned in
anticipation of great humiliation as Alexia took his hand
and led him to the harpsichord. The room was buzzing with
anxious murmurings. Introduce your gelding, darling, or I
will. She smiled venomously.
Why do you harbor such malice to the boy?
He will make you miserable for as long as you two are
in the same world. It's time for you--or rather him--to
move on.
Stephen raised his hand, a small gesture which would
have commanded immediate silence even in the marketplace,
such was the respect citizens paid him. My charge desires
your audience, though by his own confession he had not sung
in a fortnight. Your kindness to him will be a kindness to
me. . . .
The boy stood very straight and spoke with unexpected
forcefullness. I sing only for your audience, Excellency,
for your approval. I would sing for no other human on
earth. He turned to the composer and nodded. The man
began weaving the complicated but slow introduction. Demian
closed his eyes, willed out the distractions of the room and
his own fears. He listened with all his ability to the
emotion within the chords.
And when he sang, he sang early. He sensed the error,
sensed even more keenly that in his head he clearly heard
what he must sing. It was a melody from the third section
of the song, wordless, with perfectly forming notes
climbing, trilling, dropping sharply only to ascend and
trill again. The Rotinian composer gasped, then offered a
bemused smile as he realized that the boy had not begun with
the first lines, that he was fashioning an introduction
which would give a deeper clarity to the score.
Demian looked to the composer at his keyboeard, the
only other present besides the singer who would know a
mistake had been made. The composer's face went from shock
at the opening notes (he nearly faltered in his playing
until he realized the boy was superimposing the third
movement over the melody of the introduction), to
puzzlement, to a wet eyed look of approval. Demian knew that
not every composer would like his work altered--even if it
were an improvement.
Demian hit the first note of the song an octave higher
than it was written. Had he been able to look around, he
would have seen the rapt attention focused on him, the
openness of the expressions of the many influential
strangers who were in the first stages of falling in love
with him. His voice was honey, then it was a bell, striking
high notes with an metalic precision.
During the second movement, when the lonely lover
laments his space in the world, Demian poured his own
anguish into the melody, his loneliness, his sense of being
lost, injured, his total lack of hope in ever again being
happy. His eyes were still closed, though he moved his
hands and head, even stepped a pace or two dramatically as
he lived out the pain of the music.
Stephen could scarcely breathe. Tears stung his
cheeks. He squeezed Alexia's hand and only dimly realized
she wiped at her eyes with a kerchief, moved to tears no
less than he. The tinkling of the keys ceased. Long pauses
marked the close of the second movement, which was
interupted by the lingering melancholic expression of short
lyrical phrases, caesura, another intense burst, as the soul
of the singer was dying, embers upon a windswept hearth.
In the lingering silence prior to the third movement,
all was silent except for a sniffle, even one uncontrolled
sob. Demian heard these things but did not open his eyes.
His concentration was on the next movement, when the singer
was to be reborn in the love of whomoever (presumably a
lover or perhaps even God). The singing was to begin
subdued, even halting, slowly transforming to the wings of a
dove, soaring, flying ever closer to the breath of God,
transforming the singer to an angel. The music pretended to
go from pathos and death, through birth, through to a
transformation to heaven, this time without the curse of
death. With the Rotinian singer it had been clever. With
Demian's voice and passion, the piece would reach every
person's soul.
As he worked into the third movement, Demian opened his
eyes. He avoided looking at the couch front and center
where Stephen sat. He looked at every person present as he
sang, giving them intense scrutiny. He saw the intense
attention he received. He tried to see everyone present, to
make contact with them. They must fall in love with his
performance for it to truly be a fine gift to Stephen.
In rebirth, the singer still was lost from the light of
love. At last his gaze came to Alexia, and he was almost
distracted by her radiance. Her hostility toward him had
vanished completely and in its place was an intensity too
keen to consider. It told Demian that Alexia loved Stephen,
too. The visage of her intense attention gave him cause for
hope. He waited longer, then he looked to the man who
represented his only will to live.
It was early, four measures before the melody began to
take flight. Without breaking in his singing, he quickly
looked away, carrying the image of the man with him as he
turned his back and pressed his face into his palms, an
effect which muted his voice greatly. Demian had seen it!
Love. His words caught in his throat and he sobbed. The
composer carefully repeated a section of the pre-flight
melody, adjusting to the boy's unexpected break.
For Demian, the worst part of the shock was the
realization that the same look, minus the awe, had been
there all along. He wasn't making this man love him by
singing. He was only making him happy in his love.
The time for soaring presented itself again. Demian
glanced at the composer, who bore a look of concern, clearly
he was poised to adjust again. Demian closed his eyes and
turned to face Stephen. He opened his eyes as he hit the
first note with the power of an exploding heart. His voice
was round, high, pure, not a human's voice, but the voice of
an angel.
He sang for the next five minutes at the most torrid
pace, rising and falling lines with trills at every
transition. The melody was the flow of the wind around
lealfy trees, the crackle of a brook over stones, the strike
of trumpets on a still morning. His gaze never left
Stephen. Truly, he sang for no one else.
Stephen stared at him without the concept of time,
without a need to concentration upon the music. The music
was all that existed, therefore one did not think on it.
One moved with it, swelled with it, soared. Yes, soared as
if to the throne of God!
Then it was done. Silence. For 20 seconds. More.
Extending to nearly a minute. No one moved. No one spoke.
Demian could maintain eye contact for only a moment, then he
turned and leaned heavily on the harpsichord, his face
burrowed into the crook of his arms. He was exhausted, and
despite being transformed by the music in a way he had never
imagined, he feared rejection, felt the reality of who he
was and his insignificance in the life of a man so great as
He Who Has Saved Us. The joy he had sung had taken him far
from reality and in the unexpected total silence following
his last note, reality had crashed upon him with devastation
heightened by the giddy vertigo of believing himself
powerful.
Then the thunder began and it frightened him. People's
voices rang with unbridled appreciation as they pounded
their palms together. The ragged pain in his shoulder
returned and his legs buckled. And the never-ending pain in
his groin seemed unbearable. The mutilation could never
leave his thoughts for long because its pain never left. He
fell to his knees and through blurred vision saw Stephen
approach him. Without thinking, Demian scrambled to his
feet and fled from the room. Stephen stood near the
harpsichord, his arms out as though to embrace the phantom
of the child who had fled. He could not decide whether to
follow the boy.
Before Stephen could react, Alexia had seized Demian in
the hallway and was holding the boy by the wrist. She half-
dragged him back to the assemblage. Smile and bow and show
a little class. You just added to the glory of your master
with that heavenly performance. You don't want to ruin that
by humiliating him, do you, dear? She fiercely whispered
into his ear.
Demian rubbed at his eyes and bowed to the audience
that was standing in a state of shock. The applause began
again immediately like thunder and Demian could not believe
that it would continue for so long. Everyone wanted to
touch his sleeve, his cheek, his hair.
People said things that he mostly didn't hear or
translate into thoughts. He could not find Stephen, though
Alexia wouldn't release him, so he was unable to search. The
pain in his groin seemed to grow even more intense.
I must sit, he groaned into Alexia's ear. She
excused them and led him away. An hour later they were in a
coach headed home.
Where is his excellency? The jostling of the coach
drove him mad as jolt after jolt of pain shot into him. He
could not endure the agony much longer. He knew he would die
of it.
Home by now. He had some negotiations to finish
tonight. It almost killed him to leave your side. She
rubbed his hair. You do plan to surrender to him tonight,
I trust.
I'll try to please him. His voice trembled.
Just show him your erection and all will go well.
Lady, you know I am castrati. I have no erection to
show.
Nonsense. You cannot produce a child but you are
sexually normal in every other way.
No. I am not. I have not had an...erection...in the
months since I was cut. I am in too much pain to think
about that kind of pleasure. . .of any kind of pleasure.
Pain?
He brought his hands to his thighs, hunching over a
little. It hurts. All the time. And it gets worse and
worse.
It isn't supposed to hurt. They must have done
something wrong. She pushed past Minos, the old servant who
opened the door for them. Why have you waited so long to
say something? She was angry.
I didn't know...until I learned about Pablo, I
guess...I thought it was supposed to hurt, that all castrati
felt the same...but that most were...braver....
You are such a precious little asshole. She led him
right into the den where Stephen conferred with a statesman.
She had Demian by the shoulder and pushed him forward.
Stephen looked up from the document he perused.
He smiled warmly at the boy, but asked, Can this wait?
Of course. I was just making sure he made it to your
presence. You know how unreliable he is and it's too
miserable a night to have all the servants searching the
alleys for him. She pushed Demian roughly into a chair.
He groaned in pain but did not speak. He has a little
story to tell you to explain his bizarre behavior. It's
nothing you'd have ever imagined. She turned and flounced
out of the room.
Stay there. I'll be finished in ten minutes.
Demian did not answer. He was steeling himself to
overcome his pain, to please Stephen in any way he could.
He had to be strong. He knew Stephen would never touch him
if he knew the touch caused pain. Demian struggled to
invent a story to cover Alexia's little introduction. It
had been a strange day, like something burst within him, and
for the first time since the surgery, he felt desire, not
sexual, but desire nontheless. His singing had been a
success, he knew that. But a greater challenge lay ahead in
the seduction and pleasing of an experienced man. Demian
wished he had said yes to the dozen or so men and boys that
had made offers in the streets. None had been appealing to
him, but he would have gained experience.
And suddenly the visitor was gone and Stephen stood
over his chair. You have a story to tell me?
Demian rose, and cursed inwardly at the flash of pain.
It was growing ever so much worse as the day went on. Why
now? he wondered in despair. I have no great story to tell,
Excellency, but rather a favor to ask.
Ask anything.
May I sleep in your chamber tonight?
Stephen smiled, made no effort to be coy or disguise
his happiness. You may."
The candles were lit in the sleeping chamber, one near
each of the sensual statues, one on the writing desk,
several on the nightstand. The room was golden. Stephen
entered and paced a little nervously, his body filled with
excitement. The boy's singing earlier had been blissful
beyond his experience. Now, he was poised to fulfill the
dream he had harbored since rescuing the lad.
Demian's pulse raced. He trembled from head to foot.
Still he forced extended eye contact with the great man. He
forced a frightened smile. Stephen's smile unfolded like
God's hand. Demian fumbled with his clothing, removed it
without grace, then stood naked before the man.
"I am sorry I have so little to offer you, excellency."
The boy's skin was like an angel's. His fair
complexion and blond hair made him seem ethereal in the
candle light. His body was smooth and the lines graceful.
His beauty surpassed that of his older brother. His eyes,
large, brilliant, and ringed with thick dark lashes, held a
rabbit's fear. His penis was a short worm, his scrotum a
scarred, shriveled sac. "You are an angel. . . I'm afraid to
touch you to find you are only an illusion."
Demian again smiled and slowly turned, showing his
buttocks. As he turned, Stephen saw a curious bulge at the
boy's pubic area. Then he saw the pale, thin globes,
elegant as blown crystal and he forgot about the anomaly.
The boy turned again. "I only want to please you.
What shall I do?"
"Hug me."
The boy stepped awkwardly to the man. They put their
arms around one another, Stephen's clothing scratching on
the boy's tender flesh. Demian's face was at the man's
breast. The man's smell was gentle but full of strength.
He rubbed his cheek against the coarse cloth. He had no
regrets and he longed to hold on to this one moment forever.
Soon the ordeal would begin. But it was worth it,
especially if he could but keep from showing his pain.
And he could feel the pressing bulge, hot and
unmistakable beneath the man's clothing. Stephen's hands
caressed his hair, his neck, his back. He could reach just
to where the curve of the lower back gave way to the
sensuous delicate curve of the buttocks. Then Stephen
lifted him gently and set him on the bed. He pushed the boy
onto his back and let his hands roam across the smooth and
narrow chest. He rubbed the boy's stomach, working lower.
Demian held his breath and bit his lip. He must not cry
out.
But the hand touched him and he flinched. The fingers
found his pathetic useless penis and lightly caressed it.
The heel of Stephen's palm pressed inadvertantly against the
swollen mound on his pubic bone, and the boy jerked his
whole body. He was appalled to hear a groan of pain escape
his lips.
"What is this?" Stephen said, bending to see better.
Demian began to cry, angry and frustrated that his life
should offer such possibilities when there was no means of
actualizing them. The man would soon reject him.
"Demian, you are swollen. Are you in pain?"
"No, sir." Stephen touched him and he flinched.
"You are in pain. How long has it been like this?"
"Since I was castrated, sir."
There was a long pause as Stephen stared at the boy's
groin. Demian could bear it no longer. He sat up, moved to
disengage from the fingers that still held his penis.
Stephen said, "Don't move. I will summon the
physician."
"I am fine, excellency. Please don't bother him at
this hour. I can bring you pleasure if you will allow me. .
. ."
"You are in pain and something is clearly wrong. You
wait on this bed and don't move. Understand?"
"Yes, sir." Demian curled into a fetal position as
Stephen went to the door. He spoke to a servant,
dispatching him to the physician's house, then he returned
to the bed.
The physician arrived a moment later. Alexia had
summoned him. The physician consulted in the next room with
Stephen. He entered and Demian spread his legs for the
inspection. Stephen held Demian's hand.
"It is exactly as you thought, Stephen. I'll need fire
for cauterizing."
"My servants will tend to it."
Stephen sat on the bed, stroking Demian's hair.
"What is it? What's wrong with me?"
"You need a minor incision to ease your pain," the
doctor said. "Other than that, it's too early to say. . .
."
Stephen and a servant held Demian's shoulders. Two
other servants held his knees as the physician did his work.
Demian whimpered, then wailed as he felt the pinch of the
blade and the pressure of probing fingers upon inflamed
flesh.
"It is intact," the physician said. Demian screamed
again as the cut was cauterized. He felt dizzy, gagging
from the smell of his burnt flesh. He lost consciousness.
Chapter 6.
He awakened to find Alexia sitting next to his bed.
"Well, he can open his eyes." Demian sat quickly, then
slumped back down. He felt very weak. "You had better lie
still."
"What happened to me?"
"You are whole--or nearly so."
"What do you mean?"
"Stephen will talk with you when he returns from the
Senate meeting. Would you like tea?" She left him shortly
after, and he felt relieved. Alexia frightened him
terribly. He was left to ponder what had befallen him--the
sudden surgery. Would his pain be relieved? He certainly
felt it still, though perhaps the worst of what he felt was
the cauterizing. He could still smell the trace of burnt
flesh in his nostrils. He did not investigate the situation
beneath his white bandages.
Later he heard Stephen in the hall talking with
servants and he was wild wih anticipation for the man to
visit him. He needed to know what the surgery had
accomplished. Would he be able to be the lover Stephen
wanted him to be? Nothing else seemed important. And if
Stephen wanted him to, he would sing, for anyone. He vowed
he would find courage to confess his love and to offer his
compliance to Stephen's every whim--even study at the
conservatory, though he hoped he could spend his evenings
with Stephen and his days in study....
Stephen was just outside his door talking with a
servant when suddenly a servant who was out of breath rushed
up. "It is a message from Pablo San Minnosa. He will be in
the city within the next 24 hours. He has requested that
his messenger return to him with word from you. Will you
see him?"
Demian sat in bed, listening keenly.
"Of course," Stephen said. "Have him come directly to
my house. He will stay here under my roof."
"Sir. . . .Excellency. . . he also wanted to know if
you had any other eunich under your roof...." The servant
was clearly embarrassed.
"Tell him, no. I eagerly await him."
Demian's heart stopped and a bitter taste came into his
mouth. He stifled a cry of despair and rejection. Then
Stephen gently opened the door and peered within. Demian
looked away so the man would not see the tears stinging his
eyes.
Stephen entered tentatively. "I'm happy to see you
sitting up. How do you feel?"
Demian looked down at his hands and blinked hard. "I'm
okay."
Stephen sat on the side of the bed. "I have some very
good news for you."
"I heard," he said breathlessly, thinking he was going
to tell of the imminent arrival of Pablo.
"You've heard? From Alexia? No matter, isn't it great
news? I'm so happy."
"Yes, Excellency," he said respectfully.
"I'm so glad I didn't force myself upon you. Pablo is
returning--just at the perfect time. That removes any
tempation I might have had to go ahead and ruin things by
seducing you."
Demian, thinking himself more miserable than he had
ever been, began sobbing. Even the pain this caused could
not squelch his sobs. Stephen put an arm about him and
pulled him to his chest. "What is this? This news should
cause you great joy. What's wrong?"
"Nothing, sir. I only want your happiness"
"That is not entirely possible unless I experience your
happiness. Clearly you are distraught, and I am at a total
loss to understand why. You're entire world just opened to
you, yet you weep in despair unlike I've ever seen. . . ."
"I somehow wanted to be a part of your happiness."
"You are," he said in surprise, releasing the boy's
shoulders and peering into his face. "You are at the center
of my universe. . . .When I learned you are not castrati, I
experienced sublime ecstacy and deep regret. The regret is
that I may never experience the intense pleasure of coupling
with you. The joy is from gaining a son."
Demian looked at Stepehen but briefly. "I don't
understand. . . ."
"I am mad with sexual desire for you. You are God's
most beautiful creation. But I love you deeply, Demian, in
a way that makes sex seem trivial. And to learn that you
are not castrati, that closes that door. I could never sex
with any child unless he is castrati...."
"What do you mean not castrati?"
Stephen paused. "But you said Alexia told you...the
castration was botched, only one teste was taken. The other
had retreated in the skin above your pubic bone and had been
held captive there by the crude cauterization. You have one
fully functioning testicle, therefore, you will become a
man."
"A man...." Demian remembered the coarse man saying he
had only one bollock. Of course, he had two. And so one was
missed, probably because it often retracted out of sight
during distress. Its retreat had saved him from being a
eunich. But had lost him a chance to be a lover to the
greatest man alive. "You want Pablo. . . ."
"His beauty compares to yours. . .And his voice is
heavenly."
"I must leave before he arrives."
"No, Demian," Stephen grabbed his arm. He peered into
the boy's face intensely. "You must never leave here."
"I cannot bear to know he is in your arms."
"That's crazy. I am going to adopt you. Do you know
what that means? You will possess great wealth. You will
marry a noble woman. Produce sons. The world is suddenly
open to you."
Demian averted his face, head bowed and eyes closed.
It seemed a small gain for such a great loss. Stephen rose,
feeling a turmoil of emotions. In a soft voice he spoke,
"In the morning it will seem better for you. I will show
you my estate, the estate that will someday be yours."
When Demian did not respond, Stephen withdrew. Alexia
met him in the hallway and Demian heard her say, "He still
causes you anguish? Expel him like the curse he is."
Thus when Stephen awoke the next morning to find Demian
gone, he sought Alexia first.
"Darling, I have no idea where he is. You misjudge me
if you accuse me of foul play."
"I'm sorry, Alexia. I'm just not thinking straight."
"It is that cursed boy. Think of the anguish you have
been through since you saved him from the bravos in the
square. Better you had been too late."
"No. It may be anguish, but it is the divine sort of
anguish only a privileged few ever experience." He turned
abruptly, seizing her hands. "Why, Alexia? Why did he
leave?"
She did not pull away. "You truly don't know, do you?"
"Do you?"
"I think so."
"Then tell me. You must tell me!"
"You really don't know your beloved child that well,
Stephen. In his own way he has told you his feelings many
times. And twice he has been wild with jealousy. Yet you
still don't see it. . . ."
"Jealousy? Of what?"
"First it was that awful eunich at Ledo's party. He had
vowed to never sing, to never affirm the choice that was
forced upon him to be less than a man. For you he sang.
Publicly. Shamelessly he sang out his love for you in a
voice so clear everyone there could hear it. Everyone, that
is, except you. You don't understand what a gift he gave
you. . . ."
"I understood thegift but not its cause...And the
second time?"
"Why did he say he had to leave here?"
"Because Pablo was coming. But when he said that he
didn't understand that he was not castrati, that his life
could mean so much more than being a rich man's sex toy."
Alexia laughed caustically. "He knew you would never
treat him as a lover. It still hasn't occurred to you that
the boy wanted nothing in the world than to make love to
you. With or without his balls. Honestly, Stephen, you are
so blind."
"And I have rejected him." His voice was flat. His
tongue felt like lead in his mouth. "But it was for his
good. I didn't truly reject him. I offered him my
household. My wealth. My name!"
"He's a 12 year old boy madly in love for the first
time. Do you think he is capable of understanding what you
were "sacrificing" for him? Oh, go look for him. Bring him
back. Smother him with kisses and allow him the privilege
of giving you sexual release." She turned and stode from
the room.
Stephen sent out every servant. He himself went to the
theatre where Darian, his brother, worked. Darian welcomed
the man, but swore he had not seen his brother since
Stephen's last visit. "By the way, Darian. It turns out
your brother is not castrated after all. The job was
botched."
"Great," Darian said with the beguiling smile of a
stage performer. Stephen could not tell if his words rang
true.
"If you see him, send him to me. Tell him I will do
anything he wants. Anything."
In despair and seeking comfort, he went to Ledio's
house. Ledio was out but Tonio received him. "What is
wrong Excellency?" Tonio asked upon seeing the man's
confusion.
"Remember the boy--Demian? He is missing."
Tonio gasped. "But my lord. You sent him just this
morning to have his botched castration fixed."
"What do you mean?"
"Oh, no. Excellency, forgive me. He came to me early
this morning saying you had sent him out to have his
castration completed but that he had foolishly lost the
address. I directed him to your physician...."
Stephen ran out of the house without speaking another
word. He ran straight to the physician's office and knocked
at the door of his adjoining house. A female servant
escorted Stephen to the physician's office.
"Have you seen Demian?"
"He's in an antechamber waiting for me. He's been
there for over two hours. I sent for you immediately but
your house was empty of servants. He became impatient and I
was afraid he would leave, so I had him disrobe and took his
clothes. Follow me."
"He told you he wanted to be castrated?"
"He told me you had ordered it. Of course, this I knew
to be false." They stopped in front of a door. "His clothes
are on the table over there."
"Send me your bill for this great service you have
done."
"There will be no bill, Excellency. The boy has much
character. I confess I did not like him at first, but he
truly amazed me. He loves you more than his own life."
"And I've ignored his bid for my love."
"Um...there is one other thing. The boy should have
rest for at least another week to heal properly. Forgive me
for my candor, Excellency, but that would include sexual
activity."
"No offense taken, dear friend." Stephen took the
boy's clothes in his hand and opened the door.
"Excellency," Demian said in surprise.
"Hello, Demian." The boy rose from the wooden chair,
naked and as unashamed as an angel.
Stephen looked. He could not have kept from looking at
the naked beauty before him. Except for his scarred
scrotum, he had not a single blemish on his vibrant skin.
"You here to have yourself gelded?"
"I didn't know what else to do...."
"So you could be a singer?"
"No, Excellency. Unless it pleases you."
"Then why?"
"I know you do not love me as you love Pablo... But
after he leaves, I thought you might find me to be a
tolerable substitute."
"I love you infinitely more, Demian." He swept the boy
into his arms and they stood in the middle of the small
office in a long embrace. Eventually his hand found its way
to the soft, shapely buttocks. The boy moved to provide him
better access.
"Excellency, I would do anything to share your bed,
even for an hour."
Stephen thought about the small nugget within the boy's
scarred scrotum, about the boy's visit to the physician to
have it removed. He knew Demina spoke the truth. He sat,
pulling the naked boy onto his lap. He brought his face
close, caressing the boy's cheeks with his hands.
"How can I be your father and your lover?"
Demian didn't answer for a long time. He could feel the
man's huge erection pressing against his leg. He dropped
his hand to touch its shape. Then he timidly said, "What's
the harm if it is known only to us?"
Stephen's kiss, full on the boy's voluptuous lips,
provided the answer to the boy's question. He knew he should
call off the search being performed by servants and friends.
But being alone with his naked boy for the first time, stole
his common sense.
He sat upon a padded chair and pulled Demian onto his
lap. When Stephen broke their kiss, the boy gasped and
rubbed his hand across the lump in Stephen's breeches. "May
I open your pants?" the boy asked in a modest voice.
"You may do anything you like. I am yours to command."
Demian struggled with the buttons. "But Sire, I am in
need of your instruction."
The small, hot hand seized his seeping erection.
Stephen closed his eyes and moaned to reveal his pleasure.
"It would seem that you do not."
"Does this feel good?" he asked hopefully.
"Heavenly."
"Shall I sit upon it as in the statue in your bedroom?"
"That act will be my greatest joy. But it is too soon.
Not only must you heal from the surgery, you must be
prepared for penetration, lest you suffer great pain and
injury."
"No injury would stay my desire to please you."
"But it would stay my pleasure to cause injury. I
cannot hurt you, my beloved Demian."
Demian, having never masturbated, didn't know what to
do with the huge cock. He lightly rubbed his hand all
around. Stephen looked down and say the boy's cock
beginning to stiffen.
He grabbed the boy's hand. "Oh, what am I thinking?
You must have rest and time to heal before we can do this."
"I have never felt better," the boy boasted.
"And I have never felt more aroused, but we must go
tell my staff to cease in their search for you. Then we
must get you into bed--alone!"
Demian groaned, but didn't resist when Stephen pushed
him to his feet.
"Get dressed, Demian."
Stephen was just tucking Demian into his own bed when
Marena came to the door. "Stephen, Pablo is in the
receiving room."
Stephen blanched. "I forgot about Pablo."
Bravely, Demian said, "Bring him to this room. I'll
move to guest quarters."
"I will have him brought here."
As Stephen turned toward Marena, she bowed, "As you
wish."
"Stephen, I don't think I can bear to meet him. Please
direct me toward my new quarters."
"Nonsense. This is your bed, as well as mine."
"When he sees you he will need no explanation for my
unwillingness to couple with him."
Pablo, a lanky dark-haired boy entered with great
enthusiasm and ran to embrace Stephen. "My lord. It is so
good to see you."
"You look wonderful, as always."
"Who is this?" Pblo asked upon seeing Demian in
Stephen's bed. Demian sat politely with the sheet drawn
across his torso to hide his nakedness.
"And I might also ask," Stephen said, pointing to the 7
year old boy who stood in the doorway. He wore the orange
robe of a Conservatory apprentice. His hands were folded
and hanging politely over his crotch. He had long lashes and
jet hair that extended well past his shoulders. If not for
the robe of a castrati, he might have been mistaken for a
girl.
"I've taken a lover," Pablo said simply.
"As have I," Stephen responded warmly.
Pablo laughed. "Excellency, it relieves me greatly to
hear that. I've vowed to never play the passive role
again."
"Well, you never were a passive one!"
"What is this beautiful boy's name?"
"Demian. Demian, this is Pablo."
"Pleased to meet you, sir."
"Looks like I've come at a bad time. Or does he keep
you naked and in bed at all times?" Pablo laughed wickedly,
making Demian blush deeply.
"I've never had sex with the boy," Stephen said softly.
"Things have certainly changed around here! Why haven't
you broken this young steed?"
"He's healing from a delicate surgical procedure."
"You mean at his age he is only recently cut?"
"No, that's not it. It is a very long story. Let me
order some wine and food. Would you like to bathe?"
"No. But I feel if your boy is naked, then mine should
be, too."
He snapped his fingers without turning and the boy
instantly stepped free of his cloak. He gazed at his
master, awaiting Pablo's next command. As he waited, he
stood with hands at his sides. His scrotum was a small brown
flap of skin. His penis looked shocking to both Demian and
Stephen. Though he had never seen such a penis, he
instantly knew that the boy had been circumcised. What made
it look even more shocking without the thick foreskin he was
accustomed to was that the penis seemed to have no shaft.
It was as though the glans sprang directly from his bald
pubis.
"He had the smallest member in the Conservatory. I
took the skin from it myself. This way he receives
stimulation whenever he moves. He is a very horny child.
And quite beautiful, don't you think?"
"Yes," Stephen said softly. His unreleased passion
from the doctor's waiting room returned to him, making it
difficult to stand tall.
"Would you like to bed him?"
"Of course, I would love to; however, I am pledged to
Demian."
"It's okay, Stephen," Demian said. "If you want
to...."
He swept the boy, his boy, into his arms and kissed the
top of his head. In a whisper he said, "Though your health
is frail, there are still things you may do to bring me
relief. And any affection from you is preferrable to all
affection from anyone else."
Demian looked up and their eyes locked. "You are so
much more than I deserve."
As Pablo politely excused himself from their chamber,
Stephen guided the boy's hand to the center of his passion.
The hand pawed clumsily through his breeches before
triumphantly claiming the shaft.
Almost immediately, Demian winced in pain, and Stephen
quickly grabbed his hand. "What is wrong?"
"It is nothing, sir. Let me continue."
Stephen saw the contours of the sheet at the boy's
loins. "It is with delight and concern I see your present
state of arousal. My heart soars to think your passion
could be summoned by the mere touch of my body. Yet it also
signals the end to our current intimacy. You must let your
body heal."
"Stephen," he called reaching out to stop the man from
rising.
At the doorway, Stephen turned and said, "Sleep. In
the days to come there will be time enough for lovemaking."
Though he sent servants with messages to Demian several
times a day, Stephen did not visit the boy for a week. When
the physician came to him and said Demian's wounds were
adequately healed, Stephen set sail for a small provate
island Ledio made available for him. The island was
surrounded by rocks and sand, and at the base of it's single
rugged peak, a humble stone abode had been erected. He
brought servants aboard his ship and supplies for one week.
After settling himself into the house, he sent the servants
to fetch Demian.
Two days later Demian stood on deck of the ship, and as
requested, handed all of his clothes to a servant. Naked
and unashamed of his arousal, the boy climbed down a rope
and swam the short distance to shore. Up a winding dirt
trail, he saw the stones of his destination. Leaning
against a stone wall, he saw Stephen. They waved, and at
once the boy set out.
Stephen saw his pale and skinny boy swiftly cross the
beach and begin the short climb to the house. Stephen waited
on the small plaza, squinting against the brilliant sun. As
the boy stepped into view, Stephen, standing 20 feet
distant, casually threw off his robe, and stood proudly
naked before his young love.
They stood as if statues suspended from time by the
artist's hand, looking at one another. The sound of the surf
and the brittle cry of scavenging seagulls were the only
sounds. At last Stephen broke the silence between them.
"You present arousal causes no pain?"
"Only the pain of longing...." The boy stepped
tentatively closer.
"You are healed?"
"May I embrace you?"
Parsimoniously, Stephen inclined his head. The boy had
taken five steps before Stephen strode to meet him. Demian's
body crashed into Stephen's like wave on rock, and in
Stephen's crushing embrace, Demian's fragile body unleashed
its passion against the man's hairy thigh. Though no
emission came, as none would for a couple years, Stephen
recognized the boy's spending through the sporadic
contractions of his muscles.
At Stephen released the boy from his embrace, a small
hand claimed his throbbing pillar. He looked down to the
sight of his foreskin, trapped beneath the small fist, and
his purple glans, appearing several times a second from
beneath the folds of skin. His hips matched the boy's
gestures until Stephen stared at the sky through closed lids
as the boy watched in amazement. Stephen's spending seemed
to last an eternity. When he again opened his eyes, he saw
thick sheets of his semen gliding down the pearly, almost
translucent skin of Demian's abdomen.
In Demian's eyes he saw a smile of satisfaction, but
deeper, he saw an unflagging hunger. He kissed the boy's
lips, working against them with softened lips and tongue,
relaxing Demian's lips into a blossoming passion.
Cradling the boy's head in the crook of a powerful arm, he
broke the kiss and said, "You must be in need of
nourishment. Come inside."
As they ate grapes and drank lightly of wine, Stephen
found himself unable to look away from the beauty of the
naked boy for long. His semen had begun to crust on the
boy's skin. Demian's finger-like shaft remained firm.
Beneath it, his scrotum dangled, asymmetrical because of
what had been taken. The small incision still had a scab,
so Stephen knew he must exercise constraint in their future
couplings.
Eventually Demian grew content from the food and drink
and sat back, his legs spread invitingly. "Do you know I
will do anything you wish?"
His long lashes darkened his downcast eyes. The boy's
modesty was as fetching as the sight of his hairless and
girlish body. Stephen said, "Yes, but do you know I will do
anything you wish?"
"But I can only want your happiness."
"And I can only be happy through your happiness."
Throughout the day they shared in the pleasure of the
other's flesh: on the portico, in the scrub forests, along
the beach. As the sun hung low and transformed itself to a
lustrous crimson, they retired to the bed chamber. From
Stephen's early gentle caressing of his slender buttocks,
the boy knew what was to transpire. It was a moment of
great mystery and fear. He knew the experience would not be
completely pleasurable; however, the sacrifice of some
discomfort was a small one for this man who had given him a
fortune, a future, his manhood, and more importantly the
love he needed to find purpose.
Passively he allowed Stephen to turn him to his
stomach. when an oily finger searched his shallow cleft,
Demian spread his legs and lifted his hips, providing the
man unhesitating access to his darkest passage. He jumped
at the first touch on his rosebud, not from pain or ffear,
but from the surprisingly pleasant sensation it produced.
"Trust me and surrender yourself to me, and this will
go smoothly."
"I trust you completely. You already possess my soul,
so what is left to surrender?"
As his finger burrowed into the depths of Demian's
rectum, Stephen leaned close to the boy's ear and said,
"Your virginity."
Demian grunted.
The finger continued to probe and stretch for such a
long time that darkness closed in around them like a heavy
cloak. Demian concentrated on controlling his breathing as
Stephen introduced a second finger into his fundament. After
a moment, the discomfort eased. Stephen worked with gentle,
leisurely movements, preparing the boy's chamber for his
cock.
Demian forced his fingers to uncurl as the man hovered,
then slowly descended onto him. No trace of light remained
in the room, and as the man's strong, hairy flesh covered
his back, Demian had a moment of panic. He raised his head
and nearly spoke, but before he could utter a sound,
Stephen's tongue touched his ear canal, sending a shiver of
pleasure through his body.
The cock pressed into place, slick, hot, insistent.
The boy heard Stephen's breath go still, making him hold his
own. The stasis lasted too long, and the anticipation
became more unbearable than the fear of pain. the boy
raised himself up against the powerful cock.
It pierced through his sphincter, and Demian's head
raised in a breathless and silent cry of pain. What the boy
became aware of even more than the pain in his bottom, was
the explosion of Stephen's held breath in his ear. As they
remained frozen in place, connected by only 3 centimeters of
Stephen's shaft, the man's breath exploded in ragged,
shallow bursts. Demian knew this to be the breathing of a
man experiencing great physical pleasure. He pressed upward
even further, encouraging the man to penetrate him more
fully.
Stephen took his cue and pressed downward. Every
sensation that entered his consciousness emanated from his
penis. The only thing that prevented his immediate spending
was the restraint made possible by the three orgasms that
immediately preceeded this coupling.
He seemed to meet renewed resistant after only 10
centimeters of his penis was sheathed. This sensation was
confirmed by Demian's groan. Stephen began a slow
withdrawal. With slow gentle motions, he created intense
friction and pressure on his cock. Even his best times with
Pablo didn't compare to the passion and sensations that
loomed over them like an impending tidal wave.
When the orgasm started, Stephen lost his self-control.
Wave after wave of energy exploded from his body, and at the
center of their universe, Stephen laid claim and the boy
surrendered. When the last of Stephen's energy had been
summoned and propelled into the boy, he collapsed. It was
several minutes later that he realized his weight must be a
burden to the boy. He grasped the boy's chest tightly and
rolled them both onto their sides without breaking the
connection. As he caressed the boy's sweaty stomach, he
realized his cock was fully inside Demian. He knew he had
totally been carried away with his passion.
"Are you okay?" he asked tenderly. "Do you want me to
remove myself?"
"No. Let's stay like this forever."
The boy eventually drifted off to sleep, but Stephen
could not relinquish his triumph. It wasn't until this day
that he had truly known the fulfillment of love. It was a
day to treasure. As the boy's breathing deepened into
slumber, he felt his cock, still deep inside the boy, begin
to engorge once again.
As he began a slow withdrawal, thinking it best to give
the boy some rest, Demian's small hand dug into the hard
flesh of Stephen's buttocks, stopping him. Stephen
discovered the boy's erection.
And so they spent the rest of the night in
intermittent, dream-like lovemaking, the bond between them
unbroken, their bodies locked in love.
THE END