Date: Sun, 23 Jan 2000 16:14:31 +0900
From: Andrej Koymasky <andrejkoymasky@geocities.com>
Subject: son 10

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I, THE PRESIDENT'S SON
by Andrej Koymasky
Written on March 23, 1995
translated by the Author
English text kindly revised
by Richard

-----------------------------

USUAL DISCLAINER

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

----------------------------

TENTH -- Past breaks into again.

We went for our swim. When, back on the beach, Khaled took me in his
arms, we lay down on our pareu and started to caress and kiss each other
all over our bodies, awakening with art one another's desire. Finally
Khaled sat on my lap and, embracing me and caressing my back, made me
take him. His expression filled with pleasure inflamed me -- I was
lightly holding him at his waist while he bobbed over me, and I started
to suckle his sweet, hard nipples pushing myself inside him from down
upward, meeting his movements.

We enjoyed each other for a long while, without any worry, oblivious of
the four men who, in our house, close by, were probably still discussing
our fate. We exchanged our love, enjoying the sweet night under the
silver light of the moon, the murmur of the waves underlining the murmur
of our hearts.

When, at last satisfied and for the moment sated, without even wearing
our pareu but keeping them in our hands, we went back to our room, only
Martin was there waiting for us. He looked at our nudity without getting
upset, rather, he smiled us with an expression between the sweet and the
shy.

"They left." he just said.

"Will they come back?" I asked.

"I'm afraid they will. Unhappily, Dave, I'm afraid that Junior is right
-- even if Dad left you in peace, sooner or later this place will swarm
with reporters, and they will not leave you in peace, for sure. What do
you intend to do?"

"What is your advise?" Khaled asked him.

"I don't know. It depends very much on what Dad decides to do. However,
I think it would be better if you leave Tonga for some time, at least
until it becomes clear how things develop."

"They told us that we couldn't leave Tonga for any reason..." Khaled
recounted then.

"But now that situation has changed. Anyway, I will go back home and I
will try to convince Dad that the best thing he can do is to announce
his withdrawal from the political scene. And then accordingly he will
not run for the next presidential."

"Do you think you can succeed?"

"I doubt it, but I want to try." Martin said thoughtful.

I discussed it with Khaled, and in the end we decided that perhaps it
would be worth it to give ourselves a long trip to escape what could
happen shortly. So I called Bruce inviting him to come to our island.
When I told him we were thinking to going on a long journey, for some
months somewhere, he seemed interested.

"If you decided not to incriminate the secret service for your faked
death, this could be the best solution." he admitted, then asked: "Where
are you planning to go? Do you have any ideas yet?"

"No, not yet. Besides, we also have to think how to organize things here
for after we leave. Both to have the hotel continue to run, and for the
eventuality that the reporters really do come looking for me, to
investigate. I think I'll have to tell whole the truth at least to Jeff,
and to Mike and Loui."

"Yes, possibly... even though the less people know about all that..."

"At this point, Bruce, there is not a whole lot of difference, do you
think? And if they know, they will manage to react to the inquiries
better, won't they?"

I called Jeff asking him to come as soon as possible, together with
Sanit. Meanwhile Martin went back home, promising to keep in contact
with me, and he gave me his cellular phone number so I could find him at
any time. Also Junior had left, and just Bruce remained.

When Jeff and Sanit came, I called Mike and Loui also and revealed to
them my true identity and the story that brought us here. Sanit was the
most astounded, Loui was less in awe. Jeff said that they would carry on
the hotel business, and that regardless, whoever came to investigate
about us, they would affirm that we were certainly Tongans, and that if
Jonathan resembled Dave, it was just an odd coincidence. Jeff proposed
instead, to say we were friends for almost ten years, that is before my
"death". We agreed upon some details. Bruce was taking note of our
decision and at times he contributed also with some useful suggestions.
When it came to the planning of our journey, I told Bruce that I didn't
want the secret services involved in it, so they neither knew or
controlled where we would go. Jeff proposed to help us to organize it.
So it was decided that first of all we would fly to Australia with Jeff
and Sanit then, from there we would start our trip. Bruce couldn't do
anything but accept it. Also because, anyway, after Larry showed he had
access to the secret services, Bruce realized that he didn't know any
more who he could trust or not in his own organization. It was weird for
me seeing Bruce so submissive...

Khaled and I went to Sidney with Jeff and Sanit. Here Jeff organized a
long trip for us, taking all precautions so no one could easily trace
us. Our first stop would be in Okinawa, then Kyoto. From there to Korea,
then to Thailand as guests of Sanit's family. We would use our Tongan
passports, therefore we started again to call each other John and Abe.

We left. Sanit's family welcomed us with open arms. They knew nothing
about the boy being gay and living with Jeff. They thought that Jeff was
his employer, and that Sanit simply had found a very good job after his
graduation, therefore he remained in Australia. After Thailand we
visited Shri Lanka, then India, Afghanistan, and from there we went up
to the Ukraine and Russia.

Here we read in the newspapers that my father announced he would
withdraw from political life. I then called Martin. He told me that both
he and Mary Ann exerted very strong pressures on our father to make him
reach that decision, that it was best not to raise a scandal, and that
his enemies inside his own party, in exchange, didn't reveal I was still
alive. My father swallowed the bitter pill, certainly not willingly, but
he surrendered to the inescapable, especially when my brother and sister
lined up against him. He went back to our home town, where he was soon
elected mayor again...

Khaled and I celebrated -- this possibly meant at last the end of all
our problems. We went to Germany and I decided to look for Rick and
Klaus. I wanted to give them a surprise. They were no longer at the
address I had, but as I had Klaus' information, we went to the general
registry office who had their new residence. They were now living in
Nuremberg. Upon reaching that beautiful, old town, I called their home
from the hotel. Klaus answered. In English I asked him if Rick was at
home.

"No, he will be back later. Who's speaking, please?"

"I am an old friend of Rick's. My name is Jonathan Marakei and I'm here
with Abraham." I answered and Khaled giggled shaking his head amusedly
at my prank.

"Ah, Mister Marakei... If you would be so kind to call later... or
better, if you want to give me your telephone number..."

I told him in what hotel we were and gave him our room number. He
promised me that he would have Rick call me as soon as he was back. We
hung up.

"Didn't he recognize you?"

"No, we met a few times, several years ago. But possibly Rick will
recognize my voice..."

"Possibly not -- he could not possibly guess you are still alive, could
he?" Khaled said caressing me. He pushed me on the bed, opened my shirt
and started to kiss and caress me.

"Hey, young man, what's up?" I asked caressing him and opening his
trousers.

"I want you, boy! Do you want to be mine?" he asked jokingly.

"Oh, yes, take me!"

"Do you say 'yes' so easily to everybody?" Khaled asked pulling off my
trousers.

"No, not to everybody. But to you I do. Always..."

"And why you say always 'yes' to me?" he asked wedging himself full of
desire between my legs.

"Because I am so in love with you." I answered offering myself to him.

"And why are you in love with me?" He asked gently pushing his way
inside me.

"Because you are the most splendid man I never met. And principally when
you take me..." I happily sighed while he was starting to move inside me
with manly passion.

I was taking him when the telephone rung. "Answer, it must be Rick..."
Khaled sighed.

"I'll call him later." I answered continuing to take him with gusto.

"But..." Khaled objected.

"What's that? do you want me to stop?"

"No..." he murmured, and while the telephone continued to ring, he
pulled me to him and deeply kissed me.

We continued to make love with passion and serenity, until we both
reached the peak of pleasure, then we lied down satisfied, one in the
arms of the other.

"With you, each time is better than the previous one..." Khaled
whispered me gently caressing my cheek. Then added: "But now it will
probably be better if you call back Rick."

I took the telephone. Rick answered.

"Hello, I'm Jonathan Marakei."

"Mister Marakei... Klaus told me that you called before, but, forgive
me, I can't remember having had the pleasure to meet you. Where and when
did we met?"

"Oh, ages ago... at a party... I'm visiting here in Nuremberg with my
partner, and I would like to have the pleasure to meet you again..."

"Well, yes..." Rick hesitantly answered, then added: "If you want to
come to our home, now, we will wait for you."

"Just the time it takes to get a taxi, if you're sure we don't bother
you."

"No, certainly not. See you soon, then." he said and hung up.

"He didn't recognize you?" Khaled asked amused.

"I really don't think he did." I answered while we were dressing.

We reached Rick and Klaus' home. I rang the bell. They buzzed us in and
we went upstairs. When we got out from the elevator, Rick was at the
door.

He looked at me, widened his eyes, then murmured: "Dave..."

"Yes, Rick." I answered with a smile.

"Oh fucking hell! But you are alive!"

"As you can see..."

"Oh fucking goodness... but..." he stammered looking and looking again
at me, completely disconcerted. Then he held out his arms, and we held
each other tight. "How's this possible? God what a feeling! Come in,
come in please."

I told them the whole story while Klaus fixed us a drink. They plied us
with questions. Rick was overjoyed to see me again, and his happiness
filled me with pleasure. They insisted unconditionally that we leave the
hotel and move to their place, in their guest room.

"You didn't have an easy life, my dear friend. After that time they
caught us, for me started happiness and for you, the contrary..."

"Well, for me too, after I met Khaled. In spite of all they tried to do
to us, we endured."

"At any rate, now I understand why your father so suddenly renounced his
political life. The pretext of the health reasons didn't convince me so
much. Did you ever again hear from your father, meet him after that
time?"

"No, never. And sincerely I'm not so eager to. It seems that our lives
are incompatible, in some way. I met again Junior, and I am in touch
with Martin."

"And Mary Ann?"

"I just talked to her on the phone. I don't want to go to our country,
so if she won't come to see me..."

"And Larry? I wouldn't expect that he played so dirty with you!"

"Oh, the political passion... And now he will be glad he succeeded in
putting my father out of play."

We stayed a dozen or more days with Klaus and Rick, who did their utmost
to make us spend unforgettable days. Then we decided to move on to
Paris. We both had a great desire to see the places again which knew the
first steps of our falling in love. We went to dance again in the disco
where we met the first time, and he again danced only for me, just like
then. He smiled me, I smiled back. Then I went to the bar to take a
drink and he came at my side.

I smiled him again and asked him: "May I offer you a drink?"

"Yes, thank you, but a non alcoholic -- I am a Muslim." he said.

"Ah, you didn't seem me an Arab, I thought you rather to be a Spaniard."

We went to sit to a low table. "Are you gay?" I asked him, creating
again the atmosphere of long ago.

He smiled: "An Arab will never admit he is gay, but I am one. And I like
men, not boys."

"Am I too young for you?" I asked him with a light sly smile.

"No, you are really the right age, you know? Do you have a place?"

"No."

"Then, we can go to my hotel room. Are you coming?"

"Yes, but what will they say, in the lobby?"

"Nothing. But are you looking just for fun with me, or do you have
serious intentions?"

"Me? Well, let's start to see how well you make love, then I'll tell
you..." I said laughing and we went back to our hotel, filled with
desire.

Then we went to London, and from there down to Madrid and by the train
we visited several Spanish historical cities, then we went to the south
of France. From there we quietly went down to Rome. The long holiday was
doing good for both of us, we were feeling again that taste of freedom.

In Rome we settled in a hotel not far from Navona square. I called Mary
Ann and she said she would join us in Rome. At last I could meet her
again, after so many years.

We went to fetch her from the airport. I didn't recognize her right
away, it was she who recognized me. She had become an elegant, refined
woman, different from the twenty one year old young woman I left. She
was splendid in her thirty years, I could almost say royal.

She embraced me tightly then, looking at Khaled, she gave him her hand:
"I am really happy to meet you, Khaled... we can be informal, right?
Martin told me so much about you, and in terms decidedly flattering so I
was longing to meet you." she said warmly.

"Also John, that is Dave, told me a lot about you, Mary Ann. Welcome in
Rome."

We took her to our hotel, where we had booked a room for her. She asked
us for some time to refresh herself. We told her we would wait for her
in our room. Then the three of us went out to tour the city and we
chatted merrily and relaxed. Then we went to eat in a typical
"trattoria" that we were suggested to go by the hotel, a typical
restaurant of the town.

While Khaled was at the rest room, Mary Ann told me: "He is really
likable, and handsome. And it's evident you love each other. Are you at
last happy, Dave?"

"Yes, Mary Ann, I am very happy. He is a splendid partner. It is eight
years now we are together, and thanks to his love these years have been,
in spite of all they made us undergo, years of happiness."

"You could even come back with him, now, couldn't you?"

"No, Mary Ann. As I told you I don't have, we don't have any intention
to leave our small island. Nowadays our life is there, I don't even
exist any more, for my country. We now are two Tongans, the cousins
Jonathan and Abraham Marakei, as it says on our passports. Moreover,
besides you and Martin, I have nothing more related to me, there,
besides bad memories."

"Yes, I understand. I'm anyway happy seeing you well, in good shape,
happy. If anyway one day you decided to comer back, you know that both
my house and that of Martin are always open for you two."

"Thank you. You are so dear!"

We toured a while with Mary Ann in several Italian cities -- for her too
it was the first time she came in Italy. Then we saw her to the airport.
Then we boarded the ship for Morocco -- Khaled wanted to show me his
country.

"But what if your relatives recognize you? After so much tine, and a so
long silence..." I asked him.

"No, we will not go in the area of my village. It is far from Marrakech,
that I want you to see. And there I don't know anybody, nobody knows
me."

"Don't you miss your family? You were in good relation with them,
weren't you?"

"Yes, because they didn't know I am gay. If I didn't have to disappear
with you, they would soon have started to make pressure to make me
marry, and then problems would have arisen. And I would have left them
anyway, to be able to live my life. I'm happy I met you."

"In spite of all? The kidnapping, the exile in Tonga... You could not
even end your studies..."

"I prefer you to electronics, believe me." Khaled merrily answered.

After a short cruise, we disembarked in Morocco. Khaled, as we had
Tongan passports, decided to pretend he didn't understand Arab, and that
he knew only French and English. And to play the tourist together with
me. Reaching Marrakech, we went with a taxi to the hotel we booked from
Italy. More than once they addressed Khaled in Arab, including the taxi
driver, but they seemed to accept without problems he was not an Arab
but a Tongan, also because they didn't have the faintest idea what a
Tongan looked like.

"What effect does it have on you acting the stranger in your country?" I
asked him when we were in our room.

"Amusing. To listen to all they say believing I can't understand them
makes me feel somewhat like a... peeping tom. But it is amusing. Anyway,
I have to tell you, I'm discovering I don't feel so much like an Arab.
It seems to me almost as if this world, this culture are far a thousand
miles from my life."

"And yet, you continue not to drink alcohol, not to eat pork..." I made
him notice, but without criticizing him.

"Habits, difficult to lose." he said pulling me to himself, "like that
to descend with desire for you, my love. A habit I have no intention to
lose." he whispered me holding me tight from back, biting my ear and
making me feel his hard-on against my ass.

"Me neither..." I sighed pushing and brushing against him, then I asked
him: "Do you want me?"

"Yes, my love..."

We were in front of the window of our room. I leaned on the windowsill
while he was opening and lowering my trousers, and I pushed against him.
I felt that he too had opened his trousers. Caressing my chest and
belly, and between my legs, he leaned against me and pushed. I welcomed
him inside me, while looking at the landscape, and thought it was
beautiful feeling him inside me. From somewhere, an Arab singsong
accompanied his movements inside me, and I soon felt transported to
paradise. From a window of the hotel, another client, half leaning out
like me, waved me a greeting and I answered back.

"Who are you greeting?"

"Another client of this hotel who is at his window. Don't you see him?"

"No..."

"Therefore, he too can't see you..." I noted with a giggle.

"Are you sorry, or are you happy?" Khaled asked pistoning inside me with
his usual vigor.

"Neither of them. Harder, go on..." I urged him, half closing my eyes.

"Yes, but come on the bed, come on. I want to take you from front, I
like looking at you, you know it..."

"Yes..." I said parting from him.

Going towards the bed we freed ourselves from our clothes then lying
down, we resumed making love.

On the day after, Khaled wanted to remain in the hotel as he felt
somewhat tired. I wanted to remain with him, but he insisted that I not
abandon the guided tour of the old town, that the hotel organized for
its clients.

The visit was interesting. It lasted all the morning long and continued
also in the afternoon, after the lunch in a typical restaurant. I was
anxious to reach the restaurant to call Khaled to see how he felt. I got
out of the bus, we entered in dribs and drabs into the restaurant. I was
going towards the telephone, when I noticed an Arab holding high a sign,
so that everybody could see it, on which was written "Mr. Marakei".

Surprised, and somewhat worried, I approached him: "I am Marakei..." I
said.

"Ah, sir, if you want to follow me, there is a car of the hotel here
outside waiting for you."

"Why? What happened?" I asked even more worried.

"Your relative... an accident..."

"An accident? What accident?"

"I don't know, sir, I was just sent to fetch you."

I followed him, my heart in tumult -- what accident, what could have
happened to him? Did he feel ill? I ought not to have left him alone, I
was telling myself, while the car proceeded slowly, incredibly slow,
through the narrow and crowded streets. Somehow or other we finally
reached the hotel and there I felt my heart break -- there was an
ambulance, several cars of the police, a crowd.

I got out and run to the hall. Here a clerk recognized me: "Mister
Marakei..." he said aloud coming towards me and, together with him came
two policemen in uniform and a man in plain clothes, who announced
himself as a police inspector and, in French, asked me: "Are you the
cousin of Monsieur Abraham Marakei, Monsieur?"

"Yes, it's me. But what happened? Where is Abraham?"

"I am really sorry, Monsieur, but... we are trying to reconstruct the
facts... If you want to follow me..."

"Where is Abraham?" I almost shouted.

"I have to give you a sad news, Monsieur, they took him to the
hospital..."

"Is he ill? Is he wounded?"

"Unhappily, Monsieur, they brought him to the hospital morgue for the
autopsy, Monsieur."

I lost consciousness. When I recovered, I was lying in the bed of a room
of the hotel, not our room. In the room there were two policemen, a
nurse, a hotel clerk.

"How are you?" the nurse asked me as soon as he saw I opened my eyes. A
policeman went out and came back soon with the inspector. He asked me if
I felt like answering to some questions. And the interrogation started.
At first I almost thought to tell them who we really were, but then I
preferred to maintain the version of the two Tongans...

"How it comes that your cousin was circumcised?" at a certain point the
inspector asked me.

"A phimosis, when he was a child." I answered.

"He looks like a Moroccan..." the inspector said.

"No, not even a drop of Arab blood, we are cousins, I know that well." I
insisted. Telling the truth meant to bring again to surface all our
story and this I didn't want... At this point it was completely
meaningless.

Khaled had been stabbed in our room, by a hotel porter who defended
himself saying that he had to do it in order to escape to the heavy
sexual advances of the client. I didn't believe it, I replied firmly.
And anyway it was certain that he had not been killed for a theft, the
inspector said after they allowed me to go back to our room to check if
something was missing. I asked to make a couple of telephone calls. I
called Jeff and Martin and told them. Both said they would come
immediately in Morocco.

At last I could see again Khaled. He was lying naked on a marble table,
in the morgue, covered with a sheet. The autopsy had not yet been
executed. On the wounds of the dagger they had put some plasters. I
caressed him for the last time, then covered him again. No, I didn't
believe the killer's version, that on the other hand the police seemed
to confirm.

First Jeff then Martin came and I was surprised when he told me that
Bruce also came on his same flight, and who was now at the Embassy. I
explained then what little I knew, and told them I stuck to our Tongan
nationality, as I didn't want to create more problems. I told them also
that I absolutely didn't believe that Khaled could have molested the
killer, not sexually nor in any other way. I asked Jeff if he would do
all that was needed to bring Khaled's body back to Tonga, and to see if
we could bury him in our island. Jeff busied himself at once.

When we were alone, Martin embraced me tightly, keeping silent and
finally I cried. I felt completely dazed, emptied, I felt as if for me
life ceased to go on. Martin wanted that we share the room for the
night. I let him have his way. Jeff told me that the autopsy had to be
done first, then we could take Khaled body to Tonga, via Australia. He
was preparing all the needed papers through the Australian Embassy that
cared also Tongan affairs in Morocco.

Then Martin got a call from Bruce. He made some inquiries, and it turned
out what he suspected -- the killer was one of the former room mates of
Khaled in Paris, who by chance was working in our hotel. He recognized
Khaled and killed him, as he threatened to do when the French Secret
Service arrested all four of them. I hadn't thought of that possibility
at all and this news made me sink in a sea of remorse -- he had been
killed just for knowing me. Meeting me had been fatal to him.

I shouldn't have allowed us to go to Morocco, I was telling myself, I
should never have left him alone that morning, I was accusing myself...

Uselessly both Martin and Jeff tried to persuade me it was not my fault.
Even so I felt destroyed.

We could at last take Khaled's body back home. Martin wanted to
accompany me to Tonga and stayed some days with me. In Australia I had
Khaled's body cremated and on our island, near our house, I had erected
a shrine under which I buried the cinerary urn. All around the shrine
Loui plated a ring of flowery bushes. From our bed room I could see the
shrine each evening when falling asleep, and each evening when I woke
up.

Also Mary Ann came to see me. The warmth of my friends, of Martin and of
my sister, did me good, but couldn't soothe the torment for the sudden,
absurd loss of my beloved. It was an unbridgeable emptiness. I started
again, little by little, to make so that my deep sadness didn't betray.
Jeff, Sanit, Mike and Loui were really near to me, with true affection.

Time seemed to soothe my pain. Now ten years have elapsed from that
horrible day when they stole from me my Khaled. Right on the exact day
when I started to write this text, it was the tenth anniversary day of
his death.

Several times, in a gentle way, Jeff tried to tell me that life
continues -- he made me notice that he too, when he lost his Dick, felt
lost, that he was interested in nothing more, but then he found his
Sanit, with whom he was now happy.

It could be that one day I too would find my "Sanit", I cannot exclude
it certainly. But the fact is that I still feel too bound to my Khaled,
whose shrine I greet several times during the day, I often seat near it
to chat with him, to tell him the daily trivial things, and I know that
he, in some ways, is listening to me.

At times I ask myself how could be my life if I were not the son of the
president... Possibly, or rather most surely, I would not have met
Khaled, and therefore he would be still alive, possibly in France,
possibly with his lover...

But how weird it seems -- I have at last forgiven my father for wanting
to be the president, at my expenses and also at Khaled expenses in some
way. I understood that there is no purpose to credit to him all I
narrated in these lines. Possibly now I would even be able to meet him
again, without grudge, without complaints. If even for the moment I
don't still feel at all any need for it.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Well, this is my story that I wanted to tell you. Surely, even though I
changed names and dates, those who knew me or my family will understand
who my father is, who am I. It is a little more difficult for them to
know who Khaled was and where my island is -- of course it would be
useless to look for it in Tonga.

At times I ask myself -- if I had to start again my life all from the
beginning, repeating all that happened to me, would I do it? The answer
is a clear, strong -- yes! Because this would mean I could live those
splendid love years with my Khaled again, my strong, sweet, virile,
tender Khaled. Yes, it would be worth repeating everything, even the
trauma of his murder, just to have his wonderful love again, I have no
doubt in this. And I am sure that if they were to ask him, he too would
be ready to die ten, a hundred, a thousand more times just to live those
years with me again...

But life flows just once, unrepeatable. So we can just live it, day
after day, with all the joys and the pains it presents to us, waiting
for tomorrow.

----------------------------

THE END

----------------------------

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

http://www.geocities.com/andrejkoymasky/

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

andrejkoymasky@geocities.com

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