Date: Thu, 02 Jun 2005 09:42:34 +0200
From: A.K. <andrej@andrejkoymasky.com>
Subject: Who has to forgive - chapter 1/9 (Young Friends)

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WHO HAS TO FORGIVE
by Andrej Koymasky (C) 2005
written the 2nd of February, 1993
translated by the author
English text kindly revised by
David

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USUAL DISCLAIMER

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

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CHAPTER 1

ROBERTO

As soon as he could, he went up to the roof, barefoot, and sat down to
look at the sea of tiles sloping down under him, washed by the sun's
rays. Here and there some cats were lazily delighting in the sun, like
him. The town buzz rose up to him muffled. Down there, at the end of the
tiles' slope, the sea shone with a thousand gilded reflections, calm as
a tabletop, only slightly troubled by the wake of a few small craft. He
sat there, in silence, and felt renewed, he felt all the ugliness of his
life, still so green and yet so hard, dissolve. He felt renewed,
cleansed, purified, and strengthened. Perhaps it was just these breaks
on the roof that gave him the strength to go on.

But he could not afford to indulge himself too often in these secret
escapes. He had to go down soon, and to start working again so that he
could finish before his grandfather got home. But Roberto was skilled
and quick and was able to divide everything his grandfather brought home
into small bundles, so that when the man came again with more food in
big cans or boxes obtained god knows how and where, he had already done
his part. Then the grandfather took all the small bundles he had
prepared, put them in an old cardboard suitcase, and went to sell them
on the black market.

After his father had left for the war and his mother had been hired as a
full time maid in the house of the Marquis, Roberto had been entrusted
to his paternal grandfather, and his three little sisters to an aunt.
Then, in 1944 came the news that his father had been killed on the
battle front. Roberto barely remembered him and didn't feel his loss
very strongly. One consequence of his father's death was that his mother
was now always dressed in black. The other consequence was that his
grandfather told him to come and sleep with him on the great bed, in the
place of the grandmother that the boy had never known.

At first Roberto was happy, because the big bed was lot more comfortable
than his pallet stuffed with dried corn leaves. But already on the
second night, something strange happened, something unexpected. His
grandfather, a short while after they were in bed, blew out the lamp,
pulled him over, lowered his little briefs to his knees, and started to
caress his small buttocks with his big, coarse, callous hands. Then,
without saying a word, he made the boy turn on his side, wet his finger
with his saliva and started to explore his small ass, forcing his way,
little by little, inside the boy's puckered hole. Roberto was surprised
and a little disturbed, but he was too much in awe of his grandfather, a
man of few words, determined and severe, so he let the man do what he
wanted. The man fooled around for a while, moved him around, pressed
against him, then clasped the boy against him, and Roberto felt that
now, instead of the inquisitive finger, a hard, throbbing rod of meat
was probing between his tender buttocks. He felt his grandfather's heavy
breath on his neck and smelled the strong scent of his Tuscan cigars.
While the old man pulled the boy against his strong and hairy chest with
one arm, with his other hand he directed his spear so that it was
pushing, hard and arrogant, against his little hole. Roberto vaguely
guessed what was about to happen and was scared, but remained still,
inert and silent, bearing the old man's pushes and holding his breath.
The man seemed to find more strength with each push and Roberto felt his
small hole beginning to surrender to that determined assault.

The grandfather stopped, and then moved again, spreading something
slippery on the boy's hole and on his tool, and, still in silence,
returned to the attack. The man was pushing it into the boy with
determination and Roberto felt he was being invaded, opened wide,
penetrated; he felt an acute pang of pain and great fear and let out a
loud wail. The hard and knotty hand of his grandfather covered his mouth
and with a vigorous push the old man overcame the last resistance of the
virgin sphincter of his grandson and sank inside him. With a few sharp
strokes the man penetrated him completely, and then stopped, panting for
few seconds. Roberto felt it, hard and burning, weakly throbbing inside
him. The old man pulled his hand from the boy's mouth, the other hand
from his rod, grasped the little boy by his hips and started moving back
and forward, at first with slow strokes then, little by little, stronger
and faster. Now Roberto wasn't feeling the shooting pain of the first
penetration, but a dull, strong, continuous pain. His body swayed under
those hard and firm strokes and the boy felt his grandfather's body
quivering against his own and the old man's breath coming with more and
more difficulty. Roberto didn't understand what was happening or why -
he didn't yet know about these things. He just felt the sturdy old man's
energy breaking out like a primary force of nature and, even if he
didn't like what was happening to him at all, he confusedly understood
that he couldn't resist it. Only tears of pain ran down his cheeks.

His grandfather's hands clutched his hips, hooked and strong like those
of a bird of prey, and he was the prey who could not escape. That firm
hold, that burning rod of meat thrust deeply inside him, the old man's
hoarse breath intimidated him. He felt the old man's unseemly agitation
inside him, then felt him stiffen in a terrible spasm and for a moment
the boy thought in panic that his grandfather was dying. But then little
by little he felt the man relaxing, breathing more evenly. Eternal
moments elapsed, but at last he felt the man withdraw from him, slipping
out of him little by little. The grandfather lay down on his back
panting. Roberto remained still, on his side, holding his breath,
continuing silently to cry. After a while he realized that his
grandfather had fallen asleep. Then, moving very slowly so as not to
awaken him, he pulled up his little briefs and cautiously turned to look
at the old man. In the faint moonlight he saw that the man was sleeping
with a satisfied and blissful expression on his face. He felt something
dripping from his aching little hole and thought it was blood, but
didn't dare to check.

He stayed still, asking himself what could have happened. Why was his
grandfather doing such a painful thing to him, perhaps to punish him for
something he had done? He recalled a sentence he never before paid much
attention to: "I'll break your ass!" It was a menace hurled when
somebody did something wrong. But when they went to bed, his grandfather
didn't seem at all angry with him; on the contrary, he seemed kinder
than usual. But then why? Roberto couldn't understand. He was late
falling asleep that night. In the innocence of his twelve years Roberto
knew nothing about sex. And even less about sex between males.

The following morning his grandfather was quieter and more cheerful than
usual. He didn't talk about what happened during the night and Roberto
didn't dare say anything about it. He found out that his briefs were
dampish, but not with blood, and this reassured him a little. But the
ache between his buttocks was still strong. All day long the grandfather
was a little less harsh than usual and a couple of times he even gave
the boy a kind of light caress, once on his head and the other on his
small ass.

Then, the following night, it all happened again just like the first
night. And then it became a pattern again every night there after.
Little by little Roberto realized that it was not a punishment, but just
something his grandfather really liked to do, even if to him it was very
painful. Roberto started going to bed without his briefs, since his
grandfather always pulled them off again anyway. He started getting used
to that intrusion and after a few months he noticed that his grandfather
could now stick it into him without any difficulty. Roberto no longer
felt pain, just a slight discomfort. And the boy noticed that what was
dripping out after each penetration had a strange, male smell, not
unpleasant.

It was about one year after that first night, when one night the
grandfather, instead of grasping the boy's hips with both hands as he
had always done, with one hand started fondling the boy's genitals. And
they soon responded to that manipulation, giving the boy a strong hard
on. Roberto, stupefied and amazed, started to feel quivers, thrills, at
first faint, then more and more intense, then incredibly strong, until
he finally unloaded in the skilled hand of the old man. This seemed to
be a signal for the grandfather who immediately unloaded inside the boy.
Roberto began to understand, even if in a confused and vague way, what
his grandfather was experiencing.

The next day, when he was able to climb up onto the roof, alone, he
opened his shorts and manipulated his member as his grandfather had done
to him the preceding night, until he felt the same sensations and his
hand filled with his own seed. It was good, even better than the night
before. Then he brought his hand to his nose and inhaled: there was that
smell, a little fainter, than that which his grandfather left each night
between his legs. He wondered what a person would feel doing what his
grandfather was doing to him, but Roberto had no idea with whom he could
try. He thought about the other boys of the neighborhood but he wasn't
intimate or confident enough to talk about it with them, much less try
it. The fact that his grandfather never talked about it with him made
him confusedly understand that it was something you didn't talk about.
It was something you must only do enclosed in a room, in the dark of the
night, in the intimacy of a bed, and in secret... He thought that maybe
all of his friends were also used like him, in the night, and yet nobody
talked about it.

Then Roberto discovered that his grandfather liked it a lot more if he,
while was penetrated, manipulated his own tool and came. So, the
nocturnal rite was in some ways enriched and for Roberto it became a
little less unpleasant, in fact, almost pleasurable.

The war ended and another year passed, just like all the others.

Roberto was fifteen when for the first time he had the opportunity to
do, with a thirteen year old boy, what his grandfather was doing to him
every single night.

He went to the seaside to swim. That part of the beach was never
crowded, but on this day it was really deserted. Returning to the shore
after a good swim, Roberto lay down between two boats, then, warmed by
the sun and feeling slightly aroused, he lowered his swimsuit and,
pulling out his dick, he started to slowly masturbate. He was so
engrossed in his pleasurable activity that he didn't notice the boy
approaching and when he saw him, it was too late to stop, to cover
himself. Roberto lay there without moving, his hand still holding his
hard, erect member, and looked at the boy, rather embarrassed. The other
smiled cunningly at him, pointed at Roberto's groin and said in a low
voice:

"You have a nice cock... would you like to put it in my ass?"

"Here?" Roberto asked in a choked voice.

"Yes, here between the boats, nobody can see us..." the boy said
crouching at his side and gently caressing his swollen gland and his
testicles.

"Right now?" Roberto asked, uncertain and tense, but quivering with
pleasure.

"Yes, of course... go on." the boy said kneeling near him, lowering his
swimsuit and pushing out his small ass in a clear, eager offer.

Roberto, still a little uncertain, feeling shy, knelt at his back,
leaned on the boy and slipped his turgid member between the boy's
buttocks, searching for the hole. He tried to push but the boy giggled
and stopped him:

"Hey, wait... put a lot of your spit on it, or you'll hurt me..."

Roberto, as in a dream, followed the advice of his younger but evidently
more experienced companion. And for the first time he penetrated into a
welcoming ass, and felt its tender warmth, and then he started moving
forward and back like his grandfather did with him, and felt it to be
very, very pleasurable and understood why his grandfather wanted to do
it with him every single night. And the boy, just like he did at night,
was masturbating himself and moving his small rear in a way that
accentuated Roberto's more than enjoyable sensations. And he felt such
an intense pleasure that he came quite soon in a series of passionate
thrusts. Then the boy said:

"Don't pull out yet, wait... I want to come, too..."

He came a little afterward, and Roberto felt the sphincter of the boy
throbbing around his member which had gotten quite soft, but that got
him hard again. He felt a new surge of desire and started to take the
other boy again, but the other said, eluding him:

"Hey, stop it!" and slipped away from him.  He stood up, pulling his
swimsuit quickly into place and rapidly moved away, silent as he came.
Roberto recomposed himself and stood up just in time to see the boy
disappear nimbly behind the rocks, toward Saint Nicola chapel.

After that day Roberto often went back to that part of the beach, hoping
to see his unknown companion again, to experience again with him that
intense pleasure, but he never again ran into him.

But the nights in his grandfather's bed continued. Roberto was slightly
annoyed by that nocturnal rite, but didn't have the strength to oppose
it, to say anything, and he let the old man continue having his way with
him.

The memory of the boy's face in that unique, strange, agreeable
adventure, faded little by little from Roberto's mind, so that now,
after a couple of years, even if he were to meet him again, he was quite
certain he wouldn't recognize him. But the good sensations that single
adventure had provoked in him never left his memory.

Roberto was now seventeen years old. He was tired of his life with his
grandfather, not so much and not only because of the night unions, but
rather because he led a wretched life with the old man. The man had
money but was rather closefisted and Roberto didn't see what future he
could have staying with his grandfather.

So, when he met an uncle who was working in France, and who had come
back for the Christmas holiday, he decided to leave his village and to
immigrate to France, too. Unknown to his grandfather, he had saved a
little money. So he went to the railroad station and asked how much it
was for a one way ticket to Paris. The money wasn't enough, and anyway
the railway man told him that he also needed a passport. So Roberto
inquired and discovered that to get a passport he needed his mother's
authorization and more money. So he put a lot of effort into scraping
together more money and insisted that his mother go to sign for the
issuing of his passport, so that he could go abroad to try his fortune.
At first his mother didn't want to, but at last she gave in.

At Easter Roberto was finally able to buy a ticket for Paris. When his
grandfather found out about it he was really angry, but Roberto left all
the same, with just the clothes he had on him, a small bundle of food,
and 483 lira in his pocket - all that remained after buying the train
ticket.

On the train, after passing Torino, he met other Italian emigrants going
back to France and started asking questions. They advised him to look
for a job in an Italian restaurant and to apply as a dish washer, since
he didn't know a word of French. One man also gave him some addresses.

He arrived in Paris late at night. On the train he had dozed, so he
didn't feel too tired, on the contrary, he was excited being in that
famous metropolis. He wandered all night long looking around, filled
with wonder. He had never imagined that in this world there could be a
town so large, with such big, tall buildings, with people walking around
even at night.

The next day he found one of the two restaurants that he had been told
about, but they didn't need him. However, the owner gave him other
addresses. After three days of effort, sleeping at night on a bench in
the public gardens even though it was still rather cold, he was hired at
a restaurant not far from the Invalides. The owner offered him food,
lodging and a small salary. He slept in a garret with the assistant cook
and a waiter. The first was a man who was rather ugly but likable; the
waiter was a handsome young man but unpleasant. When they undressed to
go to bed, Roberto looked with barely hidden interest at the waiter's
body, and especially at the generous swelling of his tight briefs, but
he never got up the courage to try anything, nor did his companions try
anything with him.

With his first earnings Roberto bought better clothes, although they
were second hand. He was quickly and easily learning French.  He seemed
to have a natural talent for languages, so that after only four months
he was able to speak it better than the waiter, even though that young
man had worked there for a couple of years. So the owner bought a new
uniform for him, and he started working as a waiter. His pay rose a
little, as well.

He had been working in the restaurant a little less than a year when he
becomes acquainted with Ren_, one of their clients, who worked as
photographer for a magazine. Ren_ seemed interested in Roberto, who was
now an eighteen year old boy, handsome and likable, and asked him if he
wanted to pose for him for some advertising pictures, for a fee. Roberto
accepted, thinking that it would be good to have some extra money.
During the first sessions the boy was so fascinated by the photography
that he asked Ren_ if he would be willing to teach him. The photographer
not only accepted, but after a few sessions asked the boy to become his
assistant and offered him a fairly good wage. Roberto accepted
immediately, left the restaurant and started to work with Ren_. The
man's wife often asked him to stay with them for supper, and Roberto
found a small room in a boarding house near Ren_'s studio. The room was
very small, but clean and cheap and had a small window looking out onto
the street.

Roberto worked with Ren_ for five years, became a good photographer and
started earning good money. With his savings he gradually bought all the
necessary equipment, with the advice and guidance of his boss/friend.
Once a year he went back to Italy to see his mother and his sisters and
brought them presents, even though their relationship had never really
been particularly intimate or warm. He always avoided seeing his
grandfather. He wasn't upset with him, but he didn't feel like meeting
with him and remembering how he had had to please him every night, being
used just like a bed toy.

In all these years, he had no sex with either males or females, even
though Roberto masturbated very often and looked at all the nice boys
with eyes filled with want and desire. He was not at all attracted to
women, other than just as friends to talk to or to go for a walk with.
He was strongly attracted to men, but mainly because of shyness, he had
never been able to try to approach any, and nobody had ever tried with
him clearly enough for him to realize they wanted him.

His mother wrote to him three times a year, at Christmas, Easter and his
birthday, and he wrote to her. He was just twenty three when an
unexpected letter came from Italy. He opened it: his mother wrote to him
that his grandfather was dead and had left him the house in the town and
some land. The rest went to his sisters.

So Roberto decided to go back to his village in the south of Italy. He
had his craft, he had all the equipment and some savings... and now he
also had his grandfather's house in town where he could live and install
his laboratory... He liked France, but he felt too lonely, too much an
alien even if his French was now quite good.

So he said farewell to Ren_ and his wife and, packing his luggage, three
good big suitcases full, he set out again to return to his home. When he
arrived in his little town, he decided to restructure the small
four-story house, because he wanted to erase the memory of his
grandfather's bed room. He decided to use just the top floor and rent
the others, so he could have a monthly income allowing him to work at
photography in his own way. So he sold all the land and with that money
he started construction. The top floor he made into a small apartment
with a large laboratory and two wide terraces, created by shortening the
roof pitches. On the second and first floors, where his grandfather's
old apartment had been, he had each floor made into two apartments, and
the ground floor he just turned into a very wide space to be let for
some commercial purpose. As soon as the house was ready, he quickly
rented the ground floor to a typography business, the first floor
apartments, one to the typographer and the other to a high school
teacher with a wife and a small daughter, and one of the two apartments
on the second floor to a couple of young newlyweds. The fourth apartment
remained empty for the time being, but the rents gave him plenty of
monthly income, the equivalent of a really good salary, so he didn't
worry about it. Little by little he furnished his own space and started
to work as an art photographer selling, from time to time, series of his
pictures to national magazines.

All the other buildings on his alley were lower than his house so,
having enclosed the terraces with a low box hedge and having built a
nice pergola in a corner, he often lay there to tan, safe from all eyes,
completely naked. He felt happy and fulfilled.

His only sorrow, which was not even such a heavy one, was the fact of
being lonely. Secretly, deep in his soul he hoped he would find, one
day, a companion, even if he didn't know how or where to look.

He discovered that in a small cove between the rocks, on the north,
surrounded by thick vegetation, the local youths often went to swim,
very often in their birthday suits. At times he sneaked up and spied on
them, burning with desire, and, unseen, he photographed them with his
powerful telephoto lens. Back at home he developed the pictures and
admired them, masturbating while looking at the prints, and dreaming of
the most wonderful adventures. But his sex life was limited to that.
Once, to tell the truth, a man, almost certainly a tourist, tried to
approach him, but partly because he didn't feel attracted to the man,
and partly not to compromise himself, he acted as if he didn't
understand and let that opportunity pass. But he was amazed by the
strong sense of excitement that the event aroused in him for several
days.

By this time Roberto clearly understood that he was "different" and had
accepted this with certain amount of serenity, but he had also come to
understand that people like him were despised, discriminated against,
persecuted by the "respectable" people, especially in a small town like
his. So he never dared to try. There were men and boys he found very
enticing, like one of the workers at the typography, or the oldest son
of the tobacconist at the corner, but especially the florist next door.
They were really sensual. But he contented himself with looking at them
stealthily and dreaming about them.

At the end of the alley, where it ran into Corso Roma, there was a small
chapel, dedicated to St. Sebastian, who gave his name to the alley.
Behind the wrought iron railing was a life-sized statue of the saint,
made of painted plaster. The saint was represented naked, transpierced
by three arrows, a thin gilded strip of cloth softly covering his
genitals, his body tied to a tree trunk. It must have been an eighteenth
century statue. The saint's body portrayed a young man, around twenty
five, and very beautiful. He was painted with a nice, natural rosy
complexion, his hair curled and blond. He had an ecstatic expression
that was intended by the anonymous artist perhaps to symbolize that St.
Sebastian was foreseeing the joys of paradise. But it made Roberto think
differently, and he asked himself if the artist didn't have in mind
exactly what he was guessing - if instead of the tree trunk there was a
naked man, it would become a representation of sexual intercourse
between two males, and the expression of St. Sebastian would clearly be
that of a young man enjoying a pleasurable penetration. So Roberto began
to think of the saint as his special protector, the protector of love
between males.

He took some pictures of the statue, and during the printing, he
succeeded in eliminating the arrows and the tree. Then he created a
photomontage, where in place of the tree there was a naked man pressing
into the saint from behind. St. Sebastian's head, thrown slightly back,
now seemed to lean on the man's shoulder, and one arm of the man covered
and replaced the cloth over the saint's genitals, in a gentle caress. It
was perfect: a perfect scene of virile love.

Roberto printed this new version, framed it and put it at the head of
his bed, with a night light in front and fresh flowers... this was truly
his protector, St. Sebastian, overwhelmed by the ecstasy of sensual
pleasure. The male figure taking him from behind was in shadow and had
his head leaning forward on St. Sebastian's shoulder as if the man was
kissing him. It was impossible to recognize the man behind the saint;
one could see only that he was a young male. In fact, it was a picture
that Roberto had shot of himself, naked, using a self-timer. And to
Roberto, that St. Sebastian so retouched represented all the males he
desired or dreamed about. That artful photomontage was not at all a
pornographic image, it kept intact all the sacredness of the original,
because it expressed the beauty of two bodies united in the ecstasy of
physical love.

It had been ten years now that Roberto hadn't had any sex and this was
hard for him. When the weather was fine, he went back at times to spy
from among the bushes on that small cove between the rocks where the
local youth went to bathe naked. He recognized two or three of those
youths downtown. But he never tried an approach, fearing that the rumor
of his sexual preference could spread in his town. Especially because
those youths, among themselves in the intimacy of the cove, never gave
any hint of sexual interest toward one other.

Roberto asked himself how it was possible to recognize in another man
the same sexual desires and couldn't find an answer. The man that a few
years before had tried to pick him up had looked at him in a special
way, with obvious interest and desire. Nobody in town looked at him in
that way, nor did he feel like looking at somebody else in that way, and
betraying himself. The man also had spoken to him in clever, ambiguous
sentences, clear enough for him... They had not even touched. And he had
practically run away from the snare the other was building around him.

Roberto was resigned: it was possible that he would die without ever
being able to experience the rapture of a union. It was certainly not
what he had had with his grandfather; he was still disturbed recalling
that, but only that one occasion with the unknown boy there on the
beach, between the two boats, on that fine sunny afternoon so many years
before. The boy loved being penetrated, he loved penetrating him. He
remembered the boy's pleased smile...

So he often lay on the wide king-sized bed in his room, completely
naked, and thumbed through the best of the pictures of naked youths he
had snatched on the cove, and sweetly masturbated, feeling lonely.

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CONTINUES IN CHAPTER 2

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In my home page I've put some of my stories. If someone wants to read
them, the URL is
http://andrejkoymasky.com
If you want to send me feed-back, or desire to help revising my English
translations, so that I can put on-line more of my English stories
please e-mail at
andrej@andrejkoymasky.com

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