In the following story, all of the characters are totally fictive. For whomever it would be illegal, immoral or forbidden for any other reason whatsoever to read a story about love between two consenting young men is kindly requested to refrain from continuing. A photo album (pdf) concerning this story is available upon request marin.giustinian@laposte.net. This being said, I hope you enjoy the tale.
BLESSED RAIN
by Marin Giustinian
1881, Edinburgh and Loch Lomond, Scotland
Alastair Ferguson, second son of the late Lord Ferguson and his widow, Mathilda, inherited a very decent fortune. His older brother, whom he dearly loved, took over the family's prosperous, independent shipping and forwarding company, offering freight services throughout the whole British Empire. His brother was of great counsel, helping him assuming the responsibility of managing his share of the inheritance : cash, stocks and property. However his mother had the charge of being his legal custodian until he turned twenty-one and had to co-sign all of his transactions.
They owned and lived in a discreetly posh town house on Regent Terrace. They also had a small estate called Tanglewood with a comfortable manor house on Loch Lomond. Their steady income kept both homes well staffed and their life of relative leisure assured, seemingly for the rest of their lives.
Alastair wrote poetry and dreamt of ranking one day among the greater poets of Scotland. He had no ambition at all to pursue his education further than the Royal High School from which he had just graduated.
For his holidays, he decided to go to Tanglewood for rest and work. It would be the first time he had a free agenda to only take care of himself and of the things he wished to pursue on his own. His mother and brother were very happy to see him take that initiative. She wrote to the housekeeper at Tanglewood announcing his forthcoming arrival.
Alastair always had with him a leather portfolio in which he placed his folds of paper for his notes. In the train, on his way to Loch Lomond, he noted the following :
-- As I was getting in the cab taking me to the Edinburgh Waverley train station, the butler handed me my morning mail which I decided to read once under way. Among the literary magazines to which I subscribed, there was a letter with my address carefully printed and no return address on the envelope. I was surprised to see that there was no way to identify who sent it. I ripped it open and read :
My dearest Alastair,
I have waited months to muster the courage to send you this letter expressing the way you touch me. I prefer to keep my anonymity knowing that you are way too beautiful, too gracious, too noble for the likes of me. I have always admired you walking, playing with our comrades on the field, singing in the choir... everywhere you were, there was lightness and a light, I admit, of burning lust glowing in my heart.
I know that my feelings are reprehensible, even sinful, but I could damn myself for one hour of reckless loving, nude together in a glade of wildflowers, or just one desperate kiss on your adorable lips.
But alas the graduation bells have tolled and now I have lost you forever. Neither you nor I shall cross the threshold of the Royal High School in which we have spent our growing years side by side, never befriending, never even acknowledging our mutual existence. I was simply happy to admire you, to dream about you, to love you from the distance of my own shyness and lower social condition.
I still do, dearest Alastair.
Adieu. I wish you all the happiness in the world. Don't try to know who I am. I'm better off just remaining your devoted, invisible lover.
(Signed with simple heart)
Useless to say that such a letter upset me greatly, stirring repressed feelings deep down inside. I'm still so mixed up about my feelings! Is my secret admirer one of the fellows for whom I secretly lusted myself? My God! How things of the heart and of sex have become complicated. I read that in the ancient times in Greece, boys such as we could share their love, not as a sin, but as a privilege. In school we all went through our quandaries over exaggerated moments of passionate affinity with another lad. I tell myself, I shall get over such hysteria and longings of the flesh, but here, this letter lights a fire in my groin making me wish to die, devoured in its flames.
Alastair was met at the station by a footman from Tanglewood and driven, with his bags in the carriage, to the estate. His room was already prepared, bed made and windows wide open to welcome the balmy summer breeze. He felt very lighthearted and glad to be back. He unpacked, and even considered to indulge in a dip in the loch, but, after the sooty train trip, finally preferred washing up in their brand new bathroom and catch a quick nap before dinner. When he came down, he was warmly greeted by all the staff but found it strange to be seated alone in the big dining room with a maid serving him like an adult. It upset him some, still very attached to his juvenile ways, to now be considered grown.
He thought about going on a stroll before retiring to his room, but decided he would do that at sunrise tomorrow. He went up to his bed, leaned on the windowsill, breathing in the starry summer night, relishing the waves of scent laden, fresh air so rare in the stench of smoky Edinburgh.
He committed the mistake of reading once more his anonymous love letter before blowing out his bed lamp. He tossed and writhed a bit in the heavy linen sheets, unable to will his rigid cock to soften.
Waking up at dawn the next day, he jumped out of bed, splashed some water on his face and ran downstairs, out onto the lawn and down the path to the water's edge, just in time to admire the sunrise spilling its light on the water. As he walked along the shore line he fell upon a vision which stunned him, igniting once more the dark fire that was consuming him from within. Once back in his room he feverishly wrote in his journal :
-- Alone and young, my age perhaps, this apparition of a lad was swimming nude in the morning sun. Blocked by his shining presence in the morning light, I remained hidden in the bushes. The vision of him swept my spirit into the realms of ancient times.
Be you a nixie, a merman, Or simply a godly illusion Emerging from the golden waters, Dripping the light of the rising sun?
Be you flesh or dream, I'm awestruck! And comely as a Grecian god, Blinded by thy savage beauty I tremble, weep and flee.
Did your feet touch ground As you strode through the dew drops Dangling from the high grass, Your gleaming rod swaying As it led your way?
Wrapping your perfect body In a towel of light, you left. I sighed and fled On the wings of despair, All alone wondering, Were you but a dream.
My torment is at its peak. My mouth is dry and my heart is beating ever so hard. I hope a hearty country breakfast can calm my ardor and change my mind!
Throughout the day Alastair was nervous. He tried to find distraction, browsing though the books in the library, seeing only familiar titles. He thumbed through one or two of the literary magazines he had brought with him, but unable to concentrate, he immediately cast them aside.
Heeding the call of his former summers in Tanglewood, he took the path he often trod as a lad. When he could no longer stand his big brother's teasing or needing to escape the hustle-bustle of the crowded household, he would find solace on the heather covered hill beyond the estate. There he would gaze upon the islands scattered on the surface of the loch. He would lose himself imagining Robinson Crusoe, trying to survive, pirates attacking some imaginary Hispaniola or simply revisiting his own nature-boy dream island of his innocent years. He found his familiar, welcoming, bald boulder to sit on, placed there by the fairies for him to daydream, breathing in the scents of the wildflowers, listening to the hum of the bees in the blossoms. He always found there a sensual soothing as nature's perfect consolation worked its familiar miracle. There, he knew he hoped he could calm the inside struggle that obsessed him so now. He cursed the drive nature had installed in his newly maturing body!
When he was in school, his studies and his companions kept his mind running without plunging his thoughts into the depths of his growing soul. Now, alone, on his on, all of that which had been repressed or denied came to surface, first with the letter, then with his vision of the morning.
"Oh my God! Why is desire so damn complicated? What if girls don't arouse me and certain mates make me sweat with lust? What is this stupid story all about?" he shouted to the empty heavens above where only a few lonely clouds floated, totally unconcerned by his quandary.
He returned for lunch. As he ate, Mr. Morton, the caretaker in charge of the estate, came in to present his respects. They engaged conversation, discussing matters of the estate. These very down-to-earth considerations did him good. Less entangled in his introspections, he climbed the stairs back to this room. But there, his thoughts seemed to be lurking behind the furniture, ready to haunt him whenever he lowered his guard.
He jotted down in his notebook these lines :
-- And so what if I find beauty in another person like me? And so what if I desire to partake in a pagan communion with the flesh of that beauty? Didn't God Himself became incarnate in the Holy Flesh and Blood of Jesus. Doesn't the very same clergy who represents Him curse the desire we can have for a fellow mate and at the same time invite us to eat the Flesh and drink the Blood of our Lord? How wonderful it would be to cast those questions to the wild wind and let my blood rush in guiltless emotion each time I lose myself in the delightful thralls of temptation!
After having closed his portfolio, he yawned, stretched and decided to indulge in a nap, resting from his dawn awakening and his incessant restlessness throughout the day. He slumbered like a babe until, lost in a dream, he saw again the vision, not of just one splendid youth frolicking in the shallows of the loch... but tens of thousands of them all the way to the horizon. A multitude of gorgeous, horny fauns were laughing, kissing, groping and holding each other in playful pandemonium, all shamelessly naked and terribly erect! Suddenly wrenched out of his dream by a strike of gentle lightning in his crotch, he bolted up in bed and was horrified at the sight of his stained trousers wherein he had spewed a healthy glob of his sticky semen.
He groaned in shame, to himself, "How can I let the laundry maid see this? I could never cross her smirking grin again!"
He then connived a scheme to hide his unfortunate mishap. He would go down to Endrick Water, the small river giving into the loch. It marked the northern limits to the estate and was also the place where their steam launch, Firefly, was moored. There he would slip into the muddy water and pretext having tripped, losing his balance and falling off the dock.
As he neared the boat, he did as he had planned and in fact enjoyed the ideas of letting himself slide, fully dressed in the river. He sat and then slid, splashing the water with his hands as his feet sunk into the oozy bottom of the shallows.
Alastair thought he was alone to carry out his childish plan, so he was letting himself go, standing fully dressed in the water up to his crotch, laughing and splashing around with all his might! Suddenly a young man stood up in the boat, jumped onto the dock. It was Bruce Miller, the young estate employee in charge of manning and maintaining Firefly. Fearing some dreadful accident, he shouted out to Alastair? "Do you need help, Sir?"
Dumbfounded, Alastair looked up and to his terrified amazement, saw the same beautiful lad he had seen at dawn, bathing nude in the loch.
Struggling to pull a foot out of the mud without losing his shoe, he shouted back, "No thank you. I'm fine... I just slipped and fell in the water, and mocking my own awkwardness, I decided to enjoy sloshing around a bit!"
"You did look like you were enjoying yourself, but admit it, Sir, it is a strange thing to see a young gentleman of your likes behave in such a funny manner!" exclaimed Bruce, coming near. He held out a helping hand to hoist Alastair back up on the dock.
"Thank you very much!" he exclaimed, trying to compose himself with a minimum of decency, "I'm so embarrassed! I must really go up and change," then remembering his good manners, added, "By the way, I'm Alastair Ferguson."
"Even if I'm new here, I know you, Milord. I'm from the village, Sir and I've seen you around in the summer from back when we were lads. My name is Bruce... Bruce Miller. I'm now in charge of your boat, here."
"Really! How interesting! I should fancy a tour around the islands one of these days..."
"Whenever you wish, Master Alastair."
"I really must be off! I feel terrible in these drenched clothes. Can I come back once I've changed? I should like to fix a date with you... for a cruise of course..."
"I've work to do here until dusk, Milord. Come whenever you decide."
"Wonderful! I'll be right back!"
He no longer knew if he was confused or simply enchanted by the odd and hilarious situation in which he had literally flung himself. He felt like dancing as he dripped along the path, sloshing in his shoes, leading up to the manor house.
He explained his plight to the maidservant who giggled, seeing him tiptoeing bare foot up the stairs. She laughed and said, "Master Alastair, bring your things down to the laundry. I'll wait for you there."
Once he had changed and checked his looks in the mirror, he bundled his wet clothes to be washed, left them with the maid and ran back down to the boat.
He and Bruce settled on a cruise for the following Sunday after church. Alastair, breaking the implicit rules of class separation, said he would have a basket of bread, cheese, fruits and wine prepared to share whilst on their outing.
Bruce flashed a heart-melting smile, thanking him profusely. Alastair felt his legs go a bit limp as they shook hands.
That evening he wrote in his journal :
-- I have never lived through a day like today! I doubt I would have been able to concoct such a succession of cockeyed events if I were to write them in a story! Whatever! I've always wanted to explore the islands having only seen them from far off. My excursions on Firefly were limited to two : One on an outing with my mother and father when I was yet a child and another when my brother finally accepted that I tag along when he and his summertime mates went out on the water to drink beer, bare chested in the sun. Now, I shall have the boat all to myself and enjoy it in the most handsome of company! I'm so thrilled and at the same time, I'm going to collapse dead asleep. I'm totally exhausted! Good night, dear journal! It's lights out for me now!
Alastair went to church more for the music and singing than from piety. He loved to sing and it was close to a tragedy when his voice changed. Once the disaster was over, his voice settled into a very well pitched tenor.
The sermon that morning was about Jesus weeping the death of his young friend Lazarus, according to the story related in the scriptures of Saint John.
"My dear brethren, I shall begin by reading you Saint John 11:34-36 which goes as follows :
-- And he said, 'Where have you laid him?' They said to him, 'Lord, come and see.' 35 wJesus wept. 36 So the Jews said, 'See xhow he loved him!'.
Jesus wept for the love of Lazarus. This young brother of Mary of Magdalena was so close to Jesus's holy heart that having learnt of his death, he wept! Imagine, God Himself weeping the loss of a beloved youth.
Opening the tomb, Jesus shouted, "Rise and come!" and behold! Lazarus walked out of the tomb and fell into Jesus's arms. His love brought Lazarus back from the dead, just as His own love of mankind will bring Himself back from the dead. What is life but love itself? The same beloved disciple of Jesus wrote, 'God is Love'. What more can be said, brethren? Love makes the flesh rise from death, from all kinds of death... Ponder that if you will! Now let us sing the glory of God and partake of the flesh and blood of our Lord and Saviour by celebrating communion together. Amen"
This very brief yet totally pertinent sermon went directly to Alastair's heart. He wondered, "Am I able to love? Love in the flesh? Can I rise from the deathly shade of my doubts, my hesitations, my questioning the righteousness of my sensitivity... of my lust? It seems that God Himself could love as I yearn for myself to love."
Never had the ritual of Holy Communion seemed so sensual!
After church, Alastair devoured lunch, leaving instructions to not be expected neither for tea nor for supper. He took the picnic basket and hurried away. He wanted to enjoy his freedom, shackled by no restriction whatsoever.
Bruce already had the steam pressure up enough to leave whenever needed. Alastair arrived at the precise moment they had decided for departure. After having politely greeted each other, Bruce helped Alastair to step onboard. He took the basket and stashed it in the front locker. Freeing the lines, he pulled away from the dock and once in the channel he blasted twice the whistle, nearly making Alastair jump out of his skin, then laugh like a babe! Bruce opened the throttle and they picked up speed on their way downstream. Alastair stood by the gunwale, completely captivated by the beauty of the fleeting banks, the sensation of the cool breeze in his hair and the cottony clouds lumbering in a perfectly blue sky overhead.
The sudden impression of space was almost physical as they left the narrow straights of the river and entered the open waters of loch. There it was, Loch Lomond, spreading its magical majesty all the way to the foot of the mountains. Their launch clipped through the ripples of the dark, endless waters. All the gods of heaven and earth smiled on Firefly as well as on her two beaming passengers she cradled!
"Firefly seems to fly with you onboard, Milord! I've never felt her so randy!"
"I'm glad for us both, Bruce! It's marvellous!"
Alastair's gaze was torn between the emerald splendours surrounding him and the closer, more sensuous splendour of his shirtless boatman. Indeed, Bruce had shed his shirt as he stoked the blazing boiler, belching smoke and sparks out of the chimney, building up Firefly's pressure, making her skim, splitting the waves at the top of her speed. His chest gleamed in his streaming sweat as the steam played around him, evoking a vision of a young Orpheus fleeing Hades.
When they looked at each other, they beamed a smile, doubling their excitement as well as their handsomeness.
Alastair couldn't stall any longer his urgent need to note down his impressions. He wrote a line and struck it out. He looked over board at the rushing waters, then lifting his eyes to the faraway shore, he turned and almost wept when he saw Bruce again in all of his exuberant glory, playing with fire, shrouded in steam. He tried to scribble something once more and then threw down his notebook and slouched on the bench, nearly brimming over with tears of self-anger.
Again, guilt and confusion invaded his mind, ruining his felicity, dousing all the thrills and emotions of the wonders he was living. He desired Bruce. He wanted to flair him like a rowdy hound, lick him, worship him as they hastened through the waters.
Bruce sensed his dismay and asked him why he suddenly looked so sullen.
"I'm overwhelmed by all the beauty I see and cannot seize it with words! Neither the arrogant beauty of the islands through which we're speeding, nor your awesome beauty..." Alastair confessed, "I'm not a poet! I'm just a wretched fool dreaming that words can portray what my guts feel!"
Such considerations seemed to leave Bruce puzzled but concerned.
"You've got to change your mind, Milord. We shall let Firefly cool off some and troll as we fish some trout. They say they're really good in this part of the loch."
"If you think we should, then, Bruce, I'm game. However I've never tried angling in my life!" limply laughed Alastair, shaking off his emotions, wiping his face.
"I'll be glad to teach you Milord!"
He unhitched two rods with their floaters, feathered hooks and flies hanging under the cabin roof of the launch. He showed Alastair how hold it. After a few attempts, a fish suddenly struck Alastair's line. He coaxed it in, almost trembling with excitement.
"Easy, Milord... Take it easy! Let me grab the net. Pull him in a little closer... There! Look!" exclaimed Bruce, brandishing the wriggling trophy in the dripping net.
"And your line Bruce, something has hit yours too! Look!"
With two splendid brown trout onboard, Bruce suggested, "We should land on yonder island, make a fire and roast our catch to enjoy along with the victuals you brought. What do you say to that, Milord?"
"I say you are perfectly right, Bruce! Let's do it! That was fun! I feel so much better!"
The water in the secluded cove they chose was deep enough to edge the boat up to the rocks and trees of the shore. Bruce anchored the stern with a long line and handled the approach quite like a master. They tied up another long line to a tree, holding the boat in enough to step off with their fish and picnic basket. When they released it, the boat slipped back in the middle of the cove. To return aboard, all they had to do was pull the boat back in and enter by the bow.
In the little clearing by the water, they lit a fire with the matches from the boat and cooked the fish on a makeshift skewer Bruce whittled from a slender branch. The trout were succulent... and even more so because they had caught them themselves.
"Which fish is yours, Bruce?"
"Who cares, Milord? Like us, they're the same once inside!"
Alastair smiled at the double innuendo of Bruce's comment but never brought it up for fear of revealing his emotion and embarrassing his companion.
They ate with pleasure, laughing and looking at each other, smiling. Nothing was left but the wine. As they finished that with a second cup, Bruce cast another piece of driftwood or two on the fire, leaned back and said, "Milord, excuse me if I take the right to give you my opinion, but I think that some things don't belong to words but only to what we feel in our bodies and heart. Words cannot convey what a glance of the eye or the caress of the cheek can. There are sunrises that defy all descriptions. There are things we experience in our deepest intimacy that escape the net of words. So don't let yourself be pestered by not being able to write away your life instead of living it... Milord. I hope I don't offence you with my considerations, Milord..."
Alastair drank up Bruce's words as he spoke. They felt like gentle rain falling on parched earth.
"Not at all, Bruce! I needed to hear what you've said. I appreciate your kindness as well as all the goodwill you've bestowed on me since we met. I feel so close to you and when I realise only a day or so ago I didn't even know you. I really do appreciate it. Thank you."
The daring simplicity of youth overwhelmed the tyranny of social barriers. Both boys opened up and spoke to each other like all human friends should, ignoring wealth, status and class. They confided each other their hopes and aspirations... their fears too. For the first time, Alastair felt as if he were heard and not judged. He listened to Bruce as he would listen to his brother... with esteem and affection.
Time slipped up on them. They didn't notice the overcast skies and gusty winds building up.
Alastair dared mentioning the unsigned letter he received. He retrieved it from his portfolio and said, "If you don't mind, I'd like to read it to you and hear what you think."
He read it as Bruce listened, staring at Alastair with somewhat dreamy eyes.
"So what do you think, Bruce?"
"I can understand the fellow who wrote you that letter. Yes, I can, Milord. I can understand him quite well..."
A sudden, but heavy shower surprised them, putting out their diminishing fire. As they scurried around gathering up their belongings, they found the box of matches totally drenched.
"Do you have any matches or a lighter with you, Milord? If not, we're in trouble!"
They scrambled aboard as the rain fell even harder. The fire in the boiler was only a little pile of warm coals. Without means of firing up the engine, they were stranded.
Sheltered in the cabin, Bruce broke down, "I'm less than nothing, Milord! I let the fire die out and didn't protect the matches... Forgive me! I merit being thrown out. I'm so sorry... How could I have been so stupid?"
It was now Bruce's turn to be on the verge of weeping.
"Stop ranting about how stupid your are, Bruce. It's also my fault that we were so involved talking together that I took your mind off your duty. We are sound and safe and we shall find a solution."
"But for now, night will soon fall, we have no fire, no light and we are wet as beavers, Milord."
"Well, we'll just spend the night, ride out the rain. It's only a passing summer shower anyway. We've a shelter. We've been so close sharing our thoughts together that it would really be a shame if we can't share some covers! By the way, there are covers onboard, aren't there?"
"Yes, in the lockers under the bench along with some cushions. Let me handle that, if you don't mind, Milord."
"Why should I mind, Bruce," replied Alastair, giggling, "to be honest I think this situation is rather funny!"
"Do you, Milord? I'm obliged to you deeply," he answered, making a kind of pallet bed on the floor of the small rear cabin.
"I'm going to put the matches just inside the firebox. It's still a bit warm. They might dry out over the night."
In the slight lingering light of dusk, Alastair, feeling free of all inhibitions, solved a potentially delicate problem in one very simple act. He stripped and hung his clothes up to dry. Without uttering a word, Bruce, smiling also, did the same. They met under the covers, naked, sighing, giggling and cuddling up some, shivering from the chill.
"You know, Bruce, this is the second time I've admired you naked. The first time was at dawn the other morning when you went swimming in the loch. You were splendid in the rising sun! It upset me... like I'm upset now."
Bruce laughed and turned over to Alastair. His very hard cock nudged his bedmate's thigh. Alastair sighed, grabbed Bruce by the waist and snuggled up closer, grinding his cock against Bruce's.
Was it the wine or just a natural male drive to bond that guided the two very aroused fellows striving to meld? Whatever! They met in a magnificent kiss, thrusting and rubbing themselves one against the other in a kind of gentle frenzy.
Alistair's mind reeled. He felt his entire body awaken. Bruce's rugged embrace, his kisses, his caresses seemed to delicately electrocute him, making him shiver, nearly swooning.
"Oh! Good Lord Almighty, Alastair, I've never felt such loving magic. You drive me mad! And God knows, I've made more than one lass scream as I fucked her insane. Now, just your scent, your skin, your tongue, your cock, the very all of you drives me wild, simply by just being with you like this.... Ah! Alastair... my precious Alastair!"
Alastair flipped Bruce on his back, rolling over on him, grinding his cock into Bruce's crotch. He was laughing and weeping at the same time, his tears falling as Bruce licked them off his swollen lips.
"You called me by my name, Bruce! You no longer said Milord or Master or Sir. You said Alastair just like I say Bruce. It's now my turn to pleasure you. You've made me wanton like I never knew possible!"
Alastair plunged under the covers and took Bruce's burning cock all the way into his throat, humming, gagging, sucking. His thirst to drink Bruce's essence crazed him.
Lost in total delight, Bruce, bucked, squirmed and clawed Alastair's shoulders. He could no longer stand it any more. He flipped around and grabbed his mate's buttocks, swallowing his cock too. They trembled, their legs jerking as both spewed their erupting semen together. They nursed each other a long while afterwards, gently descending from the spiral of their mutual ecstasy. This was just the beginning of a nightlong bout of tenderness, fury and, let's dare the word, love in progress, as it took root and grew in each other's heart and arse.
No words can convey the unutterable magic of that night. Under the blessed rain, all fires were drowned, except the twin flames blazing in and between Alastair and Bruce, now united.
In their fervent intimacy, all distance was abolished and their loving lust for each other overtook reason, society, religion and all the rest.
Dawn broke in a splurge of golden splendour. They slipped out into the chill, peed into the rising sun, dressed and prepared the paraffin soaked kindling. Bruce methodically struck match after match, watching them fizz out without even a hint of a flame. As he struck the third to the last one, it blazed to their greatest relief.
The firebox soon was a small inferno as they tossed in the coal. Soon the throaty hum of the flames could be heard as sparks flew once more out of the chimney. In a very short time they had a good head of steam. The motor clicked for all it was worth as they sped back to Endrick Water and Tanglewood.
"Where do we go from here, Alastair?"
"I don't know, Bruce, but what I do know is that we'll go there together!"
A photo album (pdf) concerning this story is available upon request marin.giustinian@laposte.net.