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 a consenting sixteen year old youth and a young adult is kindly requested to refrain from continuing. A photo album (pdf) concerning this story is freely available upon request marin.giustinian@laposte.net. This being said, I do hope you enjoy the tale.
HONEY AND WINE
by Marin Giustinian
The story begins in 1927 in Lunenburg, Nova Scotia.
Zachary Harris is sixteen, almost seventeen. He's a Canadian from the Province of Nova Scotia. His father was of European descent and his mother is a native Mi'kmaq from their reserve on Cape Breton Island. Zachary was born and raised in Lunenburg, Nova Scotia.
His father worked as a fisherman on the Banks and was lost at sea when Zachary was fourteen. Widowed, his mother left to join her family on the reserve. He was left with his older brother, Matthew. They both followed their father's work, labouring on the fishing schooners. Matthew fished from a dory and Zachary worked as a cabin-boy.
Julius Campbell, the very wealthy steamboat tycoon and owner of the motor yacht, Caledonian, was seeking a cabin crew for a long cruise to Europe. Zachary heard about the opportunity and presented himself aboard. The captain listened to the lad, examined him and hired him to serve in the lounge, at the dinner table and assist the steward doing the general inside cleaning. It must be said that Zachary was a very becoming, handsome youth, looking like a determined angel, very well mannered and well qualified. His good looks certainly was an added asset to enhance the general elegance of the Caledonian. Zachary readily tried on a uniform and took the contract to be co-signed by his legal tutor, his brother.
The boy had dropped out of school and went to work after his father's dory never returned to the schooner but remained always eager to learn, read and write. His last English teacher said he had a talent for writing. This, he didn't give up. He always had with him a little, black moleskin notebook in which he noted his impressions, feelings and ideas. It was his most reliable confidant and best friend.
Hereafter, his personal journal will relate how he found his path to an exceptionally beautiful and meaningful, new life.
April 10, 1927
For the first time, I'm completely on my own. The job I landed on Mr. Campbell's yacht and the trip I'm going to take to Europe scare me and at the same time, excite me to a very great extent.
Fortunately Matthew was at home when I ran back to tell him the news of my new job and have him co-sign the contract the captain gave to me. He congratulated me and said that I'm now a grown man. I really don't think so, but if he says so, I must believe him. He's always right, at least that's what he claims! Ha!
Now, I must return to see the doctor for my medical certificate, receive a sailor's passport and be fitted for a set of uniforms. I am the youngest crew member and was given the top berth in a four berth cabin with the steward, the cook and his assistant. I do hope my cabin mates are tidy.
The captain insisted on the fact that all the crew must be well groomed and discreet with the passengers. They have the right to go wherever they want on the yacht. We should be hosting the owner and his wife and their four guests, all very wealthy people of the best Canadian society. I hope I won't feel too awkward. That changes me from the fishermen!
April 27, 1927
I really am enjoying working aboard the Caledonian. Everything is great. The weather has been fine and here in Bermuda, it's even hot already. We are now making a two day call in Hamilton. We refuel, take on food, water and other items. It took me several days to get used to the hum of the motors. It's so very different from our sailing schooners. The Caledonian doesn't creak but unlike a sailing ship, she rolls as well as pitches, not leaning on the wind. But aside from that, she's a very able yacht. Now it seems funny with the motors shut down. She's silent and immobile and the passengers are ashore leaving me time to enjoy writing in my journal. Our next stop will be the Azores in eight to ten days, according to the weather. That's already the Empire of Portugal!
May 2, 1927
My everyday routine is now well installed. However, there is one thing that irritates me. Among the passengers, there is a gentleman, traveling alone, who persistently looks at me when I'm cleaning his cabin and even when I serve in the lounge and at meals. He's not obnoxious, but simply insistent and his gaze often puts me ill at ease. The captain even noticed his interest in me and made the following comment, "Looks like you've got an admirer, my lad. Remember, the passengers are our priority and they must have all of our attention. Don't shun him. If he fancies you, smile and be kind. Understand?"
Well, to be frank, I don't understand. It's just that the fellow sort of gives me the creeps with his hair all slicked down with lotion, his little moustaches all waxed, rings all over his fingers and that silk scarf always draped around his neck.
Of course, I'll be nice! Why does the Captain insist?
May 4, 1927
Here we are in Horta on the island of Faial in the Azores. The place is beautiful! The island facing the port is, in fact, a single, over a mile-high mountain, a former volcano jutting up out of the sea. It's spectacular!
In town, the white-washed houses with their doors, windows and roof edges trimmed in lively colours with the streets paved in black and white designs make the town look like it was decorated for some kind of permanent festivity, The gigantic church has a very ornate stone front. I was able to admire all of that because of Mr. Hollingsworth, the creepy, short, chubby fellow who fancied me. He invited me to accompany him for a lunch in town. The Captain almost ordered me to accept the invitation, so I went.
He took me into the church to see the gold decorations. There were statues everywhere, mostly of halfway naked angels. The effect was overwhelming. Our little protestant churches back in Lunenburg are not as rich, nor as imposing as here in this little town lost in the middle of the Atlantic.
Mr. Hollingsworth insisted on putting his hand on my shoulder and touching my neck as he explained things to me. I never really got used to his ways. After some walking around, he took me to a restaurant and we had some very spicy roasted chicken with fried potatoes and the pitcher of white wine on the table seemed always full. We laughed and even enjoyed a very tasty cake for dessert. I was full and even a bit tipsy when he said he wanted to show me a picture book of classical art in Europe. Of course, I had to follow him.
Mr. Hollingsworth bade me sit on the edge of his bed as he took a big, leather bound book out of his steamer trunk. He sat down beside me and placed it on my lap. He leaned against me as he turned the pages and when we were looking at photographs of Greek and Roman statues of nude men, he explained to me what an 'ephebe' was in the Olden Times. Ephebes were boys my age, famous for their beauty, and were adulated by men, having chosen them as their favourites, whatever that means. The whole thing seemed a bit strange, but I said to myself, it's something new to learn!
"You know, my young Zachary, you are very much like an ephebe. You are handsome to the eye, you have a large vocabulary, you like to read. You could be a very dear favourite. I want to see you nude so I can compare you to these statues."
It wasn't a request but an order. I didn't have a choice. So I did as he said. I stood and pulled off the shirt of my uniform and smiled at him. He had me pose in several positions and then nervously insisted, "That's not enough. Off with the trousers and underwear too. You must be completely nude for me to fully compare."
I hesitated. He drew me nearer to him and began to fumble with the buckle of my belt. I took over, quickly stripped and there I stood stark naked. He began touching me, telling me that my skin was more beautiful than the finest marble, that I was the most beautiful young man he had ever seen and when he seized my penis, I gasped.
"Your sex is very generous. Long and slender, really quite beautiful! Let's see how it looks when it's hard."
I had never considered my cock as being beautiful. I enjoyed it like all guys do and that was it. With that, he spat in his hand and began jacking, quickly arousing my my cock. Then he stood and pulled down his trousers, exposing his fat little penis. Facing me, he stroked it with two fingers fingers while with his other hand, he gripped mine, grunting and sweating like a pig. He kept on jacking both faster and faster. I tensed, froze, and was unable to move. The sight of his little fat hand working on me, his bloodshot eyes gawking at me, the smell of his fetid breath as he panted nearly made me puke. But the worst was when I shot off in his hand, he slurped and licked it like a dog as he spewed his yellowish sperm on my thigh.
He leaned in, trying to kiss me. I turned my face and reeled back avoiding him. He scowled and then smiled, saying, "Excuse me. I was overwhelmed! Thank you so much for your wonderful company. Please use my sink to clean up and dress."
I felt filthy as shit as I picked up my clothes, went into his small bathroom and washed myself all over and even more. I then dressed, composed myself the best I could and came back into the cabin. Mr. Hollingsworth had pulled his trousers back up and was decent again. He then took an American ten dollar bill out of his pocket and handed it to me. That represented a week's pay for me!
"Please accept this little tip. I'm sure you can use it wisely," he said, tilting his head with a syrupy smile on his fat face. I hesitated and then took it. What's the price of disgust? At any rate, that was the most money I had ever held in my hand at one time. He pinched my cheek and said, "We must study more art together, don't we?"
"Yes, sir," I blankly replied, turned and hasted out of the cabin. I was nauseated and leaning over the railing, I threw up all the wonderful chicken I had eaten for lunch. I went ashore and walked almost until dusk, out of the town and up into the surrounding hills. The walk calmed me down. I admired the late afternoon sun making the island-mountain glow. I hope Mr. Hollingsworth will leave me alone now. God! I do really hope so!
May 7, 1927
The Captain told me that Mr. Hollingsworth was very pleased over our stroll and lunch in town and thanked me for being so kind with him. I lied as I said, "It was an honour, my Captain."
"He also told me that you were very interested in classical art and that he could give you lessons in your spare time. That is very kind and generous of him. I do encourage you to take advantage of such a rare opportunity. He is a very famous professor at McGill University in Montreal. He heads the department of history of art," insisted the Captain.
"I shall do my best, Sir," I replied, dreading what could come next.
Now, I should be honest. The day after my incident with Mr. Hollingsworth, I wondered what harm could it cause me to let him jack me off. If that's what he needs, maybe I should let him do it. After all, if I close my eyes, it's not really that unpleasant. Shooting off is always fun, so why not get tipped for it and let the panting pig have his jollies too. I chuckle over my cynicism. I wonder what Matthew would say if he knew what I let the gentleman do with me. I'm sure he would laugh and say I should ask for more money! At least I hope so. Maybe he'd thrash the skin off my ass and throw me out in the street, too. Well, he isn't here, so I have to settle this between me and myself and make the best of it!
May 9, 1927
At the end of our second art lesson, Mr. Hollingsworth sucked my cock and gave me another ten dollars. I kept my eyes shut or looked out the porthole. I think I didn't mind it. At least I didn't puke after. He said that youthful semen was good for a man's health and that is was best, coming directly out of the tap. That made me laugh some. I never considered my cock as a drinking fountain -- but why not, if it does him good...
I hope I'm not going crazy.
May 14, 1927
We ran into foul weather three from Gibraltar. Most of our passengers were sick. Mr. Hollingsworth didn't leave his cabin. I felt sort of sorry for him, but at least, I wasn't bothered by any more art lessons. Our layover in Gibraltar was rapid. We filled up with all we needed and cruised on, heading directly to the Adriatic and on to Venice.
May 24, 1927
We made good time. Passing the straits between the tip of Italy and Sicily was quite a sight! The numerous sailing boats with their triangular sails were really beautiful.
I endured two more art lessons, ending up always the same way. Now it left me totally unaffected and forty dollars richer. Art lessons had doubled my monthly wage.
Going up the Dalmatian coast I was very impressed by the beauty of the islands and the transparency of the waters. Again, the boats under sail were really quite elegant. Tomorrow, we shall arrive in Venice. The passengers will leave the yacht for a tour through Europe. The plans are to pick them up again in Lisbon. The captain said we will sail that leg of the cruise with just the crew aboard. I wonder what my job will be with no passengers to serve, nor cabins to clean.
I'm excited! In Venice we have shore leave for twenty-four hours.
May 26, 1927
Venice is unbelievable! I got lost, but had more fun that one can imagine. I cashed in some of the dollars Mr. Hollingsworth tipped me. I bought myself new clothes. I wanted to look less like a Nova Scotian fisher boy. I also bought a new notebook with a marble like cover, a real fountain pen and a small bottle of ink. It was good to be by myself some too. Wandering alone in Venice was like wandering in a dream, enjoying seeing all kinds of people and not having to be nice to any of them!
Seated at a sidewalk table with a glass of white wine, I had fun writing a letter with two post cards of Venice to Matthew. I didn't mention my art lessons. I wrote a card to mother also. I know she's better off with her family and tribe than alone with us in Lunenburg, but even if I miss her less as I grow up, it still hurts some when I look at her photograph I carry with me in my seabag. The post office here is huge!
Maybe the cruise to Lisbon, which I'm dreading, won't be too bad. At least with the owner and his guests away, I'll feel less stressed with no more art lessons! I'll jack off by myself again. I really enjoy giving myself pleasure at my own pace and the rope locker is a nice place to hide in for that kind of fun.
Whatever -- We leave at dawn tomorrow.
May 29, 1927
I'm now filling in my journal in the most unexpected place imaginable : the deck of a local sailboat! Here is how I got there.
After a day and a half out of Venice, the starboard motor of the Caledonian gave signs of a problem and the captain decided to make a layover to let the mechanics could have a closer look for repairs. We docked on the waterfront of Vis, a town on the island of the same name just off the central Dalmatian coast.
The town was buzzing with laughter, music and wonderful smells of food. I couldn't stand it anymore. I returned to my berth. The cabin was empty. I counted the tiny fortune I had with me to go ashore.
That's when it hit me! I realized that deep inside, I HATED the Caledonian. I hated the world it stood for. I hated the other crew members who thought the high and mighty were interesting simply because they had money. I hated Mr. Hollingsworth and his fake art lessons. I was worth more than a sperm fountain for a fat, rich, piggly man. I felt sorry for him but I felt even more sorry for myself.
I needed space and freedom to be myself. I also needed something else I didn't even know I needed... I needed my self-respect, never bowing, never pretending I liked what I could no longer stand! I needed true elegance and sincerity. I broke into tears when I realized I was losing all I was really worth with them.
I thought no further. In spite of the fact that I was breaking my contract and would never be paid, I began to simply stuff my meagre belongings in my seabag, spread my uniforms on the berth, checked to see if the coast was clear at the gangway and out I ran. I showed my passport to the police officer at the harbour gate and strolled into town, my head high, light as a butterfly.
There was an exchange bureau open just across the street. I changed my dollars and lire into Yugoslavian dinars. That was really a lot of money! I also studied a map of the island exposed there. I saw that there was a little town on the western end called Komiza and decided to hide there for a while in case the Captain had the bad idea to send the police after me.
I felt free for the very first time in my life! Free to be me and only me with no one expecting anything from me. I needed to walk, to breath, inhale the earthy air, feel and listen to the night and smell the land. I arrived in Komiza late in the night. There I curled up in a skiff on the beach. I was exhausted and elated. With my head on my seabag and my fists in my pockets, I fell dead asleep.
The sun was already up when I was awakened by a dark haired angel leaning over me, shaking my shoulder, laughing and exclaiming something I did not understand at all!
I immediately came back to all my senses, stood and stuttered, "I'm sorry, Sir. I don't understand. I'll leave. Don't hurt me, please!"
He calmly replied, "Don't worry. Just tell me who you are and what you do in my boat."
The way he looked at me -- maybe I should say, looked through me, right into my soul, made me immediately feel like I could trust him. I don't know why, but that's what I felt.
I told him I was a cabin boy -- that I had jumped ship after being harassed aboard the Canadian yacht in Vis.
"I'm a runaway. Please don't turn me in," I pled.
"I won't turn you in. You are young and lost in a foreign land. I know how you feel. I was a sailor boy on a dirty Maltese steamer for two years. That's where I learned English. I was pretty like you. It makes life hard on ships. I ran away too. I ran back home!"
"Oh! Thank you, Sir! You are very kind. My name is Zachary. I'm from Nova Scotia, Canada," I said to him, holding out my hand.
He took it and said, "Zoran is my name and I come from this village. Don't call me Sir."
And that's how I met the man who changed my life.
He took me to get some breakfast and introduced me to his older brother, Dorijan.
"Can you help us load our boat?"
"Sure, I can. I'd be happy to help you. Where is it?"
He pointed to a white forty-some foot, one masted boat at anchor. "It's the one over there named 'Arhandjeo'. That means Archangel in our tongue. We have forty casks of wine to load and carry over to Spalato, a long day's sail from here, if there's wind," replied Zoran.
While his brother unloaded the first cart, leaving the casks on the quay, Zoran and I rowed out to Arhandjeo and towed her up to dockside.
"You know how to sail?" he asked as we were mooring.
"Yes, I do, Zoran."
I then told him more about where I came from. He was very attentive. We had just finished the first cartload when his brother returned with the second, then the third and finally the last one. Three o'clock tolled on the church tower when Zoran said, "Now we go home and eat!"
I was famished, tired and happy. Zoran made me feel good being around him. Even if he was ten years older than me, there was something still young and strong in him. Matthew was less his age, but acted like he was already old. Zoran was direct like Matthew, but smiling all the time and tender with me -- not bossy.
"My mother's meal this evening will be your wage for helping us load and you come sleep in our house at the winery tonight," he stated.
I profusely thanked him, climbed into the cart and away we went, pulled by an equally exhausted donkey.
His brother had earlier told the household about me and I was welcomed by Zoran's mother who gave me a hug. We three fellows were given a small bread soaked in olive oil and, a chunk of cheese and a glass of wine.
"This is just to make us be patient before dinner," mentioned Zoran, in answer to my puzzled frown.
"Follow me. I show you my room. You sleep with me. Bring your bag," he declared.
I followed.
"Leave your things by the bed. Let's go to the beach. We can enjoy the water and then wash off in the little stream that flows down from the hills. Fun after work! Very important!"
"I have some soap from the yacht!"
"Good! Bring it!"
I could swim and bathe in my underwear I thought as I dug out the soap bar from a pocket in my bag.
We walked in blistering heat for about ten minutes down into a small secluded, shady cove. At the foot of the path, before arriving on the pebble, seaside beach, there was a rock pool, fed by a little waterfall, brimming with transparent water. Zoran stripped naked and glistening in the slanting sun, waded out into the wavelets. He then dove into the water and swam away from shore. He was as beautiful as the statues in the book. I followed suit and surfaced beside him laughing.
We swam, playing together like otters, slithering around each other, diving and dodging. The water was warm and so clear that I felt like I was flying above the silvery fish darting around beneath me.
We finally drug ourselves up on the beach.
Zoran shook his abundant black curls and exclaimed, "Let's go wash in the fresh water of the stream!"
I grabbed the soap and we stepped into the tiny pool with water up to our knees. Splashing each other, Zoran said, "Give me the soap."
"Here, take it!"
"It smells like flowers," he said. Then he just stood there, looking me over. Naked and dripping as I was, it didn't feel awkward at all under his gentle stare. In fact, his smile was simple, natural, direct. The way he looked at me from head to toe made me feel proud of my naked self.
Then he splashed me more and began scrubbing my back and buttocks. I was trembling with delight. He made me turn around facing him, attentively lathering my pits, then my chest and finally my cock which he gently rubbed, cupping my balls. His touch was frank and honest. It was if he was 'shaping' me with his hands, making me discover myself how I was for real. We were both hard as nails and neither of us cared. He finished me up by having me kneel, washing my hair. Then he ducked me between his legs and when I rose our cocks were touching. He simply handed me the soap. I understood that it was my turn to bathe my new, gorgeous friend. He let me do just as he did. It was wonderful to rub him, lather him all over, including his hair and beard. When I cleansed his cock, I realized that it was the shape and size of my own, with just a little less foreskin. It throbbed ever so slightly. I didn't insist, letting it go. He smiled at me, stepped back and sat, ducking himself too.
Then he sprung up shouting, "Zachary! I like you very much!" as he grabbed me in a strong, slippery hug! It made me feel so warm and happy deep inside that I thought I was going to cry.
"I like you too, Zoran!" I replied with a choked, sniffly voice.
He caressed my cheek and stepped back onto the little patch of grass where we had left our garments, picked up a towel and began drying himself. I joined him and smiling at each other, we dressed, never needing to say a single word.
We returned to the farmhouse just in time for the early evening meal. In the shade of the courtyard, the whole household was gathered : the elderly father, the mother, the brother and the two older sisters with their children and husbands who laboured in the vineyards. All in all, I counted fifteen people, including me. The women brought on the food. Wine was flowing. I ate like I had never eaten before. Everything was so spicy and delicious. There was lamb, fish, and vegetables galore, bread, cheese, fresh and dried figs.
"Is every meal like that?" I asked Zoran between two servings.
"Yes! You like?"
"I love!"
"Love is good, Zachary!"
He then said something in his language and everybody at the table broke out laughing, clapping their hands, looking in my direction. The old father lifted his goblet of wine and exclaimed, "Ljubav!"
I shot a desperate glance at Zoran who reassured me, "We drink to love! 'Ljubav' -- and we drink to you, our helping hand and handsome, young guest."
I raised my goblet too and tried to pronounce 'Ljubav'... and when I did, the household applauded again, laughing. Yes, indeed, love is a wonderful thing... rare, but wonderful : Ljubav!
"Zachary, you sail with us to Spalato tomorrow? We leave at dawn."
"Of course I shall, Zoran! Of course!"
When the evening was over, Zoran and I retired to his room. We undressed down to our underwear and slid into his bed. We were both a bit high from the wine and feeling very good. We cuddled, smelling like expensive soap. We embraced each other. Zoran gave me a friendly, little kiss that tickled my the mouth, his trimmed beard surprising me.
He laughed, stating, "A kiss without whiskers is like soup without salt!"
He then turned over and fell immediately asleep, leaving me a bit stunned. I had problems realizing where I was, with whom I was and how I ended up there. Whatever! I felt so good, so secure and before I knew it, having slept so fast and deep, Zoran was rubbing my belly, shouting, "Get up! We must go! It's time to leave, Zachary."
On our way to Spalato, I saw the Caledonian cruising away at full speed.
"Look! The yacht is leaving. I'm free!"
I couldn't hold back my glee and spinning on my heels, I danced a little reel. Zoran and his brother spurred me on by clapping a rhythm as I turned and turned like mad until I fell over, drunk, right into Zoran's arms.
"Sorry about that!" I said, apologizing, as he held me against him.
"Glad about that!" he replied, beaming a smile.
We all three broke out laughing, simply because we were very, very happy. Dorijan shouted out something from the stern and Zoran shouted back, "Da, mnogo!"
"What's that all about?" I asked, collapsing on the deck.
"It's just Dorijan asking if I was happy to have a brand-new, little brother."
"And are you?" I quipped back, tilting my head.
"Yes, I am -- but you're more than a brother, Zachary, and you are not really that little!" he replied, sitting beside me, hugging my shoulder.
I was upset with joy!
I am now settled down in the lee of the freeboard and glad I wrote all of that. It's so important because between the first time Zoran woke me up and now, my life was merrily turned upside down. Yes, I'm very grateful to Zoran, my wonderful Zoran!!!
May 30, 1927
Here we are returning to Komiza. I'm writing on deck again as we clip along.
Yesterday, as the wine was being unload we went to a little restaurant just behind the waterfront and indulged in another great meal. The wine was good too. I'm really getting used eating and drinking like that!
Once back on the boat, Zoran asked me if I wanted to stay longer with them or not. I reminded him that my sack was still in his room so at least I had to return.
"Do you want me to leave?"
He immediately spat out, "No!"
Then Dorijan came up and said something to Zoran. He listened very attentively, nodded his head and took my hand as if to make me wait until he translated. When they stopped talking, Zoran looked at me as Dorijan went to the gunwale and peed overboard.
"Dorijan and I want to ask you to stay with us for good -- I mean as long as you want or can..."
I looked at Zoran, beaming wide-eyed.
"Well, you see, father is old and our two brothers-in-law are not of our blood. The winery must now be handled by Dorijan. He says if you can stay and maintain our boats and sail with me, he could then take over and relieve father. He sees you are a good sailor and that..."
He stopped, looking out over the harbour, then at his feet.
"What were you going to say, Zoran?" I asked, worried, squeezing his hand, still holding mine.
"He said he sees how glad I am with you and that we should be 'ljubavi'... Oh! It's hard for me to translate. Let's say, he means we should be partners or something like that..."
"I think I understand -- and he's right, Zoran! I feel the same way! Don't you know that big brothers are always right!" I almost shouted, kissing his cheek with a big smack. Dorijan came up and held out his arms. We all hugged, laughing.
"Come with me to make our bed below, Zachary. Dorijan said he wanted to sleep outside."
We undressed, standing in the open hatch to avoid having to crouch under the low deck. This time, Zoran was nude. Sudden flashes of Mr. Hollingsworth face appeared as I stripped too, but they were promptly banished from my mind. Banished forever, as we both felt an irresistible, magnetic pull drawing us together. We crawled into the covers and snuggled up real close, holding each other. Zoran whispered in my ear, "I'm so happy, Zachary!"
"I am too! More than you can imagine!"
"I know that you want me as much as I want you," he said, pushing his cock against mine, gripping my buttock as I held his shoulder, our foreheads touching, "but let's wait until I take you to Svetac."
I was melting in a fever of lust.
"As you think best, Zoran. Kiss me, please."
He kissed me deeply. I trembled. We were both moist from leaking on each other and then, after a long strong hug, we turned back to back. I finally managed to fall asleep.
May 31, 1927
I am alone in Zoran's room... or should I say, our room. He is discussing things with the family downstairs. I'm glad to return to my notebook.
My feelings for Zoran are now certain. We know how we stand together, and so does his family. Time will lead us to the right place for us and for our friendship.
On the other hand, his background is so different from mine. He says his family was here even before the Greeks and Romans came. I can't imagine living in a family that knows how life has changed and not changed for centuries. Their vineyards are ancient. Their knowhow of wine and boats goes back beyond history. Their understanding of the heart is wise and in spite of religion, without hindrance nor illusion.
I'm from a split world. My mother's ancestors were vanquished and humiliated by the Europeans. All kinds of Europeans have come to Nova Scotia. My mother knows from where she comes. My father had no idea. I don't know more than that, at all. And in fact, I don't care. I'm me and that's all. But Zoran is Zoran and so much more and he and I feel the same flame in our hearts for each other. At least that's what life has lead me to discover.
We arrived very late in the night and went directly to bed. This afternoon they had a big family talk. Dorijan and Zoran told everybody about the decision of 'adopting' me in the family. I was there, watching them talk, feeling their glances on me. The mother smiled, came over and touched my cheek. I felt like she understood us. Zoran's father understood us. He beckoned me to come up to him, seated at the head of the big family table. He stood as I approached, opened his arms and gave me a very noble hug and then kissed me on the forehead. I then understood that everything was in order. I asked Zoran to translate to them my happiness and to excuse me as I let them carry on without me. I'm going to write a letter to my brother explaining what's happening to me. I will tell him everything! Then I'm going down to the cove.
June 3, 1927
So much has happened these past days! It's going to be hard to relate everything. It's going to be hard because I don't yet really understand everything! Whatever! The mystery is leading me to my fulfillment. I now know the meaning of miracles. I now know Svetac and I love Zoran more than I can say.
When I wrote to my brother that I was in love, little did I know how powerful love can be.
But, let's get back to where I left off.
Zoran joined me at the stream and we frolicked again like unruly lads, washing, teasing, wrestling and fondling each other. After another evening feast, we went back in bed together. As we were cuddling, Zoran said, "Tomorrow we leave for Svetac and we celebrate a mystery together."
"That's a riddle for me, Zoran. Please explain more. I'll go wherever you take me, but 'celebrate'... and 'mystery'? What do you mean?"
He propped himself up on an elbow and told me that Svetac is a small island further west. No one lives there any more. Svetac means Saint in Croatian.
"Once we get there, I tell you everything and we celebrate! Just wait and see, wait and live!" he exclaimed as he kissed me again -- and again. I thought I would go crazy with lust! How long will this delightful torture last?
So, yesterday morning, we hoisted sail aboard a smaller, open boat. She was Zoran's own 'gajeta falkusa', a very swift, rakish open boat, painted black. Zoran spread all the sail and we sped in no time to the island of Svetak. It appeared in the rising sun like a jewel on the sea with abrupt emerald hills rising from the rocky, white shore.
We moored in a little cove where there were the remnants of a former, small stone wharf, just the size for one boat. We packed on our backs a small cedar cask of wine, our food, our bedding and a box of matches and climbed a narrow path through the scrubland of twisted trees, wild flowers, herbs and high grass. Here and there, wild grape vines draped the rocks and hung from an occasional dead tree. I could hear the unmistakable hum of a bee hive through the murmur of the wind in the branches.
"I see you look for the bees," Zoran said smiling, licking his lips, "Their hive drips with the best of honey. I have with me a little jar of some I gathered a month ago. It's food of the gods!"
We climbed over the top of the island and started down the western side to a ledger at the foot of a wide open cave overlooking the sea beside of which a tiny spring trickled, overflowing into a small trough carved in the rock.
"Here is where we spend the night. It was in this cave that I discovered a magic jug, hidden here from the ancient times. You shall feel its power Zachary. I now return here often for my devotions, drinking the wine with water of the spring and honey of the island, of Svetac."
"Devotions? I don't understand."
"Let's make our bed, and prepare the cave for the night. I have an amphora inside for water. I fill it at the spring. You break some wood for the fire. Then we celebrate, asking the Saint to guide us and set us free, blessing us with a miracle together."
Again he said 'celebrate' and 'mystery' and the 'miracle'! Zoran puzzled me even more with his talk about things of the such. I prepared the fire. Zoran returned, propped up the amphora by the woodpile and went in the cave. He came back out with a sort of clay jug in his hands. He then bade me sit beside him in the shade of the cave. He handed the jug over to me.
It was a strange piece of pottery, obviously very ancient. It was made of plain terracotta. There was a faded red sign painted on the side, like a six with a tail falling from the circle. The spout was very curious. It surprised me, making me laugh. It was shaped like an erect penis with a small hole on the tip, just like our own cocks. Zoran didn't laugh.
I bent over and looked inside. The interior was stained red as if it had held centuries of wine and I could smell a very pleasing scent rising from within.
"What do I smell here, Zoran?"
"Incense"
"What's that?"
"A kind of sacred perfume, usually in smoke. Here, it's in the wine," he replied, tapping on the small cask.
He unplugged the cask and poured some of the wine in the jug. The fragrance of cedar and incense rose in the breeze.
He went on, "Down by the shore, where we moored the boat, there is the ruin of a small, pagan temple. The many wild grape vines you saw were brought here for a purpose, I'm sure. I came here for the first time four years ago when I returned home. I found the jug in the cave behind us, hidden in a dark cranny. I felt like I had to leave it there. I told nobody about it. I then gathered several bushels of grapes and returned to the winery. I pressed the grapes by hand, in secret. The fragrance of the juice enchanted me. I let it ferment in this little cedar cask. I also often robbed the hive of its honey. When I found the spring and drank of its water, I felt so totally pure. It quenched and soothed me like no other. Svetak is a sacred island, a magical place. You will see."
The glimmer in his eyes almost scared me as he went on.
"I returned later to Svetak with the wine and honey to spend the night -- I cleaned out the cave and was sitting by the fire under a rising moon when I poured some wine with honey and water in the jug and drank it, sucking on the spout. It was like I was sucking on the Saint's sacred cock. Little by little, in my heart, the wine became the blood of the Saint, the honey was his semen and the water of the spring was his tears of joy, the moisture of his kiss."
His eyes became dreamy, wandering off over the sea. He was gently smiling when he looked back at me, saying, "Now, I have said enough. Now, we celebrate the power of the Saint, of Svetak!"
He put the jug down in front of me, poured some water in with the wine, as well as a dollop or two of the island's honey. He lifted the jug and put the spout in his mouth. I could see him suck and swallow. He then gave the jug to me and simply said, "Drink and enjoy. See what happens to you deep inside!"
He was beaming when he said, "I share for the first time this mystery and it's with you, dear Zachary."
The spout slid very naturally into my mouth. I felt no problem with the penis shape between my lips, on my tongue, nearly at my throat. It felt so natural there. I tilted the jug and the most delicious taste I could imagine trickled into me. I sucked on the spout and felt a warmth unknown to me fill not only my body but also my heart! I handed the jug back to Zoran who drank again and like that we passed it back and forth as we fell under a kind of spell, drowning us in a warm light of dawning lust and love.
"Now I can tell you. The first time I drank from the jug, I had a vision of a youth coming from afar, giving me his love. By just seeing him, feeling him near, I spilt my semen. Now that I am no longer alone on the island, now that I am here with you, I see that the youth was you. And now you are here beside me. I can touch you. You are my miracle, Zachary" he whispered.
Then he stood, stretching his arms over his head. The wine had set fire to the pit of my body, making me crave Zoran's embrace.
As if he knew my mind, he held out his hand, helping me to stand. Facing each other, we began to undress, simply like in a ceremony. My breathing was deep, yet not ragged. We were sweating and our scent was sweet and spicy like the wine. I felt that we were guided by a spirit, a presence surging from the centuries radiated throughout the cave.
Then, the real miracle other took over. We retired, hand in hand, fully nude, into the cool of the cave, stretched out on the covers and began kissing, licking, bathing in the ecstasy of each other's fragrance. No questioning, no hesitation, no restriction. All of our energy was flowing into each other like the spring flows into the stream. I took Zoran's cock in my mouth, like I did with the spout of the jug and sucked. He sucked mine too.
A thrill of fire spun inside me, between us, drawing a gleaming feeling filling the crown of our cocks. And the feeling lingered, growing stronger and stronger as our tongues relished the presence of each other. We glided, as in a slow dance, in and out of our throats. My cock leaked as I drank Zoran's sweet slickness oozing into me.
A tempest of energy swirled stronger and stronger inside us, between us, around and above us. We were in a trance that lasted on and on, never speeding, never thrusting. Pure love led its way into each of us. I began to tremble as my balls churned, stirring a nervous hunger deep down inside. My cock stretched, hardened even more, throbbing further down into Zoran's throat. I welcomed his to the hilt, inhaling with delight the musky scent of his pubic curls, thirsting and loving the thirst for his ultimate offering, the surrender of his most intimate self.
An explosion of light filled the cave ever so silently. Our semen erupted together, surging into each other's throat. We drank each other, savoured each other, quenched each other, over and over. Flames of love danced around us. We hummed together with the wind song of the sea singing in the trees. The entire island jubilated as our souls converged, merging together, blending in total fusion .
Spent, satiated, inebriated with love, we breathed deeply, lingered an instant, holding on to each other, sweating, drooling, kissing each other's tears of joy in a kind of hazy oblivion as our breathtaking celebration began once more. The setting sun cast its beams on us, illuminating our moist skin in hues of gold. Once more, we were swept away in a tempest of endless ecstasy.
We gave ourselves to each other three times that afternoon without faltering, drinking the precious wine, sucking the Saint's gift to our thirst. In the silence of our kisses, Svetac welcomed us to our home.
We were happy, laughing, tingling with life, bathing in the power of the island. I lit the fire as Zoran spread the meal. There was bread, olive oil, cheese, figs and plums. We partook again of the wine, water and honey of the Saint, drinking from the jug's magic spout. Late into the night our semen flowed again as our souls rose, joining the whirlpools of stars above.
Zoran's cock, slathered in oil, found its way up into me, as I welcomed him deep in my bowels. I felt stars exploding in me, there too. In turn, he begged me to come deep into him. I covered him, stirred in him, pushed and pulled in him and as my semen flowed, submerging us both in riptides of indescribable bliss. I wept in the rapture of such a miracle.
I now finish my notebook here in our room. This morning, as we sailed into the dawn, I felt that words had become worthless. Now that my tale is told, Zoran and Zachary, Z and Z, like the buzz of the bees, must now invent a new life together.
Zoran is reading in our narrow bed. I shall join him, blow out the lamp and drift again into the fathomless sea of our loving.
With time before us, we shall spend our days sailing between Komiza and the mainland, carrying wine to others for their joy and pleasure. We shall spend other days of honey and wine on our magic island of the Saint, of Svetak. We shall live our years between our work and our devotions, between the mortals and the gods, between today and eternity.
Good night, dear journal, you were always there when I needed you most. I will always love you. You know better than any other how love changed my life. You know now I need you less. Enjoy your rest... and thank you!
A free photo album (.pdf) with portraits of Zachary and Zoran, pictures of the motor yacht and the sailboats as well as the cave and the jug is now available upon request at marin.giustinian@laposte.net.