In the following story, all of the characters are totally fictive and the setting is real. For whomever it would be illegal, immoral or prohibited for any other reason whatsoever to read a story about love between two young men is kindly requested to refrain from continuing. A free picture album illustrating this story (pdf) is available upon request at marin.giustinian@laposte.net. Please remember to help Nifty stay online by sending your contribution. This being said, I hope you enjoy the tale.
NATURE UNVEILED by Marin Giustinian
Nowadays, Venice, Italy
Prologue
William Hamilton was an art student at the Savannah College of Art and Design. He and his Republican boyfriend had a crashing break-up just before graduation. That was two years ago. He was twenty-two and felt he had to get out! He applied for and was accepted to come and study in Venice, Italy at the Accademia. After a year there, he decided to stay in Venice and work on his own. He felt at home in Venice. He obtained his papers as a foreign resident and rented a loft near Campo San Giacomo dell'Orio. It was just far enough from the hordes of tourists that clog and pollute the heart of Venice.
He excelled in painting realistic male nudes and exhibited and sold them quite well in a nearby gay art gallery. He and Gianni, the owner, became friends. On a hot, mucky, mid summer day, he got a call from Gianni. That's how this story begins.
"Hi, Will. Gianni speaking."
"Hi there. What's up?"
"Listen, a rich, old, and very wealthy Englishman has noticed your work. We talked in the gallery. He wants to commission you for a personal job. I told him it's not our policy to give out personal information on our artists, but told him to give me a number where you could reach him. He went on praising your talent, saying you were unique and money wouldn't be a problem..."
"There are a lot of wierdos out there, Gianni. Do you think he's serious?"
"Listen, he gave me an address on the Grand Canal where he has an apartment in a famous patrician palace and says he lives there half of the year. That means he's filthy rich. He says he's in London the other half and that he's involved in international finance. Sounds like a decent commission to me..."
"Do you say I should look into the deal, Gianni?" Will asked.
"Yes, I think you should give it a try. Nothing to lose!"
"You're right! I'm learning! What the hell. Let's try and see. Give me the number. By the way, who do I ask for?"
"Lord Drearson. Sir Harold Drearson..."
"Thanks! I'll keep you updated. Bye-bye."
He called the number.
"Buongiorno... William Hamilton speaking. Lord Drearson asked me to call him at this number."
A youthful voice replied, "Good day, Mr. Hamilton. I'm Lord Dreason's secretary in Venice. My name is Alessandro Zustinian, and I was expecting your call."
Will was impressed with the fellow's Queen's English.
"Yes, I have been charged to handle his Lordship's request concerning you. Could we meet to speak in private and examine his Lordship's proposal? It's a bit awkward to discuss by telephone. I can come wherever and whenever it suits you , if you could be so kind as to spare me a moment," explained Alessandro.
Will gave him an appointment at the bar 'Al Prosecco' near his flat on Campo San Giacomo where he often went and is known by the staff.
"We can meet there tomorrow at 11:00 AM. You just ask the waiter for Will Hamilton and he'll show you to my table."
"Perfect! I shall be there for sure. Thank you very much. See you tomorrow, Sir."
"Yes, see you tomorrow, Alessandro. Can I call you Alessandro?"
"If you wish..."
Will had arrived a bit early and claimed a table in the shade of the tree overhanging the relatively breezy terrace. He asked Armando, the waiter, for a cappucino and told him, "There's a fellow whom I haven't met yet coming to see me. I told him you'd show him my table."
"With pleasure, Maestro Will," replied Armando.
Will settled down and began to flip through his iPhone when he had a shock seeing an angelic vision walk up to Armando. As planned, Armando indicated Will's table. So this was Sandro Zustinian! Rarely had Will seen an aristocratic profile like that except in some of the eighteenth century portraits of Venetian nobility. Suddenly the name Zustinian rang a bell... The Zustinian family was a part of Venetian history. The vision looked like he was about Will's age, maybe a year or two younger. He stood, smiling as the young man came over, flashing a brilliant smile back, holding out his hand, "Mr. William Hamilton?"
"Yes, and you must be Signor Alessandro Zustinian."
"That I am. May I sit?"
"Please, what would you like to drink?"
"I've just told your waiter that I'd have a cappucino like you."
"So, tell me, what gives me the honor?" inquired Will as Sandro pulled out a folder from his brief case.
"Well, Mr. Hamilton, I admit it's a rather odd request, so I think it best to get straight to the point. His Lordship, Sir Drearson, would like for you to make a portrait of my sex from the navel to the thighs, a bit larger than life-size, and this on a black background. I've made a photo to leave with you, that is if you..."
"Hold on there! Do I understand that this Lord Drearson wants a painting of your cock and balls? That is an odd thing to ask of his secretary. You are his secretary, aren't you?" exclaimed Will, " I don't get the link..."
"Well, yes, I am his secretary for his business in Venice, and am employed full time since he can show up at any time..." replied Sandro with perfect poise, "but also, you might say I'm his personal assistant as well, and as such, I must tend to nearly all his needs. However, if you permit, I should be obliged to not go into unnecessary details, if you don't mind."
Armando saved the situation by bringing Sandro's cappucino. This gave him a second or two to compose himself a bit better after Will's outburst.
Will also immediately understood that the motive of this possible commission was none of his business. He then calmly replied, "Of course. What were you saying?"
"I was saying that I have here a photo of my sex for you to work with -- that is, if you accept our request."
"I don't need your photo. I never work from photos. If I accept the commission, you will have to pose for me, live. I must control the lighting, integrate the forms and colors of your... of the subject, etc. Also, you should have to accept to pose for at least four sittings of at least two hours each."
"His Lordship says any reasonable price could be considered."
"Before we talk about money, deadlines, etc., do you accept to pose? If that bothers you, perhaps you could find a replacement."
"That is something his Lordship would never permit, and as I said, without going into detail, he would see if it were me or not..."
"So, do you pose or not?"
"I accept to pose," said Sandro looking directly at Will, without batting an eyelash. However he had reddened a bit as if on the brink of a blush and nervously twiddled the paper wrapping of the sugar between his fingers.
Will continued his questioning, "What size of a painting does he want?"
Sandro showed with his hands in the air the width and the height giving an approximate idea.
"About like that, Sir, I don't know in inches. I'd say more or less sixty by seventy-five centimeters."
"Fine, I see. Give me a moment for me to draw up an estimate."
Will took out his iPhone and worked with the calculator.
"That would cost Sir Drearson €6,000 : one-third at the first sitting, one-third for approval before I varnish the final work and the balance when the varnish is dry and the painting delivered in about six weeks, personally to... how is it you put it? -- to his Lordship?"
Sandro jotted the information down and said he would talk to Lord Drearson as soon as possible and then inform him on the agreement.
"Perfect! Would you like to have a glass of wine with me. It's close enough to noon for an aperitif, don't you think? Ha!"
"Thank you very much, but I have to run. It was a pleasure meeting you. I'm sure your conditions shall be accepted. However, you must know that I've never modeled before and I admit, the situation is a bit... how can I say... intimate, to say the least. I'll do my best to succeed in the task."
"I feel we'll do a good job!"
"Thank you for everything, Mr. Hamilton," he said, standing.
Will stood too, saying, "Alessandro, since it is quite probable that we'll work together, I'd really like you to call me Will. Would that be too difficult for you?"
"Not at all... Will. Good-bye and thank you again."
Will hailed Armando and said, "A prosecco please, and the note."
He mused as he sipped his glass of cold, sparkling, white wine, "What a strange, beautiful creature, that Alessandro Zustinian!"
The next day, Will's phone rang. His Lordship accepted all the conditions. Will explained where he lived and said they could begin the following Thursday from eight to ten in the morning.
Alessandro was only five minutes late. For a Venetian, that's not bad! He was delighted and apprehensive at the same time.
People usually didn't make him nervous, but Will impressed him, intrigued him, and he, in turn wanted to make the best impression possible on Will. In fact, he simply wanted to keep control of the situation. He passed his fingers through his abundant, auburn hair, trying to tame the unruly locks that kept falling on his forehead. Then he took a deep breath and rang. The iron gate opened onto a little garden which he crossed to enter the building. He climbed the stairs to the top floor where Will's loft spread out under the roof. He knocked. Will shouted, "Come in, the door's open!"
Will greeted his model with a smile. A scent of fresh coffee floated in the air. The loft was warm, almost uncomfortably hot.
"Hi, Alessandro, you look great this morning! How do you feel?"
"I'm fine, thank you. But to be honest, I am somewhat nervous... stage-fright I guess," he replied, joking, "and before we start, may I ask you to call me Sandro? It would only be fair since..."
"Well, Sandro it is! Just relax and enjoy being natural. You have nothing to worry about! I hope we can work on very casual terms. I'm not much of a formal person and like to play it cool. Put your brief case down in the chair over there and let me show you around. It's not vast but it's enough for a loner like me. I've made some coffee to get us going, too."
It was a former attic, recently renovated into a loft apartment with a kitchenette and a separate bedroom and bath. A little stairway led to a storage area under a dormer. Even if the surrounding windows were rather small, there was ample daylight everywhere flowing in through two roof windows, lighting the work space. Will had his easel and paints set up in a corner so he could look out the window too while he painted. In the opposite corner near the kitchenette, some book shelves lined the walls and a table with four chairs composed a kind of dining nook. That was it. All was painted white, giving an impression of vastness with no decor nor clutter. From there he had a plunging view on the Campo San Boldo and the adjacent canal.
"My bedroom's behind that door. The toilet's in there if needed," Will said, continuing, "Have a seat, I'll go fetch our coffee."
Sandro took an envelop out of his brief case containing the down payment and laid it on the table. Will came back with the cups already poured.
"Sugar's on the table."
"Thank you. Here's your first installment."
"Thank you!" said Will, putting the envelop in the table drawer.
They made small talk just to get used to each other, obviously postponing the moment when Will would tell Sandro to undress.
"More coffee, Sandro?"
"No thank you. Should I undress now?"
"Yes, please do. You can leave your clothes here on the chair with your brief case."
As Will prepared his drawing board, art pencils and pad, Sandro slowly took off his shirt, then stepped out of his very elegant loafers. He unbuckled his linen trousers and let them fall to his ankles. His silk boxers fell also. He had draped his shirt on the back of the chair and after having picked up his trousers, he neatly folded them and laid them in the chair with his boxers. He rubbed himself like one does when nervous, then without thinking, he stretched and came into the center of the room under the light.
"Where do you want me to stand?"
Will looked up to discover Sandro's magnificent nudity. He couldn't help commenting, "Wow, Sandro, you are really quite a beautiful human male!"
"Thank you."
"Today I'm only going to make my preparatory drawings -- study your forms, get the feeling of your texture and the way your skin reacts in the oblique, morning light -- so just come close and stand by me, facing the window."
Unlike most Americans, Sandro's cock was uncut. It was limp, full and soft, with the tip of his glans peeking quite nicely out from under the hood of his foreskin. It gave Will the impression of generosity. His balls hung well too, not too low, nesting his penis. His pubic bush was delicately perfumed, naturally crowning his sex without invading the surrounding skin.
As his eyes wandered down Sandro's long, slender legs, Will noted that his knees were not bumpy and that his feet were obviously pedicured. His grooming was complete and very well done. Then looking upwards, he noted that his abdomen was vigorous, yet his chest was not overly developed with deformed pectorals and bulging shoulders. The only thing that seemed a bit exaggerated was the length and the elegance of his neck. If he were compared to an animal, he could be something between an impala and a wildcat.
Sandro felt Will's intense gaze. When their eyes met, they both smiled, Will nodding his approval of the beauty he was admiring, Sandro, the pleasure of feeling Will's admiration. Nothing was said as Will chose a pencil and began sketching.
"How do you feel, Sandro?" Will inquired.
"I'm fine. It's even restful having nothing to do, just standing here nude with you sketching me down there. How can I put it? I feel that the way you look at me, you are recreating me somehow. It's hard to define."
"You know, Sandro, while we work, we can talk. If I'm not too nosey, could you tell me some about yourself like where you're from, what studies you've done, where did you learn such lovely English? It'll help me connect with you and help the painting later on."
"I should be honored to fill you in, if that helps you. Where do you want me to start?"
"Tell me about your family. Are you Venetian?"
"My family... That's a quite a vast subject! I'll try to be honest and not too long."
"We have time, so speak as you feel. I love to listen while I work and let my hand react to the light. If I think too much, I start interpreting..."
Will remained engrossed in his drawing, carefully looking at Sandro's genitalia, studying the shape of his navel, etc., never lifting his eyes.
Sandro, still perfectly poised, began speaking as he looked out of the window onto the roofs of Venice.
"I am Venetian, deeply Venetian, and proud to be born in the old Zustinian family, even if we are no longer the rich, powerful patricians our ancestors were. My great-grandfather still lived in the family palace when he was ruined by the war and had to sell. My grandfather left for our country villa near Padua and went bankrupt as well. My father found a position in a national bank and returned to Venice. We lived in an apartment on Campo San Barnaba and I went to school in Dorsoduro as well. I studied English in the university. When my father was transferred to Milano and my older sister married, going to live in Genova, I left for London by myself. I immediately found a job as a waiter in a rather posh Italo-Venetian restaurant. That's where I met Lord Drearson. He told me he had a residence in Venice and that he needed a personal attendant to assist him when he was there. I saw him several times after that and accepted his offer. So that's where I am now..."
While Sandro spoke, Will noticed his stance. There was something very grounded with him. The flesh between his navel and sex seemed to push space forward a bit. It radiated energy from within. Also, he noticed Sandro's right hand and its very delicate, long fingers. Even immobile, it had a kind of presence that couldn't go unnoticed. He began composing the frame of his picture. It had to be square, solid, steadfast. The hand must be in the picture and the sex slightly uncentered to the right.
Sandro had ceased speaking for nearly a minute when he said, "Will, that's all I have to say about myself..."
Suddenly realizing he was lost in his musing, Will replied, "Oh! That's great. I see you're a pure, blue-blood Venetian! I feel flattered and honored to have you model for me."
"Well, I must say the family portraits we have kept do not depict my ancestors in such an intimate way!" he quipped back, laughing, making his cock dance a little.
"Do you need a break, Sandro?"
"And you, Will?"
"Let's take five minutes before I do another series."
"Good idea. Shall I stay undressed?"
"I don't mind."
"Neither do I. And you, tell me some about you too. It would only be fair, don't you think?" replied Sandro as he sat down and slouched some to relax.
Will thought he looked great like that too!
"Sure, of course. What do you want to know?"
"Where are you from? Judging from your accent you're not British. And how did you start painting and end up here?"
"You're right, I'm not British... I'm from Savannah, Georgia."
"Like in the book, Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil?"
"Exactly, my family too is really old, at least on American standards. I grew up in a nice mansion. There were paintings on the wall and ever since I remember, I wanted to be an artist. So when it came time to go to college, I was admitted in the Savannah College of Art and Design. Just before graduating my boyfriend dumped me. We quarreled over politics... and I learned he was cheating on me too. That broke my heart. I nearly had a depression. When the present day president got elected, I decided to come and study at the Accademia here in Venice, so I wrote them and they accepted me. I came here but after a year, I needed to strike out on my own."
Sandro didn't even raise an eyebrow when he learned that Will was gay and Will didn't notice Sandro's absence of a reaction either.
"How do you like Venice, Will?"
Will smiled, stood and began walking around as he spoke.
"I love Venice! I love it almost too much! Even when it's sticky hot and submerged under a flow of idiotic tourists, Venice is incomparable. No other place on this Earth can compete with not only its unique beauty but also with its culture, its style, its inimitable sense of elegance spiced with extravagance. Palaces of marble built in the mud of a swamp, eternal music and art, known for centuries the world over, out here in the middle of nowhere surrounded by swamp water. This nowhere became the heart of the Eastern Mediterranean world. The sciences, savors, and fragrances of the Orient found their way through Venice's commerce. The Venetians invented banking, navigation, secret police, and unprecedented diplomacy. And I could go on ranting about Venice because this decadent city is now my home and the home of my heart."
Will sat back down and leaned over to Sandro as if he were confiding in him.
"Don't take me wrong about being decadent. As far as decadency is concerned, I was raised in it! I'm from Savannah, Georgia. My family belongs to the very closed circle of Savannah's Southern 'aristocracy'. I hesitate using that word over here. Compared to the aristocracy of Venice, we're barely uncouth peasantry gone rich and then overrun by greedy outsiders. Our stately homes that hordes of tourist admire, are hovels compared to your palaces. Here in Venice, I see everyday that airplanes, trains, and cruise ships vomit cheap -- and less cheap tourists, swarming into the narrow streets of this dying city. Venice is suffocating, a victim of its terrifying charm. You see, Sandro, that kind of decadence, in Savannah, we share with Venice. We don't have your kind of class, but we're not run of the mill rednecks nor arrogant bastards bloated with new money neither! Not only do we have swamps and floods and enough humidity in the air to drown a fly like you do here, but we too, like the Venetians, drink too much!"
"I love the way you love my city, Will"
"And for me, it's an honor to be sketching the cock and balls of one of its most noble descendants!"
They both laughed as Sandro stood.
"I guess it's time to go back to work," he said stretching and scratching his crotch like an athlete as Will sharpened his pencil.
They worked for about forty more minutes.
"Okay, Sandro! I'm pooped! Shall we say next week at the same time?"
"That's fine with me, Will."
Sandro dressed. They shook hands. Will opened the door and Sandro left.
Will sat back down and looked at his sketches.
He jotted down in his notebook, the following thoughts : "Little did I imagine how delicate and beautiful an elegant cock can be. Either I'm too involved with using cocks for sex, or pissing, or worrying about where I could put mine that I never just look at them, watch it live as if it thought by itself. I observed while I concentrated on Sandro's perfect penis and balls, the subtle movements they made on their own. His balls breathed ever so slightly, his cock plumped a little then relaxed and it was almost comical when he excused himself, delicately scratching his crotch from time to time, saying, 'My privates aren't used to so much air!' During the entire time of the poses, I never really thought about sex... but I did stay hard as a hammer handle for nearly two solid hours!"
Will had the coffee on and some pastries on the table when Sandro arrived, right on time, for the second sitting. Again, after some small talk, they began working. Sandro quite naturally undressed and Will, having already prepared what he needed, sat and had Sandro step in closer.
They were silent as Will began drawing.
Sandro then cleared his throat and spoke up, "I hope I'm not too indiscreet, even nosy, but I'm rather curious about how you live here. May I ask you a few questions?"
"Sure... Go ahead," he replied, never lifting his eyes from his work.
"Thank you. I presume you live alone."
"That's right."
"By choice or simply because you haven't found a person with whom you'd like to share your life?"
"Both..."
"As I understood, you are gay and you prefer staying by yourself. Venice is full of young men with the same sensitivity as yours," interrupted Sandro.
"Venice is a city of mirrors. Gay love is like a mirror... and when the mirrors breaks, as they say, seven years of bad luck. My mirror broke two and a half years ago. So... four and a half to go! Ha!"
"That's superstition."
"I know it is, but also, back home we say that a scalded cat's afraid of cold water... And you, do you live alone or are you, how can I put it? Are you 'involved' with somebody?"
"Not really..."
Will felt that the subject was a bit too delicate for Sandro and said, "Well, I've made myself a good life here. I eat out and enjoy it. I've a wonderful cleaning woman who comes in three times a week. She does my laundry and cooks dinner, if I ask her to. All I have to do is warm it up, open a bottle of wine and browse on the web. I love to read too..."
"Me too!" added Sandro, "I have a room in his Lordship's apartment and share my meals with Signora Wilma, the cook and house keeper. I'm not required to be all the time with his Lordship. Only for business and translations."
He suddenly became a bit sullen and added, "Sometimes he asks me to help him with his health... and, of course, I comply."
"That doesn't sound very exciting. Are you happy with that?"
"I avoid thinking too much about happiness, Will. I believe happiness is an illusion. I do what I have to do, the best I can and that's it."
"I see... There! I think I've finished. Want to take a look?"
"I'm dying to see what you've done!"
Sandro came around and stared.
"Do you like it, Sandro?"
"I've never considered my 'natura' a thing of beauty. What you've drawn is... is... I don't have words in English. In Italian, it's 'stupendo' totally awe-striking... if that word exists!"
"You said something about your 'natura' -- does that mean your dick?"
Sandro laughed, saying, "Yes... It's not very usual to call a male sex, 'natura'. We mostly say 'cazzo' or 'pisello' when it's not 'pene' or 'fallo'. 'Natura', nature, is what priests or monks call 'cock'. When it's portrayed in paintings and sculpture, it's 'natura'. Michelangelo made a sculpture when he was young. Everybody knows that the Romans crucified men totally naked on the cross. So that's how the young artist showed Christ on the cross, totally naked. The crucifix is now in the basilica Santo Spirito of Florence with Christ's 'natura esposta', his nature exposed, unveiled if you wish."
Will exclaimed, "Nature unveiled! That's a great title for this future painting, don't you think? That's really lovely!"
"Natura svelata! Yes, I agree! Perfetto..."
As they spoke, Sandro discreetly fondled his 'natura' as every young man does when talking about it.
"May I dress now, Will?"
"Sure... Wait, just one other question before I prepare the colors for the background. Why black?"
"Lord Drearson keeps his bedroom very dim. He says he likes things emerging out of the dark."
"Okay, I get the idea, sort of like the way the Spanish painter, Zubaran, did. He had his mysterious, mystical monks appear, edging out of the depth of darkness."
"I suppose so."
Will chuckled to himself, saying, "But to think about it, I've never considered a cock as being mystical..."
They both burst out laughing as Sandro buttoned up his fly.
"Let's go down and have a prosecco. We deserve it after doing such a good job!"
"I'm with you, Will!"
By the time the third sitting came around, Will had transferred his drawing onto the canvas and filled in the background which was now dry enough for him to depict the subject in color.
Sandro arrived as usual. They were both familiar with the routine : coffee, pastry, small talk, and work. Sandro undressed as Will explained the next step.
"Now it's time to let color take over. Color is light, otherwise, we could actually say that color is life. Now is the time when the painting becomes flesh."
Sandro looked down at his crotch, then at Will.
"Yes, the process of finding the perfect hue, brushing it on the canvas, seeing it react with the other colors is a long and delicate job. Now you don't necessarily have to remain completely immobile. Now is when I start interpreting some too. I'll simply ask you to come closer from time to time for me to work on the shading and the transitions of light, the different colors of shadows, creases, bulges. For a painting like this, I feel it has to be really sensual, almost edible."
"I understand."
As they worked, Will leaned in at times so close that Sandro could feel his breath on his skin. Every now and then, Will touched Sandro to orient him in the light as the light changed. This was extremely sensual for Sandro and what he had mastered up until now, failed. He started erecting. It started slowly at first, then as the glans began to show, it gleamed.
"Sandro, that changes things! I'm glad to see that you're a normal dude. I was wondering... but I do think that this must be taken care of, don't you?"
Sandro shrugged with a sheepish smile on his face, his cock pointing straight at Will's face. Grasping it in his fist, Will said, "Nature decides for itself. Right? Why don't you go take care of that in the bathroom? I could use a break myself. Ha!"
"I'm terribly sorry, Will..."
"No problem, man. Proves you're healthy... gives me another idea of a painting!"
"Not if the poses in erection last too long!" joked Sandro.
"As I said, nature decides for itself," added Will, "wisdom consists in heeding it! Now go tend to your nature. It's in dire need!"
"Will, you can be so direct sometimes! It does me lots of good! I feel it won't take long," stated Sandro as he left the room.
Maybe only six or seven minutes later, Sandro came back. His cock was puffed up a little and the tip was still moist. A contented smile spread across his relaxed face.
"There, that's done," he said, sighing.
"Fine. Can you work a bit overtime this morning?"
"I have to be back at one. Can that do?"
"That'll be perfect, Sandro. I'm getting the right skin tones on the canvas now and I want to finish the rough coloring before we finish this sitting."
Sandro mocked a military salute, "I'm ready, Captain, if you are."
Will went to his easel and Sandro came back to where he was.
"I was admiring your bedroom, Will, just a while ago. Something intrigues me."
"Really? What?" asked Will in a rather absent way, still absorbed with his colors.
"The very big photo of a gorgeous, blond, curly lad hanging between the windows, is it personal or just decorative?"
Will looked up at Sandro and smiled.
"That's me at the age of fourteen when my first... and only really true lover, took a snapshot of me after we had sucked each other off together for the first time. I was exploding with joy after discovering what we had done. God! I loved him so..."
"That sounds so nice... you were very beautiful, Will, and glowing in that picture..."
"Well, thank you, Sandro! I take that as a very great compliment, especially coming from you!"
"You are still really beautiful now... too..."
There was a hushed moment of thought shared together.
"So you see, Sandro, that picture is my youth, looking over me, protecting me from gloom. The lad, which was me, is joyful, happy and really in love with life. He's still alive in me! My first lover, Tommy, and I, as we grew, went separate ways. It was a tragedy only for a few days. Our love was true, simple and healthy, but when it had done its job, it was over. What counts is not how long love lasts, but how deep it is. If it's deep and if it lasts too, then that's a gift of the gods! A deep love, ending, prepares our souls to meet an even deeper love later. Sometimes it's true, sometimes it's just not true. But whatever happens, it happens because it had to be that way! Don't you think so?"
Sandro had tears in his eyes, listening to Will's heart speaking with such authentic sincerity. He gently touched Will on the shoulder and squeezed it a little.
"Will, I must tell you something quite grave concerning Lord Drearson, this painting, and me. I need to share this burden with someone, and I beg you, may it be with you?"
Will put his brush in the dissolvent, wiped his hands with the towel, and simply said, "Sure... I'm listening."
"Lord Drearson is a vampire and I'm his victim..."
"What the shit! What are you talking about, Sandro? Have you gone mad?" exclaimed Will, sounding a bit angry.
"No... Calm down and let me explain. Every other afternoon or evening, his Lordship has me come to his room, undress, and lay upon his bed. He then crawls up between my legs and sucks me until I shoot my sperm into his mouth. He swallows, thanks me, and tells me to go away. He claims he needs to drink my semen. It keeps him healthy. As he sucks, he grunts and drools. Sometimes he grabs my buttocks and pushes my cock down his throat. It's a very beastly thing to endure."
"I see... Otherwise, do you have a normal sex life, Sandro?"
"What's that? Normal sex life... I have seen so many tourists here flaunting around, on the prowl. I've seen old women proposing to pay me to 'escort' them. I've put up with so many flaming propositions, not very honest on a whole, from both handsome and ugly men, strutting around as if they were in conquered territory, imagining that any good looking local lad is fair prey for them. Of course, there are boy-whores from the mainland working for that depraved clientele, but not boys of my kind, not me! Just crossing Piazza San Marco after sunset, I get stopped. I never walked in front of Florian's. I still don't. It's become so vulgar, so crammed with all kinds of dressed up trolls that I can't stand it. Maybe I'm gay. Probably I am, just like you. But being gay for me is not the problem. Homosexuality has never been a problem in Venice... at least not in our milieu. The important thing is being elegant and honest and that today is a problem. Being gay or straight is irrelevant. Who cares about the people you fancy as long as you fancy them with respect and class, not by being a flashy flamboyant queer, stupidly stylish, trying to be witty. Let me finish by saying that from what I've seen around me, I prefer abstinence to vulgarity. If what I've been exposed to leads to normal sex, it's something off limits for me! Something for animals and barbarians. Not for me."
"So you've never experienced the act of giving your sperm to a person you love."
"Love? No. Other than masturbating, my only experience in sex is feeding his Lordship's gut!"
"And what do you feel about that?"
"When I masturbate, I feel good. I like myself. I know that I'm the author of my happiness. With the old man, having him lust after my sperm is sort of flattering and disgusting at the same time. I'm really mixed up about that. It's always a little thrill to ejaculate... but there's no beauty, no affection involved in it with him. When he indulges in me like that, I feel used, abject, and dirty. It's depressing, to be honest."
"You ARE being used. Why don't you just tell him you don't want to do it any more?"
"He'd fire me. He told me so. Also, he told me to never tell a soul about his 'needs' as he calls it. I know it's my problem with him... and you can't do anything about it... so..."
Sandro sighed, smiled, looked at Will in the eyes, saying, "But I do thank you so much for just hearing me out! It does me a lot of good, Will. Really."
Will saw that Sandro was on the verge of tears. He just stood and took him in his arms, giving him a big hug. Sandro seemed to melt a little, then composed himself again and stepped back. Even naked, he was quite dignified, as if he were dressed in his natural born distinction.
"Of course, Will, I never said anything about Lord Drearson's needs, did I?..."
"Of course not."
There was again a moment of silence.
"Listen, Sandro, I've just got one thing I want to say before you go... no two things. The first is: Our cocks are fountains of life. They give life as they gush our most intimate essence. Our cocks give us life as they give it to others, too. If our sperm is given, even to the wind, with ease and pleasure, there's life. If it's taken without being freely offered, our life is dilapidated a little. We should always heed life and nature more than duty."
"I hear you, Will. And what's the second thing?"
"The second thing is that I want to know if you have a day off work?"
"Yes, I have Tuesdays off. Why?"
"Listen, I own a little second hand Venetian skiff, a sandolo. It's in the canal by the bridge. You know what a sandolo is don't you?"
"Quite well..."
"Would you like to take a Tuesday off with me and go rowing together? I'd love to go over to Torcello, swim, picnic, goof off, and just have fun with you. What do you say about that?"
"Oh Yes! I'd love to, Will! I love to row. Can we go next Tuesday!"
"Yes, we can. I'll take care of the picnic. Cold chicken, potato salad, fruit and a pastry, how's that?"
"Let me bring the pastry and a bottle of wine! Okay?"
"Okay! Eight o'clock as usual?"
"Eight o'clock! Give me another hug, please!"
"Even two!"
Tuesday finally came around. Will woke up at six, cleaned up and enjoyed a full American breakfast. He carefully packed the picnic basket. Then he took the two 'forcole' for his skiff and again admired what a fabulous invention they are. Forcole, plural for forcola in Venetian, are sculpted pieces of wood used to lever and pivot the oars. A forcola is more than just an oarlock. It permits handling the oar in seven different ways, turning, feathering, reversing, braking, speeding, etc. without changing sides. That way you row standing, facing the bow. When you're two, there's one up front and another near the stern.
As he was preparing the sandolo, Sandro arrived.
"You sound happy, Will! I could hear you whistling from the other side of the bridge."
"Yeah! I'm really excited! And look at the weather! It's a gorgeous day we have for our outing. Here, let me stash your stuff under the seat."
Looking at the wine bottle, Will whistled again... "Wow! You're spoiling us! Montepulciano Nobile! I love it... when I can afford it!"
"I told myself, nothing it too good for you and me!"
"You are SOOO right, Sandro! Did you bring gloves?"
"Of course. What do you imagine?" he replied, as they pushed off laughing.
Spirits were high! They rowed in perfect sync down the Rio Megio, Sandro at the bow and Will behind. They crossed the Grand Canal, then through the maze of Canneregio's smaller canals. It's always a thrill to leave those narrow waters to suddenly enter the vast, sparkling surface of the inland lagoon which surrounds Venice. They sped along, heading north to the distant islands.
An hour later, covered in sweat, they tied up on Torcello Island and were crossing the village lawn, going to the tavern, when they were suddenly faced with a flash-flood of boisterous tourists coming their way.
"Too bad for the cappucino! Let's get out!"
It was ten o'clock and the tourist boats had begun belching the waves of visitors invading even this remote island.
"I know an abandoned island just around the bend there. It's called La Cura. I want to show you something wonderful there, Sandro."
They pulled into the ruins of a little boathouse or a 'cavanna', tied up, and stepped ashore. Only the remains of a tall chimney remained of the stately farmhouse that had long since collapsed. Pushing aside the reeds, Will showed Sandro a gurgling fountain, an old artesian well shedding its crystalline waters to the sun. They both drank as much as they could hold!
"That's really impressive, Will. There's something sacred about water surging out of the earth. A fountain spring is a hallowed thing."
"Just like us... and our fountains of life!" exclaimed Will as he cupped his sex, shaking it a bit, laughing.
"Fountains of life, Natura... We, males, are simply great, aren't we? I'm glad to be what I am... Tell me, Will, could you live out here on an island by yourself?"
"Living in an 'out-of-the-world', secluded place like this island or in a hidden mountain valley... That's an idea I've never excluded, Sandro. Who knows? One day perhaps..."
"I've always dreamt of living on my own, away from the world and its..."
He didn't finish his sentence. He sort of shuttered, shook himself and looking up, smiled, "I'm really glad you invited me! I haven't had so much fun in a long time. Lord Drearson isn't the most joyful of company! Dreary Drearson... Ha!"
Will jokingly replied, "I'm not a Lord but at least I am not 'drearsome', am I?"
"Good God! Not at all!"
"Let's eat! Then I'll show you another little island. The channel is deep over there and the water is nice and clear."
The picnic was a banquet! They ate everything in the basket and the bottle was empty when they decided to row over to Monte d'Oro Island.
As they entered the channel, Sandro looked at the water exclaiming, "That's irresistible! Aren't you hot?"
"I think we're both hot! Want to go skinny dipping?"
"Skinny dipping?"
"You know, swim in the buff, naked... Natural!"
In a blink Sandro was stark naked and dove into the water.
"Wait for me! I've got to throw out the anchor!"
Sandro swam like an otter, a dolphin. He seemed to be born to rollick in water. Will slipped in and joined him. They played, dunking and splashing each other, having childish fun like all men, young and old, instinctively know how to do when they're happy.
"It's a pity we can't go on the island without getting knee deep in the mud..." Will said as he climbed back on the boat. Sandro struggled a little, scrambling to get aboard. Will held out a helping hand and pulled. Sandro made it out of the water, stumbled and fell. Will caught him holding him in his arms.
They hugged, then froze clinging to each other, chest to chest, cock to cock. A hush fell on the laguna, the reeds barely rustled in the breeze. A gull flew over, screeching as gulls always do. Will took Sandro's head in his hands. Sandro closed his eyes. Will leaned in and gently kissed Sandro's moist lips. Sandro's mouth opened to Will's insistent tongue. They kissed as the sun slid down their skin in drops falling from their hair, their necks, backs and buttocks.
"Wow! That's powerful, Will!"
"YOU are powerful, Sandro, more than you can imagine!"
Sandro blushed a little, looked down at Will's very erect sex for the first time.
"Your 'natura' looks powerful too. It's gorgeous!"
"Well, I like it myself! Ha! It's a pity we have to go back..."
It was late when they got back. They swallowed a quick pasta on the Fondamenta Nova and bade each other good night.
"See you Thursday, Will."
"Yeah, thanks a lot for such a great day!"
"It meant a lot to me, Will!"
"I'm glad!"
Will jumped into his sandolo and rowed home alone.
Some ten years earlier, when Tommy's parents had to move to Atlanta, Will wept like a baby, alone in his room. For the first time, his mother felt she had to leave him alone to handle his sorrow alone. It's all a part of growing up. Will appreciated it too. As the tears dried up, he came into the kitchen where his mother was smoking her cigarette with the coffee. She smiled at him and simply said, "You know, son, if all good things must come to an end, it's because something better's on its way..."
Suddenly that sentence, for the second time came back as he was preparing the loft for Sandro's last sitting. He mumbled to himself, "I guess I've got to believe in something..."
The outdoor buzzer squealed twice as usual. Will pushed the intercom button and waited to hear Sandro's familiar steps in the stairway.
"Hello, Will. Not too tired from Tuesday?"
"I'm fine, Sandro... and you?"
"Not too fine. I'm sort of sad you won't be needing me any more..."
That sentence hurt Will like a hornet sting... "We can always go rowing some, have fun together. You're still in town and me too..."
"Yes, that's so," he uttered as he undressed.
Sandro's cock was plump as if it were thinking about Thursday's kiss. Will, put the final touches of light in the painting, stood back, worked some more and little by little, a kind of gleam appeared in the colors and forms. Sandro came around and looked at it.
"It's absolutely stunning, Will. I can see you put love in your work! I'm so proud of you!"
Everything that was said seemed to have a double meaning.
"You can be proud of yourself, Sandro. It is you! Don't forget."
"I feel I forget too often that it's ME you are creating..."
There was a moment of tension as the silence rang in space.
"Will?"
"Yes?"
"Hug me."
Sandro stood there as Will held him in his arms. Sandro went limp.
"You know what my Mom used to say when I was sad?"
"No..."
"She would say, 'If all good things come to an end, it's because something better's on the way.' That's what she would say."
"Did you believe her?"
"No... but it helped."
"The only better thing that can happen now is for me to see you again! And damn it! Your mother is right! I believe her," quipped back Sandro, "What happens now?"
"So you approve of the painting?"
"Of course I do. Oh, good God! I nearly forgot. Here's the money, Will," he said as he ran over to his brief case.
"I'll varnish it in two days. It should be dry by next Thursday. Call me when you and his Lordship would like to come and collect it."
"Can't we make another appointment for Tuesday?" pled Sandro.
"I think I'm going to be too busy for the time being," lied Will, striving to be cool, even a bit distant.
"What's wrong, Will?"
"Listen, I know how strong you feel about me and you know I feel the same about you. But, I need time to not be afraid of those feelings. Let's take our time and see what Fate and Nature have in store for us. Our respective worlds are so very different. You know the principle of visual perspective. You have to back away from things to see them better. The mountain is only visible from the plain, the island from the sea, etc. What's going on between us will either grow or dwindle. Trust me, Sandro... I'm not shying away. I just need time."
"I do not agree with you at all... but I have to trust you."
Will then picked up a little frame and gave it to Sandro.
"It's a sketch of our 'hallowed' fountain on La Cura!"
Sandro hugged Will, gave him a kiss, turned and said, "Thank you so much, William Hamilton! I'll treasure it while waiting to return with you to see it for real again! I'll call to say when we can come pick up the work, the Natura Svelata, with his Lordship."
Walking over to the chair where he had his clothes, Sandro softly said, "I guess I'd better dress now."
"Call me soon, my dearest Sior Alessandro Zustinian, I remain your faithful servant!" jested Will, making a very ceremonious bow.
"Stop it, you fool!" laughed Sandro, "Ciao..."
"Ciao bello!"
When the door closed, Will sort of staggered into his bedroom and flopped pitifully down on covers, weeping like when he was fourteen... like when his stupid Republican boyfriend slapped him across the face... like...
"Never again!" he mumbled, "never again..."
Two days later, Sandro called, saying he and Drearson would come to collect the painting in a taxi-boat next Thursday at eleven.
"Tell me, how are you, Sandro?" asked Will on the phone, after taking note of the appointment.
"I'm okay... and you?" he replied with a very blank voice. It was clear that both didn't want to end the call.
"Well, anyway... see you Thursday and thanks again for the little sketch of the fountain," said Sandro.
"You're welcome... I hug you, my friend."
"Thanks, I need it."
"Well, bye-bye."
"Sure... bye-bye."
Drearson stayed in the boat as Sandro ran up the stairs to the loft. Will opened the door and they grasped each other with a touch of urgency. Then they kissed.
"God! I'm so glad to see you!" shouted Will.
"I missed you, Will!"
"I missed you too... but..."
"But nothing! Listen, let's hurry up. The boss is in the boat down at the bridge and says he's not getting out. Here's the balance of what he owes you."
"You've got to take a look before I wrap it!"
"Wow, Will! It's wonderful... Hard to believe I've got that in my trousers! Ha!"
"Damn! It's good to hear you laugh..."
"I'm forcing myself! Hurry up and let's get this over with," stuttered Sandro.
Once the painting was wrapped, Will gave a note to Sandro, saying, "You can read it later."
Sandro took it, looked a little puzzled, leaned over and gave Will a furtive little kiss and hurried down the stairs. Will looked out the window, watching the water taxi pull away. It was surgery without anesthesia.
In the boat going back to the palace, Sandro felt numb, slowly realizing to what he was returning, without a date for another sitting to look forward to. He looked out the window at the passing water. Lord Drearson opened his Financial Times and Sandro took a peek at the note Will had given him.
"If ever you need me or just want to see me, call me. You know where I am and I'm always glad to see you. Your best friend, Will."
Sandro smiled, took the note to his lips, then folded it and slipped it in his pocket, uttering to himself, "Your best friend, Will... my very first BEST friend..."
"What did you say there, Sandro? Did you say something to me?" mumbled his Lordship.
"No Sir, I was just talking to myself... Things I must remember."
They stepped out of the boat. Sandro followed Drearson, carrying the painting inside the palace.
"Alessandro, I presume you know how to hang a picture, don't you? Please handle that, centering it over my bedhead. I'm going out for lunch in town. I shall call you when I return for my nap," stated his Lordship with no further ceremony.
The painting hung over the bed like a sacred image over a sacrificial altar. Sandro had to admit it was quite beautiful in the dim light of the richly decorated room. The subject still had its sensual impact in spite of an almost abstract arrangement of the forms and shadows. As he contemplated it, he caressed his own sex, reminiscing the pleasure he had posing for Will. The whole situation seemed totally unreal as he touched and felt what he was admiring from afar. The big bed, like a barren desert, was waiting for him to be sucked dry under the very icon of his most intimate self. He felt nauseated. He retired to the kitchen to eat a light snack with Signora Wilma, the housekeeper and cook.
Two hours later, Sandro's phone beeped an incoming message. It read : Come to my room.
He knew the routine. He took a fast shower, splashed on his Guerlain perfume, clad his silk bathrobe and went down the corridor to the bedroom. As usual, the champagne was waiting in the ice bucket and the candles were lit on the coffee table.
"Come in, my boy!" mumbled his Lordship, crushing his cigarette in the heavy rock crystal ash tray, "Come on now, I need your sweet semen."
Sandro untied the knot of his robe as the old man turned the key in the door. Sandro waited for him to pull the robe off him. It was a part of the ritual. Like a zombie, Sandro advanced towards the bed, followed by his Lordship, already snorting some as his breathing became heavier.
Sandro crawled on the bed, turned and sprawled on his back, opening his legs. A thousand confused thoughts spun in his head as Drearson bent over him, shaking and squeezing his limp cock. Sandro gazed at the ceiling. He felt nothing in his sex. Nothing. Drearson's impatience increased. He engulfed the rubbery penis in his mouth and began sucking on it, tonguing it, almost chewing on it and still, nothing hardened. Drearson sucked harder, fumbled his balls. He was hurting Sandro as he pulled on his cock desperately clamped in his lips.
"Please stop, Sir. You are hurting me!"
"Get yourself hard, damn it! What's wrong with you, you degenerate little poofter!"
Sandro pushed his Lordship's head back, cupped his genitals, protecting them and exclaimed, "My cock hates you! It will never get hard for your stinking mouth! It's the will of Nature, Sir! You're a sick pervert and my cock and I both REFUSE to play your sick game any longer. Go find a real hustler to suck on... It's their job. Not mine!"
As Sandro shouted, he managed to sit up. He received a monumental slap across the face making him fall off the bed. The old man was strong! He crawled on his knees up to the bedhead, grabbed the painting and yanked it off the wall. Then getting off the bed, he advanced, threatening Sandro, brandishing the painting over his head.
"You're fired, you fucking, arrogant twat! You sick, little prick of an Italian nobody! I'm going to destroy you!"
Sandro was pulling his robe back on when Drearson threw the painting at him. He dodged as it bounced on the sofa, landing on the carpet. He darted to the door and managed to unlock it. Drearson caught up with him and struck him, flat-handed, on the back of his head. Sandro stumbled through the open the door, followed by the old man, growling, outraged. Then suddenly Drearson wheezed, gasped for air and fell. He dove face down on the marble floor, spitting his denture. The pitifully naked old man gazed at Sandro with pleading eyes, his mouth drooling wide open.
Sandro dashed to the phone and immediately called the ambulance. He then grabbed the painting and ran to his room. He pulled on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt and ran to the boat landing on the Grand Canal. Within minutes, the ambulance boat, ripping through the waters, its siren blaring, tied up and Sandro rushed the medics to his Lordship. Signora Wilma arrived too and stared petrified at the scene as they carried the half dead man away.
Sandro got into the ambulance with his boss. He was terribly confused, trembling as he looked at the medic pumping on Drearson's chest. Then he stopped... looked up at Sandro and nodded. The drama was over.
The hospital authorities took over, reassuring Sandro, giving him very clear instructions as to what he had to do. He was requested to return to his employer's residence and wait for the police to make a routine inquiry and bring the necessary documents for the procedure of taking the corpse to the hospital morgue.
The police came within the hour. They were quite courteous as they spoke with Sandro and Signora Wilma. Sandro gave them all the they needed to notify Lord Dreason's lawyer in Venice and his wife, Lady Drearson in London. They left and Sandro, exhausted, dismissed Signora Wilma. He went to his room and sat on his bed, looking at the painting. Night had fallen. Sandro's nerves gave away. He let go. He wept. He didn't weep because of the old man's death. His nerves were simply shattered and he needed help. Only one thing kept coming back to his mind. Call Will!
"Hello Will. I need to see you... see you now!"
Sandro looked like a wreck when he showed up with the painting under his arm.
"What's going on, Sandro?"
He set the painting aside and simply hugged Will for life's sake. Will waited for him to talk... and talk he did! He told the whole story, detail by detail. He said he needed to clear things with the lawyer, sort out his few belongings, get paid, find a place to go, etc., but preferred leaving the palace immediately.
Will told him to draw himself a hot bath while he went to grab a pizza and a bottle of wine.
"You've got to eat and rest up! Let me take care of you! Just relax."
Sandro was getting out of the bath when Will returned. He felt better. They dined, finished the wine and Sandro couldn't stop yawning...
"I think it's time we turn in, don't you?"
"I've never been so exhausted in all my life, Will!"
They left the dishes on the table, stood and retired to the bedroom, stripped and climbed in bed.
Will turned off the lights and took Sandro in his arms. He held him as he would hold a wounded child, caressing his hair. Sandro shivered a bit, snuggled up to Will and fell immediately asleep. The street lamp outside the window cast a warm, pinkish glow on Sandro's slight smile. Nothing else on earth existed.
Nine o'clock rang in the bell tower of San Giacomo Church. Sandro was still deep asleep. Will was astonished to have overslept. He slipped out of bed, took a quick shower and was making coffee when Sandro showed up in the kitchenette, smiling, rested and gloriously naked, as if he were going to pose again.
"Good morning sleepy head! You can dress. No work today!"
Mocking a pouting child, he whined, "Really?"
"Well, we've got to go fetch your belongings and I don't see you like that in the boat... It's a pity, but it's against the law! In this city, only statues have the right to let their balls show in public!"
"I guess you're right..." he yawned, stretching for all he was worth.
"Do you have a lot of things to take out?"
"One trunk, a suitcase and a laptop... That's all I need to take away. I don't want to clutter your space, Will..."
"I've got room galore. There's a storage space just up the stairs in my bedroom halfway empty and..."
Will stopped in mid-sentence. There was a silence.
"And what?"
"And I'd really like to have you around. I've grown to like you a lot."
"I like you too... I like you a lot, Will, a lot of a lot!"
Sandro seemed to have gotten over the shock. They ate a hearty breakfast. Sandro called Drearson's lawyer. They made an appointment for the afternoon. Then they took the sandolo and rowed over to the palace.
"I'll wait in the boat," said Will as Sandro jumped out.
"I'll be back in less than ten minutes."
Signora Wilma helped Sandro with his trunk and smiled at Will as Sandro ran back up to fetch his other bags. They loaded the sandolo. Sandro kissed Signora Wilma on the cheek as they bade each other farewell. They pulled away from the palace, leaving it behind. Sandro rowed up front, never turning back. It was as if he had woken up, shaking off a bad dream, rowing into the gleaming sun.
"How did it go?" inquired Will as he was arranging a mass of flowers in a vase.
"Great! I'll get three months bonus pay and a recommendation letter. I turned in the key. We shook hands and that was it. Here, I bought a present for you."
Sandro handed him a gift-wrapped object the size of a big book. Will looked joyfully confused as he tore off the paper. It was a beautiful leather bound book. He opened it. All the pages were blank. Puzzled, he looked up at Sandro.
"Look at the first page," stated Sandro, beaming.
The following sentence was handwritten and underlined : TI AMO, William Hamilton! I LOVE YOU. Your loving Sandro.
"It's for you to write our story in!" he continued, "and there's a lot of pages to fill!"
Will simply grabbed Sandro, kissing him with reckless abandon. They stumbled clinging together into the bedroom. Clothes flew everywhere.
Love exploded like a bomb, a bomb of tears, saliva, precum and laughter. Neither Will nor Sandro knew how to give enough, to open up enough to welcome each other as deep as possible down their thirsting throats straight into their hearts.
Sandro pinned Will on his back, straddling him and began to lower himself on Will's rigid, drooling cock.
"Wait an instant..."
Will squirmed out from under Sandro, ran to the bathroom and returned with a small vial of scented oil. Sandro grabbed it, threw Will back on the bed and anointed his urgent cock, then slathered his anal entry.
It was a magic moment. They soared, trembled, writhed as their energies melded, spinning, whirling them into a sudden oblivion. Erupting together, Will howled as he spewed deep into Sandro. Sandro convulsed, panting, out of breath as his semen gushed into the air, splashing on Will's chest and throat.
Sandro collapsed, drenched in his sperm and sweat. They both were laughing, smothering each other in kisses, liking lips, ears and necks.
"I need you in me too, Sandro," Will managed to utter.
"Just give me minute to catch my breath. I'm still so hard it hurts... It hurts of love for you only, my wonderful savior. Nature has spoken loud to us. Don't you hear it sing deep down inside?" chanted Sandro, nearly shouting.
"God yes! I hear it, I hear it loud and clear! Let's never stop heeding its call. Come into me, Sandro! Come in before I faint lusting you!"
Forgetting to dine, they made love and dozed and made love again, all throughout the night. As dawn began to glow in the window, Will whispered, "Are you here to stay?"
"All life long... and then some..."
Epilogue
They enjoyed living together. Sandro insisted on paying his share. He sold the portrait of this 'Nature Unveiled'. It brought a very decent sum. He also had around €15,000 in savings to invest in their new life and work together.
Will said he wanted to develop his technique in hyper-realistic painting and do it on very large surfaces. Sandro and he rigged a frame reaching all the way up to the rafters in the highest part of the loft. They sewed and stretched a canvas of eleven feet by eleven and invested in an aluminum mobile scaffolding on which Will could work. They spent fourteen months creating four nearly photographic paintings of Sandro's sex in different states of erection. During that time, Sandro found a local in Santa Marta where he learned how to use resin, fiberglass and silicon to sculpt a monumental version of Will's penis in erection.
They showed their work to Gianni who immediately contacted friend and prominent art dealer in Rome. He sent her photos of the pieces Will and Sandro created. She came to see and programmed an exhibit in her gallery. The paintings were rolled and the frames dismantled so they could be shipped along with the phallus. The exhibit was entitled, 'Fontane di Vita' -- Fountains of Life. The exhibit, of course, created a scandal and the pieces were sold for a small fortune to a museum in Sweden. Other commissions followed. A lot of work, doing more modest pieces, followed.
Venice was their house ; nature was their home ; love was their prayer and that for years to come. Winter became spring and summer came again.
Intimate nights of love became mornings of joy. Together, whatever the weather, they went out rowing, always in perfect rhythm, greeting the brand new day. Each night, a prayer, with soul's overflowing, each day, rejoicing in nature's unveiling.
"Sandro, the autumn fog, this morning, is almost like cotton, can you see where we're going?"
"Not really, Will... but we're going there!"
"That's love!"
"That's us!"
A free picture album accompanying this story (pdf) is available upon request at marin.giustinian@laposte.net.