NEITHER ANGEL NOR HUSTLER by Andrej Koymasky (C) 2008 written on August 12, 1992 translated by the author English text kindly revised by Acam
USUAL DISCLAIMER
"NEITHER ANGEL NOR HUSTLER" is a gay story, with some parts containing graphic scenes of sex between males. So, if in your land, religion, family, opinion and so on this is not good for you, it will be better not to read this story. But if you really want, or because YOU don't care, or because you think you really want to read it, please be my welcomed guest.
First notebook
"Don't worry, I'll go and find something to make you better. Just lie there quietly. I'll be back soon."
Giorgio put his sleeping bag under my head, tucked his heavy jacket around my chest, on top of my sleeping bag, to keep me warmer, gave me a playful pat on the cheek, smiled, stood up and went to the stairs.
Giorgio.
Of all the boys living in that old abandoned building, he was the one who always took care of me. As he was two years older than me he had a protective attitude towards me that I didn't dislike at all.
I coughed aloud and shuddered, but I was starting to feel a little extra warmth caused by his heavy jacket on me. I imagined it was the warmth of his embrace and gently slipped into sleep.
A little later Giorgio awoke me - he had got some medicine.
"How much did you spend?"
"Don't worry. It wasn't expensive."
"As soon as I can I'll pay you back..."
"Shut up and swallow these." he answered shaking his head and smiling.
God, how much did I like his smile! Giorgio was possibly the handsomest of us boys, at least in my opinion, and what made him special to me was not so much his cock (which was quite something) or his athletic build, or his impetuosity about sex (that was why we called him "stallion") but just his smile... I liked to think he reserved that smile for me.
All the boys there had a nickname or two. I was Niki; Giorgio was Stallion or also Jors; Amelio, because he sometimes stammered, was Amem or just Mem; Orazio was Zio (that is Uncle), not only because of the last syllable of his name, but also because he was the oldest of us and so naturally was treated as our leader; and Gilmar was Samba... But Giorgio and I always called each other by our real names, and I liked it - that gave me the feeling of a kind of intimacy filled with warmth.
I don't remember ever feeling warmth like that before.
"Nicola, now I have to meet a john... but later I'll came back to see how you are, alright? Don't stand up, don't get cold."
"And if I need to have a piss?"
"Holy mother! Hold it. And if you can't... I'll leave you a tin you can use. I will empty it later. You can't go out in this cold, can you? You must get better quickly... duty calls you!" he concluded winking and giggling.
He stood up, tidied his beautiful soft straight black hair, straightened his clothes and asked me, "How am I?"
"Perfect, as usual." I answered with a smile.
He waved a goodbye and hurried off.
I blew out the candle. I didn't need it. The street lamp outside drew funny shadows on the peeling ceiling. Who knows who used to live there? It must have been a bedroom... who knows how much screwing it silently witnessed? Maybe even sex between men... I smiled to myself and recalled my first sex...
+++++++++++
I was fourteen. My mother sent me to the grocer to get something - on credit. She didn't have the guts to go any more, because she didn't have any money. And there were old debts that she couldn't pay either. So she sent me.
"Don't forget, say what you want and take the goods, and then insist that he gives you credit..." she explained me for the umpteenth time while I was going out.
I went down the narrow path leading to the national road and I reached the village. There was no-one in Tomaso's shop, so I went in at once - I would have felt ashamed to ask for goods on credit in front of village people. I started to say what I wanted, but Tomaso interrupted me.
"Do you have the money?"
I blushed violently and he understood.
"Ha, no money again."
He stared at me and I felt small, almost as small as if I had been caught pilfering. I hated those situations.
"How can I go on letting you take things without a bean in return?" he asked, almost if he was amazed at such a thought.
"Dad hasn't sent us money yet, but..."
"Your father! He's forgotten about you for sure. How long has he been missing? Five, six years? Bah!"
I then saw a light shining in his eyes, a weird light, like that of a kid discovering the parcels under his Christmas tree...
"Nicolino, come a moment in the back room, I need to have with you a man to man talk." he said and coming out from behind the counter, went at the shop door, locked it and hung the sign "Back soon".
He then held my elbow and steered me into the back room. It was like a storeroom filled with shelves overflowing with big boxes, crates, sacks and heaps of items. He signalled that I was to sit on a padded chair with arms and he sat in front of me on a stool. I thought he was going to give me a lecture, as all the village old people often do to the kids. Well, Tomaso wasn't really old, he might have been in his fifties but looked younger. He leaned towards me and put his hand on my thigh. I felt its warmth through my jeans.
He asked me "How old are you, Nicolino?"
"Fourteen, almost fifteen."
He nodded and then quietly asked me, "And... you are already well developed, I think."
"What? Well... I'm growing up, as you see."
"Yes, I see, I see, but... I mean here... under your fly..." he said and put his hand on it and stroked it softly.
I twitched and stiffened. He noticed my reaction and smiled but didn't take his hand off.
"You're growing here too, aren't you? Well, it's just natural. And... I bet that you beat it..." I blushed and he immediately said, "You've nothing to blush about. All boys do it, don't they? And maybe you do it with your mates; do each other..."
"No..."
"So then, who taught you to play with it?"
"Well... a friend..."
"And you don't beat it with him? He stroking yours and you stroking his?"
"No... together, but each only touching his own."
"So then... nobody ever sucked your thing?"
"Sucked? A blow-job, you mean?"
"Yes, a blow-job."
"No, never."
"What a pity. It's fun you know? Listen Nicola, I've a suggestion to offer you..." the man said gently.
His hand was going on lightly rummaging between my legs and my cock was gradually hardening. I was feeling confused and a little dizzy.
He went on, "... a suggestion. If you let me suck your thing, I'll give you credit for what you need and I'll add, each time, a nice 5,000 lira note. Are you game?"
I never had a 5,000 note all for myself! And a blow-job... according to my mates it had to be something enjoyable... better than beating himself in a toilet, or in the haystack with Tony... and my cock was at that point really hard and I felt the need to relieve myself...
Tomaso interpreted my silence as an assent and started to open my belt. I let him doubtfully. One really ought not to do these things, I was thinking... but after all... a nice 5,000 note...
Tomaso made me spread my legs, kneeled between them, pulled down my fly zipper, then I felt his fingers hooking the waistband of my briefs under my balls... then I felt his hand on my naked, hard cock... In a way, it was rather agreeable, even though I was feeling terribly embarrassed. I shut my eyes. Then I felt his lips, his tongue on my cock and jumped with surprise at first because of the extraordinary feeling, but then again I squirmed with pleasure.
One of his hands held my cock in position while his head was bobbing up and down sucking it with a good rhythm. The other hand pushed up my shirt and caressed my chest. I could feel his hair tickling my belly as he moved his head. I was still terribly embarrassed, but I was also enjoying it. I felt the pleasure grow, grow, grow and all my muscles stiffened, the pleasure became unbearable and I moaned aloud, and heard like a waterfall rumble in my ears, and tried to hold Tomaso still, moaning, "I'm co... coo... I'm about... cooo... coooooming!" but he seemed not to hear me and went on.
I felt seized by panic. I thought I had to pull away - that he would get mad at me if I spurted in his mouth, but all my muscles seemed paralysed and everything was happening too fast, and the explosion came and I unloaded into his mouth and felt lost. I wanted to sink through the floor, but I couldn't help it and started to come, spurt after spurt after spurt...
Only when it was finally over I realised that Tomaso drank it all and that he had a satisfied expression!
He rubbed his lips with the back of his hand and smiled. I was looking at him in amazement. I couldn't believe it. He smiled again. A fleeting smile, but a real smile. Then, while I was almost with difficulty tidying up my clothes, he put on my lap a 5,000 lira note. I slipped it in my pocket, and stood up. My head was spinning. I was feeling weak and confused. We went back in silence to the shop and Tomaso unlocked the door and took down the notice. Then, as if nothing had happened, he served me and wrote the total on his book.
As I was leaving, he said, "Come to do your shopping again, Nicolino, alright? Usually at this time there are no other customers. Do you understand?"
Of course I understood. Back home, for a moment I thought I had to give that money to my mother... but how could I explain it? I certainly couldn't... Moreover, I earned it... I remember that I thought then that it was not even really earned - after all I did enjoy it, I didn't work for it. He did everything... He gave me pleasure and paid me... Usually one pays a whore and she has to give the man pleasure... therefore I wasn't a whore, I thought.
I remember that, back home, I asked myself if my Mum might realise what just happened to me. I don't know, but feared she could read it on my face or I don't know what. I was rather surprised (relieved but maybe even a bit disappointed?) when I realised that she didn't notice anything. She was rather pleased about her idea to send me shopping on credit instead of going herself. So she sent me again - about twice a week. So I got used to it. If there were other clients in the shop, I just went for a short walk and came back later. And after a while it was me who locked the door and put up the sign. I went to the back room, bared my chest (Tomaso liked that), opened my trousers, sat on the chair and spread my legs. He knelt there in front of me, pulled it out and gave me a blow-job and drank to the last drop. I waited for my orgasm with my eyes closed, moaning and groaning (as Tomaso liked), came, pocketed the 5,000 lira, tidied myself, then went back home with the shopping.
Routine. Everything can become routine.
Even being a hustler.
++++++++++++++++++
I had to stay in bed for five days. I would have got up earlier, but Giorgio forbade me in such a determined tone that I realised I had better obey him. I trusted Giorgio anyway. I had boundless faith in him.
Giorgio wasn't a country boy like me. He was the son of a city lawyer. When he was eighteen his folks, who were abroad and were to come back a couple days later, came home early and caught him in bed with a boy. It was the end of the world. They threw him out - they didn't want a faggot as a son. So with no home and no family and no money any more, Giorgio started to hustle.
He easily found several johns, as he was really handsome. I met him on the street. I had already been hustling for five months. I had moved to the city after my mother went away with a guy and left her three children alone at home. I told my sister Caterina I wanted to go to he city to look for a job, and at first I really looked for one. But I still was a minor and nobody would hire me.
After a few days I was broken and hungry, so I started to beg. I felt incredibly ashamed, but as I said I really was hungry. I managed to collect a few coins, but I was dreaming of a real meal. So I approached a passer-by, a well dressed man of twenty-five or thirty years, and went through my usual rigmarole for him.
"I've no family, I've looked for work but can't find any. I'm hungry. Can you give me a hundred lira please?"
When I was begging I never had the guts to look the passer by in the eye.
The guy answered, "No, I'll give you no money. But if you really are hungry, come with me, I'll offer you a meal at the self-service caf nearby. We will have a meal together."
I looked at him amazed. He had an open, sincere, inviting smile. I accepted.
"Take anything you want." he said while we were queuing with our trays.
I did as he said. We ate. He asked about me. I told him... then he invited me to have a beer at his place. He lived in a really elegant penthouse. There was carpet wall to wall and he got me to leave my shoes at the entrance. He put on some music and lowered the lights.
"That's better." he said and then asked, "Where do you sleep? Do you have a room?"
"No, I've not enough money."
"If you want, tonight you can sleep here, I live alone. You will not bother me."
"Really?"
"Sure. But you will have to sleep with me in my bed - here there's only one bed."
"I can sleep on the floor. I'm used to it."
"Absolutely not! I've a queen size bed, there is room for both of us."
Before going to bed he had me take a shower - I really needed it. Wearing just my briefs and tank top, I slipped between the fresh sheets - it was a dream. He already was in bed. I could feel the warmth of his body near mine, almost touching. It was an agreeable feeling. He switched the central light off and put on the one on the night table.
"How are you feeling?" he asked me.
"Like a pope." I answered "Thank you!"
He ruffled my hair in an affectionate gesture, then said, "Nobody ever told you you're a really handsome boy?"
"No, never..."
"Did you have a girlfriend, at your village?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"I don't know. Maybe I'm too young to be interested in one yet. I'm only sixteen, well almost sixteen."
"So you have never made love?"
"Well... no."
"Are you still a virgin?"
"Virgin? I can cum."
"Alone? If my questions bother you..."
"No, no. A guy at my village, liked to suck my tool."
"Did you enjoy it?"
"Sure!"
For a while he was silent. It was odd, but I didn't feel ashamed with him, I don't know why. So when he said, in a low voice, "I would like to see you naked." I just answered, "Alright." and without the least embarrassment I stood up on my knees in front of him and took off everything.
He looked at me in a way that pleased me, with appreciation, then said, "You are well developed for your age. Can I touch you?"
"Yes, but... if you touch me I might get aroused, and..."
"I'm already aroused, even without touching. Look..."
He moved the sheet - he was naked (I hadn't noticed it before) and had a glorious erection. He had a well-built body. I felt the urge to rub my hands on it, to touch it, to caress it. I told him. He said I could do it, if he could touch me. So we started to caress each other. It was really good. He knew how and where to touch me to give me pleasure. His cock was the first one I ever touched and I liked feeling it throb, hard and warm, in my hand.
Then he said, "I would like to make love to you, now."
I thought I knew what that meant - what a man did when he had sex with a man. But it was only hearsay.
"You want to fuck my arse?"
"Among other things..."
"It will hurt. I've never let anyone do that."
"I'll do it gently, I'll use gel. If you feel pain I will stop, I promise."
"But... will you first give me a blow-job?"
"Yes, and you do it to me."
"I don't know... I don't know if I'll like it."
"Give it a try. I would really appreciate if you did, but you're free to do as you feel, Nicola."
It was the first time he used my name, and he spoke so sweetly that I felt pleased. I then had my first sixty-nine with him (I really enjoyed it) and I also lost my cherry (at first it was uncomfortable, but not painful, maybe because he knew how to do it, and his tool wasn't too big). Later I fell asleep in his arms, a little sore behind but happy and satisfied.
The funny thing is that I don't even remember his name. I spent three nights with him and we had sex every night. He then had to leave. He gave me some money, we said goodbye. I never met him again. And yet I know I owe him a lot - he introduced me to the kingdom of sex between men without the least trauma, with gentleness.
Which was not at all what happened to Mem or to Samba.
++++++++++++++++
Amelio was born near Pompeii. We pull his leg saying that that's the reason he is so good at doing blow jobs, in fact in dialect a blow job is called a "pump". Once while we were both out together with one of our johns the john told him to "pump" me - he really is skilled!
He is the son of a prison warder. When he was thirteen he had been raped by three older cousins... just for fun. He told us they were on a beach and were all four beating their meat, talking about girls and their nice little arses.
One of his cousin said, "Amelio has an arse like that of a girl. I'd like to get a taste of it."
Amelio thought he was jesting and laughed and didn't move. But that cousin jumped on him. He then ran away and all three chased him. They struggled, laughing. They got hard, pulled down his bathing suit, held him still and all three fucked him. He stayed still. He didn't try to escape them any more... He told us it hurt but at the same time he enjoyed it. After that time he started to realise he was attracted to any boy or man with a big basket. And so he started to look for men. He told us that he even persuaded one of his three cousins to go on fucking him for a while. Until that cousin got a girlfriend, an easy girl who let him have her slit, so he stopped doing it with Amelio.
He told us that he liked doing it with men so much that he started to hitchhike up and down the national road to find a man. Occasionally one of those who gave him a ride proposed sex. And sometimes gave him some money too. Until one day when two cops caught him while he was in the bushes with a man. He told us that the two cops asked the man's name and address and let him go. Then they asked Mem to do a "pump" for both of them...
Sometimes Mem makes things up but these stories may possibly be true. Even though he is the most effeminate of the five of us he is a nice boy. I don't dig effeminate people much, but Mem is different, is special. I don't know, but in all his gestures there is the feeling that he cares for you. Really simpatico you might say. He is almost always merry. When he sees the cops he hides at once because he is still a minor for a few months and is afraid that his father might have asked the cops to look for him. He ran away from home about one year ago without saying a word to his folks. He just left a note. He left because he wanted to live his own life. He would like to become a singer. He has a really good voice and when he sings he doesn't stammer. Sometimes he sings for us. Who knows whether one day he will really succeed?
Once Mem happened with a S-M john. He came back home in a sorry state. The john first flogged him, then pushed the whip handle in his arse. He was not able to hustle for about ten days. We healed him and shared our food with him for that period. Zio wanted to find the john to make him pay, but Mem didn't want that. I think that Zio has a yen for Mem, who is the youngest of us all. But I think they never had sex together.We hustlers never have sex together except when a john has hired two of us and asks one of us to do it with the other. I don't know why. Maybe we have too much sex with our johns to feel the desire to do it together.
Possibly.
++++++++++++++++++
Samba came to Italy two years ago from Brazil, for the world soccer championship and then decided to stay here. He is the same age as me. Actually he is just two months and three days younger than me. He was already a hustler in Brazil. But at that time he was never willing to be fucked in the arse - he was scared to do it. Then once a really handsome black man hooked him, He said, "I'll pay you good money" and he went to that black man place. The john said he didn't want to have sex at once, but invited him to have some drinks. So Samba, without realizing it, became somewhat drunk and wasn't able to stand up.
When that black guy saw that Samba was well canned, he pulled out a twenty-eight centimetres long sausage and asked Samba to suck it. Samba told us that he did have difficulties taking it all in his mouth. But Samba likes sucking cocks, so he did his best.
When that black john was well aroused, he took Samba, lifted him up like a twig, put him on his bed and lowered his trousers. Samba understood what the man was up to and tried to fight him, but he was not strong enough. He begged him to stop. He beseeched him but the guy only seemed to get even more aroused. He prepared Samba's hole with his spit and went down on him roughly.
He started fucking him saying, "Scream, scream as you want, nobody can hear you!"
Samba felt like dying - that cock was so big and long. He felt ripped open - torn... but the other went on hammering, and Samba cried his soul out. The black man took an eternity to come and when he finally came pushed it down so violently that Samba nearly fainted. He now tells about it with a smile but just the fact that it's one of the stories he goes on about is enough proof for me that he was really badly upset by that misadventure.
He told us that afterwards his arse was bleeding. That black man paid him a good sum of money and finally let him go. He told us he was waddling like a goose for several days because of the pain. But he also told us that after that he had no difficulty with any other prick in his arse. But also luckily he never found such a big cock again.
On the other hand I have been lucky, really lucky.
+++++++++++++++++
Amongst us boys there are almost no secrets. We are better than brothers. Zio is the only one of us who may hold back his secrets. We know little about him. But even though he is not so talkative, he is always kind to us. He is the one who found this abandoned empty house. Zio is genial. If he studied he could have become anything he wanted. He has a cultured background - from time to time he buys a book and reads it, and underlines the sentences that strike him. He doesn't buy worthless books - he reads essays in psychology, politics, history and so on. He has a rucksack full of books there must be at least thirty. And it would be unwise to tease him or pull his leg about his books.
Zio has several steady johns. I've met some of them too - they are weird people a bit eccentric but harmless. One of them worships feet especially if they stink. Another likes wearing women's clothes and he is funny because he is hairy like a gorilla... Another one likes to get pissed on... I don't like such people, but Zio says it's "just work" and goes with them without complaint. And he gets good money. He saves it and banks it because he says that he wants one day to buy a bookshop or a newspaper stand. I think he's the only one of us with a bank account. People think that we hustlers make lots of money but it isn't always true. Apart from Zio. Maybe we should move to another neighbourhood to earn more money. But Giorgio says we are all right here. And Zio agrees with him and so we stay here.
Zio is well known and respected by all the hustlers in this part of the city. Maybe it's because he is old (in fact he is just twenty-two) but he has been hustling for seven years - much longer than anyone else. But maybe it is because he is strong both physically and inside. He was sent to prison for a bit once because the cops found cocaine on him. He says that the cops fitted him up and I believe him because I never saw him take cocaine. Anyway the five of us don't take drugs except maybe some grass that on rare occasions Zio and Mem smoke. I wanted to try grass just once, but Giorgio forbade me. And Zio never offered me any after that. Zio respects Giorgio.
Once Zio was absent for five days and we were all worried. To set our mind at rest Giorgio said that he was probably in prison again for a week or two... Then Zio came back all merry and smiling - telling us that a john took him to Nice, that he enjoyed himself and earned good money. Then Mem scolded him and told him that while he was enjoying himself we all were worrying about him. After that if one of us was going to be absent for a while he has to tell the others before he goes. We really are a kind of family in that way. When Mem scolded Zio I realised for the first time that there is a special relationship between them. If any of us had tried to scold him Zio would not have taken it lying down. He would have refused to listen and shut any of us up very roughly. But he almost apologised to Mem. I never saw them making love. On the contrary I've seen Mem and Samba making love - only twice in a whole year and always on Samba's initiative.
Zio is not handsome, (not ugly either!) but he has a special appeal. And also a really beautiful cock, I have to say. Here we can wash only in a wash-tub, heating the water on a gas ring. So we always wash in front of each other. But of course we have no stupid shame about exposing ourselves. In summer time we often go around our place half naked or even stark naked. This gives us an agreeable feeling of freedom. And I must say we all have nice bodies. The only time when any of us refers to his nakedness is when someone has a hard-on. In that case he usually jokes about it.
+++++++++++++++++++++
As soon as I got better I started to hustle again and I tried to make up for the time and the money I lost. Amongst our johns there are some we know quite well but there are new guys too and some just passing through. I discovered that the street where we hustle is even in some gay guides, which explains how we get johns who come from other cities too. Amongst the other hustlers there are even some who swear they are not gay and that they do it just for the money. It's not like that with us five although Giorgio says he likes women too. But he admits he likes men. Zio told us that he went with women, for money only twice but he wasn't at all pleased by it. Mem, Samba and I have never gone with women; we don't even think of it. Once a woman stopped her car and asked me but I said no. A woman would not even get me hard.
I don't believe the boys who pretend not to be gay when they say that they do it just for the money. Someone who really didn't like men could not do it even for money as I couldn't with women. But if they admitted it they might feel they were less manly; who knows? And yet I feel I'm a man in every respect. Then there are also some like transvestites who say they feel they should have been women. I can't understand them. Anyway each of us is made in his own way and that's OK. I'm glad that none of us is a fem, a trans or a false "not gay". It would be a terrible bore!
++++++++++++++++++++
Today Giorgio bought a second hand motorbike from a hustler in our street. So he suggested that tomorrow we go for a ride in the hills. Tomorrow morning he will buy two crash-helmets and then we can go. I'll fix some sandwiches and something to drink so we can avoid spending money in a restaurant. The weather is fine so we decided to take our sleeping bags with us and we will sleep under the stars - a short holiday will be good for both of us. We told our mates what we planned.
I hope tonight I can find good johns. Giorgio and I decided not to be late like the other nights, because we want to wake up early tomorrow morning (early means not later than 8:30). If I'm lucky I might catch the "Greengroceress" (a guy who keeps a fruit and vegetable stall at the market where we sometimes shop, because he always gives me a discount) or maybe the architect.
The architect was my first john here on this street. He was also the first I fucked in the arse. He lives in a beautiful apartment with his lover but sometimes each of them comes to look for a hustler to "change the menu". He comes about once per week and always looks for me if I'm free. When I'm not on the street he chooses a boy called Tano or else one called Jimmi. These two boys like me have light brown almost blond hair, green eyes and an average size body - this evidently is what turns him on. By the way his lover is like that too. I really can't understand why he always looks for the same kind of boy, if he wants a change from his lover. Go figure!
Anyway, the first time I met the architect, he was driving by in his car rather fast, so that I thought he was not cruising, he passed me, suddenly jammed on the brakes (luckily no car was behind him) went into reverse, stopped in front of me, lowered the window's glass.
He said, "Hi. New here?"
"Yes, my first day."
"You're handsome. How much?"
I ventured, "Thirty."
"Alright. Get in." As I sat by him he said, "You do blow jobs?"
"Yes."
"And you like fucking arses?"
"I've not done that yet but..."
"Well, let's go."
I was obviously quite awkward but this didn't seem to matter to him. He took me to his place and introduced me to his lover who had hooked Samba who I hadn't met before. We drank and chatted for a while. Then his lover and Samba withdrew to one room and the architect took me to another one.
The architect is about forty-five, slightly bald, some belly but not ugly. If he did some gym he might even get to be not bad at all. He likes to undress me very slowly and get me aroused. I mustn't do anything while he does this. Then when he gets undressed as soon as he takes out his cock I have to go on my knees in front of him and take his cock in my mouth "devoutly" (his words).
Then when he is well aroused he bends at ninety degrees with his hands on the edge of his bed and I have to fuck his arse and pinch his nipples while he beats his meat. But I have not to come too fast. To persuade me not to come too fast, he pays me by time. If I manage without coming to last in his arse, he pays me ten thousand liras more every ten minutes. Anyway my record is not exceptional - it's just forty minutes of back and forth. I'm sure that Zio would be able to go on twice as long as me. But by the end I feel knocked out and prefer to come. Anyway the architect appreciates my performance - in fact he always looks for me. I hope to meet him tonight - I'm feeling in wonderful shape and I might beat my record.
When I left after that first time with the architect, I met Samba on the landing waiting for the lift. So we went down together and hooked up. He asked me where I was sleeping.
I said, "I rent a room but would like to find something cheaper."
Then he said, "You seem a nice boy, I watched you there while we were chatting, before the fuck. You seem all right. I'll talk tomorrow with my friends and if they agree you can come to sleep at our place - no money needed."
So the very next evening he introduced me to his friends and I moved in with them. I met Giorgio there - at once I had a good feeling about him.
+++++++++++++++++
Giorgio told me about his first girl. He was fourteen. He said she had to do everything, because he was totally awkward.
"But do you really like women?" I asked him.
"Sure. You should try too. You cannot say you don't like them if you've never tried."
I retorted "And how can you say you don't like drugs if you have never tried them?"
He burst into laugher (god, how much I like him when he laughs or smiles!) and said, "That's the first time I've heard women compared with drugs! But I take your point - no more need be said."
He told me everything he knew about it. He also told me that he tried with his first man when he was sixteen. He had been picked up by a woman he already knew who wanted to take him to her bed but her husband was in her bed too. So Giorgio had sex with both of them and discovered he liked it just the same with her as with him. So after that he always went with men and women indiscriminately. But now that he hustles he goes mainly with men.
But Giorgio says that one day he will marry and have children. When he talks like that I feel uncomfortable about it - I feel almost jealous. Maybe I really am jealous but when he talks to me about men (or when he fucks with them) I don't feel this absurd jealousy. It is only when he talks about women. Who knows why? But I never told him how I feel about it because I don't think he would understand me.
++++++++++++++++++++
We stayed for two full days in the hills near an ancient abbey. It was really great - forty-eight hours alone - just the two of us, him and me. The weather was mild, the air fresh and pure, the panorama splendid, and I was in his company. I would have liked to stay there for much longer. At night when we were lying close to each other in our sleeping bags he told me the names of all the constellations. I don't remember a single one of them I'm afraid but at the time it was really beautiful. I felt like hugging him but I didn't dare... So I told him I was feeling a little cold... and he lit a fire, the stupid boy! Fire anyway is beautiful, has a special fascination, mainly when I looked at its reflections dancing in Giorgio's eyes.
"I came here with my father and my mother when I was a child. This is one of the few good memories I still have of my parents, Nicola. Do you realise that? This is why I wanted to come again here with you. So now this place is tied to you also, and not just to them. So this place is once again beautiful for me... or rather even more beautiful with you and me here, talking together..."
Each time Giorgio was talking of his parents, he grew sad. The reaction they had had when they discovered that their son liked men was still burning into him.
"If they really loved me, they would not have had that reaction." he told me. "They don't love me. They never loved me. They brought me up, as it was their duty. It was not for love do you see? Love doesn't exist that's the truth."
I didn't know what to tell him - how to answer him. I just felt he was suffering a lot and I would have liked to hug him to console him. And tell him and show him that love can exist.
I was a bit nervous but said tremulously "You and I talk to each other, we talk a lot. But we don't communicate."
"What do you mean? Why don't we communicate?"
"No, we don't communicate. There is a wall between us. I don't know why. You are on one side and I am on the other side. There are a thousand things I would like to tell you but I can't. You don't know very much about what's inside me. It's not your fault. And maybe it's not my fault either but that's how it is. I would like... I would really like to talk to you, to communicate... but I can't."
We were so very close to each other and near to the fire and it was at the end of our second night away. He looked at me and said, "Try. I'm here. I am listening."
"Yes, I know. You're good at listening but... Listening and understanding are not the same thing."
"Well... try, anyway."
I kept silent for several minutes and he waited. Maybe he could feel how difficult it was for me to express what I was only just coming to understand.
We kept silent for several minutes and then I took a deep breath and just said, "I'm in love with you Giorgio."
He had like a choked exclamation.
Then he said hesitantly "I am very fond of you too, Nicola, more than if you were my brother. We are friends, special friends. You know that, don't you?"
"But that's not enough for me..." I said peevishly and trembling.
"Nicola, two men cannot be in love; they can just fuck together."
"You don't even do that with me."
"You know that I only do it for money. You do realise that, don't you?"
"No, you do it because you like it too. You told me so."
"And I like you but we are friends and... Being a lover, a friend or a john are three different things. With a lover and a john you can have sex. With a lover and a friend you can have affection. But there can't be sex and affection with a friend, can there?"
"If I can't be your lover... then I would like to be a john for you at least."
"Really?"
"No. If I had to choose between getting just sex and getting just affection, I'd prefer just affection... But I love you, Giorgio."
Foolishly my eyes filled with tears and I felt lost. I had just discovered I loved a person but this person didn't want or was not able to return that love to me. Through my tears I could see the reflections of the bonfire tremble like will-o'-the wisps and I thought I would have liked to die or at least to fall asleep for a hundred years to forget the love that I felt burning inside me. I folded myself up - almost curled up and sobbed.
I heard Giorgio shifting nearer to me. He put an arm around my shoulders and pulled me against himself. He made me lay my head on his lap and caressed my hair with tenderness. This gesture brought back long buried memories of an identical gesture - of my mother caressing me when I was a baby. And I cried even more than before - a maternal gesture, paternal perhaps, but not one of a lover.
What horrible thing it is to love and not be loved back! And yet Giorgio loved me. He was giving me at that very moment his gentleness... his tenderness... but as a friend. Just as a friend. From the first moment we met he wrapped me with his tenderness. I could be grateful to him for this. But I had just discovered that this was not enough for me any more. And he was not able, or didn't want - he could not go beyond that.
To know, to be able, to want - these three verbs whirled inside me for a long time. Like a monotonous refrain and I was asking myself - which one applies to Giorgio?
That second night we slept hugged together and I was feeling aroused and didn't dare to move for fear that Giorgio might realise I was, and would get annoyed and send me away from him. It was wonderful and terrible at once being in his arms and having to remain detached from him... I love him. He couldn't ask me to stop loving him any more than I could ask him to fall in love. And I wished I could die.
The day after everything seemed to be back to normal - to be as it always had been. He was the usual Giorgio. I was the usual Nicola... But I was jealous of him now - of his johns, of the woman who one day he would marry even though she didn't yet exist. For a long time Giorgio didn't talk to me any more about his intention to marry. He may have realised even if unconsciously that it would hurt me. And I never again told him I loved him. All was back to the normality - at least on the surface - at least for him.
But inside the depths of my heart from then on I thought of him as "my beloved".
CONTINUES IN CHAPTER 2
In my home page I've put some more of my stories. If someone wants to read them, the URL is
http://andrejkoymasky.com
If you want to send me feed-back, or desire to help revising my English translations, so that I can put on-line more of my stories in English please e-mail at
andrej@andrejkoymasky.com