In the following diary, all of the characters are totally fictive. For whomever it would be illegal, immoral or forbidden for any other reason whatsoever to read a story about love between a young man and a consenting lad of sixteen is kindly requested to refrain from continuing. Free photo album (pdf) from this story is available upon request at marin.giustinian@laposte.net. This being said, I hope you enjoy the tale.
ON THE EDGE OF EDEN
by Marin Giustinian
Eighteenth century, London, England and Northern Italy.
Aboard the barquentine "Capucine", Saturday, April 22, 1775
Here I am, on a small packet boat sailing to Bordeaux and beyond, leaving behind London with all of the life I've lived up until now. I've found a small place on deck, in the lee of the wind, where I can write in my diary about the most important thing that has ever happened to me since my birth. It all started just a week ago.
One of the better known bankers in the City, Lord Ryder, held a reception in his sumptuous, stone and brick townhouse over in Kensington for which my two mates and I were hired to play chamber music. The butler in charge of the venue told us that an extremely important handler in charge of the international affairs of the very old and very aristocratic Italian family, the Borromeos, is the guest of honour. I had no idea who he was, but assumed that he was a rather high ranking personage to have such a reception held in his honour!
So we practiced some of the trickier but delightfully cheerful scores of a late Venetian composer, Antonio Vivaldi, whose pieces for the woodwind flute I fancy as well as my two colleagues, on spinet and viola. We did a jolly good job that evening, now that I think about it.
So, getting back to the point, here in detail is what really did happen. Once the evening was over and the guests were leaving, we were packing our instruments away when the butler himself came up to me, gave us our pay and told me that their Lordships, Lord Ryder and the guest of honour, his Lordship Baron Bartelemeo Marcacci, would like to have a word with me in private and bade me follow him.
Somewhat startled, I bowed and said, "Of course, Sir". Taking leave of my mates, I gave them their share and told them I was withheld. They smirked and joked as usual having seen me more than once having to deal with some shady proposal, be it male or female, at the end of the evening.
As I timidly approached their Lordships, I noticed that the Baron was the same gentleman who had spent several long moments attentively listening and staring at me during my solos. Lord Ryder introduced me to the Baron, leaving us in the small drawing room in which they were conversing. I was then invited to sit as the Baron took the armchair beside me, thanking me, in almost flawless English, for the time I was according him.
I was completely flabbergasted! I nervously sat on the edge of my chair, knees squeezed together and armpits dripping. Even though his tone was quite reassuring, I felt completely subdued by his nobility.
He began telling me why he wanted to involve me in a plan that my presence and music had just inspired him. He explained to me that he had assumed the care and upbringing of an orphaned lad to whom he referred as his "godson"― I didn't have the least idea of what a "godson" could be. The young man went by the name of Silvano Lascario. He was, as claimed the baron, of noble extraction, aged fifteen, and presently living in Prince Borromeo's palace on an island in a lake back in his country. I understood nothing about who and what he was talking to me about. I did understand however that his intentions were in no way raunchy. Unless...? I'm ashamed of being so suspicious... but we all are these days.
He carried on saying that his godson suffered severe moments of melancholia, distress and gloom and even though the household took excellent care of him, the lad seemed resolutely unable to cheer up, refusing even to leave the island, having become terrified by the possibility of facing again the violences that had murdered his parents and nearly himself.
This criminal information put me a bit ill at ease.
According to him, the chap, even as a child, was a fervent music lover and he held that music, poetry and learning in general could be one of the best remedies for such acute melancholia.
To this, I fully subscribe.
For this the Baron had hired a young priest as tutor for his humanities. He also hired a spinet master for him to study music, but it prevailed that neither were able to foster the boy as was needed, still being quite destitute, lost in his fears as well as in his grief.
I really wondered why he was telling me all this. I smiled and listened, waiting for him to conclude and inform me as to what could eventually be expected of me.
Then he told me that he was very impressed by my sensitivity. He had been enchanted by the 'heart', so he said, that I put into the music, insisting on the sensual quality of the sound. He also congratulated me on my humble yet elegant demeanour, rare as he said, at my young age and he felt that I was seemingly gifted with the same delicate manners and fair allure as his godson.
I was of course blushing profusely, hearing such flattering comments and was still stunned that a man of his position not only deemed speak to me, but even considered me having any kind of similarity with his noble ward. Why did he share such very personal matters with me, a perfect stranger of my inferior rank?
Then, at last, he came to the point. Becoming more formal, he politely asked me if I would kindly consider coming with him back to Italy and be employed as Silvano's mentor and adult companion, instruct him in my art of the flute and teach him some English as well. He then told me the sum of wages he was offering, in sterling. I nearly passed out! He said also that he would, of course, assume all travel expenses, wardrobe, room and board and any other expenses which could occur during this mission.
He never made any lewd insinuation which could have led me to suspect less noble intentions. In fact, he gave me an impression of sincere honesty ― and God knows that such is a very rare quality these days, especially amongst the higher class gentry!
I was, in fact, overwhelmed and shook by his story and even more so by his very generous offer, asking me, in fact ― to help cure this young lad. I begged him to let me think about it and also seek counsel from my mother. The Baron replied that such precautions were a mark of wisdom and that I should take all the time I needed to make a satisfactory decision both for me and for Silvano.
However, I had to decide soon because it would take a certain time to arrange everything concerning my passage with them. They had to leave, he and his valet, Renzo, on the evening tide of Friday next, only one week away. Upon this, he gave me his address in London, inclined his head with a very warm smile and calmly repeated that he expected a prompt and positive answer.
Oh my God! I was absolutely bewildered by this invitation as I sat, bewildered, probably looking like a moron, staring into oblivion. One of Lord Ryder's footmen scurried over, asking me if I were all right and once reassured, reminded me that it was late. I thanked him, finished packing my bag and began the long walk home, lost in my thoughts, upset and yet a bit bemused by this totally unbelievable opportunity.
My thoughts played havoc with my mind. The Baron definitely was a man of great dignity and therefore I should trust him, but on the other hand, this whole arrangement was so sudden and unexpected, and could be, I think, a bit suspect. Ah! Why does life in London make one so distrustful of things that seem too good to be true?
If I left with him, I would terribly miss my friends and the intimate pleasures I enjoyed with them and, of course, I would terribly miss my mother, and yet such a windfall shouldn't be, by any means, neglected. For me, even Windsor seemed terribly distant ― so imagine Italy! It is in another world ― different language, religion, landscapes, all of this was muddling my wits.
Yet my soul lives in a world of beauty, art and music -- and Italy is the country that excels in that. Their musicians and artists are certainly the most brilliant in Europe. Never had I imagined that any decision could be to this extent so totally excruciating!
I tried to convince myself that the night would wisely advise me. Poppycock! I tossed and turned in my bed until dawn. When I went down to breakfast, my mother immediately saw that I was in shambles and asked me what had happened. I blurted out all that I could about the Baron, his godson, his offer, my fears. I emptied my sack!
She clapped her hands and shouted "Praise be the Lord!", then grasping my shoulders, she looked at me straight in the eyes and said, "You're big enough to defend yourself, Ashley Montgomery. So, now go up and dress in your best attire and haste yourself in a hackney over to this gentleman's address and tell him that you gladly accept his offer and bow to him to express your gratitude".
She carried on, telling me, that with my talent, at the age of only twenty-three, under the protection of a rich and noble Baron, I should by no means refuse to take him up on it! Italy could be my best chance to gain wealth and fame. She added with a twinkle in her eye that from what she had heard, Italian men, like the Greeks, were also more lenient with male lust for their own kind than the English and that would let me indulge more freely in my "sinful" ways. After all, I can't deny that she is always right, so therefore I obeyed her to the letter!
His Lordship made me wait only a brief moment and received me in his personal apartments. He seemed very pleased with my prompt decision and answered all my questions concerning the island, the palace, the Borromeo's estates, himself and so forth and so on. I was amazed at how little I knew of the world outside of London!
He calmly informed me that he worked as the man in charge of overseas transactions in which the Borromeo family was ― or could be ― involved. The family's headquarters are in Milan. Prince Borromeo and he had studied together in Locarno and have remained dear friends ever since. He was also in charge of the supervision of their more intimate and homey summer palace on one of their islands in Lake Maggiore, located in northern Italy. The island estate is called Isola Madre. When the Baron took his unfortunate godson under his protection, the Prince immediately granted unlimited hospitality to the orphan and assured him that his staff would take good care of him when his godfather, the Baron, was compelled to travel on business. He went on to say that the Prince and his family seldom came to Isola Madre, preferring their larger palace on Isola Bella. However, Isola Madre was fully staffed and the gardens were still being transformed, under the Baron's supervision, into a new 'English' garden (he insisted on English). He said that the island was a haven of peace, a perfect retreat in which Silvano's affliction could be at least soothed if not, with tender care, healed.
He then questioned me, testing me, so to speak, on my sincere and trustworthy dedication to such a mission, to Silvano and of course to my music.
I was again impressed by the virtue of this man and his concern not only for his ward, but also for me. He also explained to me what the duties of 'godfathers' for their 'godsons' are for the Catholics. That impressed me too. Pray that I live up to his expectations. His esteem and evident affection spurs me to strive for equal excellence.
So, in the lapse of only three days time, he had my documents and passport issued, my travel trunk purchased and packed with new attire, music scores galore and a double set of flutes. He even gave me a purse stuffed with a few guineas (an absolute fortune!) and shillings for any, as he said, menial expenses of my own.
I went to bid farewell to my mates, who, of course, understood nothing about where I was going and why. We both wept as I hugged my mother ― and here I am, sailing for the first time in my life on the sea, heading abroad!
Our travel plans go like this : Once we arrive in Bordeaux, we should take a scow up the River Garonne to Toulouse and from there, charter a coach-boat plying the Canal du Midi to take us to the Mediterranean port of Sete. This should go without any major threats, however in Sete we must find a well armed 'tartane', which is, as I was told, a swift, coastal boat linking the French and Ligurian ports for passengers and small freight. The fact of it having to be armed is important because of the Barbary pirates who infest those waters. Passengers and packets are good prey for them, because of the ransom, the profits of selling Europeans for enslavement and booty they bring. It is said that they are a real danger and I do admit, this information terrorises me.
Well, we shall see what Divine Mercy has in store for us. Now that I am underway, I must live through each day as it comes and pray that we arrive alive!
Being on the sea is a whole new experience for me and I must accustom myself to the stench, the close quarters and the heave and roll of the ship. I implore the Divine Holy Ghost to favour us with good wind and no tempest! I also think that I'll let my diary rest some. I realise that writing while traveling is nearly impossible. I can resume when we arrive to where my mission begins!
Milan, Friday, June 2, 1775
What a joy to be able to open this diary again, trim my quill and smell the scent of ink as I pour some ink into the well. I've missed conversing with my diary. It really helps me sort out my thoughts.
I shan't waste time nor ink on the details of our voyage. It is enough to state that all went well, with no real hardships. I feel I have grown a lot in my mind and ways, having had to cope with so many strangers, foreign tongues and behaviour in such crowded conditions, deprived of hardly any time or space of my own. The Baron has set me up in a rather nice boarding house close to Borromeo's home offices. He said that I need some time for myself as well as some decent food. How right he is! Here I have a clean room, by myself with a bed for me, alone without sharing it with Renzo!
Over the span of our voyage together, the Baron, Renzo, and I were able to become quite well acquainted. I learnt to appreciate their respective qualities, cultures and predilections. Sometimes language was a problem. Renzo's English is quite limited, but I am very impressed over the way they both master French! As for me, anything other than English is a total mystery for me and it can sometimes be quite embarrassing!
Neither one ever mentioned having a wife. The Baron once said that his talents were better employed managing business than coping with female moods and whimsies and I note that Renzo is only devoted to his master. He and Renzo are busy concluding business with the Prince.
I feel the same about my devotion to music. If one day I am stung by Cupid's arrow and fall in love, that love must be intimately linked to my heartfelt passion of music and not only to my cock. A passion must be shared and not lost in the maze of simple lust one for the other. While underway, I was also glad that the Baron spoke to me often about Silvano, well informing me on his background, character and above all telling me about the dreadful event which had orphaned him.
He related that the lad's parents, members of the very noble Lascario family of Turin, were traveling in their carriage, on the road between Turin and Milan, when they were attacked by bandits. Their coachman, as well as the postilion, dastardly fled, leaving the man, armed only with his sword, to protect himself, his wife and their only son. Not only did the bandits plunder the trunks and rob them of their attire, purse and all, but also attempted to mug and bag Silvano who could have been sold in secret to clandestine Barbary slavers in Genoa. They in turn would sell him on the block in Algiers or Tripoli, certainly bringing a handsome sum for such a comely lad. They shot both of his parents with their pistols. That's how they were both savagely murdered, struggling to protect their beloved son who had barely escaped by darting into a very thick wood. He hid therein until hunger and fear drove him out to seek help. Poor fellow! I shudder at the thought.
More pleasantly, he also described in great detail the island, its garden and the palace. I now feel that I know the lad and his surroundings as if I were already there. The Baron also said that he was sending a messenger to announce our forthcoming arrival on Isola Madre.
Coming, we encountered no pirates between Sete and Genoa, however I suffered a touch of seasickness all the way. This being said, having discovered, for the first time, overland travel with the stage coach up to Milan, I found it horrible, dusty, crowded and bone rattling to say the least. In a few days we shall go with the Baron's own personal carriage to take a boat in Angera, whence we finally set foot on Isola Madre. I close with these considerations on our voyage by noting that I am, safe and sound, which in itself is a godsend!
Isola Madre, Saturday, June 10, 1775
At last, here we are! The pains and strains of our travels are now over! Yesterday, as the launch slipped into the harbour of this magnificent island-estate, the domestics and gardeners, lined up behind two gentlemen appearing to be the estate steward and the butler, waved and applauded our arrival.
Then I saw Silvano. I knew it had to be him. He was so overwhelmingly beautiful I thought I was hallucinating, dreaming a dream, having a celestial vision of some fairy prince like creature appearing to the poor mortal that I am. There before me, beaming, was an absolute angel.
As the Baron stepped ashore, his godson, breaking all the rules of etiquette and protocol, ran up and eagerly hugged him. Then, as I came aground, I smiled at him, bowing my head. He glanced back at me, with no expression whatsoever and looked back at his godfather. After having kissed Silvano, the Baron simply nodded his greetings to his staff and beckoned me to come with him as he headed up to the alleyway to the palace, followed by some of the higher ranking members of the household, the chaplain and a rather ugly, mousy looking young priest, the tutor. No mention was made of me to anyone. I was a bit puzzled, feeling somewhat invisible.
Once in the palace, I was told that I could now retire, unpack, freshen up and settle in. The Baron said to me as we left that I would be sent for later, that instructions had been given to assure my well being, that a personal servant was appointed to my service and that I should above all have no worry. A servant in livery beckoned me to follow.
We climbed the stairs to the last floor and then went down a corridor. Passing by a door in front of which we paused, the valet spoke Silvano's name. I presumed that these were his quarters. The next door down was open with my trunk and luggage already delivered. I assumed that this was going to be my new home.
It was a rather spacious, panelled room and well lit by two square windows and tastefully furnished with a large canopy bed, a table, two chairs, a desk, a chest of drawers, a wardrobe with mirrored doors and a small fireplace. I was shown then into a decent sized, tiled antechamber furnished with a shallow, circular, pan-like pewter tub, a long table, some chairs, basins, lidded buckets and jars. Another door further to the rear, obviously connecting with Silvano's quarters, indicated that he and I share this same commodity.
As the valet left, a young servant, quite handsome, I must admit, came in bearing two buckets of water, one cool and the other, steaming hot. He had some linen towels draped over his shoulder and after having placed them on a tall stool by the tub, he approached, bowed and smiled. Presuming I would understand nothing in his own tongue, which would be totally correct, he proceeded, without any explanations whatsoever, to undress me. I was not used to this surprisingly intimate behaviour, but I went along with it for he was quite resolute and skilful in doing what he was doing. It became obvious that this fellow was in fact going to bathe me!
Since I was a babe, I had never been bathed by anybody else but myself. Here, it seemed normal that this young servant take care of me. Once I was completely naked, he beckoned me to stand in the tub and anointed me with warm water and some kind of perfumed ointment which lathered abundantly in my hair and over the rest of my body. He pleasantly sponged me all over, especially in my most private parts, under the arms and, of course, my hind. As my member swelled I nearly swooned over the delicate care it was receiving. I began to feel lightheaded and shameless, even a bit bold as my cock twitched under his touch. My young servant, obviously proud of the effect his fondling had on me, took matters in hand and stroked me even more deftly until I spewed with buckling knees all the backed up semen that I was deprived of tending to during these last days of travel.
After such an intimate moment, I sighed and brought my hand up to my chest and very carefully enunciated my name, Ash-uh-ly. I then shrugged with a smile as I tilted my head and put my hand on his chest. Understanding my gesture, he then smiled, patting me on the shoulder in return and spoke out his name, Luca. He rinsed me again from head to toe and towelled me all over. He then bade me sit in the chair by the table and brushed my hair until it was almost dry, shining and wavy. He removed from a drawer in the table a long razor, a shaving brush and a soap bowl. He poured more warm water in a barber's pan and went about whetting the razor on a leather strap. He was going to rid me of the scrawny, itchy whiskers that had spread over my face over these past weeks. I nodded my consent and away to work he went.
Once this was done, my face was wonderfully smooth. Luca rubbed it with some spice scented alcohol, which however stung greatly! To conclude the situation, he stood behind me and massaged my shoulders and neck with another fragrant oil. I nearly dozed off from the pleasure of his hands kneading my sore muscles. It is such a new and wonderful experience to have someone take such scrupulous care of me. I felt better than I had ever felt before. Having decided that his job was done, he invited me to rise, ushering me back into my room.
He spread my attire for the evening out on the bed. Being brought up in the Quaker tradition, I had never worn a wig nor any other frivolous adornments. I was very pleased to note that the clothes I was given were also elegantly plain ― unusual for continental taste. Just as Luca had finished dressing me and was unpacking my belongings, I found it hard to recognise myself in the mirror, admiring the transformation I had undergone.
A page boy knocked and entered, bowed and handed me a note. It said that if I were presentable, I should take my favourite flute and scores and follow him.
I was more than presentable. I had never felt myself so becoming, fair, relaxed and self-confident as I did then. It was also a joy to be expected to play, I imagine for the household and of course and above all, for Silvano ― whom I was yearning to charm as well as to tame.
I followed the page through a succession of magnificent rooms to arrive in a very ornate drawing room. The Baron was there, well groomed and handsome as ever, talking with a small group of gentlemen and Silvano. As I entered, he immediately came over and complimented my fine looks and, in front of everybody, formally presented me to my future ward. I understood only then that, of course, I had to be 'presentable' in order be presented... at last! Bless Luca!
Once his introductions were over, everyone politely applauded and Silvano then bowed in my direction, took my hand and kissed it saying, "Benvenuto Maestro".
This polite gesture of respect, welcoming me was very gracefully done just as I assume he was instructed to do.
The Baron said that he had explained to Silvano, in front of the others, that I was here to be his mentor, music master, English teacher and senior companion. He then added, "Now it's time for you to play for us some of your music. You must impress the household and thus establish your rank as well as your credibility, my boy".
I nodded my thanks to the Baron, then to Silvano, raised my instrument to my lips, inhaled and let the first notes of one of Corelli's allegros fill the room. The music worked its magic at once. As I played, I admired a very gentle smile gradually spreading over Silvano's delicate face as he ever so slightly swayed, his eyes lost in some distant dream ― the last notes vanished into silence, he was the first to applaud!
I was requested to play another, then another. After three pieces, the Baron told the gathering, plus the servants huddling in the doorway, to have pity on me so that I could rest a moment before going to dine. Silvano then came nearer and asked me quite politely, in English, "Maestro, may I try?"
Of course I was thrilled to hand him my flute. He put his lips around the slender tip and blew ever so softly, making a sad wail come out of the instrument as if it were lamenting his shyness. Undiscouraged, Silvano didn't frown. Instead, he simply sighed, mumbling to himself "Questo, dominarò!" (This I shall master!).
The Baron came up to us and told Silvano that he must learn to play as well I do and if he worked hard every day with me, he too could become an equally gifted musician. Silvano beamed, thanking his godfather, then turned to me, as if to seal the deal, opened his arms and hugged me. I awkwardly hugged him back and gently caressed his cheek, pulling away and bowing to conclude our tacit agreement.
This Latin exuberance in physically expressing affection is still so new to me. It really challenges our English reluctance to hugs and kisses. I enjoy them, but they still make me feel a bit uncomfortable.
The scent of Silvano's hair lingered behind as I followed him, along with the others, to the dining room. The butler, probably according to the Baron's instructions, had seated Silvano to my right.
I was perhaps the happiest I had ever been in my life, me, a simple piper for parties and pubs, now a soloist seated at the table in a Prince's palace, presided by a Baron, with a beautiful young and noble disciple by my side, gleeful for the first time in months as his playful glance met mine, making us both stifle an inappropriate giggle.
The wine went to my head a bit faster than I expected and when the meal was over, I was granted permission to retire to my room. I was full and yet emotionally empty, exhausted and fulfilled, relieved that the journey was now over and my mission, finally beginning.
As I rose from the table, Silvano did the same. I understood that he was asking permission to accompany me and retire as well. The permission was gracefully granted and we returned together through the suite of rooms, climbed the stairs, led by Luca, who had two lit lanterns that he held hanging in his grip. As we stopped in front of his door, Silvano took one of the lanterns. I touched his shoulder. He looked at me. I handed him my flute saying, "This is now yours".
"La mia?"
"Yes, yours -- a gift".
"Grazie Maestro!!! Oh! Grazie!"
He stood all his height and kissed me on the cheek ― and I kissed his in return! "Good night, Silvano".
He held the flute with great respect, turned and bowed.
"Buona notte, Maestro Ashley".
Luca opened the door, whispering something to Silvano who then vanished behind his door as we left.
Luca opened mine and we entered. I thanked him as he lit the candle by the bed, turned down the covers and gestured to help me undress. I dismissed him, not really needing his services. He showed me the chamber pot under the bed, bade me good night and entered the antechamber, closing the door behind him. I supposed he was going to tend to Silvano. The poor fellow's work had doubled upon my arrival now that we were two, benefiting from his services.
I felt that I really needed to be alone just to relish the magic moments I'd just lived. I went over to the window enjoying the cool, balmy night's fragrances of flowers and cut grass floating in the air. The star studded sky was shimmering, mirrored on the immobile surface of the lake. Some muted toots and shrieks coming from the neighbouring window brightened me up even more.
I know I am on the threshold of a fabulous, new life. Yes! As I write these lines, I know that I am on the edge of Eden and that after laying down my pen, I shall crawl, buck naked, between the lavender scented linens of that huge bed and shall sleep and sleep and sleep to my heart's content!
Tomorrow, I must write to my dear mother and share with her all this joy.
Isola Madre, Sunday, June 11, 1775
My dearest Mother,
At last, we have arrived to destination. The island and palace, named Isola Madre, which means in English, Island Mother, are in the southern part of Lake Maggiore. The manor house, called here a palace, is very discreet, almost plain compared to our English estates but the "English" gardens are beautiful beyond description. I am sitting at a desk in the elegant room I was given on the uppermost floor of the house. A very handsome and helpful servant, Luca, tends to my person with fealty and grace. Through the window I can admire the lawns and shrubs, now in full blossom, and beyond, the lake, bordered by mountains. You would love it here. The lake is like a saltless sea. There are villages along the coast and a town called Pallanza which is our nearest contact with the mainland, but I doubt I will often leave the island. After having lived in the rush and stink of London all my life, I shall deeply enjoy the peace and the purity of this luxurious refuge. The Borromeo family is owner along with a fairy tale palace and gardens on a neighbouring island called Isola Bella and a very large castle in the town of Angera, on the southern stretch of the lake, whence we took the launch, rowed by ten young men, bringing us here. In fact, the Borromeo dynasty governs all the lands surrounding the lake and even beyond, north into Switzerland and I don't know how far south. Even though my benefactor, patron and protector is not of the Borromeo family itself, he is very much at home here, taking care of Borromeo's business and the estate on Isola Madre which seems to also be his pride and predilection. The staff and he treat me like a person of quality. I wasn't aware that my ward is also from a very old noble family. I am impressed by the consideration granted to men of art and music here. If they excel in their art, if they approach sublimity, they are referred to as being 'Divo'. In fact, that is a status in society apart from all the others, whatever be the rank in society of their parents. This I suppose is impossible in England where one's rank in birth greatly determines one's place in society, like as in our case. After being introduced to the household, I was requested to play several tunes before dining, As I finished, I overheard someone, whilst nodding in my direction, and say, 'Divo'. The young man to whom I must teach my art fell under the charm of my music. His attitude changed completely from a sullen young lad to a smiling fellow. As we went to retire, I handed him, as a gift, one of the flutes I had been given and he spontaneously kissed me on the cheek. He is now very motivated to learn. Music brought his smile back. Joy had deserted his handsome, fair face. Now his joy has returned and doubled by my own. It is so very heartwarming to do him good. I feel I shall enjoy befriending him, sharing not only my skills but also my affection. Now I must find my place in the household. The situation of 'Divo' seems to be, as of yet, unprecedented here and I must be vigilant as to how I manage my status. However I am sure that all will turn out for the best. Don't fret for me, Mother. My money bag is already full. Whatever happens, I shall always, like a lucky cat, fall on my feet. I want you to know, dearest Mother, that I am well, happy and so very glad that you encouraged me to undertake this unbelievable endeavour. As always, you are never wrong concerning me. Might the Holy Ghost protect you as He does me! Let us be grateful for His loving concern. Your faithful and devoted son, Ashley
Upon showing the butler my letter, pointing to the address, I shrugged, eyes lifted to heaven, and sheepishly smiled. He smiled condescendingly as he uttered something making me understand that he could take care of this petty matter of posting my missive. I gave it to him and bowed. He bowed back, spun around on his heels and disappeared.
Now I must draw up a schedule for myself and Silvano. We need to devote ourselves to three major tasks : First, perfecting Silvano's knowledge of reading music, studying harmony, counterpoint, fugue and composition. Then there is English to be studied for fluency in a conversation. Finally, the better part of our time must be dedicated to mastering the skills of blowing, fingering and mouthing both kinds of flutes we have and making music together.
Isola Madre, Wednesday, June 21, 1775
Little by little things have been sorted. The spinet teacher was relieved of his functions and the tutor's time was reduced to three small mornings a week.
I still enjoy all the devoted attention Luca lavishes on me. It keeps me in a perfect frame of mind and body. However, I wonder if Silvano benefits also from the same intimate, relieving care ― at his age, it could do him great good!
I mingle little with the staff of the palace but don't shun them either. The chamber and scullery maids let me know that they find me quite becoming even if their flirting glances from under bowing heads are unavailing. The valets, footmen, chef, gardeners, boatmen and other servants keep a respectful but cordial distance. The seamstresses and tailor have all my measurements and my winter garments are under way. The laundry maids keep my clothing and sheets freshly washed and ironed every week. My relation with the chaplain and the tutor is however rather cool if not inexistent. Perhaps the fact that I am a Protestant could explain the distance they observe ― if it isn't simply a question of base jealousy.
The butler has installed Luca's lodge on our corridor with a bell cord for me, and since Silvano will soon be of age as a young man, he has one too. He is now free to sleep in as he desires and summon Luca in the morning as he desires. Thus when I wake up, I ring him for breakfast and grooming. For my other meals, I am invited to have my lunch and dinner in the music room with Silvano. The cooking is quite different from what I was used to in London but apart from the occasional red pepper they use, it is really delicious. Whenever the Baron is in the palace, we are requested to dine with him in the formal dining room which, I must admit, is always quite an event!
Isola Madre, Friday, July 21, 1775
Tomorrow, we celebrate Silvano's coming of age. He turns sixteen and henceforth shall be considered a man. The Baron is here of course and a festive banquet has been planned for the higher members of the household. Silvano and I have practiced a duet to be given in concert during the after dinner cordials in the family drawing room. While doing this work on the duet, I shared with Silvano some of my professional 'secrets'.
As I had learned for myself, the usage of the lips, tongue and throat is primordial. Teaching these intimate details to Silvano was never a problem. His lips are plump and cover quite well his teeth, which are, by the way, very white and well set. The lips protect the flute from damage by the teeth. The mouthpiece and its slit are very sensitive and delicate. He enjoys licking and lipping the instrument down to the barrel before blowing. He is also able to open and close his throat with great ease, giving husky warmth or a silvery sparkle to the resonance of the notes accordingly. His breathing is plenteous and steady and his lung capacity is outstanding. He can blow quite easily without coming up for air for an amazing length of time. The more we work, the more I am persuaded that he will soon be able to play just as I strive to, with -- how shall I put it? ― with voluptuousness. At any rate, that's how I like to imagine the young shepherds of Arcadia charming each other, with their reed flutes and the goodwill of god Eros. These sensuous qualities amount to nearly nothing but it is precisely those precious, little 'nothings' that change everything.
Silvano is indeed a very bright lad and is making surprising progress in everything we undertake. But above all, it is his eagerness to please me that is noteworthy. I am sure that the warmth of our shared, masculine complicity contributes to this propensity.
Once, as we were working on holding notes, Silvano said that when he felt the sound he was making start to vibrate and resound in his flesh, a sudden rush would run through him like a shiver, a frisson, just like the thrill of love he feels when hearing my music and even more so when we are playing duets together. Love is, of course, the secret of everything. Yes, indeed, love is the key and it seems that what we feel happening between us exceeds simple fellowship! Oh! Calm thy heart, Ashley! Time and destiny will govern what happens. Leave it up to fate. That which begins in grace rarely backfires for he who is respectful of the blessings bestowed on him.
At any rate, I have yet to see him flinch, balk, mope or grieve whilst we are together. Only once did I find him on the verge of tears when, during a practice, a pageboy brought him a packet the Baron had sent. He opened it finding a small, oval, miniature portrait of his parents, commissioned by the family's notary. He instantly slipped it into the side pocket of his frock, excused himself and wiping his cheeks, fled into the garden. I let him go. He needed a moment alone to dissipate his grief and find his composure again.
I realise that maybe I keep him so busy, so tense that he has little time for his moods. Perhaps I keep him far too busy only with work ― Now that I come to think about it, maybe we should, in fact, find some time to also enjoy distractions and even spend ourselves doing things such as calisthenics together. A lad of his age needs some free time to grow, to feel, to question himself and above all, to have physical fun!
I know that he enjoys sailing the small skiff docked in the boathouse. I was told he would take it out as often as possible before my arrival. I shall ask him if he would consent taking me out on the water someday soon. I would love to share that experience with him, wherein he, rather than me, be in charge of us.
Isola Madre, Sunday morning, July 23, 1775
As the household attends mass, I return to my diary. The birthday celebration last night was fantastic. The whole evening was exquisite and highly inspiring, but the way it ended was even more so!
First of all, there were the preparations. For our grooming, Silvano and I shared for the first time our connecting antechamber as Luca bathed, shaved and massaged us. He styled our hair and perfumed us together. We all three were visibly aroused, enjoying the mirth and warmth of this new situation. We were then dressed in our finest attire. Of course, my clothes were less exuberant than Silvano's but I must admit, I really enjoyed him putting perfume on my neck and a touch of powder and rouge on my cheeks and lips. He too tied his hair back with a large red bow, powdered and perfumed himself abundantly and Luca painted his lips a very bold crimson. It amazed me how much such a tiny detail could enhance even more his beauty -- something totally unimaginable before witnessing it.
I'm even playing with the idea that helping nature's given beauty could be a Godly virtue. Adorning the body with brocades of many colours, laces and ribbons, and of course glittering jewels, combing and arranging hair, using perfumes, all of these contrivances could be to a person what gardening is to a plot of land -- and this island wherein we abode is a perfect illustration.
Luca stood back and smiled in approval at the results of his efforts as we looked each other over making the final touches, laughing, putting a lock back in place or flitting a spot of lint off a shoulder. With our instruments in hand, we left our quarters and tripped light-footed down the corridor and stairs to join the others, cocky and gay as any two youthful fellows could be.
As we entered the main hall where the party was gathered, we were heartily applauded and when the Baron arrived just behind us, he came straight over congratulating us most cordially. I stepped back so that Silvano could relish alone the affectionate birthday attention in which he was basking.
Wines in crystal goblets and antipasti on silver plates were served as Silvano mingled with the others, receiving gracefully their birthday felicitations. Even though I had tried to learn and use some Italian, my ability to converse was extremely limited. I thus kept somewhat to myself, simply taking in the beauty of the moment.
The Baron, noticing me off by myself, strode over and thanked me for all that I had accomplished in so little time with his dear Silvano. He then clapped his hands, calling for the attention of the party and gave a very brief but seemingly laudatory speech, gesturing often in my direction. I was deeply stirred when Silvano rushed over to me and hugged me tight, under the applause of the others.
I understood that the Baron had highly praised me and I feared that a tear or two might betray my commotion. Notwithstanding, I was able to keep my composure as any correct Englishman should. And at this point, the butler came to my rescue as he announced that dinner was served.
It turned out to be an epicurean feast rinsed with the finest of wines. The chef had outdone himself and was even paged to come and be congratulated. After sweets, we all went to the family lounge where cordials were being poured.
When everyone was served and settled, Silvano spoke up and announced our little concert. The piece Silvano and I had worked on was a fantasy that I had transcribed from one of the easier Wilhelm Friedemann Bach's duets.
It was a smashing success! We definitely amazed everyone. After our duo, I turned to Silvano and addressed him pronouncing a sentence I had memorised in the best of my Italian, "Il mio regalo per te, caro Silvano, sono queste tre fantasie che ho composto per i tuoi seidici anni." (My gift to you, dear Silvano, are these three fantasies I composed for your sixteen years.) Applause.
I felt the inspiration of Silvano's smile as my melodies soared. At the end of the third piece, I saw Silvano beaming, a tiny tear adoring his face. I was overjoyed. I winked at him, nodding him to come closer. He winked back and dashed up beside me. We encored once more our duo to top off the concert, reaping a standing ovation.
I admit I was a bit tipsy with emotion, as well as from all the wine and cordials of which I generously partook. I saw that Silvano looked somewhat blurry eyed also. We therefore decided to go for a sobering stroll in the gardens and asked permission to take leave of the party. Away we went, arm in arm, gleefully swaying down the alleyway leading to the boulders on the shore by the boat landing.
The silent moon had spilt a stream of silver on the lake and the fragrance of the gardenias, jasmine and roses embalmed the warm evening air. We sat down on a wide flat stone, listening to the lapping ripples caressing the gravel below and admired the dark, hazy endlessness spread out before us, saying nothing, as if to not disturb such a velvet moment.
Then Silvano took my hand and said, "I want to tell you myself what you already know concerning the tragedy that I endured last year."
I gently squeezed his hand in mine, "As you please, I'm listening".
In a very steady, calm voice he confided himself to me, with all the gory details : the attack, the murder, his escape, his rescue with some passing monks. He was poised as he told this. As he spoke, it seemed that this haunting burden simply dissolved into the night. Then silence. A spirit of relief hung in the air. He slipped his hand out of mine. We looked at each other, then at the lake. After a long moment suspended in time, we ever so gently leaned in one against the other and turning our heads, our lips slowly met.
Time stopped!
Surprised by the sudden influx of earnestness tingling throughout both our bodies, we sprang to our feet and again, this time almost feral, we clung to each other, our tongues dancing together, our lips quivering, our breath suspiring as if we were each the music of the heartbeat of the other. Our cocks hardened even more as we nudged and ground ourselves ever so lovingly into each other. Forthwith, we both broke into a fit of laughter, not because of nervousness ― nothing comical nor even awkward had happened. We laughed like children laugh when they are happy, simply because we were both ― totally overwhelmed with joy!
Also Silvano and I have a date to go sailing tomorrow!
Isola Madre, Monday, July 24, 1775
This morning, the sun streamed through the blinds onto the bed. Suddenly, in a flurry, naked under his floating nightgown, Silvano bursted into my room and landed, kneeling on my bed. He swept back my hair and tickling me as he laughed, repeated over and over, "Get up, get up! The wind is perfect! The sun is already high!"
I grabbed him in a massive hug and rolled him over, flat on his back, both of us bumping against the bedhead. We wrestled, turning each other over. The sheets swaddled us, wrapping us up together. He was soft and lithe in my arms, breathing fast, trying to free himself, screaming, "Lascia! lasciami". (Let go! Let me go!)
Suddenly, Luca dashed in, alerted by all the noise we were making. Startled, he admonished us to cease. He thought we were fighting instead of frolicking. Oh, the look on his face! Our guffaws vexed the poor fellow. We were laughing to tears. As he was heading toward the door, Silvano and I, still captive of our linen sheets, called him back. Silvano quickly told him that there was neither harm nor offence and that we were just jesting. He told him that we were going sailing and that we had decided to take, as he said, a fun-day off.
We finally wiggled our way out of bed and told him that he didn't need to groom us nor serve us breakfast this morning and that he too could take his day off. Pleased and pacified, he smiled, bowed and wished us a pleasant outing.
We quickly dressed. Silvano returned with two straw hats and his satchel. We took another sack with a rain cape, just in case. Passing through, we raided the kitchen, much to the dismay of the scullions cleaning up. We grabbed some tarts for breakfast, some bread, cheese and fruit with a bottle of wine and nearly stumbled as we ran down the lane to the boathouse. I had never felt so carefree in all my life!
However, arriving at the boathouse and seeing the skiff, I must admit that I was a bit nervous about going on the water in such a frail craft. Silvano was obviously quite proud to handle the situation alone. He was clever and precise, as in everything he does, securing and releasing knots, paddling us out of the little port and hoisting the sails into the breeze. He trimmed the mainsheet which billowed perfectly in the breeze and underway we tacked through the glittering water. Even though I was deadweight aboard, it was wonderful admiring Silvano at the tiller, feeling the skiff gently heave and lean under the wind.
Seeing the houses of Pallanza drawing nearer, I asked, "Are we going there?"
"No, dear Maestro. We're going to my favourite place on the lake!"
He then pulled the tiller making the skiff lurch even more to port side. It heeled, picked up speed on the beam reach with me braced on the bench and Silvano proudly perched on the starboard gunwale, hair waving in the breeze, smiling for all he was worth!
We eased into the river's mouth at the far end of the western gulf and beached on the strand in the shallows. Silvano then confided to me that this was where he used to come to drift and dream, hidden by the reeds. He went on telling me that before I came into his life, he would come here because, as he said, the river drove away the demons clawing at his soul. It dulled his fears and gave him peace. Then laughing, he exclaimed, "Now I want to laugh at the demons and enjoy just having fun here, together with you!"
I felt tears swelling in my eyes, blurring my vision of Silvano who was shucking off all his garments. He slid, lithe like an otter, disappearing nude into the water. I felt rather stupid, as I sat, in the boat, totally clad, a straw hat pulled down to my ears, wondering what I should do.
I didn't know how to swim!
Breaking surface, Silvano shouted, "Come on in!"
I shouted back, "I can't! I don't know how to swim!"
"No need!" he answered, standing, his hands in the air, showing me that he was barely chest deep in the river.
Then let it be! I undressed in a flash and stepped out of the boat. I waded with great precaution towards Silvano. Just as I was nearing him, he tackled me, toppling me over, ducking my head and all. Sputtering and spitting, I grabbed him back and there we were, two rowdy urchins, splashing and tumbling, laughing and cursing like mad.
Soon we were spent. We pulled ourselves out of the water and collapsed on the shore to catch our breath, recover and dry. There we were, naked and splayed on our backs in the grass. The breeze in the reeds whispered their silly secrets ; a lazy dragonfly circled above. We were one with the world.
I looked over at Silvano. His forearm was draped over his eyes and just a hint of a smile embellished his lips. His beautiful cock had filled, stretching towards the sun, a crystalline drop of desire gleaming in the slit of its tip.
"Silvano?"
"Yes?"
"Our kiss last night? How do you fe...?"
"It was the best gift in the world!!" he blurted, crushing my question.
Then, slinking up, he snuggled halfway over me. He took my cheek in hand and leaned over my face. Closing his eyes, his lips lit on mine, longingly ― with a touch of gentle passion and an enormous flow of unrestrained love. My kiss revelled under his and melting up against him, our bodies writhed together in a turbulent surge of lust.
Oblivious to all but each other, divine Eros took hold of our will and swept us away with wantonness, driving us close to frenzy. We kissed, inhaling each other's scent, our frantic mouths darting sporadically hither and thither over our gleaming skin. Craving each other's throbbing, sobbing cock, the thrill of love-making spread through us in a flash flood of delight, beginning with our lips, tongues and throats as we bonded, sucking each other in a rhapsody of mutual fellatio. Our merging moans and delicate whines became increasingly urgent. Then all at once, the simultaneous eruption of our semen gushed into each other's throat as we swallowed, the best we could, the only libation that could quench the fire of that singular thirst.
Silvano slowly writhed around and leaned over me. Giggling, his butterfly tongue sipped my smile and a bit of his semen, lingering on my exhausted lips. It is said that if you hear the chirps of a wagtail as it takes off in flight, it is an omen of good luck. We heard two of them singing as they both flew together, up from the reeds into the sun.
All of a sudden, jumping up, his hands on his hips, his wilting prick swaying, Silvano announced, "Ho fame!" (I'm hungry!) Then off he ran, splashing through the shallows, to fetch the victuals stowed in the skiff. Oh! How we feasted on the bread and cheese of that humble banquet, spread out on the grass, guzzling the wine and savouring the ripe, juicy fruit.
Silvano looked at me as I carried the empty bottle and basket back to the skiff. He asked me to bring back his satchel. On my return, I handed it over to him. His expression was at the same time pensive and a bit playful.
"You know, you are as beautiful as an ancient statue of some pagan god," he stated.
I sort of laughed when he said that. I've never considered myself as being beautiful. I could say of myself that I'm not ugly but absolutely not ― at least up till now ― beautiful.
"Would you please pose for me? I want to draw you like you are now."
He pulled a pad of paper out of his satchel and several stems of charcoal. I knew he sketched every now and then, mostly plants and fowl in the gardens and sometimes the statue of Adonis near the lily pond, but I never saw him draw live people.
I was flattered and a bit ill at ease. "Well, where do you want me to go? What pose should I strike?"
Images of all kinds of classical statues ran through my mind as I awaited my instructions.
"Over there by the tree, and take the rain cape to drape on your shoulder. Pose as if you were pondering some deep and serious matter... like the mystery of love."
Vast mystery indeed!
I did the best I could and since he said nothing, I guessed I was doing it to his satisfaction. In fact, posing this way and being scrutinised so closely by Silvano made me feel strange, in some curiously pleasant way, as if I were an object of devotion. As he sketched, I relished marvelling at him, nude in the sun, deeply engrossed in his task. Then the inevitable sprung up. Little by little I erected.
"Oh Ashley, what are you doing? I wanted to depict you as a man of wisdom, not as a lecherous satyr!"
"It's one of love's mysteries, Silvano".
Mocking anger, he cast his pad on the ground and swaggered over to me with a mischievous grin on his face. Suddenly he grabbed my cock and said, strangling it blue, "Well then here is another mystery of love! You are totally useless as a model ― but I love you anyhow!"
"Release me you ludicrous scoundrel. Don't injure my cock! That hurts!"
"Don't exaggerate!"
"Who's exaggerating here? Ouch!"
I was stifled by another kiss. He released his grip and darted off towards the water with me in pursuit. We rushed together into the lazy, limpid current, enjoying another luscious spree of naked delights. As we kissed, stroking each other and laughing, the milky filaments of our semen slowly spread and vanished into the river's transparency.
It was hard having to return. Silvano postponed dressing. He wrapped his arms around himself and looked down on the crushed grass where we first made love. He smiled and sighed saying, "I guess we must go, alas!"
We hugged a long moment before reluctantly donning our clothes and slowly headed back to the boat. Did we fully realise that neither of us shall henceforth be the same as before ; that bonded by our intimate communion, our lives had changed forever?
Before boarding, Silvano quietly asked me, almost in a whisper, "Have you done that with many others?"
"Yes, from time to time, with my mates in London, but it was never like now. It was never meaningful like it is with you. It was not ― love, but only lust."
Did I just say Love? Had the dart of Eros stung me? Was I facing the fall? Had I already fallen? My heart raced ; my thoughts went awry!
"Did you say...? ― Ashley, did you really say, Love?"
Then without any hesitation whatsoever, I spilled all that my heart had to say, "Yes, Yes, Silvano, I did -- I love you. I love you as much as love can bear! Silvano --, Ti amo!"
"Anch'io ti amo! I too love you, Ashley! Other than Luca helping me squirt some needed relief and sometimes also with my own hand, I have never felt anything compared to what has happened between you and me. Never have I been enraptured, spell-bound, ravished by another person, thriving on him, devouring him, loving him in total abandon. Never have I felt such divine joy. Never do I need anyone or anything else! ― Oh carissimo Ashley, my love for you makes the angels sing". He took my arm, leaned in, whispered, "Listen" and hummed in my ear a simple, soul-lifting melody.
Isola Madre, Friday, November 3, 1775
Here I am after having neglected this diary for ages. Happiness has a way of doing that. Our routine seems changeless. Fortunately there are the seasons which remind us of time's advancing. I often think about that first day by the river. We returned there from time to time to, let us say, renew our baptism. Here, together on this island, time is like the river. It passes by, never stopping and yet it is always there, almost the same, invisibly changing, yet seemingly lingering at a standstill.
August arrived and flowed into September becoming October with sporadic autumn chills and the colours of the foliage changing. Our days and nights are filled with music and lust. We make love in all the ways we know how, and ways we had never thought of before.
I have exchanged letters with my wonderful mother who welcomed Silvano into the family, jokingly calling him her 'son in sin'.
The wonder of love is seeping deeper into our lives as the weeks merge into months. Our joy of giving to and receiving from each other the liquid light of life and the living breath of music surges through us each time stronger as every new day dawns.
Neither the Baron nor the household seem to have any qualms whatsoever about the love Silvano and I overtly share. Only the chaplain looks down upon us with a hint of scorn, but whatever! Luca is no longer surprised to find us naked, cuddling in one another's bed as he brings up breakfast and he really enjoys grooming us both together when we don't groom each other.
Our love kindles inspiration as we play our own compositions. It is an immense pleasure blending our music as it flows into surrendering silence. I am also beginning to finally utter some decent Italian and Silvano's accent is the only weakness in his English. He has taken to keeping a diary too. The tutor finally informed us that his lessons were no longer needed and that he had decided to take his leave. The Baron had no objection at all, neither did Silvano, saying that henceforth he could study as he pleases, on his own.
Yet in the midst of all this harmony, as the nights lengthened and the outdoor pleasures became scarce, I really felt the need to go a bit rampage. I felt it would be great just to go out on a spree! The calm of the island, now that winter is coming, got somewhat on my nerves. My city blood started to throb again and my birthday was coming up in week. I asked Silvano if he would like us to go dine and spend the night in a tavern in town just for the fun of seeing and mingling with other people and enjoy some unbridled revelry together. Because it being my birthday, I was sure he'd accept.
Isola Madre, Wednesday, November 8, 1775
He said yes! I was happy as a lark. Silvano didn't hesitate an instant to joyfully declare that he too was now ready and very happy to indulge in, as he said, the adventure of facing the world again, with just a touch of debauchery ― as long as it was with me.
Trust had abolished Silvano's fear as the aching loneliness that once choked him to tears yielded to love. For myself, I've changed too, the drabness of my former Quaker ways, with their share of hypocrisy has shamelessly surrendered to cheer, laughter and the pursuit of pleasure. I feel free to let my music heed my moods and drives. I even fancy red pepper with my spaghetti! I think it is high time for both of us to really rollick, be it in love, in lust and, why not, in some good liquor!
So, the following morning, I inquired as to which 'locanda', or pub with upstairs accommodations, in Pallanza was the best. "Da Beppe" was highly recommended. It turned out to be just at the foot of the new church above the harbour.
We packed our overnight bag, took our instruments and off we sailed in the afternoon sun. We were given a room with view on the lake and informed Beppe that we were here to dine, drink and celebrate my birthday. He cocked his head in a friendly way and said in some decent but broken English something that sounded like "My lord, you can count anything on me". Silvano laughed as he sidled up to the fire repeating "Count anything? Really?"
Our dinner was a country-kitchen feast, succulent and rich, served by Beppe himself at our table by the hearth. Men, of all ages and stations in life, came, gathering for drinks talking, laughing and smoking. As they entered either alone, by twos or threes, they courteously bade us the good evening. It was obvious that even though we were here for the first time, everybody knew who we were. Surely some of the palace boatmen had already frequented the place and gossiped to their hearts' content.
After dinner, ale, wine and grappa flowed freely. Beppe strutted in, bearing a sort of cake with a lit candle stuck in the middle, saying to everyone that this is how birthdays are celebrated in this gentleman's land, England. A big hurrah rose in the smoky room, goblets and mugs were raised as all kinds of compliments were shouted out. Then a short, stocky fellow pulled out a mandolin from a sack stashed under his table and started to strum up a very lively tune. I blew out the candle, cut up the cake and passed it around for all to partake. Silvano disappeared and immediately skipped back in with our flutes.
Improvising along with the gentleman's excellent music, we played all three together, entertaining the patrons and the few florid harlots therein. The fireplace and candles brightened the room, wine and liquor flowed as suddenly lighting and thunder broke outside. Sheets of rain battered the window panes as the storm raged on... and no one seemed to care!
Having downed a goblet too many, Silvano's face was flushed, his hair in total disarray. He ripped off his shirt and, naked down to his breeches, floating low on his hips, stepped out of his shoes and rose like the flames in the nearby chimney. The mandolin man and I struck up a spirited jig. Everybody began clapping their hands in rhythm as Silvano swayed, rolling his provocative rump, frontside bulging. Sweat began to trickle as he turned, spun, knelt and skipped, his legs never quavering, his arms held out as if in a trance, his long, slender fingers quivering in the air surrounding him, heavy with smoke and the scent of sweat. He was Dionysus incarnate, a young dancing god, casting his feverous spell, driving all insane with marvel and lust. My flute and the mandolin sped on and on, increasing until at a certain point, Silvano convulsed and stumbled, collapsing in my arms. He was drenched. Grabbing my head he ground his forehead against mine, then planted a torrid kiss on my thirsty lips as the whole room cheered "Che belli sono, che belli!" (How beautiful they are, how beautiful!).
Silvano and I unsteadily stood, bowed to our admirers and staggered away, carrying flutes, shirt, shoes and each other the best we could under the deluge of hurrahs and wolf-whistles. Shouts of "Buona notte raggazzi! Godatevi!" (Good night fellows! Enjoy!) ushered us up the stairs to our room.
The chill of the room hit us as we unlocked the door. Tossing off the rest of our clothes, we dove into the bed, clasped together, laughing and kissing as the night thundered afar. Never had Silvano's semen been so sweet. I was also congratulated on the abundance of my own. The quest of rapture had entangled us in its thralls, sweeping us away in a spinning rhapsody of love and flesh ― as always.
Just as the night slowly slipped into dawn, Silvano, cuddling me even closer whispered, "Are you awake?"
"Almost, and very much in love with you."
"I need you inside of me. I need you to breed me deeply... Now! The time has come, hasn't it?" His need triggered mine with the same imperious urge to merger in him and he, in me. I replied with the same insistence, "Yes, the time has come for it to happen".
And it happened.
In reckless abandon, we sucked and slavered, stretching and wetting each other's hind entry. Silvano abundantly bathed my cock with his saliva. My own slickness seeped generously from my slit. I slid in him with hardly any strain. The pang yielded to ecstasy as I kissed his lust swollen lips. With the rising sun, he rode me with increasing ardor as I spilled myself deep into him. Then I slathered Silvano's drooling cock with my own spit mixed with my semen leaking down his thigh. He entered me with infinite delicacy as passion overwhelmed us both, losing control. Crying aloud, we upsurged both as one in total bliss.
I don't know how much later, I rose and opened the window letting in the much needed fresh air. Silvano scrambled out from under the covers, shuttered an instant and then, brutally shaking his head, changed his mind and threw me back on the bed. We collapsed together and wept for joy, hugging tightly, legs entangled. This was the first morning of all creation. Our love was complete, strong and right.
As we went downstairs to breakfast, we tried our best to look a bit less disheveled and starry-eyed. Beppe knowingly smiled, hugged us both in a rather fatherly way and handed me the bill.
When we stepped outside, the sun was already high in the stark blue sky. The intense light reflecting on the water pierced our eyes as we bailed out the skiff, sculled into the lake and set sail, slowly heading back to the island.
Exhausted, elated and exalted, we returned to our Eden, knowing that nothing henceforth could threaten our blessed, celebrated and glorified love. I knew that loneliness was henceforth banished from my life as began this morning my twenty-fifth trip around the sun.
Upon our arrival at the palace, Luca rushed up to me with a missive in hand. I took it and ripped it open. It was from the Baron who was on business in Venice.
Ca' Pisani, Venice, All Saints Day 1775
Dearest Ashley and Silvano,
The other day at Florian's, I met a certain Sior Manin, a trustworthy and highly respected connoisseur of music here, acting as an impresario for the better musicians and composers. I took the liberty to tell him about both of you, your duo, your scores and the mastery of your different kinds of flutes. He was deeply interested, always on the lookout for new talents. He would like to audition your work in view of having you perform a series of public concerts and private recitals he could organise for you in the better theatres and palaces of the city. I should be very happy to finance your travels and stay if you decide to accept his invitation. I remain affectionately yours,
Marcacci
We looked at each other and winked. Silvano grabbed Luca and said, "You are coming with us to Venice!"
"Siete matti!" (You are crazy!)
"Not enough, Luca! Not enough!"
Free photos (pdf) from this story are available upon request at marin.giustinian@laposte.net