RICARDO by Andrej Koymasky (C) 2009 written on on June 2, 2002 translated by the author English text kindly revised by Randhir
USUAL DISCLAIMER
"RICARDO" 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.
Chapter 3 - MY SISTER
Clara is not an inquisitive person. But it is evident that she is glad when I talk about myself to her. She never asks me anything, but she likes to listen to me. She is able to really listen. She is open-minded unlike my brother. When she was a child, she badgered me a little with all her whys. Now she doesn't do it any more, but it is evident that inside her that question is still present and does still reverberate. And she is able to understand.
The first time I told her about me was twenty-seven years ago. She was just sixteen. It's a rather peculiar story.
She was flirting with a boy who was 20 years old, my age. His name was Giorgio and she was madly in love with him. He was a boy from a very good family, elegant, and fantastic in organising parties, liked and admired by everybody and a student of chemistry at the university. She sang his praises in every way possible, it was clear she got the classic stroke of lightning and at least according to her, it seemed that he was interested in her.
Clara during that period seemed to walk a span above the ground, so happy she was. I was happy for her, it was good seeing her so full of joy of living. Giorgio was handsome, clever, witty, fascinating, cultivatedÉ yet he was so careful, solicitous, gentle, tender, and strongÉ Ah, Giorgio, Giorgio!
We finally met him. It was summer; we were at a resort in Rimini. He arrived while we were on the beach. I saw him before the others, but didn't still know he was Giorgio. I thought he was a really beautiful boy, very sensual in his so tight Speedo with large diagonal lilac, blue and white strips. It was evident he did gym as his muscles were perfect, not swollen but well chiselled. He was clearly conscious of his beauty; he walked amongst the admiring glances of the people on the beach with the affected self-assurance of a model in a fashion show.
I was looking at him and thinking he really was a fine figure of a boy, a hunk, and that I would have liked having him in my bed. I admired the swelling of his Speedos, made conspicuous by the colour strips, delightfully curving on it, when I heard Clara give a little scream and say, excited, her voice full of love, "Giorgio is here!" and she ran to meet him.
He smiled at her; they embraced, just a couple meters from our beach umbrella, a little longer than two friends, and a little less of what two lovers would have done. Then Clara, radiant, lead him by the hand to our place and introduced him. Giorgio greeted us with real class and courtesy. Our mother invited him to have a seat and he sat with us. And, I noticed, he seemed to have lost all his self-assurance, even though his illustrated-colour-magazine-like smile was still glued on his beautiful lips. Printed on his perfect face. Printed, as I say, that is no more alive.
He spoke in monosyllables and his eyes, even though he tried not to show it, were studying us. Gentle, affableÉ but I got the feeling he was posing, he was showing self-confidence he didn't have. I could feel that our brother Sergio didn't like him. Dad was treating him with gentle detachment, Mum with affability, Clara was hanging from his lips. I studied him in my turn.
I don't know why, I would not have been able to tell then and even less today, but I felt that Giorgio was gay. I was rather sure. But then, why was he flirting with my little sister? At least according to her, as that day on the beach, he always weighed his words.
He answered with real skill the cunning questions of our mother who was discretely probing him. It was a skirmish played on the thread of words, smiles, and not ended sentences. Mum wanted to know, he didn't want to say. All this with much affability, much savoir-faire. It was as if between him and my mother there were drawing-room manners.
Sergio went to swim in a not too impolite, not too evident way to say, "I'm getting bored, this guy is uninteresting, I don't like him. Enjoy him if you want." But I understood my brother at once; I knew rather well Sergio's behaviour.
After about half an hour, Giorgio excused himself - his faculty mates with whom he came to the resort were waiting for him. He asked Clara out on a date that same evening, to go to some disco. Clara, after getting an assenting nod from Dad, accepted, delighted. He said good-bye and left us.
Clara was excited. Mum was moderately satisfied; anyway when Giorgio was gone, she gave a favourable verdict. Clara nodded happy like a puppy. Dad grunted a kind of assent but immersed himself in his newspaper. I asked myself if Dad was jealous of Giorgio who risked taking his beloved daughter away from him.
That evening I decided to go to dance in the same disco. I wanted have more opportunity to study that Giorgio. In fact I danced very little, but I could observe him all evening in a very discrete way. He was really a fascinating guy; I'm not exaggerating saying that almost half of the premise was gravitating around him. It seemed that he knew everybody and that everybody knew him. He was nice, attentive, and solicitous with ClaraÉ but nothing more. I thought that he seemed more a brother to her than her lover. I too was very fond of my sister, and would have been nice, attentive and solicitous with her if we went together somewhere. Exactly in the same way.
There was nothing concrete; he didn't look in a particular way at the many handsome boys that were at the disco, he didn't have at all effeminate manners, he wasn'tÉ and yet I was more and more certain that the beautiful Giorgio was gay. I decided I had to discover it. I knew I could discover it.
I started to hang around him, to smile, to exchange witticisms, to make compliments. To make him feel I liked him. I started to listen to him with evident interest; he liked being the centre of attentions. Nothing more, I had plenty of time, in fact that afternoon under the beach umbrella he had said he would spend a full month in Rimini.
I think I never courted, discretely but assiduously, somebody as I did with Giorgio. Anyway, in a couple of weeks we seemed to be as thick as thieves, inseparable.
Finally one evening that I was in his hotel room and he was showing me the pictures of old houses he liked to shoot, rather beautiful shots, under the desk I leaned a hand on his bare thigh (we were wearing shorts) without moving it. I felt he slightly shuddered. He looked into my eyes, I smiled at him. I moved a little my fingers in a kind of caress, he shuddered again. He said nothing, he did nothing, and he seemed to be waiting. Always looking into his eyes and smiling, I started to move my hand upwards and my fingers slipped under the cloth of his shorts.
I didn't reach my goal, it wasn't necessary - he, who had an arm on my shoulder, just moved his hand under my T-shirt and brushed my nipple.
He asked me with hoarse voice, "Do you want me?"
"Yes." I said, triumphant.
He closed his eyes and parted his lips and I understood he was waiting for a kiss. I hugged him and French kissed him, a demanding kiss. We played for a good while with our tongues and he was shuddering. I got aroused.
We stood up, our mouths still united, we moved towards the bed, we undressed in silence, quickly, and when I was on top of him, he murmured just two words, "Take me!"
I complied more than willingly.
At the end, still trembling from the pleasure, he said, "God, I didn't think you too were gay!"
Good, I had just reached the terminal, he admitted what I suspected, "you too", he said.
Therefore I asked him, "Then, why are you flirting with my sister?"
He blushed a little and answered, "As a coverÉ"
I got angered, a calm, or to better say a restrained anger, "But she is madly in love with you, how can you play with a person's feelings just as a cover for being gay? You are a bastard!"
I dressed and told him that either he disappeared from my sister's life or I would expose him even if I were to expose myself. He understood I was not joking. That same evening he said to Clara that they would never again meet, and that he would leave the day after. For Clara the sky fell down. She got a terrible grief, she was destroyed, and I was sorry, but I thought - better now than later.
That evening Clara said nothing but I understood that Giorgio had done what I asked him. The day after Clara, who didn't want to renounce to him, went to wait for him at the railways station and asked him for explanations. He stammered excuses that didn't convince her.
So, at the end, when the train was starting to move, he said her from the window, "I promised it to your brother, I have to do it."
Clara came to look for me and told me she had to talk to me - she had red eyes, and she was furious.
"It is your fault if he went away, your fault!"
I had to explain her that I did it for her, because I discovered that Giorgio was gay and that he just used her as a cover, therefore I enjoined him to leave. She didn't believe me, told me it was a monstrous bullock, that I was gone off my head, that I was wicked, wicked, wicked!
Thus I understood that, to convince her, I had to tell her all about me, to tell her that I too was gay, and that Giorgio let me take him, he asked me to take him. Clara widened her eyes and I understood that finally she believed me.
She took my hand in hers, like in a caress and whispered, "You are gay?" Giorgio was forgotten - I became the centre of her thoughts, of her attention, I, her most beloved brother. "Everybody knows it? Dad, Mum, Sergio?"
"No, you are the only one to know, now; I'm afraid the others would not understand."
"But if I too couldn't understand?" she asked in a very thin voice.
"I had to run the risk, I owed that to you." I answered.
She hugged me very tightly, kissed me on a cheek, then asked, "But youÉ is itÉ heavy?"
"No, besides having to live two parallel lives, besides not having the possibility to say, as you did - I met a splendid boy."
She recalled Giorgio. "I was wrongÉ" she sadly whispered.
"He could possibly be a splendid boy, but he should not have deceived or used you." I said her.
"Right." she said, and forgot him again.
I understood she wanted to know, so I told her how I had discovered I am gay, what I felt, what was inside me.
I told her that all happened when I was fourteen, when I was attending the first year of the high school. I was infatuated of a mate I often saw in the school gym, a boy of the fourth year who was the regional schools champion of free body gymnastics. I was not aware that I was gay, I though it was nothing more than a boundless admiration, he was my heroe; somewhat like any adolescent has one. He seemed to never know I existed which seemed natural, I was thinking, as he was a champion and I just one of many.
I stole from the school notice board one of his pictures, where he was in shorts and T-shirt, doing an exercise. I took it home feeling excited, I took it out and admired him - he was wonderful. I caressed that picture and kissed it. He had an intense expression, totally concentrated in his exercise. I dreamed to become his friendÉ I daydreamed - he won a contest and from the podium during the prize giving was searching for me with his eyes and smiled at me. I noticed how he smiled to his friends - he was enchanting. I wanted that smile for me.
I started to try being noticed by him but everything seemed useless, I was just one of the many greenhorns admiring him, nothing more. I was jealous of his smiles. I was jealous of his friends, of his classmates. When we were ending at the same time the hour of PE, each time he didn't stay with his teacher in the gym for a longer time than the others for extra training, I managed to enter the showers room with him, I did so to be as near as possible to him and, in the steam of the room, I admired him fugitively. God, how beautiful he seemed to me!
I didn't have the courage to talk to him - I was just able to hopelessly admire him. And to dream about the day he would have smiled to me, when he would say to me, "Hi, friend!" with his already adult, tenor voice.
For months.
It was winter, it was cold, and when I left the gym it was already dark. I had kept hoping to see him in the showers, but he remained in the gym and I had to wash and go out. But I knew that in a short time they would shut the gym, so he had to come out. My heart in my mouth, I decided to wait for him. With a pretext I would talk to him. How? What could I tell him? "I was waiting for you"? No, he would have asked me why and what could I answer him? "To talk with you", but possibly he didn't feel like talking with me, I could tell himÉ none of the ideas I had seemed to be good. But I remained there, glued, my eyes staring at the gym's door. My heart drummed.
He came out, saw me leaning against the tree near the gate, looked at me, smiled and said, "Hi, still here?"
My heart jumped in my chest. "YesÉ" I answered, not knowing what more to say.
"Aren't you going home?" he asked looking at me, and I felt melting under his eyes.
"YesÉ" I repeated.
"Where do you pass through? I cross the garden."
"I tooÉ" I answered.
"Let's go, then."
I was touching the heaven with a finger - he talked to me, he invited me to walk a stretch with him. He asked me my name, he told me he already noticed me, and I felt euphoric. I managed to tell him he was my hero.
"Really?" he asked me, stopping on the lane passing at the side of the children games park, deserted at that time.
He was smiling, smiling for me!
"In the showers you always look at me." he said.
"YesÉ"
"Why?" he asked.
"You are so beautifulÉ" I sincerely answered.
"You like looking at me."
"Yes."
"Come with me."
I didn't ask where or what for. I followed him without hesitation; I would have followed him to the end of the world. We penetrated into the games park, went beyond the seesaws, the wheel, the challenger climber and into the concrete tubes labyrinth. We went round it, he leaned with his back against one of the big tubes, let on the ground his gym sack in front of him.
He said, "Here we cannot be seen."
I looked at him without understanding, and waited. He opened his padded jacket, lowered his gym trousers on his thighs, took out his "birdie" that I saw it hard for the first time, and straight like a spindle.
"Go down, give me head, and make me enjoy." he said and put his hands on my shoulders pushing me down.
Even though I never thought I was gay, even though I never thought of him on an explicitly physical level, I knew what was to give head, amongst mates we did talk about it, making fun of faggots. He wanted me to give him head, I confusedly thought while kneeling on his gym sack. I would have done for him any thing, even what faggots do, even if everybody would make fun of me if such a thing were known, but I was ready, for him. He choose meÉ
He took my head in his hands and started to fuck my mouth. At times he reached my throat and I was feeling like retching but controlled myself, even though tears were filling my eyes from the effort. But I was happy for what he had asked me to do - I was giving pleasure to my heroe!
"Shit, I'm coming!" he said keeping my head pressed against his pubes, and pushing it down to my throat, "Drink it, drink it all, all of it!" he ordered and unloaded into my mouth.
I did my best to make him happy, I felt like I was going to cough, tears were copiously coming out, but I managed to swallow all the jets, even though with difficulty.
"Lick it now, clean it nicely." he told me when he was satisfied.
I obeyed. He tidied himself. I stood up.
There was a light feeling of contempt when he said me, "Well, little fag, I liked you. When I feel horny and I haven't a girl, I now know how to get out my load. Did you already take it in your arse?"
"NoÉ" I answered, disappointed, disturbed by his tone.
"Well then I will possibly break your cherry," he merrily said and going away greeted me saying, "Bye, little fag, see you the next time."
I walked back home slowly, crying in disappointment - he despised me for what I had just done, even though it was he who asked it of me, even though I did it only to please him. When I got home Mum saw I was upset - I hoped I would have been able to hide it but evidently she could read it on my face. I told her it was just a stomach ache. I went to bed without eating my supper. I really didn't feel like. I thought back to what had just happened.
He was a bastard - he could get from me anything he wanted, in another way. I would have sucked it; I would have let him put it in my arse, and anything if he just understood that I was in love with him! That was the first time I thought of that word. But it was so - I was in love with him but he had just killed my love. He really was a bastard.
"Christ, what a huge piece of shit!" Clara said and took my hand and caressed it almost as she had to comfort me for something that happened that day and not about eight years before.
I went on telling her.
I avoided him. But one evening, while I was crossing the garden going hurriedly back home, he came running and reached me just near the games park. He seized my arm but I told him to leave me.
"I'm horny, come give me head, come on, and then I'll fuck you in the arse!"
"No!" I said.
He then, sarcastic, "What's up, little fag, I know you love it. You loved it last time, didn't you? You were like a sucking calf, the way you were milking it!"
"I should have tore it out with a bite, bastard!" I said, furious.
He laughed, "Come on, come, don't be an idiot! I've already got a hard-on and I want to fuck you, to put it in your arse!" he said trying to push me inside the games park.
I wriggled away, gave him a strong push, he tried to block me; I flung him and started to give him a good thrash. I don't know who gave me the force - I was puny and he was big and tall. But I was feeling like Samson and the Philistines, Hercules and the Titans, David and Goliath! He fell on the ground and I went on thrashing him and none of us was uttering a sound. I then stopped, panting.
He then stood up brushing away with his hands the dust from his gym suit and looked at me, if not with fear, surely with respect, and in a low voice, almost to excuse himself, said, "I thought you were a fag, and you wanted it in your arse."
"I could even be a fag, I don't know, but you are a bastard and I would like better to be three times a fag than just half the bastard that you are. My heroe! How na•ve I was! You are just a mass of putrid flesh without a heart or a brain. I pity you!"
"Come onÉ" he said, hesitant.
"Go fuck yourself! You feel horny? Give yourself head, bastard! And never again try to call me fag, or else I will break all your teeth, and your arse too! And even if I were a fag, nobody gives you the right to mock me, is it clear? I don't want to have anything more to share with you, you stink too much!" I said and left him there like a fool.
He never molested me any more and I rather had the impression that after that evening he was looking at me with some respect.
But that experience opened my eyes on something important - I fell in love with a boy, one with the same sexual orientation, and I was even ready to have sex with him, and the thought to have sex with a boy pleased me, excited me. I understood, in short, that I really was a fag. And I told myself that it was all right.
For the first time I started to explicitly desire to have sex with a boy, but I was feeling frightened. My mates' chatters made me understand how much deep-rooted was the contempt for those like me. As well as the attitude of my ex-hero.
You can try to flirt with a girl, and be successful or not, that's not important, your friends can also pull your leg in a friendly manner if you fail, or envy you if you are successful. But if you try to flirt with a boy, you are branded, avoided, despised, deleted, persecuted. I didn't like to risk all that, I wanted to be accepted by my mates. Nobody can live alone. You always need to feel accepted, mainly at that age. Therefore I had to carefully hide my desires. And I hid them for almost three years.
"You didn't even have the chance to open your heart to anybody, did you?" Clara understanding asked me, then added, "If I fall in love with a boy, or if he deceives me, I can talk about it with everybody, my school friends, you, a little even with Mum, with Dad. You cannot, isn't it so? That's unfair. But nowÉ now you can talk about such things with me, if there is a boy you like and so on, can't you?"
I embraced her. Then asked her, "Did you forgive me, then?"
"I'm grateful to you. ButÉ at leastÉ the bastard was able to make love well?" she asked me, cunningly.
"Well, it had just been a fast fuck, I don't know; and I'm not interested in him; I just wanted to made him to admit that he was gay, and after having done it with me, he could surely not deny he was. I did it for you, believe me, even thoughÉ he is a handsome boy."
"We are lucky, you and I, with boys, aren't we?" Clara said with sad irony, but then made me a so sweet smile that it made me feel good.
Clara and I always liked each other, but now I could feel we were more united than ever.
I then asked her, "Did you ever make love?"
She wasn't expecting such a question, she looked at me surprised for a moment, and then she smiled again and said, "I can tell you. Yes, just one time, last year, with Max, Cristina's brother, At Cristina's home, for her anniversary."
"Was it good?" I asked her.
"Rather. He brought me to do it gradually, as I told him I was still a virgin. He made me desire it, and had been careful. But afterwards I didn't want to do it again."
"Why?" I asked her.
"I don't know. Possibly because he brought me to it onlyÉ how can I sayÉ he had been able to wake up my body, but not my soul, can you understand? To him it has been just a game, a nice game. Anyway he had been able to make me lose my head and when he triedÉ I didn't absolutely intend to say him no, I can confess you."
"Well, also my first time I had complete sex it was just a physical thing, moreover with an unknown guy. Anyway I enjoyed it." I said.
"I too liked doing it with Max, but I wanted something more. And with Giorgio I was under the illusion I had found that something more, because he almost didn't touch me, differently from Max; he seemed interested more in me that to just make me lower my panties, can you understand? But didn't you too want something more?" she asked.
"No, not that time, at least."
"Ah, no? And why?" she asked.
"Because it was three years I wanted to do it, I needed it; to understand myself, can you see? But I didn't know with whom and how and whereÉ nothing. It seemed to me almost as if besides me there was no other gay boy amongst all I knew amongst all that I had met. I was seventeen years old. Do you remember when I went to Bologna hitchhiking, for that concert?"
"No, I don't remember, I was still a little girlÉ"
"Well, it's not important. I don't remember if it was the second or third lift I got, but it was on the way to Bologna. A car stopped, a man drove it. Do you know that I don't even remember how he was, how old he was, what car he droveÉ nothing. I just remember that after a while he leaned his hand there and told me he liked me and he wanted me. I was just thinking about that so at once I felt aroused at the thought that finally, when I least was expecting it, I could do it. He stopped in a small village, at a small hotel and booked a room. I was feeling terribly ashamed but also excited. It's funny, but I clearly remember the room - opened the door, at the left there was the bed and at the right, behind the door, and parallel to the bed, a wall closet. Beyond the bed there was a small desk with a chair and a sink in a wall niche. In front of the door was the window with a curtain with orange and white squares, somewhat faded, identical to the bed cover. I didn't know if I had to tell him that it was a first for me or not, but I thought that it could be better, at least he wouldn't expect too much from me, I would not disappoint him. In fact what happened three years before, in my opinion, didn't matter. Well, anyway I had sex with that guy. It wasn't really exalting but it was agreeable, both letting him take me and then taking himÉ"
"Yes, I can understand, exactly like for me with Max - not exalting but agreeable." Clara said.
It was good being able to compare our experiences in that way, simply, at the same level and without roundabout expressions. After that day we didn't have any more problem to clearly talk with each other even about our most intimate things. It was good for each of us to have pleasure in telling the other, but none of us ever demanded the other to tell about himself. It just happened, and it still happens.
Of course I also told her about Picc"'s problem - as I expected, not only she understood, but also she had been close to me more than ever, and also to Picc". With discretion as it's usual for her.
When I told her that Ricardo would come to live with me, she said, "This time it can possibly be the good one."
"I hope so, but why do you think that this time it can be the good one? The other times never went well, it lasted so little." I said.
"The others were not really right for you, I feel."
"How can you say so? You didn't know the others, and you don't know Ricardo."
"It's how you talk about it."
"But as I'm in love, I can only talk in a positive way of him, don't you think? As well as of all the others, especially of Dado and Sandro."
"Yes, of course you spoke well of them, but about Ricardo you are telling me convincing things, while about the othersÉ you never convinced me."
"But you never told me so." I said with a gentle reproach in my voice.
"It wouldn't have been useful, you were infatuated, and you would not have listened to me. And anyway I didn't have sound elements to tell you not to try with them. And for what I know, they were anyway good boys, especially Dado."
She wanted to know Ricardo and, after, she confirmed to me her really good impression, "That boy is full of love, it's evident, I can feel it. He is splendid, keep him dear." she said.
Also Ricardo was fascinated by my sister, and they gradually grew fond of each other. At times they call each other for a chat, and this pleases me very much. Ricardo also understood that Clara would like to know more about him, even though she never asks questions, not even to me, so he gradually started to tell her about himself.
He told her that he sends a letter once a month to his mother who, being illiterate, goes to the parish priest to ask him to read his letters then dictated him her answer. He also showed her the only picture he has of his family - they are all in that picture shot on the occasion of the christening of the thirteenth child, just before he came to Italy. His father is a white man, his mother a mulatto but darker than him.
Even though Ricardo and Clara never used the term, they are really treating each other like brother and sister in law, with affection. This makes me feelÉ a family. It's agreeable. It's a pity that the relatives are not all so, as it should be.
Clara also knows that Dado died from AIDS complications. First of all she said me, "I'm really sorry, poor man, even though I didn't know him. You were still fond of him, weren't you?"
"Well, of course I was, even though after we split we were just friends, as he was in love with Valerio, and even more now that I'm with Ricardo."
Only later she asked me if I did the analysis. I've been happy with the order of her reactions. I reassured her.
CONTINUES IN CHAPTER 4
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