7______________Exciting news! Yesterday Tristano and I passed San Lorenzo and I remembered that they started the excavations at the Medici-tombs some days ago. They will examine the graves at the church of San Lorenzo as well as in the Principe's chapel. In the crypt they made an exciting discovery: Under the grave of the last Medici ruler Gian Gastone they found a subterranean secret chamber with the bones of eight corpses, most of them babies and children. I've attached a newspaper clipping so you can read for yourself. Isn't it great? But they won't examine the bones of Lorenzo Magnifico because then they would have to remove the statues made by Michelangelo standing above the tomb and they don't want to risk it. Tristano said they were dying of a heavy kind of gout, but the experts aren't sure if this was the reason for their deaths. Gioia, I'd be really pleased if you could book a hotel room for us. Rosso will be staying in a tent with his little brothers and to be honest, I don't fancy that. I haven't ask my parents about the trip to Rome. It was difficult enough to convince them to allow me to go with you to the sea side. Father is somewhat on my side, but I guess just because he feels he has to protect his youngest son against the verbal insults from Dante and Marcello. Dante's out of hospital by the way. He's doing better but still can't go to work. Marcello's wrists are healing but there's only two weeks before the summer holidays anyway, so he won't return to work either. Raniero's been expelled from the workshop for good. Coppo resisted the influence of his family and despite the fact that he was a promising talent he said he didn't want a jerk in his class. Mind you, Coppo has confessed that he's gay too! My father knew but he had repressed it. And some of our class mates support us. Me and Tristano that is. Yes, I've heard from Giano. He's working with Tino in the music shop to earn a bit of money. He seems to enjoy that. My train arrives Friday afternoon in Pisa at 5:15 pm. I miss you too." Baci,
Luca"
Don Garzia and Cardinal Giovanni, Cosimo's sons, both died at the age of
twenty. The official history said they died of Malaria, but rumours said,
Don Garzia stabbed his brother during a hunting trip, and was killed
afterwards by his father Cosimo. Perhaps the Pisan professore would now be able
to bring the truth to light.
This was the stuff Florence was made of. Rumours, conspiracy, poison, knives, murder,
vendetta. What he would be able to tell an interested audience while he led them through his hometown!
This was so much more than the clean and
boring facts he had to learn about Proto-Renaissance and the dates of battles. Though of course it would
be easy to merge the two and spice up the plain stuff.
Alessandro put the article into his exercise book, stretched out upon his
bed and thought about Luca. He missed him more than he would like to admit. And then
there was all that shit with Leoni. She was like a leech on his trousers' leg,
clinging to him wherever he went. Whenever he tried to talk with her
about the night they had spent together, she repeated the same story over
and over again almost until he started to believe it himself. What if it was the
truth? What if he had fucked her like 'Jupiter's hammer', as she stupidly
described it? He couldn't imagine becoming horny like that when a naked girl
was lying in his bed. He wouldn't be horny at all, for heaven's sake and he
hadn't even been drunk enough. Something was off about the story.
Uncle Arrigo had written to him too, about the political events in Florence, about the everyday strike of the bus driver,
about the welfare of his mother who was still living in the clinic for
rehabilitation from drugs and alcohol, but was doing extremely well. As long as she
was left in peace, Arrigo said, and not reminded of his family. Alessandro
snorted. Of course not. As if she had ever cared about her sons. His brother
Nando she had let die alone; a wretched death in a hospital and he -
Alessandro? He was the pretty boy of the family. The youngest. The hope and
the last offspring of the Gondi-Lucertola's. The carrier of the genes. Frail
and unstable like the ones of the old Medici's whose last offsprings had
all been homosexual, soft and weak idiots, with no children, so that the
long line of the proud and strong banker's dynasty simply died out one day. They
were contemporaries of the Gondi's and now his own family would go the way
the Medici's went before them. Neither Arrigo nor his brother Emilio, the
mayor of Florence, had been able to produce children. Their fertility was
like - nil.
Sometimes he felt compassion for his uncles. If at all possible the Gondi's mustn't die out.
Why not go to Leoni and fuck the brains out of her to father a son
that would carry the long blood line?
Alessandro stood up and poured himself a glass of wine, Arrigo had sent to
Pisa from his own Tuscany vineyard. It tasted fruity and a little of herbs, just
the way he liked it. He poured another. Together with a glass of Grappa it
would be enough to make him drunk.
Despite the wide open window it was sticky in his room, there was no breeze
coming in from the river. He wondered if Florence was melting away in the
caldron of a summer's heat and he felt pity for Luca. He wished he could
stay in his palazzo, the Lizard-Tower, with its cool, thick walls that let
no heat in.
What would Luca say if Alessandro became a father? He could do it, father the child and then
leave Leoni, get a divorce and continue with his life as it had been.
And then? Alessandro sipped at his glass. Wouldn't he feel responsible for
his child? Should it be allowed to grow up without love as he himself had grown up?
If he only could wait! He was only nineteen and felt he wasn't mature enough to be a
father. He was still a kid himself with all the longing to catch up with what he
had missed when he was younger. The displays of bad temper, the bad behaviour he had
shown when he was an adolescent and frightened the town, was just a
protest.
On the other hand... Alessandro had finished his third glass. Now or later,
what did it matter? He swayed slightly as he rushed to the door that led
to a small corridor and opened the door to the kitchen. As always it was
thick with smoke because Leoni stood at the stove and stirred a pot. Brutally
he took her shoulder and turned her to face him. Then he pressed his lips
upon hers and ground his abdomen into hers. She gave a startled, but stifled
cry, then she succumbed. She wrapped a leg around his and he lifted her up
onto the kitchen table, while fumbling under her short skirt and tugging at
her slip. "This is what you want, right? Me fucking you like a hammer", he
hissed. But she struggled. "What are you doing, you're drunk!"
Suddenly she gave up the struggle and lay down upon her back on the table.
He looked at her and his arms fell to his side. Nausea filled his
stomach. What was he doing here? Brutality was a foreign word to
him. "I'm sorry", he said, and ran into the toilet of his room where he
vomited into the sink. Then he sank down against the tiled wall and wiped over his
face. Bloody hell.
After a minute he felt well enough to stand up, drank some water and returned to
the kitchen. Leoni was sitting at the table, smoking. She was pale. "I'm
sorry, Leoni", he said softly. "You're right, I'm drunk. Forgive me?"
Leoni watched him silently. Her eyes were red. "I should report this, you
know", she said coolly.
They glared at each other.
Luca and Alessandro were part of the last thirty people who were allowed to
clamber up the spiral staircase of the Leaning Tower. Luca was excited. He
had never been up here before. For years the tower had been closed, but now since
the specialists had stabilized the leaning of the tower, it was open again and he followed
Alessandro's butt cheeks, moving up the stairs in front of him. He suppressed the longing
he had to bite softly into them, and grinned instead to himself.
Going into the Campanile was a very strange experience: the angle of the 'lean' was really pronounced when they were inside. The staircase was a rather tight corkscrew, and Luca really felt as though the whole building could tip over as he climbed. Going up the staircase meant that he was tilted first to one side and then to the other as the corkscrew snaked up around the centre of the tower.
It was seven thirty in the evening, thirty minutes before closing time.
Behind him he heard people puffing and stomping up the marble steps. Two
hundred and ninety four steps wasn't exactly a short way. Alessandro stopped
briefly to marvel over the exquisite work of the colonnades stony lace
work. Contemporary architects would just work in glass and concrete, but
there was something about the decorative elements of the Pisan Tower that remained unique.
Luca stopped beside him and touched the cool material tentatively. Alessandro
smiled at him and brushed a strand of blond hair out of his eyes. "I'm glad
you're here", Alessandro whispered.
Luca nodded. "It's beautiful." He turned to touch the marble stone of the
building that hid the small tower bells.
Alessandro nodded. "That's true. Next time you come we'll visit the museum where they hung up the remains of the large freschi, the cemetery-walls were once covered with. It must have been a marvellous sight once in the middle ages." Alessandro's eyes were veiled as they always were when he was absorbed in his favourite metier.
Luca stood close to him and felt the heat that his body was oozing. He would become a good guide, conveying his love for the old and historic Art. But wasn't Art timeless? Even when those large freschi had been destroyed in the second world war by an allied bomber, hitting the tin-roof so that the walls were shaken and the hot tin flooded over the paint? The remains that lay crumbled on the ground were carefully picked up and sorted by scientists and now they can be seen in the museum. It had been a tragedy. One of the many.
They stood and looked. "What I wanted to ask you ...", Alessandro started after a
while, "I wondered about your remark in your last letter. You told me that
some of your classmates support you and Tristano. Why Tristano? Do they
know he's gay like you?"
Luca said nothing.
Luca didn't know what to say, so he said nothing. He just looked down,
embarrassed. He had been unsure whether to tell Alessandro what had happened,
and had actually decided against it. But now... he couldn't lie to
Sandro's face.
Alessandro let go of his face and leaned beside him upon the iron
fence. "When?" he asked.
Alessandro couldn't hide a small grin. "Is that so?" He examined Luca closely
for a moment. "You like him, don't you."
Alessandro nodded. His heart felt heavy but he couldn't turn back time.
What happened had happened, no use to make reproaches. He leaned in and
whispered into Luca's ear "Did he take you or did you take him?"
Alessandro looked him up, sizing and ruminative. "Of course not, gioia. I
hope you were good." A brief twinkle appeared in his eyes. "Better than I
was on our first night."
His voice sounded serious and Luca felt exceedingly relieved. He pressed his
lips upon Alessandro's and afterwards embraced him.
Some people stared at the couple; both felt it, but it wasn't important to either of them.
Alessandro's hands glided along Luca's outstretched arms and back, over his
shoulder blades, around his waist. Luca lifted his belly a little and
Alessandro slid down to embrace Luca's straining and wet erection.
"Who's washing the bed clothes?" Luca mumbled.
Luca couldn't answer and his ears weren't listening anyway. Alessandro constantly hit
the sensitive skin over his prostate and it made him wild. A while later he found himself upon
his stomach again with Alessandro
laying heavily upon him, outstretched like he was himself. Both were panting
hard.
Illumination lit up the discjockey, glimmering points in
yellow, red and green. In front of him - on the grass - people moved to the
rhythm of the music. Listening from a distance, Tristano couldn't make out the
songs - it was only the pulsating beats, the basses and drums that drew him
closer. He breathed in the scent of baked potatoes, barbecued meat and vegetables, of
cotton candy and fruity ice-cream.
By the pizza-stand he saw Rosso and some of his friends, dressed up
like Tristano himself. Teenagers roamed between the stands, smearing
themselves with candy floss and glazed apples. He felt some heads turning as
he passed by; a flash of white teeth when a girl smiled at him, but then
he froze. In the middle of the lawn a group parted and a young man started
to dance alone. He made quite a show - naturally - swaying his slender hips,
kicking his feet, bending his upper body, shaking his butt.
Tristano grinned involuntarily when their eyes met briefly. The dancer's
upper body was clad in a tight-fitting, white muscle shirt with the
printed words 'Take me' and a phone number. His legs were covered with expensive
looking designer-jeans; tight, and giving his butt the kind of look that
made everyone stare at it, especially the giggling girls. Black, shiny curls
fell boldly on to his forehead.
Luca might be handsome, Rosso interesting, Alessandro an austere beauty -
but this guy here was the embodiment of the classic Italian male beauty.
Michelangelo would had chiselled him in marble, and Leonardo would have
taken him into his bed for sure. His profile was perfect, but just as
Tristano got close enough to look at him, he realised the secret of his
beauty; his face was regular, but it had the incompleteness of a work of
art. The cheekbones were high, and the mouth was a
noble line with swelling lips, the bottom lip a tad too thick. The secret lay
in the imperfection. Tristano fell for him instantly.
He wasn't alone with his adoration; Luciano, the homosexual well known in town,
sneaked around him like a snake after a rabbit.
A tap on Tristano's shoulder shook him out of his fascination. Rosso arched his left eye brow. "I
can see your bulge from ten metres away", he said
sternly. Then he broke out into a merry laughter. "I thought you were keen on
Luca", he added quietly, still grinning. Tristano literally jumped back. "How do
you know that? Have both of you talked about me?" His voice betrayed his anger.
Rosso's hand jerked but then he only shook his head and dragged Tristano away
with him. He bought two Rum & Cokes and stared silently into his paper cup. The
basses boomed through the night. Tristano looked alternating to the dancing
beauty and the silent Rosso who muttered "I'd never thought that I'd have to
decide between them one day, that some of my old school friends would turn out to be complete jerks."
Tristano looked unhappy. "You don't have to speak to me", he said.
Tristano glanced at the dance floor and saw the black curly haired guy surrounded
by some guys that he was obviously flirting with. Rosso followed his stare.
"What's it called?" he shouted over the music. "Gay Radar?"
Tristano grinned "I guess you mean Gaydar." He shrugged. "I'm new to the scene. But I think my radar
works already." He threw a last glance at the dancing guy and suddenly
their eyes met. The lights flickered - at least Tristano thought so for a
brief moment, but then Rosso pulled him away, laughing. He was glad that he
had found another friend, since his old ones appeared to have changed into idiots.
Rosso had just turned towards the next grill stand when Tristano said "Wait", and stopped in
his tracks. It was too late. Carolina, his ex-girlfriend, had already seen
him. She was in the middle of a group of girls and the smile on her face
died.
Tristano's stomach clenched painfully. He saw the lights upon her
long, brown hair - blue and yellow, her tanned skin stood out against her
yellow, short dress and Tristano felt a pang of regret. It was about time he made
his peace with her.
He took her hand determinedly and she followed. She leaned against a tree and
looked at him. "Do you regret it?" she asked. "Have you thought about our
relationship and found that you're ready to continue?" she said hopefully. But he had to shake his
head. "I'm sorry, Caro. Yes, I've
found out something." He took a deep breath. "Something that hasn't anything
to do with you."
Carolina's big, brown eyes looked expectantly.
Tristano grimaced. He bit his lower lip. "You know him... Luca. I
like boys, and as I've said, it has nothing to do with you."
Carolina was mute. Shocked perhaps. Then she laughed. "That's a joke", she
stated.
On Carolina's face were mirrored many different feelings in rapid
succession. "And what did you feel when you was in bed with me? You didn't
like it, right? I gave you everything and you ... you laughed about it." Her
eyes glistened with tears. He tried to take her into his arms but she pushed him
away. "Don't touch me." She breathed deeply in and out and calmed herself.
"Alright, Tris. You like boys, ok. You think you're gay, all right. But what if
you change your mind in a few months? How many people are you going to hurt until
then?"
Tristano shook his head. "No. I don't know about that. It would probably be worse if
I'd fallen in love with another girl. But a boy? You can't compete with that. It's not
your fault. I still like you."
Carolina wiped her eyes. Perhaps she was starting to understand. When he tried
to pull her into her arms she didn't struggle. "Is he your boyfriend?" she
said into his neck. "The red haired boy?"
Carolina gave a sobbing laugh. "Bugger."
Tristano looked hurt. "Listen, I told you you don't have to bother with me,
so don't shout at me."
Rosso took a grip on himself. "Sorry. I was just ... pissed, not at
you." He took Tristano's shoulder. "I'm going to get drunk tonight."
Rosso, hearing this, said "that's the most stupid chat up line I've ever
heard. Only straights would use that. I thought you had more imagination."
Curly raised his eyebrows. "Tell me a better one." He put his arm around Rosso
and combed his fingers through his red hair. "I'm a pyromaniac - are you coming to put out my fire?
How about that?"
Rosso screw up one of his eyes. "That wasn't bad."
Curly's eyes devoured Tristano. "Your boyfriend?" he asked. Rosso roared
with laughter. "No. I prefer the female curves if you know what I mean." He
slipped from Curly's embrace and called back as he walked away "but thanks for the
offer!".
Curly, still with arched eyebrows turned to Tristano, standing like a
statue, with his hands in his pockets, his face unreadable.
Both weighed each other up with stares. The curly haired guy's anthracite eyes radiated.
His brows built a wonderful, clear, black arch over his eyes. "Sergio", he
said finally.
There's something was about him, Tristano thought. Something dark, secret,
forbidden and shady. Altogether.
Sergio made an unsuspected step forward, pulled Tristano close, by taking
hold of the neck of his shirt and rubbed his lips over Tristano's. Electricity
crackled. Tristano's hair at the nape of his neck stood on end as well as his cock. In an
instant. Sergio's tongue tasted his lips like a flickering snake, before it
entered his mouth like a conqueror.
Tristano gave a sigh and leaned into Sergio's body; his groin inflamed, his
mind heated.
Tristano hesitated for the length of a heartbeat. "To my place.", it was about time he
substituted the memory of Luca with another.
Carolina shook his head.
Carolina looked at her incredulously. "I've heard they are crazy for it."
Tristano stood, over heated and nodded. "Drink?" he asked.
Sergio pulled his shirt over his head. The light reflected on his skin and
Tristano wanted nothing more than to touch him. His nipples were two dark
coins, like the peaks of two mountains with a valley leading down to a six pack.
Instantly Tristano felt inferior. He couldn't compete with this beauty. If
he undressed now, he would die of embarrassment.
Sergio's eyes flamed. He hooked his thumbs beneath his belt and grinned.
"Didn't you offer me a drink?
Tristano rushed into the kitchen and found only the Est! Est!! Est!!! Luca
had brought. His heart ached. What was he doing here? Suddenly he
felt a warm breath on his neck, a forefinger draw a line from his neck down
his back along the spine. Tristano shuddered and his heartbeat quickened.
With trembling hands he tried to open the bottle. Sergio embraced him from
behind and blew into his hair. "I love blond hair" he whispered. "Come
here."
Sergio took the bottle, uncorked it and clicked his tongue. "Wow, where did
you get this year from? It's been a long time since I've had such a marvellous wine."
He filled the glasses. "Cin-cin", and let the fluid roll over his tongue.
"Superb."
Tristano was confused. Suddenly Sergio seemed similar to a high society
snob. "Drink", Sergio said. Tristano emptied his glass with his nervousness and
waited for what would happen next.
The wine went instantly to Tristano's head. A fruity-herb taste on his
lips he leaned in and raked his fingers through Sergio's curls, shining in
the pale light. He felt sweaty and sticky from the warm night. He ran his
palms over Sergio's upper arms and felt himself pulled to a hard chest. "I need a
shower", Tristano tried an evasive answer.
Tristano went ahead into the bathroom and wondered if Sergio would follow him. He didn't have
to wait too long until the curtain was pulled aside and Sergio stepped behind
him into the shower. Tristano didn't dare open his eyes but his skin and body responded
to the man behind him; to the soapy hands, sliding easily and firmly over
his body. When he felt Sergio's cock nestling in between the cleft of his cheeks, he
felt adrenalin streaming through his veins and his lust rising. He turned off
the water and fished for the towel, still avoiding looking at Sergio. Almost
desperately he towelled his hair and tried to smooth it; then he felt Sergio's
hands stopping him. He lifted his chin and looked examiningly into his eyes.
When Sergio smiled, dimples appeared in his cheeks and his white teeth
sparkled; his almond shaped, anthracite eyes still radiating.
Sergio struggled and Tristano slid from his back. "What's the matter with
you? What are you waiting for? Have you never done this before?"
Tristano shook his head timidly.
Sergio held out a glass. "Apparently you do." He drank some more himself, brought his
mouth close and let the fluid drip from his mouth into Tristano's. Tristano
coughed but swallowed, then he took the glass and emptied it himself. He felt himself pushed
upon his back. Sergio's warm mouth engulfed his now shrivelled cock and then
suddenly Tristano lost all inhibitions. He squirted into Sergio's mouth, but the
relief was just momentarily before he felt his lust rising again.
Sergio's cock, heavy and longer than his own, poked his thigh, his hip,
rubbing against his skin. As he opened an eye he saw Sergio greasing himself and then
rolling a condom over Tristano's penis. He straddled Tristano, wriggled for the
right position and let himself sink down on him.
Tristano's eyes opened wide in shock. How tight. How warm. How slippery.
Sergio's face was relaxed. His muscles rippled, his hairless thighs rising
and sinking, and Tristano gave his first loud moan. Sergio bent forward to
kiss him and then released himself.
On his knees he responded to the long thrusts until they found a mutual
rhythm which wasn't easy, Tristano thought. The sensations were overwhelming,
and the only thing he could wish for would be another cock thrusting up his own arse
and he would die a happy man. He didn't want to hurt Sergio with the beautiful
body he possessed, but he couldn't hold on. Sergio moaned and was on
fire but all too soon Tristano had to give up the fight with himself and
ejaculated.
Sergio was still on his knees, jerking himself until he came too. Then there
was silence.
They both lay side by side, eyes closed. Tristano's brain kicked in after
a long time and he turned his head. Sergio's face was unmoved and he wondered to
himself if he had liked it. If perhaps he was sore. If he wanted to do it
again. Why didn't he say something?
Tristano propped up on his elbow and leaned over. Sergio's tanned body stood
out against the crumpled sheets. Perfect, hairless, in proportion; small hips,
long, muscular legs, his cock a beautiful neat snake, carefully shaved
balls and trimmed pubic hair. Tristano had always looked after his body too,
but Sergio had something unearthly. How could such a man be interested in
him?
Sergio felt the look and opened his eyes. Radiating eyes with black,
thick lashes. "You liked it?" he asked. "I'm ready for another round."
There it was again: his cheeky grin and Tristano's heart ached. Sergio's
mouth left a wet trail after he had gnawed on Tristano's nipples, washing
his belly with his tongue, at the same time rubbing Tristano's half-sleeping
member. He had a technique that made Tristano crazy and that was far in advance of
his own ability. He spread his legs wide when Sergio's fingers searched for his
hole, sighed when it was encircled, the pressure growing then diminishing,
Sergio's mouth engulfing and sucking the head, and only the
head of his cock. He sucked hard, almost painfully, alternating with lapping the tip,
gnawing at his foreskin and at the same time a finger penetrated him, bent,
found and purposefully stroked the little knot. Tristano saw stars. "Fuck
me", he panted.
Sergio was over him in a second.
Silence. Tristano noticed the mess. The empty wine bottle. The open jar of
vaseline. Ripped open plastic packets and filled condoms on the floor, the
rumpled, moist sheet.
Tristano jumped out of his bed, rushed around searching his flat; Sergio had gone without
leaving a note.
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