by The Weather Baker's Son [Dreamspinner, World of Love MM] (retail) (epub)
Mario and Gaston had rarely met prior to the move, and it had been at least two years since they had seen each other, neither having paid much attention to the other previously. It came as a shock to both of them therefore to be reintroduced after the passage of time. They had practically grown to look like twins, having obviously inherited many similar genetic traits. The big difference was that Mario had a more taut, more tanned body from his runs about the streets, whereas Gaston had a paler, softer look, at least while younger, which befitted the meadows where he would roam. He could have popped out of a flour sifter he had remained so white, at least at that time, in great contrast with his jet-black hair.
The townsfolk liked to point to the two boys in the street and remark upon how alike they were physically. It was probably only this almost mirrorlike similarity that allowed the boys to get along. Mario might otherwise have lumped Gaston into the enemy camp and also considered him to be too weak and not worthy of his respect. As it was Gaston had two trump cards: he looked much like Mario, and Mario only trusted himself, and he was armed with a budding intellect, matters of the mind not being something Mario was used to. Mario had no weapons to counter an intellect—wits, yes, in the sense of street smarts, but not those insights into history, art, literature, and the rest that Gaston had acquired from the books lent to him.
Mario would sit rapt as Gaston would read stories to him. Mario could read quite well, but Gaston could act! He would proclaim loudly and boldly when required of a protagonist or speak in hushed whispers as befitted a passage in the book.
“En garde!” Gaston would yell as he portrayed a musketeer, having jauntily posed a nearby cushion on his head to form a hat. Reading from a passage of a book, he would make thrusting motions back and forth with a fireplace implement to simulate a fierce sword fight. Mario meanwhile would lie on the floor with his hands holding his head up, giggling with delight, looking up at Gaston, marveling as he noticed that Gaston was the embodiment of another version of himself, a different Mario but an enthralling Mario nonetheless. Mario could safely allow himself to be different through Gaston.
Gaston drank up this admiration, but through all the years they were together clammed up about one aspect of himself of which he was initially ashamed: his admiration for Mario and for other boys was a deeper admiration than they understood. He could not help but run his eyes along Mario’s prone body as he read to him, drinking up not only the admiration but Mario’s physical form in all its attributes. Gaston often sat alone, terrified by these thoughts, hating himself for having them, but slowly, as puberty came and adolescence had passed, so too did shame.
He understood what he was. He was eventually smart enough to know and to realize that it was not shameful. It was no longer shame that held him back but fear, fear of loss of friendship in these provincial surroundings. He made lame attempts to double date with Mario, often finding excuses as to why a certain girl did not turn out to his liking.
This frustrated Mario, but he could not remain angry with Gaston for long. Rather he would find girls for Gaston, girls he thought he would like, ones into poetry and art and so on. Gaston was unnerved by Mario constantly pushing girls his way, girls calling and saying Mario had given them Gaston’s name. Tongue-tied, he would invariably say he was seeing someone already.
When Mario heard of this, he was stumped as to how to get the right girl for Gaston, so he hit upon the idea that opposites attract, and so maybe what Gaston needed was a more earthy girl, someone more sensual and rounded, someone to ogle and not to read poetry to!
So, one day as they were to go swimming at a local lake, an invitation that rang all the right bells for Gaston as he anticipated possible skinny-dipping, Gaston instead found he had to wear his bathing suit as a group of other young folk, girls and boys, that Mario had invited were already at the beach.
Mario introduced Gaston to one girl in particular. “Gaston, this is Félicité,” and he pushed Gaston awkwardly toward her. Félicité said, “Hi, Gaston, pleased to meet you! By the way, this is my brother Fabio,” pointing to a strapping tanned youth behind her, wearing a very small Speedo bathing suit that barely covered the essentials, a hard body outlining all his manly muscles. Gaston took a half step back, as if startled.
Mario grinned. He interpreted this as being Gaston overcome by Félicité’s beauty and mentally congratulated himself. Félicité likewise seemed pleased.
More pleased still however was Fabio, who took in Gaston’s consternation and gave it the correct provenance. He had long sensed that his physique had an immediate effect on girls and sometimes guys as well. He reveled in the power of his masculinity; he was like a walking hormonal scent attracting in his passage all those inclined to catch a whiff.
Gaston spent a couple of hours awkwardly chatting with Félicité and the rest of the gang. He averted his eyes from time to time from the pouch of Fabio’s bathing suit as he lay on Félicité’s other side, his eyes being attracted further still each time Fabio rearranged himself by pulling at the fabric of his bathing suit, which he seemed to need to do often enough.
Eventually Fabio, who enjoyed the discomfort of those who tried to evade the attraction of his body, grabbed Gaston from behind when they were in the water and yelled, “Hey, Gaston, carry me on your shoulders!” And he leaped on Gaston’s shoulders.
Gaston could not react quickly enough before the deed was accomplished and debated with himself in a whirl of emotion whether it was less embarrassing to fall under Fabio’s weight or to try to carry him aloft while Fabio’s groin pressed against the back of his neck. Everyone was laughing at the boyish tomfoolery, and Gaston gamely forced a smile but began to panic as he felt himself becoming aroused from the presence of Fabio’s almost naked body on his shoulders. He had to decide to let Fabio fall, for risk of everyone seeing the growing discomfort in his own groin, but he had at least lasted long enough carrying him aloft to make it seem he was a good sport. Fabio slapped him gently on the back, congratulating him on his strength while pressing up against his backside. Gaston laughed faintly and then pretended to throw himself in the water to swim about as he waited for his arousal to diminish.
Fabio continued to watch him from afar, plotting his next move for a few days later.
Fabio returns
GASTON WAS packing up at the market one Wednesday that same year he first met Fabio, his mother and Mario having left earlier.
Circling around the stalls at the market, Fabio waited for an opportunity to catch Gaston alone. As Gaston closed the back doors to the bakery van, Fabio came up behind him and shouted, “Hello!” causing Gaston to start and twirl around, almost coming into a frontal embrace with Fabio, who was that close behind. Gaston stepped back, but Fabio made no effort to step back himself. He needed release, and he was indifferent whether the object was a boy or a girl. Sure, he thought he preferred girls, but why choose as after all he seemed to have no difficulty in getting the attention of either, and guys could sometimes be much less complicated. His square jaw and striking blue eyes were like a magnet. Bold dark eyebrows set linearly suggested a hairy body underneath his tight-fitting clothes, but instead he was smooth, which only added more emphasis to his dark eyebrows and curly hair.
Gaston could see Fabio’s body under the clothes, remembering the swimming day. Fabio might as well not have been wearing clothes at all, for the fabric did not drape but rather followed every contour of his frame. He knew how to display himself.
“Hi, Gaston,” Fabio continued. “I noticed you here just now and thought that since I am going down to the lake for a swim that you might like to come along. You look all sweaty after the market.” Fabio ran his eyes up and down Gaston’s body.
Gaston’s initial thought was this would not be a good idea. He was confused about Fabio’s intentions. He on one side hoped the intentions were what he thought they might be, but experience had warned him Fabio might be a big tease and that this might all be a ruse on Fabio’s part to make fun of him, much like he had a
ttempted to do by riding on his shoulders. Gaston therefore blurted out, “I’m sorry, Fabio, I don’t have a bathing suit with me. Perhaps another time.” Fabio’s eyes twinkled and he said, “I don’t have one either! Do we need one to go swimming there if no one else is about? I know some secluded spots.”
It was as if Gaston’s resolve imploded. Desire sliced through his body, and a tingle ran from his feet to his head. He did not know whether anything would happen at the lake, but he knew that to see Fabio naked and to be on the beach with him was irresistible all by itself. If nothing else were to occur, that would be enough to give him fantasies for months. He was alarmed that he could be aroused in front of Fabio when that might not be what Fabio intended. An inner voice said, however, “Take a chance, he seems to want more….”
“Sure, okay,” exclaimed Gaston. “I could use a cooling dip.”
Fabio chuckled. “Great! Let’s go in your van.” And off they went.
At the lake, they stopped in an out-of-the-way spot. Gaston hesitated to unbuckle his pants until he saw Fabio throw off his own T-shirt, unzip, and pull off his pants. Facing Gaston, he then yanked down his underwear and threw them aside, continuing to face Gaston boldly, fully naked. It was more than Gaston could have imagined. Fabio was not endowed out of the ordinary; rather his privates matched perfectly the cut of the rest of his body, being sympathetically proportioned to the whole and much more attractive as such than if they had been outsized. Gaston was himself a good-looking fellow. Perhaps not on the same scale as Fabio but every bit a handsome, well-proportioned young man as well. Fabio seemed to be eagerly awaiting Gaston’s undressing but realized Gaston’s hesitation, so he turned to walk to the water’s edge as Gaston unbuckled. Gaston followed Fabio with his eyes, admiring the V-shape of his shoulders and the small manly buttocks he had. Gaston finished undressing, and Fabio cast a glance at his naked body before jumping in the water.
An almost chore-like ten minutes of splashing about in the water ensued as each guy kept on thinking of what might happen once the pretense of a dip was over. Back on shore they lay side by side idly talking about people they knew about town, in half-finished sentences as if it was of no particular interest. Then Fabio in one bold move flipped his naked body on top of Gaston’s, groin against groin, causing almost instantaneous erections on both guys’ parts. After briefly looking into Gaston’s eyes as he lay on top of him, Fabio started to kiss Gaston, and Gaston surrendered all his will by kissing Fabio as fervently back, while they each ran their hands up and down the other’s naked flanks. Moments turned into minutes, and almost an hour passed as Fabio and Gaston gave free rein to their passion, exploring each other’s bodies until finally they obtained a welcome release that they had intentionally delayed to make the thrill last as long as possible. After washing off in the lake they relaxed next to each other, absorbing the warmth of the sun and enjoying being together until Gaston with a start remembered he needed to bring the van back to the bakery.
Unbeknownst to Mario, Mario had indeed introduced Gaston to someone, but not the one he intended. Their encounters became frequent and lasted a few months in secret until one day Mario casually mentioned in passing to Gaston that Fabio’s father had sent him off to school up north. In hushed tones Mario said, “It appears he found Fabio with another guy in his room, and they were both naked! So he sent him away. That’s the rumor! Boy, is his girlfriend surprised!” Gaston suppressed a look of shock and retreated to his room as soon as he could where he sat for hours in the dark, feeling betrayed—realizing for the first time that he was not the only manly object of Fabio’s attention but also relieved that a potential source of danger had gone away. Thereafter he kept his external adventures far removed from the area around the little town.
The undressing
LET US return to the gym, where, after Gaston’s hasty departure, Mario tried to make sense out of his own thoughts. Unbeknownst to Gaston, Mario had not thought a semistiff cock to be strange. He did not connect it to anything to do with him. He was quite attuned to the fact that at his young age he too could become a bit aroused simply by riding in a bus along a bumpy street. All guys had this problem. What struck him as unnatural was Gaston’s red face and apparent shame. If Gaston had just laughed at his own situation, if indeed he had even pointed at himself and laughed, it would all have been just one of those things. He could have been thinking of some girl, after all. But no, something else had happened here. The possibility Gaston might be gay did not even enter his mind. He thought rather that he had always known Gaston to be a sensitive individual and admired him for his gentle nature. So perhaps Gaston could not be as outgoing with his youthful arousals as others might be? Still he was sad, as something was troubling Gaston, and Gaston was not confiding in him. He turned absentmindedly to finish dressing, slipped on the wet tile floor, and fell, hitting the floor hard with his right wrist. The other guys in the change room rushed to help him. The team coach determined he had lightly sprained his wrist, and so with his arm in a sling, Mario was driven home by one of the other team players.
That night Gaston sat with Mario in Mario’s room to console him over his sprain. When it was late and Mario wanted to go to bed, he struggled to undo his shirt and the button on his pants before getting into bed. He asked Gaston to help him slide off his clothes.
Gaston blanched and then reddened. This was a nightmare for him. He was reluctant to help undress his friend. This had never been necessary before, and while the boys had been used to seeing each other undressed over the years, there had never been the intimacy of removing the other’s clothing, no matter how innocent the request. However, Gaston did not think he could refuse to help, which would only be more telling, so he awkwardly helped Mario off with his shirt and helped reset the sling, the smell of Mario’s musky skin causing Gaston to start while at the same time not being an unpleasant aroma. As the now shirtless Mario was struggling with his good arm to undo the button and zipper on his tight jeans, Gaston approached Mario’s front. Bending downward his eyes ran down past Mario’s smooth and defined abdominal muscles to the top of his jeans. Mario had managed to unbutton and unzip his pants by himself with his good hand but was not able to pull them off by himself with just that hand; Gaston tugged on the jeans at the hips, those manly narrow hips that Mario had with their well-defined muscular hip crease, and tugged the jeans downward. As the friction from the fabric of the jeans was also causing Mario’s briefs to slide down immodestly, Gaston had to take one hand and hold them upward while pulling down on the pants with his other hand. He did not think he should take his friend’s briefs off himself while being at eye level. Gaston’s fingers had instinctively curled over the elastic top of the briefs to keep them up and in doing so were temporarily caught in the tangles of Mario’s dark black pubic hair. The musky scent of Mario’s manliness was strongest here as the pants were drawn down and the briefs came fully into view, enfolding and cupping Mario’s genitals. Most men should have seen this removal as a strictly mechanical exercise, but Gaston of course was painfully aware of every inch of the maneuver, the significance of every portion of Mario’s body. By now he had the tight jeans down around Mario’s knees, revealing muscular thighs lightly covered in black hairs. It was as if time had slowed down and minutes were passing with each inch.
However, that was not the case, although Mario did sense himself the presence of something different from what he had expected; he could almost feel Gaston’s eyes as they slid down his body.
Gaston pulled the jeans farther down over Mario’s muscular calves, calves that were strong and thick from years of playing soccer, Mario being a star player. The fabric sensuously draped and slid over the calves as the pants came down. Now the jeans were caught around Mario’s ankles. Gaston slipped off Mario’s sneakers and socks, and as Mario leaned back, Gaston yanked the pants fully off and placed them on a chair.
Mario meanwhile was tugging off his underwear with his good hand as it was his custom to sleep naked
. He awkwardly slipped under his bedcovers with the arm in the sling but not before Gaston turned around from the chair where he had placed the jeans and saw Mario’s fully naked frame sliding into bed.
Gaston quickly muttered good night and as quickly left the room, turning the light off as he exited. Outside the door he went, sweating and light-headed, to his own room.
Gaston sat in bed, trying to calm down, but noticed one of Mario’s pubic hairs caught in his fingernail. He was shocked but unable to resist and examined it closely, turning it and smelling it, remembering Mario’s manly body as it angled into bed, his cock and balls set off by the dark color of his glossy pubic hair, the way his cock flipped as he slipped under the covers. A tremble went through his entire body. He stretched from head to toe, unable to prevent himself from relishing the sensation, but then felt a surge of guilt and self-disgust. It could not last, however, as he was overwhelmed by a yearning that needed satisfaction, and he quickly masturbated to relieve his need. Slowly he fell asleep, barely able to remove the image of Mario’s naked body from his mind, but as he fell asleep, the image of Mario’s body morphed into that of Peter, Peter as Gaston imagined he would look, stretched out naked on a bed and beckoning him….
Moonlight
THE WATERS of the nearby Rhone River were flowing swiftly that night under a starlit, moonlit sky. Soft breezes dipped themselves into the rushing current and set off on either side, wrapping themselves around ancient clock towers, castle walls, over ancient Gallo-Roman ruins in dusty towns. The huge full moon weighed heavily over the landscape, seeming to crush beneath its orb all that it shone upon.
One moist breeze traveled across the vineyards and olive groves to the bergerie, where Hélène lay tossing in her sleep.
Over and over again she stood on the third-floor balcony of a seaside Thai hotel, waving to her husband as he set out along the street to board the chartered bus. All the business delegates at this hotel were boarding the bus to be taken to the conference site. How could she not have understood the change in the wind? A breeze had suddenly come up, but she was intent at waving to her husband below and did not look out to sea. He likewise was half walking backward intent on catching another glimpse of her, waving as he went. She saw the bus doors close with him inside and a window slide open where his head popped out. He was waving again, was he not? It was a strange wave. He seemed to be pointing out to sea, and his face seemed white. Suddenly Hélène heard the rumble of a huge wave, which pulled her attention away from the bus window. It was heading toward the hotel. She gasped and turned toward the interior of the hotel room and caught a glimpse of the bus being lifted by the water and carried away, water pouring in at the windows and through the door, which had started to be reopened to let the passengers escape. Was that his hand clasping on to the window frame from within? She would never know for sure. She stumbled and felt herself splashed by water in the hotel room, but the wave only lightly got that high. In the dream, she stood up again and peered out the balcony only to see her ghostly husband again half-turned walking toward the bus, waving, boarding, the wave coming again. Like a stuck film reel, this nightmarish scene repeated itself over and over again in her dream until she awoke bathed in sweat, discomforted by the persistent breeze. She looked around her, realizing she was not in Thailand, and whispered, “I miss you.” The unforgiving walls of her bergerie bedroom provided no comforting words back, and the night air now sat like lead on her since the breeze had departed. Only points of starlight seen through the window enlivened the scene, but their innumerable points provided no desired intimacy back.