by G. A. Hauser
Cautiously, Francesco scanned the area first. “They are singers. They go to the cafés where other singers go.”
That was all he needed to hear, Mark threw some coins on the table. “Take me. Now.”
* * * *
Feeling like a predatory cat, Mark stalked the alleys of Venice. They rode in a gondola, passed under several delicate bridges and through many narrow channels. They got off near the opera house. Francesco led the way through the heavy crowds to another café, one out of the way and more boisterous and loud than the one near San Marco. It was filled with bodies, all shouting and chatting over each other, the smell of wine being exhaled hung in the room. Serving girls tried to navigate through the clutter of men, their trays high in the air.
The only thing Mark could recognize, as far as the language was concerned, were names. And the one he kept hearing over and over again was “Caffarelli".
With their seemingly never-ending wealth, Francesco purchased a bottle for them and brought with it two glasses. Eyeing the room curiously, Mark stood by an open space near the door.
As Francesco poured, Mark held out his glass watching as it filled. “Are they all talking about the opera?”
“Yes! Very good!” Francesco smiled. “You understanding the language more?”
“No. Just the name Cafferelli, over and over again.”
“Ah. Well, he is the greatest castrato to sing on the stage.”
“He's one?” Mark gasped, his drink sloshing.
Francesco stared at him in disbelief. “Have you not heard what I have told you?”
Trying to cover his ignorance, Mark mumbled some apology, reminding him, “I've been distracted recently.” Wanting to feel his closeness and whisper to him, Mark leaned against Francesco's solid shoulder. “Are there any in here?”
“Yes, several. Can you not see which?” Francesco chuckled at him affectionately.
Mark's expression dropped, knowing they were indeed here. Trying not to be too obvious, Mark lowered his glass and started to scan every face. And every face found his. He still wore his expensive Venetian clothing, and he knew he looked no less than a wealthy patron. “That one there?” He nudged Francesco. “She looks like a beautiful woman.”
Francesco squinted, “Which one?”
“In the peach dress.”
“That is a woman, Mark. Look again!” he breathed in irritation.
A loud sigh escaped Mark as he tried to solve this riddle. A young man came into his view, very tall with long, luxurious, wavy hair and a smooth skin that shone in the firelight. When he met Mark's gaze, Mark felt his insides ignite. He was incredibly pretty. It seemed he was a woman, yet not a woman at all, for he was tall and in men's clothing.
Francesco whispered, “You have found one.”
“My God, he is so beautiful. I have never seen anything like this.” The fire in him lit and he grew very hard thinking about touching the castrato.
That feline male knew he was being openly admired. His movements were slow and hypnotic.
Mark thought he was imagining it, but it seemed this man was moving towards him through the crowd.
Shaking his head, Francesco sighed, “It did not take you long.”
“I have to have him ... do you mind?” Mark never took his eyes off of that face.
“Do I mind? You ask it like I have an opinion?” Francesco gave a sarcastic laugh.
“Come with us,” Mark spoke quickly. “We shall share him.”
That seemed to ignite something in Francesco. He sat back and watched Mark.
When the two men stood face to face Mark whispered, “You are magnificent.”
The very surprised man replied in Italian.
Mark heard the word “Inglese” and nodded. “Francesco, tell him I want him.”
“I need not tell him. This he knows.” Francesco finished his wine.
Reaching out his hand to this man's, Mark felt his smooth skin against his own. They left the café and stood outside in the cooling dusky air as several people brushed by.
“Ask him where we should go.” Mark kept hold of the man's hand, shaping and massaging it in both of his.
Francesco and the castrato exchanged ideas in Italian. Francesco turned to Mark. “He has a place close by. He wants us to go there.”
“Perfect ... perfect...” Mark reached out to touch his silky cheek. Though the man looked like he was in his twenties, not a hair stood on his face.
In return Mark received a very sensual smile at the caress and was led efficiently through some alleys. As Mark hurried behind him, Francesco at his back, Mark asked, “Did he tell you his name?”
“No.”
Racing, they entered an enormous building several stories high. Mark stared, enthralled at the way this man moved, his long limbs and graceful stride. Once inside a unit, the man lit a candle revealing a modest bedroom. Francesco closed the door and waited by it.
Trying not to pant in excitement, Mark caught his breath. He crossed the room and dug his hands into the man's hair. Hair as long and thick as his own. When their lips met, Mark groaned in pleasure. He was like honey, soft and supple as a woman. “Oh, God!” Mark groaned. “I have to see you naked.”
The man didn't comprehend his words, but he understood Mark's intentions when Mark's anxious fingers started tugging at his clothes.
The silent sentry, Francesco leaned against the door in the dimmest of shadows, a voyeur.
His hands trembling, Mark peeled back that lace-covered blouse to reveal skin like his own. Completely devoid of hair. His chest was large from singing and filling his lungs. When those breeches came down, the hair on his pubis stopped in a straight line, like a woman's. In fascination, Mark dropped to his knees and handled the organ. It was hard and thick. But nothing was beneath it. Mark ran his fingers under it and felt only tight skin. “Amazing...” Mark sighed, opening his lips and sucking it, his fingers running over that scar and the shriveled sack.
When Mark felt the man shudder and a moan escape his lips, Mark stopped and gently urged him back to the bed. Undressing quickly, Mark curled him into his arms, running his hand all over that satiny skin. “Your name ... what is your name?”
“Che cosa ha detto?” His voice was high, like a woman's but resonant like a man's.
Francesco asked the man's name for Mark.
“Alessandro...” came the reply, like a hiss of a breath.
Mark repeated it as he ran his hands over him hungrily. “You are so beautiful. I have never touched skin like this.” Mark moaned and pressed his face into his chest, caressing it with his own smooth cheek. “Alessandro ... Alessandro...” Mark crooned. “Francesco, come. Get naked and share him with me.” Mark wrapped his hand around Alessandro's organ to please him.
When the heat of Francesco's naked skin sealed against his back, Mark quickened his hand on Alessandro's cock. In moments it erupted, depositing a tiny puddle of cream on Alessandro's abdomen.
Behind him, Francesco pushed his own hard cock between Mark's thighs. Mark clamped his legs together tightly, giving Francesco the friction he craved. While he did this, Alessandro lowered himself on the bed, taking Mark's hard cock into his mouth.
Being sucked from the front and humped from behind, Mark gasped in ecstasy. Reaching one hand behind him to his lover's coarse face, and the other down into Alessandro's long, thick hair, Mark closed his eyes and rose up to the heavens.
Francesco's hips ramming against Mark's ass, his cock being devoured by an expert, Mark clenched his jaw and came as Francesco did the same between his legs. Slow to recover, glistening with sweat, Mark was floating high on love and life.
Sated beyond his wildest dreams, Mark struggled to find the energy to move. Alessandro repositioned himself to lie next to Mark on the pillows. Francesco's deep warm breath moved Mark's hair as his panting slowed to a calm breathing. Seeing Alessandro's contented expression, Mark smiled. Alessandro stroked Mark's cheek softly as he stared back into his eyes.
&
nbsp; “Yes, I too am beardless.” Mark chuckled mostly to himself.
Alessandro's hand smoothed down Mark's throat to his pelvis and found his testicles, handling them with a fascinated delicacy.
“But I still have those,” Mark giggled.
A breath like whisper escaped Alessandro's mouth.
Mark nestled back into Francesco's body. “Did you enjoy it, my love?”
“I always enjoy touching you, my treasure.” Francesco wrapped his arm around Mark's waist, drawing him closer.
Alessandro leaned up to look over Mark's shoulder, saying something to Francesco that only the two of them understood.
They spoke together softly, Alessandro's left hand still toying lightly with Mark's soft sack.
“What are you saying? Can I ask?” Mark's voice sounded crude by comparison.
“He thought you were a eunuch, Catamito. He is surprised you still possess what is in his hand.”
“What?” Mark felt a coolness cover his forehead from fear. When Mark lay flat on the bed they were both staring at him, smiling devilishly. “I am only nineteen! I will grow hair!” Mark defended himself.
“Yes, of course you will, my treasure.” Francesco smirked.
Mark backed away from both Francesco and Alessandro, climbing off the mattress. Doing the same, Francesco dressed silently. After washing at a basin, Mark reached down for his clothing, keeping his concentration on his task as well as the naked eunuch on the bed.
It appeared Alessandro understood that this little session was now at an end. He kept up a steady flow of questions aimed at Francesco.
Mark knew they were talking about him. As he was fastening his clothing he kept catching their eyes, that mischievous glint of Francesco's to that curious stare of Alessandro's. At one point Mark had enough. He stood tall and touched the hilt of his sword. “What are you talking about?”
They both stopped what they were doing to stare at him. Francesco moved across the room to caress Mark's sweaty face. “Nothing, my Catamito.”
Alessandro laughed when he heard the pet name. Under his breath he whispered something in Italian.
Mark bristled in anger. “Now I am the butt of your jokes? What are you saying to each other?”
“Shush ... bello mio, my beauty. Alessandro is simply curious as to why you are here. Of course I did not tell him the truth. I once again use your excuse of opera.”
Trying to trust in his lover, Mark settled down a little and ran his fingers back through his hair to take it out of his face. “Oh, as long as that is all.”
“Yes, of course. We do not mock you. We do the farthest from that. He is enamored by you.”
Wondering if that was possible, Mark turned to face Alessandro again as Mark finished up fastening his clothing. “I will never want to leave your country. I have found so many new things to entice me.” Mark dug his hands through Alessandro's long thick hair.
Francesco lowered his eyes submissively. “What is it you plan now, Mark? You have accomplished your task, yes? You have no need for me?”
Just realizing the effect of his affection of another on his lover, Mark felt the pain of his words. Francesco was trying to be generous with his feelings, but the emotions still came through his speech. Mark walked across the room to him and held his hands. “I need you. I love you. You are my best friend, Francesco. Forgive me. It is just that I am experiencing so many new things, I can hardly contain them. I am just being silly. You are anxious for Padua, aren't you?”
Even though he frowned, Francesco said, “Yes. I am ready to see my family.”
Mark twisted back to Alessandro's dark eyes. “I wish we could all be together, but this is only a dream to me.”
His long hair fluffing out seductively, Alessandro tilted his head curiously. Again Francesco translated. After he did, Alessandro walked to join their close embrace.
Mark was staring from one to the other. “What are you saying to each other?”
Keeping silent, Francesco lowered his eyes and twisted away.
Mark grabbed after him, shouting, “This language barrier is driving me insane. What was said to hurt you?”
Gathering up his strength, Francesco said, “If you wish to travel with Alessandro, I will burden you no more.”
“What?” Mark tried to figure out what he had said to make Francesco so upset. “No! Are you mad? It is you I need, Francesco. What would I do without you? No. I will travel to Padua with you, if that's what you want. Please, just tell me what you want.” Mark reached out to caress that rough jaw.
Francesco kept his eyes down.
Alessandro was making ready to leave. To Francesco, he said, “Ora devo andare.” Alessandro straightened his room a little and then he gestured for them to exit. They made their way out to the street level and into the night.
Alessandro tapped Mark at one point, preparing to take his leave from him. He held out his hand and instead of a handshake, Mark embraced him warmly, rocking him side to side. Mark became emotional at the parting though he could not explain why.
A little surprised at the show, Alessandro pat his back gently, then kissed his cheek whispering, “Arrivederci.” Alessandro waved goodbye and disappeared down the darkness of an alley.
Mark stared after him with tears threatening. When he spun around to Francesco, who seemed too far away from him, Mark reached for him, needing a reassuring touch.
When he received Francesco's hand, Mark gripped it and laid his head against Francesco's chest. “I am weak, love. I have no strength for a goodbye. Everything hurts me.”
Giving into his sorrow, Francesco wrapped his arms around him. “It is the youth in you. As you age you will lose this. And I will miss it.”
“Take me where you will. I have no purpose in life now.”
Nodding in comfort, Francesco held him around the waist and they searched for a carriage to take them to Padua.
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* * *
Chapter Fourteen
By morning the next day they arrived in Francesco's hometown. The carriage left them off at a café where they ducked in for some coffee and a meal. Seated comfortably, eating and drinking, they relaxed.
It seemed to Mark that Francesco was dreading this reunion. Whilst Mark was anxiously reaching out to find his own family, Francesco was doing the opposite. He was putting it off. Mark knew Francesco wanted to see them but he dreaded it as well. No doubt it had to do with his traveling companion. Alone he would be tolerated. With a pretty young Englishman, he would be rejected.
Mark kept one eye on the passing flow of pedestrians, the other on his silent companion. His worry grew. Mark reached out his hands and clasped those large dark ones in his. “Tell me. Why do you look so upset?”
Francesco turned aside, denying an answer.
Mark raised one of Francesco's fists to his lips to kiss in comfort.
At that moment, a strange man stopped at their table. Mark watched as Francesco recognized him and panicked. The man had spied Mark's kiss and the fury it unleashed amazed and horrified Mark.
In a language Mark could not grasp, the accusations flew. He felt completely helpless as the volume and violence increased until all three of them were standing.
* * * *
“How dare you show your face here?” Guido Cavella roared, “You bring nothing but shame to this family! You should have stayed hidden! What do you do now but flaunt your indiscretions in a public place where all who know our mother and father may see you. You disgust me! Get out of Padua! Get out of Veneto!”
“Do not tell me what to do!” Francesco growled, “This is my home! I will not be told when and if I could stay here. You just leave me and let me decide what is right for our mother and father.”
Through the tail of his eye Francesco noticed Mark cringed at the escalating fury. When Mark tried to calm them down Guido heard his English language and went ballistic.
“Another Englishman! Another? Like the one who destroyed you an
d this home wasn't enough? What is wrong with you that you hate the Italians so much that you choose one of them? You are a disgrace! How can you show yourself in public with this ... this ... enemy!”
Pulling back his arm, Francesco was about to hit Guido. His jaw was so tense it seemed to grow a layer of muscle. Impulsively, Mark grabbed Francesco's fist before he let the punch fly.
The more contact Mark made with Francesco, the more it infuriated his brother. Having enough, Guido shoved Mark back and away from the table.
At the unexpected force, Mark went stumbling over someone's chair.
It pushed Francesco over the edge and the two of them started a physical fight.
The patrons of the café stood and backed away as the men scrapped, moving out onto the street.
Mark tried to get in-between them to separate them. Guido kept hissing at him to get away from them, shouting and cursing him. “Non mi tocchi, Inglese!” Guido spat out, as Mark handled them both trying to stop them.
“Stop! Francesco! Please!” Mark begged, shoving at the large man with all his strength.
With a powerful push, Francesco freed himself of Guido's grip. They were both panting and sweating, glaring with hatred at each other.
Guido pointed an accusing finger at his brother. Uttering what seemed like a warning, he then stormed away.
Gaping in horror, Mark stared after him whilst Francesco's chest heaved to catch his breath.
With a last furious roar, Francesco shouted, “Vaffanculo! Fuck you!” Then, rubbing the dirt off his clothing, he grumbled under his breath, “Mio fratello! My brother! My so loving brother!” And he spat into the ground in disgust.
“Why did your brother react that way to you?”
Francesco ran his hand through his hair and stormed away. Mark hurried after him, looking over his shoulder in paranoia. “Why should he be angry at you?” Mark shouted out.
* * * *
It seemed a storm cloud was over Francesco now. He would not talk or slow down his pace.
When they arrived at a small home with a smooth plaster finish and a tiny courtyard, they stopped their rushing. Francesco stared at it for some time. Mark knew they were at his parents’ house. Where else?