Metanoia

by Young

  In 1938, this traditional institution inaugurated its Golden Room and made it Copacabana’s number one show venue in Latin America. The world’s biggest names flocked here to perform. Dionne Warwick, Josephine Baker, Ella Fitzgerald, Marlene Dietrich, Ray Charles, Edith Piaf, Lena Horn, Gilbert Bécaud, Nat King Cole, Sammy Davis Jr., Tony Bennett, and Ray Charles had made their appearances through its revolving doors and added glamor and éclat to its already vivid reputation.

  In 1949, the old Copacabana Theatre Casino transformed itself into a state-of-the-art, five hundred seat Copacabana Theatre. In a market heavily dominated by foreign acting companies and European playwrights, this new theatre became the venue for new and upcoming Brazilian productions.

  Since its inauguration, this sumptuous operation was and continues to be the stage of significant political, cultural and social events. In the process, it transformed Copacabana into one of the most famous districts in the world.

  In 1968, the year we arrive marked Señor Otavio Guinle’s demise. His widow, Dona Mariazinha took over the Hotel’s management. She was determined to continue her husband’s legacy by hosting the 1968 Miss Brazil World beauty pageant. One of the most flamboyant events ever held in Latin America.

  Tad Abdul Hafiz, a leading sports figure of his time was one of a handful of celebrity judges invited to partake in this internationally broadcasted occasion. The moment my Master set foot in Copacabana Palace, an army of journalists, reporters, and photographers descended on him. These obstreperous bunch muscled Curt, Andy and me to a corner as they fought to canvass with the athlete.

  It was Andy who spotted Count Mario Conti in deep conversation with an elegantly dressed couple at the hotel bar. When the photographer noticed our presence, he motioned for us to join him before he introduced the pair to us.

  Señor Roberto Pisani Marinho extended his hand to greet us before uttered amusingly, “Call me Roberto. Everyone calls me Roberto.”

  “This is the great Brazilian actress, Natalia,” the Count introduced the lady next to him.

  Señor Marinho continued, “We are discussing the positive and negative aspects of international beauty pageants. We’ll like to hear your opinions?”

  Neither Curt, Andy nor I had any knowledge of the inner workings of the beauty pageant industry, we kept silent.

  “Roberto, you are the head of Globo, South America’s largest commercial TV network, and a seasoned beauty pageant organizer; give us your insights to this multi-million-dollar industry,” Mario announced.

  The media mogul gave a hearty laugh.

  “Mario, my friend, you know more about the beauty and fashion industry than any of us. Why don’t you enlighten us?” Roberto remarked.

  The business tycoon paused before he added, “I will tell you that one positive aspect of beauty pageants is that the participants can definitely become good public speakers and be excellent performers in front of large crowds. When a girl keeps her cool in front of a huge group, she can express herself freely. These are valuable training for contestants who want a career in music, broadcasting, or jobs that require her to speak with confidence. I’ve seen their comfort level rise with their pageant experience.”

  The actress chimed, “But one of the downsides of beauty pageants are the participants can turn shallow and be hung up on the beauty aspect. It is great to win a beauty pageant, but it can also make her obsessed with her looks. Thereby making her conceited.

  “The positive aspects of the competition are shoved aside when the public shower winners with so much attention. They can easily become overconfident. In my opinion, contestants should use this once in a lifetime experience to build their positive qualities.”

  Conti injected, “Natalia, you are talking like a seasoned thespian. I’m sure the level of fitness and discipline it takes to participate in beauty pageants will help a contestant get her body in ship-shape. Pageants are grueling work. This experience will provide a lass the opportunity to take her fitness level to peak condition, and to gain knowledge and patience which will serve her well.”

  “Not to mention the grand prizes, scholarships, and travel opportunities for the winners. To see the world, do charity work, and make tangible benefits internationally. Often, the cash prizes assist the victors in funding their passions,” Roberto commented merrily.

  “That is indeed true for the winner. But the losers go away with a loss of confidence and a negative outlook on the experience. Those who are determined to win and come away empty-handed, often feel depressed and desolate. If they don’t have a strong support network, the defeat can affect them in an unhealthy and counterproductive way. The positives gained from participation are often lost in self-pity,” Natalia expressed.

  For the first time, Eberhardt remarked since we joined the group. “I have nothing against beauty pageants, but I am concerned for children’s participation. Like their adult counterpart, they experience the negative results that come with losing. In my perspective, children are not mature enough to handle jeopardies. They are more likely to take a defeat hard, and a loss of self-confidence. In my opinion, to have them focus on their looks and be judged by it can be harmful. If they are to enter beauty pageants; their parents and mentors should educate them on the pros and cons of winning and losing.”

  Roberto exclaimed assuringly, “Well said. I couldn’t agree with you more. Perhaps, I should start the first male beauty pageant in Rio.”

  He glanced at my teacher, Valet and me as if we were likely candidates.

  The tycoon recommenced, “The beauty pageant experience helps a candidate towards her goals. The challenge, confidence, and self-esteem she gains remain when she requires it in the future. Contests that require contestants to demonstrate a talent usually encourage unfocused individuals to take an honest approach to themselves and to realize that looks and talent do go together. Atop that, to answer tough questions on the spot can improve a contestant’s ability to think quickly and accurately.”

  The actress expressed, “Beauty pageants are expensive. Travels to and from cities are not cheap. The gowns often cost an arm and a leg, especially for penurious participants. Not to mention the physical strain to obtain the ‘perfect’ body which can lead to an eating disorder and excessive cosmetic surgeries. It’s not easy to stay focus on her goal and to care for herself simultaneously. I applaud those contestants who can avoid the pressure and enjoy the stressful experience.”

  The Count finalized, “Natalia, there is no easy solution for pageant contestants when their fate is in the hands of the judges. The best result she can expect is to apply the positive factors to herself. Beauty is a pleasant quality to possess and to win a pageant is a bonus. At the end of the day, beauty pageants are forums to help contestants increase their important characteristics.”

  By the time Tad made his appearance at our side, the paparazzi had dispersed. Our conversation had veered to other matters, such as a night out to paint the town red which was the photographer and the athlete’s favorite pastime.

  The Milliner (Chapter Fifty-Two)

  “Romance is the glamour which turns the dust of everyday life into a golden haze.”

  Carolyn Gold Heilbrun

  Mid-December 1968

  Élan Coleridge Studio, Kensington, London

  Our drink at a nearby pub led us to Élan’s millinery studio. Although Coleridge was married and lived with his wife in the country, he had rented a studio in the heart of Kensington to produce his one-of-a-kind hats. I couldn’t help but marvel at the man’s creative genius where hats in every color, shape, and delineation filled his workroom.

  As much as he liked me, Élan was more interested in my Valet whom he doted with pensive adulation. My Valet, not one for the limelight, offered me to the professor as if I was a sanctified lamb for his taking. Although I was reverential of the handsome professor and desired to know everything about hat making; I was hesitant when my lover confabulated me as an amatory gift to the man. When we were introduced, An
dy was the one who had eyes for the milliner, even though the sexual attraction between us were mutual. Yet, diffidence had shadowed my chaperone. It was an attribute I had not seen in Andy until then. I had no clue that within his self-assured composure existed timorousness.

  As much as I fancied Élan, I was more intrigued by his hat making skills than his strive to bed us. Unlike my Valet and I, who were able allurers, the milliner’s come-hither dictums appeared contrived. There were moments when Andy and I suppressed our sniggers at his attempts to bare ourselves for his pleasure. Instead, I took the reins to have some educational amusement before I reeled him in, to regain his candidness for our tryst.

  “How did you become a hat maker?” I inquired curiously.

  “My mother was a lover of hats. I was awed by their magical qualities to transform a woman’s look and emotions when she dons a hat for the different occasion,” the man responded with a glint in his eyes.

  “Does that apply to men?” I quipped.

  He glanced at us before he replied, “Of course it does, especially on a well-groomed male, like the ones before me.”

  My self-conscious chaperone replied, “Young is the fashionista, I’m only his tag along.”

  “Ahh! But you are equally primed like this aspiring fashion designer,” the milliner looked at us enticingly before he resumed, “When I was growing up, I was very awkward. My classmates would make fun of my height, build, and a hooked nose. They nicknamed me Eagle’s Beak. One day, when I was harassed, a good-looking sergeant in uniform came to my aid. From that moment forward, I became obsessed with men in liveries; especially servicemen in full regalia.”

  “So, you have a fetish for uniform personnel?” I sallied.

  My comment hit the man’s core. He announced inexcusably, “Yes, I do have a weakness for good-looking men in uniforms, especially soldiers and sailors.”

  I wisecracked, “I presume you’ll like to see us in military and marine getups with matching headgears?”

  The man gave us a devious look and proceeded to rummage through a closet. He extracted an infantry uniform and a sailor’s outfit before he handed them to us.

  Little did I know that I had stuck my foot in my mouth. My guardian stared at me bafflingly. I was equally perplexed by this sudden turn of events. He handed Andy the naval ensemble and passed me the soldier garb.

  “Will you put these on? I want to see you in them,” he entreated.

  My lover and I did as was told. Andy motioned to me to discard my brief like him. Élan’s pupils dilated when he adjusted the sailor cap on Andy’s head and the beret on mine. His expression was that of hallowed adoration. He could not keep his eyes off us when he proceeded to tantalize our protruding loins.

  Like Coleridge, my chaperone was similarly emboldened by the image of me in an army outfit. As if my Valet had just encountered a sexy trooper, he French kissed me passionately. Élan’s lips soon merge with ours in a three-way lock as our luring tongues swirled like intertwined serpents in heated passion. My lover in uniform transformed my ardor for him multifariously. In marine regalia, his rugged handsomeness amplified trifold as his tilted Dixie Cup fell seductively over the edge of his eye. This unanticipated illusion stimulated the hat maker and me to attention below the waist. Within our pants, our eager palpitations drummed incessantly as we stroked each other while in lock lips stance.

  As if by divine postulation, our nimble fingers reached to unzip the other’s pants before they inched their way towards each other’s masculinity. This rousing foreplay had unhinged Élan’s awkwardness. In its place rose a sturdy specimen that could gratify any hot-blooded male; be they bi, gay, or straight.

  While Coleridge buried his bearded face between my lover’s bubbly derriere, I gravitated towards their massiveness. Andy swooned as he thrust himself towards the swaddling provocation while their prodigious double entendres filled my mouth to the brim. I was in seventh heaven and craved for more.

  Before I knew it, the professor had laid us on his daybed. He wasted no time to drive his bodacious tongue into Andy’s crevice, while I swathed Élan’s bootylicious rump and sucked his towering protuberance in readiness for him to penetrate my lover’s inviting hollow.

  This was one of those rare occurrences where Andy permitted his masculinity to be possessed by another dominant male. The milliner’s mannish chest of fur ran down his navel and beyond. Like my lover, I welcomed this sturdy specimen into my sacred sanctuary without vacillation. Since my beloved was usually the dominant participant in our naughty assignations, Andy’s acquiescent contentment was a rare but congenial treat to witness.

  I savored the rapturous sight and sounds that emanated from the duo as I laid beneath the men to impel them to euphoria ecstasies. In the opposite direction, my lover’s mouth galvanized me to emphatic exuberance as he swiveled his oral fissure between my twitching cavern and quivering bulbousness.

  Suddenly, the masterful Élan flipped me onto my back and plowed into my willing crevice. My squeals of delight aided the man’s blissful exhilaration and propelled him towards the point of no return. He pulled himself away only to jab himself into my lover’s anal orifice. Coleridge could no longer contain himself. His sacredness poured into Andy’s inner sanctum before he hefted back on me to deliver his velvety residuum into my convulsing void.

  Andy could no longer withhold his enthusiasm. He furrowed inside my shuddering hollow and spilled his molten lava deep into my already overflowing haven. Both men slumped on me from buoyant depletion. Their leaking residues threw me over the edge. I exploded onto their hairy torsos before they lapped at my creamy outpour to shared my remains in an ecstatic three-way kiss. Although spent but rejuvenated we cuddled in tender affection and vowed we would do this again soon.

  While Élan pledged to show us a secret fraternity where devotees of uniformed men met for prurient activities; my chaperone and I also swore that we would never utter a word of our tryst to anyone. The hat maker did keep his promise, and so did my Valet and me. The talented milliner is now dead and buried, and I am sanctioned by Andy to reveal this mysterious rendezvous within the pages of A Harem Boy’s Saga – V – Metanoia; a memoir by Young.

  Mid-December 2014

  A Private Message from Andy to Me

  Hi Loverboy,

  Sorry for my late response. This past week was a roller coaster. During one of my rowing practices for an upcoming race, I was carted off to the hospital. The doctor diagnosed my recurring bladder pain as pyelonephritis. Although there is no cause for alarm, as it can be treated with antibiotics; I am grounded in the race which I wanted to participate. I’m stranded without much to do, except rest and to heal.

  Hence, I have plenty of time to catch up with my correspondence. Young, you are too kind to paint me in such a holy light. I cannot get the credit you’d portrayed me in your memoirs. I am merely an ordinary guy who did his best to be a proficient Big-Brother/Valet to those under my supervision. And be a rectified lover to you simultaneously. I care about your wellbeing and continue to cherish our subliminal time together.

  Now that I am older and wiser, I’m glad I did not drag you to New Zealand. You would not be a happy camper without your Fashion aspirations to govern your divine motivation to be an accomplished designer. Neither would I be satisfied to remain in London when I desperately needed to escape my homophobic father.

  As much as I missed your presence during those problematic university days, I also understood that we had different paths to follow. I was overjoyed when I learned that you were accepted into Harrow College of Art and Technology and to the London Royal College of Art. I knew Uncle James had pathed the way for your apparent acceptance to both institutions. Your precursory introduction to Ms. Gay Yates (fashion lecturer at Harrow College of Art and Technology) and Élan Coleridge (fashion professor at RCA and celebrated milliner) were indications that James had planned these meetings circumspectly for your acceptance into both prestigious institutions.

  Your uncl
e was a good man and an excellent mentor to us. His sound advice for you to remain in London and Paris was of sound judgment. Although at the time I resented him for keeping you in the United Kingdom.

  You must be wondering why I am making a point of telling you all of the above. Maybe, I am a reminiscing fool or someone who is looking for a riposte to see you again before my days are up. Either way, I will always be your boosterish fan. When push comes to shove, I would like to see you face-to-face instead of our current long-distance communications. I don’t mean to be assertive, but I would love to see you again when you are ready for us to meet. After all, it has been forty-five years since we parted ways. Do consider my proposition. ?? I look forward to your thoughts.

  Love,

  Andy

  XOXOXO

  Terma Centaurs (Chapter Fifty-Three)

  “To the moralist, prostitution does not consist so much in the fact that the woman sells her body, but rather that she sells it out of wedlock.”

  Emma Goldman

  Second Week of October 1968

  Centaurs (Terma), Copacabana, Rio de Janeiro, Brazil

  Full of beautiful women and XXX behaviors; Rio de Janeiro’s Centaurs had enticed celebrities, sports stars and to anyone willing to pay a fee to experience this scandalous Terma. Our entourage arrived at this establishment with much fanfare and kissy-faced welcomes under the auspice of Señor Roberto Pisani Marinho, a regular at this sin palace.

  In Brazil, a terma is a bathhouse that consists of spa facilities, health and fitness amenities, massage services, a bar and by no lesser means; brothel ministrations. A nightclub was cleverly installed within Centaurs to facilitate customers for easy access to potential playmates. Although prostitution is legal in the República Federativa do Brasil, and there are no laws forbidding adults from being professional sex workers; it is illegal to operate a bordello or to employ sex workers. To enjoy an erotic night out without any government officials breathing down their necks, nightclubs and termas became stomping grounds for locals and tourists alike. These establishments have never been raided until the 21st Century after Brazil claimed victory in the 2002 World Cup; when one of the soccer gods, well known for his sexual appetite, chartered Rio’s most popular terma for a private party. Orgiastic video images of the player and his copulating partners were glaringly displayed all over the establishment. This stirred the authorities to perform a spurious cleanup of what has always been one the country’s implicit attractions.