My Father the Czar
                             Copyright 1998
                   Library of Congress number: 98-96138
                          by AUTHOR22@aol.com
                          All rights reserved

Chapter Nineteen

                              + + + + +
                            Yalta, Russia
                          22 December, 1916
                              by Alex-T
                              + + + + +

Today started out like most days since we arrived at the Livadia
Palace. It seems like we have stepped back in time and are totally
isolated from the outside world.

The only communications we now receive are the daily telegrams between
Mama and Papa. It is as though the rest of the world has ceased to
exist.

Something odd happened yesterday. I had asked Mama to arrange a trip
to the Odessa army base, but the captain in charge of our security
said that he didn't have enough men to protect us. Then, stranger than
that, we have heard nothing of the progress of the war... even from
Papa who is commanding troops at the front line.  Mama's edict barring
newspapers from the premises has apparently had the desired effect.

The soldiers have not been unfriendly, but neither have they been
cordial. They are quartered in tents at the rear of the estate.
Something else that has changed is that there are more security people
at the doors than there are at the gate. It's almost as though we are
under house arrest.

Catherine/Alex-P and I have been talking about this isolation and we
have a plan. Tomorrow, first thing in the morning, he and I are going
outside to play hide and seek. He also suggested we try and get
Anastasia to join us. Mainly we will be trying to learn more about
what's going on... why everything seems so different.

In the meantime Catherine and I are still going our separate ways.
Even though I have yet to receive my movie camera, I am continuing to
work on the script. If it weren't so sexy I would write to Yars. But
if Mama saw the letter she'd scuttle the whole project and refuse to
allow me ever to return to Gdov.

My notes use symbols that mean little or nothing to anyone else. I use
an inverted "Y" for boys, and an inverted "U" for girls. Putting the
characters on their sides stands for "doing it".

Last week I asked Mama to ask Papa if he had written to the Swiss
camera company. Yesterday I asked her if she had heard anything, but
she shook her head "no", and told me to be patient; Papa had more
pressing matters on his mind than my camera.

The past month has been very difficult for me. Most of my time in Gdov
had been spent working on the movie. Looking back it seems to me that
every waking hour had been spent doing something with our cocks. Now
there is nothing... except, of course, my right hand.

Catherine/Alex-P has avoided all opportunities to "get together". She
even keeps her bedroom door locked. I'm so horny I would fuck a snake.

                              + + + + +
                          23 December, 1916
                         by Catherine/Alex-P
                              + + + + +

What a beautiful day Friday the 23rd was. I was the first one up. I
went to the solarium so that I might enjoy the sunshine. The view
toward the Black Sea was magnificent. The water was cobalt blue; its
movements gentle. However, I suspected that the brightness of the day
was misleading. Even in Yalta December is a nippy month.

I expected Alex-T to appear soon since he wanted to start his game of
hide and seek as early as possible, but he first needed to get
Anastasia out of bed. That meant breakfast before playtime. I probably
had another hour.

One thing that he was absolutely correct about was this matter of
security. Something had changed, but I couldn't put my finger on just
what. I overheard one of the guards say something about how much he
missed his girl friend in Odessa; it seems that our security
detachment is from the Odessa army base. I thought about asking one of
the guards to hand deliver a message to Sergy, inviting him to join us
for a few days.

When Alex-T did arrive he was munching on a piece of toast. "You'd
better hurry up. Tatiana and Maria have just about eaten everything in
sight."

I grumbled about not being called and Alex told me that we were short
of kitchen staff. "Mama said that we would be attending church in town
on Christmas."

"Doesn't seem like Christmas here. The Ural Mountains are beautiful
this time of year."

We talked as we walked toward the dining room. We were both anxious to
go outside to begin our investigation. "Let's see just how much we can
learn from observing. Uncle Gregori would be proud of us."

I grabbed an apple and a roll from the table just as Anastasia bounced
into the room. "You two ready to play? Catherine and I get to hide
first."

We ran down the hallway and out of the front door where two guards
were posted. They both looked as though they were going to stop us,
but we were out before they could react.

Anastasia pointed toward the window of the Solarium and said: "Right
there under the window... Let's make that home."

She grabbed my hand and we ran to the right around the side of the
building as Alex-T leaned against the wall, eyes covered, and began to
count.

As soon as we had reached the corner she whispered. "He will think we
are on the East side of the house. Let's sneak past him to the West
side."

We ran very quietly back past Alex, around the left side of the
building toward the army tents. I forked to the right while she went
to the left.

I could hear Alex as his count neared one hundred. "Here I come. Ready
or not."

The smell of cooking food reached my nostrils. I was hiding behind the
mess tent.

I heard two men talking from within the tent, "You'd better take the
garbage out to the road. The Sergeant will eat your ass if he sees you
haven't done it yet."

The other voice responded, "Ebatsya (Fuck!), he can kiss my POPA
(Ass)!"

"Oh Yeah? He's more likely to want to Ebatsya it than kiss it."

I looked around hoping Anastasia could not hear the dialog. Everything
was quiet until I heard a garbage can being lifted.

"Make it quick, we have a bag of potatoes to peel before lunch."

I had a full view of the mess tent door. The figure that emerged was a
small man, really little more than a boy; yet, his walk was that of a
soldier. He saw me out of the corner of his eye, looked surprised, but
kept going.

It had been almost two years since I had last seen him, and my first
reaction had been to shout, "Isad." But he knew me as the Tsarevich,
not as "Catherine". He hadn't changed as much as I had. He still
looked more like a goat herder than a soldier.

"I Spy!" was the announcement that told me that Alex-T had found
Anastasia. I headed in their direction and saw Isad stop and turn
toward us. He smiled and waved his hand.

"Wave back," I whispered to Alex-T. "That's Isad."

Anastasia looked a little confused wondering why her brother was
waving at a soldier carrying out the garbage.

Alex turned toward me and asked: "So what do we do now?"

Not following the conversation, Anastasia said: "Alex don't be so
dumb, I'm it. It's your turn to hide."

We continued to play hide and seek as Isad went about his tasks. At
first I had thought that he might try to spend time talking with us. I
wanted to avoid that until I could swap places with Alex-T and he
could become Catherine.

Alex-T was the first to tire of our game. We had not discovered
anything that might give us a clue. However, I thought that Isad might
know something that we did not.

One of the servants came outside and informed us that Luncheon was
being served. On the way in I told Alex-T that I wanted to change
places with him and become the Tsarevich. We would then seek out Isad.

The meal was a simple one; pork sandwiches and fruit. Afterward,
Anastasia disappeared while Alex-T and I went to his room. We
exchanged clothing and he put on the wig. After adjusting our
appearances, we went outside to find Isad. He was nowhere to be seen.
I thought I heard his voice coming from within the mess tent, so we
sat on the back steps and talked. Alex-T/Catherine insisted on
discussing his movie. I thought it had become an obsession and told
him so.

We moved on to what was happening on the front lines... or at least
what had happened before we left St. Petersburg. That conversation
also petered out since Alex was bored with the subject and I had
nothing new to add.

It had grown dark before we again saw Isad. Alex-T was becoming
restless and kept fidgeting with the wig and we were hard pressed to
find something in common to discuss and had just about given up when
we heard someone saying "Pssst. Psst, my Tsarevich. It is me, Isad."

We looked around trying to locate the source of the voice. Finally we
saw a shadow move, hidden by the stoop, and I asked: "Why are you
hiding?"

"My sergeant would send me back to Odessa if I were seen talking with
you."

I was on the verge of saying that I'd have the sergeant's ass if he
did such a thing when Isad continued. "We are on alert and have been
told not to have any contact with the Imperial family or the domestic
staff. It's been that way ever since the murder."

"Murder? What murder?" I asked.

"Rasputin's. Haven't you heard?"

I heard what he said, but it didn't register. It took me an eternity
to really understand what he had said, then I asked: "Are you certain?
You don't mean Gregori Rasputin do you?"

"Yes, it happened almost 10 days ago. He was killed by an aristocrat,
Prince Yusupov".

I was stunned and at a total loss for words.

Isad continued: "I thought you knew. There is a rumor that they also
murdered his daughter Maria and are now looking for his niece."

A chill coursed down my spine. Words suddenly tumbled from my lips:
"You mean they want to kill Catherine? My God! Why?"

"Everyone says that it is because the Bolsheviks intend to root out
all connections between the Czar and Rasputin."

"Isad. You know that Catherine is here at the palace, do you not?"

"It is not common knowledge, but I suspected she might be. Is she the
pretty girl that you were playing hide and seek with?"

"Yes. Can't you see? She is sitting right here beside me."

Again there was a silence that seemed to span years, then he continued
as though he was unaware of her presence: "Warn her to be careful. I
hear there is a one-thousand ruble price on her head. If I were she I
would get as far away from here as I could. I must go. My sergeant
will be looking for me."

The boy must have kept close to the wall as we did not see him leave
us, but he was suddenly gone.

Alex-T in a state of excitement said, "We must report this to mother."

I confessed: "Aleksey, I'm frightened. Why haven't we heard about
this? Am I really in danger?"

The Czarina met the news of Rasputin's death with absolute disbelief.
Her first response was to order the officer in charge of security to
appear before her. The reply she received was an apology, the officer
was in Odessa and wouldn't be back until tomorrow morning. She then
tried to use the telephone, but the instrument wasn't working.

She called a meeting of the domestic staff and asked if anyone knew
anything about Rasputin's death. The news appeared to be a surprise to
everyone. In the wake of this disclosure, rank disappeared and
everyone entered into a general, one-on-one, conversation. Slowly we
all came to realize that we were not free to come and go; we had
become captives in the palace.

That night I was greatly troubled; I truly felt as though my life was
in danger and my presence could imperil the Romanovs. With uncle
Gregori gone, the concept of my ever taking the Tsarevich's place
seemed ludicrous. As the night wore on and the many anti-Rasputin
stories came back to mind, I realized that my life might well be at
risk. Before the sun had risen I had decided that I must leave the
protection of the Imperial family.

The house was still quiet when I tapped on Alex-T's bedroom door. I
must have looked frightful because he put his arm around me, holding
me, and guided me to a chair. We talked for quite sometime and he
agreed that it would be best if I left. The immediate question was:
how would I make my escape? It was doubtful that I could get past the
gate guards. Eventually we realized we had only one source of help:
Isad.

We sat in the Solarium watching the day progress. Isad, it seemed, was
the designated garbage collector. Immediately after breakfast we saw
him carrying containers from the mess tent, past the front gate
guards, only to return a few minutes later. I presumed that the same
routine would be carried out after lunch and stationed myself on the
front porch until I saw him heading toward the gate. I made it a point
to pass him as he returned. It was as though my destination had been
the gate security. I whispered, "I must speak with you as soon as you
can arrange it. We will be on the back steps like last night."

When I reached the guard I asked, "Has your commanding officer
returned from Odessa?"

The man grunted a "no", and ignored my presence. I shouted, "Soldier,
do you know to whom you are talking?" He continued to ignore me.

Alex-T as Catherine and I sat on the back steps all that afternoon.
The sun had set, and the deep shadows had returned before we heard
"Pssst. Psst, my Tsarevich, it is me Isad. I am sorry I could not meet
with you earlier but it was too risky."

"Isad, Catherine is going to take your advice and leave here, but she
doesn't know how she can do it. The guards would not allow her to
pass."

The voice from the shadows replied, "I suspected that was what you
wanted to talk to me about and I've been thinking about it. If she cut
her hair, and dressed in my uniform she might be able to carry out the
garbage after dinner tomorrow night. We aren't supposed to drink on
duty, but tomorrow is Christmas so everyone will be free with his
Vodka. Being a Muslim I think I'm the only one in camp who does not
drink."

Alex-T and I went inside and, as arranged, just before retiring for
the night, we visited the shadows and picked up a bundle containing
Isad's uniform.

That night Alex-T came to my bedroom and we made plans. If I got out
of the palace grounds I would head north. I would need to hike or beg
rides from passing farmers until I was well out of the area. Almost
immediately upon my departure from the house, Alex-T, dressed as
Catherine, would sit in the window of the Solarium where she could be
seen reading. Then on the morning of the 26th Alex-T as the Tsarevich
would explain to his mother that Catherine had asked to sleep in.

Hopefully he could delay discovery of my disappearance for at least a
day. We suspected the Czarina would be confronting the officer in
charge of our security and that would keep her distracted for
sometime.

                              + + + + +

Christmas day was not a joyful one. We did not go into the village for
services, nor did the promised priest come to the palace. The excuse
was that there was no transportation available.

The Czarina, who was angry at first, had begun to understand the
seriousness of this situation. She re-read the daily telegrams from
her husband and concluded that either the messages had been tampered
with, or possibly even authored by someone else.

Anger and fear were now superimposed over her feelings of sorrow which
had resulted from her discovery of the murder of her friend and
counselor.

The day passed slowly as each of us wondered what might happen next.
Holding the Imperial family captive was an overt act so outrageous
that, a month ago it would have been considered inconceivable.

She called a meeting in the Solarium between the members of the
family, and I was included. She expressed her concerns, but tried to
hide her fear. In conclusion she said that we all must stay together.
Under no circumstances were any of us to leave the palace and we
should always be in sight of one another. No singles, only pairs.

She then asked the domestic staff to join us. She again outlined her
fears and concerns, asking that everyone immediately report any thing
that appeared odd or out of place.

Despite these concerns, Alex-T as Catherine and I sat on the back
steps shortly after breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

It wasn't until after dinner that we again heard the "Psst. Psst, it's
me Isad."

He told us that there was a garbage can behind the mess tent. Under
the garbage was a knapsack containing food and other items he felt I
might need. I was to wait until he had first carried out one can and
returned, then I was to carry out the other can.

As soon as Isad had left, Alex-T went into the palace and I slipped
down into the shadows and changed into Isad's old uniform. I moved
toward the rear wall, crouched low like an animal, and slowly crawled
along on my stomach until I reached the rear row of tents. I found a
spot where I could see the front gate, and lay there watching for
Isad.

Dinner must have been late because it seemed like an eternity had
passed. The sounds coming from the mess tent were those of soldiers
getting drunk.

For a moment I thought I had been discovered as a soldier came out of
the tent to urinate. He was so close to me that I could see the
details of his uncircumcised penis. The puddle of piss started out
small, but grew and grew; I would soon be lying in it if he didn't
stop. When he did stop, he shook off the last drops, paused, then
continued to shake it some more. In response it inflated until the
foreskin slipped back over the head. Then, to my surprise, his hand
began moving up and down the shaft.

I lay there, quietly, concerned about discovery. Fortunately the
soldier's eyes closed as he fantasized. Within moments the organ
expanded to a huge size, then propelled the man's seed into the
blackness of the night. His body sagged. After he had recovered and
tucked his equipment back into his trousers, he turned and re-entered
the tent.

Despite my fear, my own petooshock had swollen in sympathy. My own
hand had followed the same path; but now was not the time to pursue
such pleasure. I exercised my willpower, withdrew my hand and again
watched for Isad.

Surprisingly, I saw Isad returning from the front gate. The soldier's
activity had so distracted me that I had missed Isad's outward trek.

Quickly, I went to the hidden garbage can, lifted it to my shoulder
and made for the front gate.

The sentry had a bottle at his lips as I passed. His only response
was, "Garbage Boy. How many more?"

I raised my hand and waved, then disappeared into the darkness.

I turned for one last look at the palace and saw Alex-T, dressed as
Catherine, sitting at the window of the Solarium reading a book.

The possibility of discovery caused my heart to pound as I came to a
small fenced-in area containing the refuse containers. Carefully I
emptied my can until I found the nap sack.

After donning the bag I continued to walk cautiously along the road;
prepared to disappear into any clump of bushes or shrubbery should
anyone come my way.

The cold night air sent shivers through me, but I forced myself to
continue walking as fast as I could. Eventually I came upon a clump of
trees about 150 feet to the left of the road. Using the trees for
concealment, I emptied the nap sack to see what Isad had provided.

At the bottom of the sack was the fur cap I had first seen Isad
wearing at the Turkish border and a warm fur coat. I shook out the
coat and recognized it as one belonging to Alex-T. I couldn't help but
wonder how Isad had laid hands on that coat. Also, there was a small
packet of papers, which I could not read in the darkness. I slipped
them into an inside pocket of the coat. Then slung the knapsack over
my shoulder and continued down the road.

My fourteenth birthday had passed but, at that moment, I felt like a
lost child. At the same time my instincts were those born of survival.
As I walked along that lonely road toward the village, I wondered
where I could go and how I would survive.

Returning to my home village in the Urals was out of the question. I
would look as out of place as if I was the Tsarevich trying to hide
among rural peasants.

I thought about seeking refuge in Gdov at Camp Sunshine, but it was
Alex-T, not me, who had friends there.

I looked too much like the Tsarevich to hide anywhere within western
Russia.

The bottom line was that at fourteen I had no one I could turn to for
protection. There was a price on my head. Radical political elements
wanted me dead. No one would believe the true story of how and why I
had become part of the Imperial family; and, if they did, would not
those same political radicals consider me an even greater danger to
their goals?

A lesson that I had learned from Uncle Gregori was that the future was
unpredictable. One should say little, listen a lot, and think even
more. In that manner one might maintain control over one's actions.
One could then, to some degree, be more capable of choosing the best
course of action.

A sign at a fork in the road pointed north toward Simferopol and west
toward Belovezhe. I took the right hand route. If the sign was
correct, then Simferopol would be tomorrow's destination.

As the sun lifted above the horizon I could see side roads and open
fields. I paused beside a small stream, sat on a crumbling log, and
investigated the sheaf of papers Isad had put inside of the nap sack.
They were copies of his identity papers. According to these, the
bearer was an army associate soldier. Very little detail was given. At
the bottom of the official form was a seal and a signature, neither of
which was legible.

I had walked for another four hours before I encountered anyone. Just
ahead of me was a small group of men walking in the same direction I
was.

As I overtook them I could see that their progress was slow, then I
could see why. Some of them were on crutches and others were limping.
All of them wore the remnants of what at one time had been army
uniforms. These men had been the cannon fodder of the Imperial army. I
slowed, not wanting to catch up with them, not wanting them to wonder
why this healthy young soldier was joining their journey northward.

I tried to cough, but it didn't sound real enough, so I tried again.
As I caught up with them my hacking sounded believable and my story
would be that I was a victim of a German gas attack.

They were silent as I joined their group. Eventually the youngest
soldier asked: "Where are you headed?"

I replied, "Simferopol. You?"

He shook his head as though he was uncertain, then said: "I think the
army post at Novoalekseyevka. They have doctors there."

"Where is Novoalekseyevka?" I asked.

One of the other men answered, "About three days to the north. You
from Simferopol?"

I shook my head, "No. My home is in the Urals."

"That's a long way. You'd better see a doctor about that cough. Gas?"

I told him "Yes".

"You should come with us to Novoalekseyevka."

I was feeling less vulnerable hidden amongst this group of war
veterans. For the moment I did not need to commit myself.

An old woman returning from market in Belovezhe, driving a large
wagon, gave us a ride. She offered the use of her barn for the night.
We gratefully accepted.

That night we huddled together under several blankets, sharing each
other's warmth and stench. I fell asleep with the young soldier
wrapped around my back.

That night was one full of apprehension. For the first time I had too
much to think about. I had been living under the protection of the
Romanovs for three years and, before that, within the bosom of my
family. Now, for the first time, I was truly on my own.

It is true that the soldier wrapped around me was my age, but he was
returning to his home while I had no real destination. As I lay there
with my eyes closed, a vision of uncle Gregori became as bright as
though it were day. He stood over me with eyes of lightning. "Boy!" He
spoke softly but with great authority, "Boy! You have more than all of
these. The legacy which I provided is the only true security any of us
have. Security comes from within us. You know how to learn from people
by watching what they do, not by listening to their untruthful words.
You have learned to think for yourself, not blindly follow the agenda
of others."

My eyes sprang open, seeking the source of my solace, but the vision
disappeared as fast as it had formed.

My sleeping partner had let his hand drift downward until it was
cupping my genitals as though they were his own. I gently moved his
hand upward, placing it over my naval, but as soon as I released it,
it again drifted downward so I just left it there and re-entered the
land of slumber.

When I woke the next morning I was alone. The others were already
preparing to continue their journey. The old woman who had given us
her hospitality invited us to share her breakfast table.

The boy who had slept with me avoided my eyes; but, when finally our
glance did engage, his face turned red and he looked down at his
plate.

No one offered us a ride that day. Our progress was very slow and my
bedmate trailed at the rear of our little parade. Nevertheless I felt
safe within this transient community.

The sun had been below the horizon for several hours by the time we
reached the southern outskirts of the village of Simferopol. A sign
boasted that the hamlet had been founded in 1784.

A few dogs barked in alarm as we proceeded down the town's main
street. The shops were closed and unlit. A quarter moon finally
struggled free of the skyline, and provided an eerie light, which
emphasized the loneliness of the deserted street. Soon we had left the
town behind us. We had hoped to find a park or other clearing suitable
to camp for the night. Now, just ahead of us was the town's cemetery.
My comrades had seen too much of the dead and dying to be put off by a
graveyard. They laid down their bedrolls atop old graves. I had no
bedroll so I laid down in my fur coat, pillowed my head on my right
arm and looked into the sky. I could see a constellation that I had
first seen when I was a child sleeping with my goats. The thought that
my brothers might be looking at that same constellation made me feel
strangely alone. A shiver ran down my spine.

I looked around. The others were already asleep, except for one. My
bedmate of the previous night was looking at me. I smiled. He smiled
back. Whatever had been bothering him must have disappeared. He made a
motion, suggesting that he move next to me. I hunched my shoulders in
a sign that said, "Do as you please. You are welcome."

Moments later he was along side of me. "Don't you have a bedroll?"

I shook my head "no", then added, "My coat is comfortable."

"You may share mine if you wish."

I moved closer to him. He put his arm over my chest and said, "My name
is Nikita, what is yours?"

I almost said Alex, but caught myself in time. "Isad."

"Isad. I like that name. It suits you. Where did you fight?"

I stole the story of the young soldier who I had met in Gizycko.

Nikita was asleep before I finished my tale.

In the middle of the night I awoke. The boy was again cuddled up to my
backside, his hand cupping my genitals. I slowly rolled away from his
embrace, got up and relieved myself against a near by tree.

We were more fortunate the next day. We had been on the road for less
than an hour when a gypsy caravan overtook us. They had passed, then
slowed, and finally come to a halt. The leader jumped down from his
wagon and asked where we were going. The others told him, "To the army
hospital in Novoalekseyevka."

The gypsies offered to let us ride with them, explaining that the army
patrols wouldn't bother them if they were transporting disabled
soldiers.

The gypsy caravan reminded me of my Katrina and the trip from my home
village to Perm. Three years had passed since that lovely night. In
some way it seemed like it was just yesterday, in other ways it was as
though an eternity had passed. The memory of my first mounting on that
hillock in Perm burned through my loins. Even the memory of the gypsy
boy who had taken me into his mouth came back with such intensity that
I got a Vstavat (hard-on).

That Gypsy Boy --- with eyes the color of dark brown coffee, the boy
of the crooked hair and crooked teeth, the boy whose name I can not
remember --- was a boy who was not my friend yet he had been the first
to place my petooshock in his mouth.

I looked at Nikita sitting beside me and wondered. Is that what had
been bothering him? Had he wanted to become my Gypsy Boy? ---his eyes
are the color of dark brown coffee, his hair is ragged, and so are his
teeth.

The gypsies were a free spirited lot frequently bursting into song.
They good-naturedly poked fun at our silence; soon we were all singing
together.

It was close to four o'clock when we passed through the tiny village
of Dzhankoy. We found a camping spot within walking distance. It was
interesting to note that these gypsies did exactly as had my Katrina's
troop, enticing the villagers to visit our camp.

Unlike the days before the war, the villagers who came were mostly old
men, wives whose husbands were at the front, and their adolescent
daughters.

Nevertheless it provided the party atmosphere which they sought.
Within the ring of our encampment were almost fifty people dancing and
singing. Two particularly beautiful girls caught my eye. I pointed
them out to Nikita. His eyes lit up like a thirsty man offered a cold
drink. I asked him how old he had been when he had enjoyed his first
woman. He blushed in response and I realized he was still untried. I
smiled at the girls and soon they joined us. Remembering my first
encounter I began to tell a tall tale of Nikita's heroism on the front
lines.

I lay back, with a tree root as my pillow and fell asleep. When I
woke, our visitors had gone. The soldiers were asleep around the
campfire, except for one. Nikita had disappeared.

I slept lightly, expecting the boy to take up his nightly position
next to me. At the first morning stirrings I volunteered to help with
the horses. By the time we broke camp everyone was aware that Nikita
was missing and they joked about his finally loosing his virginity.

We had been on the road for about half-an-hour when we saw two horses
racing toward us; it was Nikita and the older of the two girls. He
pulled up alongside our wagon and yelled, "I'm staying here in
Dzhankoy. Adelaida and I are getting married. All of you must come
back for the wedding. --The fifteenth of next month."

His friends joked with him, telling him he shouldn't buy the cow when
he could get the milk for free, or "You couldn't have knocked her up
that fast."

With a final gleeful laugh he turned his horse back toward whence he
had come, joined his bride to be, and raced toward his new life.

It was early afternoon when our caravan reached Novoalekseyevka. The
soldiers were eager to find the army base and asked to be dropped off
in the center of town.

They looked expectantly at me, but I told them that I was going on to
St. Petersburg. I explained that I had heard that there were doctors
in the Capitol who specialized in helping victims of gas attacks.

After the others had departed, the gypsies told me they were only
going as far as Khar'kov, there they would turn eastward. Their
destination was Kazakhstan in the Aktyubinsk province.

As before, we passed soldiers on foot, but this time, they were moving
to the south, presumably toward the army medical facility in
Novoalekseyevka.

That night we spent camped on the northern outskirts of Melitopol. As
before our presence was advertised by our musical parade through the
village. However, this time few people came for the entertainment.
Later we learned that most of the population belonged to a religious
group called Mennonites. They shunned all pleasures and refused to
fight in the war.

The few that did visit were either rebellious boys or soldiers going
south to Novoalekseyevka.

The next morning, while helping hitch the horses to our wagons, I
found a railroad ticket on the ground. It was dated three days earlier
and had not been used. It was for a third class passage from Moscow to
St. Petersburg. It had been issued by the army command in
Novoalekseyevka. I stuffed it in my pocket, wondering if it would
provide me passage.

When we left I sat beside the wagon driver. We talked about Nikita.
There were more sexual jokes, all in a spirit of good humor. Then the
conversation slowed and came to a stop. Out of the blue the driver
said, "Boy, you need to darken your hair. Turk's do not have light
hair."

I looked up in surprise, but said nothing.

The man continued, "Your papers say that you have brown eyes and that
you are shorter." He then spoke over his shoulder to his woman sitting
in the back of the wagon, "Bella, at our next stop darken Isad's hair
and see if you can smear the eye color on his papers."

I did not know what to say, so I said nothing. The gypsy smiled
knowingly. "Gypsies know about these things and there is something
about you that tells me you are a gypsy at heart."

Later that day, after we had eaten lunch, Bella took me to the edge of
a brook and insisted that I remove all of my clothing. She sat me down
on a log and brushed black liquid into my hair. After rinsing it out
she applied some to my eyebrows. Then she pointed at my pubic hair and
bid me stand. As she brushed the dye into that hair my petooshock took
notice and stiffened. She laughed, snapped her fingers against the
head and it collapsed.

We were just short of Khar'kov when the driver told me that the road
east to Kazakhstan was just ahead.

It was early afternoon when the wagon dropped me off. They waved good-
bye; then quite abruptly, I was alone again.

It took me another two hours to reach the rail station in Khar'kov.
The waiting room was crowded with people. All of the benches were
occupied. Most travelers were sitting on their luggage and there was a
long line of people waiting to purchase tickets.

I decided to board the train and claim that a conductor had already
collected the Khar'kov to Moscow portion of my ticket. The fact that
it had been issued in Novoalekseyevka by the army should give some
credence to my story.

I joined a four-abreast line waiting for the northbound train. Someone
said that the train was late. It had been scheduled to stop in
Khar'kov at 10 AM. It was now five in the evening.

At ten-thirty we heard an engine pushing rail cars down the track.
Everyone was suddenly alert and the line surged forward, even though
the cars had not yet come to a stop.

Babies began to scream as their slumber was disturbed. That, in turn,
started the older children to complain. Soon there was a roar of human
distress that drowned out the sounds of the moving train.

As time passed the crowd pressed forward until it was a dense mass of
humanity. Without warning the mass moved forward as they boarded the
train. I found myself being rushed along, --not navigating, being
carried.

Conductors didn't attempt to check tickets. I found myself crammed
into the back of a car, a doorknob trying to force its way into my
rectum as the train lurched forward.

An hour later someone yelled: "Next stop Kursk". The train slowed,
lurched, and came to a stop with a loud hiss. The doors opened.
Suddenly the compression was lessened as people exited the train;
then, just as suddenly, the compression increased as new passengers
forced their way into the cars. The heat from all of those bodies was
stifling. I tried to sink to the floor, but couldn't move a muscle.

The sound of the engine grew louder and the cars jerked forward. Soon
the rhythm of the wheels lulled me into a drowsy stupor.

It was not quite daybreak when we reached Oryol. Passengers who got
off were not replaced with others. Someone said we were two hundred
and fifty miles from Moscow.

The over-crowding thinned out the further north we traveled and soon I
found an unoccupied seat.

At noon the first vendors were able to sell their wares onboard the
train instead of through the windows from outside. I had no money so I
ignored them. A fat man, sitting across the aisle bought four
pastries. I must have inadvertently looked at them showing my hunger
because the man handed me one and said, "You look hungry. Enjoy."

As we entered the Moscow rail station a conductor came down the aisle
announcing, "Moscow main station. This is the end of the line."

I was one of the last out of the car and followed other passengers
toward the waiting room. A posted schedule told me that I had just
missed the train to St. Petersburg; it lied. I heard an announcement,
"St. Petersburg express on track 3." I examined my ticket and wondered
if the express had space for third class passengers.

This new train was different from the earlier one. It was fast. It
made few stops and the entire train was as comfortable as any I had
ever ridden.

A conductor examined my ticket and led me into a pleasant car.  He
pointed toward a door labeled "Men" and told me there was a sink if I
needed to use it.

Now, more comfortable, I sat in the deep luxurious seat and gave
thought to my predicament. We were five hours out of Moscow when the
conductor came by and asked me if he could again see my ticket. When
he returned it he said, "That government issued ticket entitles you to
a meal in the dining car." He pointed toward the front of the train,
"It's three cars in that direction."

I didn't want to appear too eager, but, as soon as he was out of
sight,  I raced to the dining car.

There was one couple in front of me waiting for a table.

After I was seated I looked over the menu and then watched the
landscape roll by.

I ordered a horse meat stew which was rich with onions and sour cream.
It was one of the best meals I had eaten in quite some time.

When I returned to my car, I sat and continued to look out the window,
but the deep comfort of the seat, the warmth of the car, the rhythm of
the train combined with my full stomach and pushed me into a deep
slumber. It must have been early morning when I awoke as the sky  was
beginning to lighten.

Someone had left a copy of Pravda in the seat across the aisle. The
headlines that glared at me announced the people's dissatisfaction
with the Czarist government. In support of those headlines was a
smaller story that denounced Gregori Rasputin, his family, and called
for "the uprooting of all of that evil growth". His daughter, Maria,
had fled to her home village of Pokrovskoe. "Rumor had it, that his
niece, Catherine was with the Imperial family in Yalta." The story did
not call for her execution, but the inference was there.

I pulled my coat around me, hiding myself from the outside world,
thanking the good Lord that I was equipped with a petooshock and
Ya-y-tsa-a (Balls). Then I asked myself why I was going to St.
Petersburg? Then I asked myself where else could I go? As I listed the
people I knew, I came to the realization that I really didn't know
anyone; Catherine did, the Tsarevich did, but Alex-P didn't know a
soul.

Only Piotr Veliky knew of my existence, and I didn't know him well
enough to ask for help.

All of my earthly possessions were with me. I had not a single ruble.
The most valuable thing I owned wasn't really mine; the fur coat.

"St. Petersburg! St. Petersburg in 15 minutes, "the conductor
announced as he marched down the length of the train.

It was seven-thirty in the morning when I finally found myself
standing on the street in front of the railway station. The snow was
falling in a diagonal as a brisk wind forced its way between the
buildings.

There was little traffic at this early hour. I walked away from the
station toward the Winter Palace. As I approached our St. Petersburg
home, I noticed that the bright uniformed palace guards had been
replaced with sloppily dressed army soldiers. Other than the soldiers,
there was no sign of life inside of the gates.

Despite the snow and the cold wind, I broke out in a sweat. I turned
to the right and walked toward uncle Gregori's house on Gorokhovaya
Ulitsa.

I passed a bathhouse. One of its customers, blinded by his steamed up
spectacles, collided with me. "Sorry, young fella." He sniffed at me
as though I smelled bad, and asked, "You going in?"

I mumbled, "No," and proceeded down the street. The idea of a hot
steam bath plagued my mind as the cold snow laden air emphasized the
contrast.

It took an hour to reach number 49 Gorokhovaya Ulitsa. There was no
sign of life in the building. The front gate was locked. Inside was a
single army tent. I could hear soldiers talking. "I'd like to lay
hands on the woman who lived here. My chlen would take her into
seventh heaven."

Someone else said, "I hear his niece is even younger. We could take
turns. After she had us, she would have to become a nun. She could
never find another fuck as good as us."

There was nothing but danger for me in St. Petersburg. In fact, there
was nothing in Russia for me. For some unexplainable reason the memory
of Helsinki's mayor and his two sons flashed across my mind. Without
thinking about it, I turned around, walking north, destination:
Helsinki. I had only four problems: I had no money, I had no clothes,
Helsinki was 250 miles away, and I was growing cold.

As my path again took me toward the bathhouse, a plan foggily formed.
I would stand in front of the bathhouse; maybe someone would invite me
to join them. I had never sold my body for the pleasure of others, but
this had become a matter of survival.

I stood there for quite sometime. A half dozen customers came through
the door looking for a cab. The eye of at least two of them lingered
on me longer than should that of a man observing a boy.

A cab stopped and discharged a middle-aged gentlemen, took on two new
passengers and departed. The man glanced at me as he started to open
the door. He asked, "Been stood up have we?"

I gave him a friendly smile, "My uncle was supposed to meet me. I've
been waiting for him for two hours."

"Too bad. Guess you'll just have to go home."

Quickly I invented a story, "I can't do that. I live 80 miles north of
here in Seleznevo, uncle was to give me a ride home."

"You have no money?" The man asked.

"No, I am stranded. I cannot leave. He told me to wait for him in the
bath, but I don't have the price."

"Well, boy, why don't you join me? --As my guest of course. We will
ask the attendant to be on the lookout for your ... uncle."

The way the man said, "uncle" told me that he understood; we were
bartering.

"Well, I don't know. If I miss him, then I will have no way home."

"Don't worry about that. If he doesn't show, I'll see to it that you
get back to Seleznevo."

He held the door open for me, and escorted me to the sign-in-desk. The
attendant greeted him by name and ignored me. "I presume you want a
private bath. Just the two of you?"

Nothing was said about my waiting for my uncle.

The attendant handed us two towels, pointed toward a door on the far
left and said: "Number 12".

My host ushered me into a long, narrow, dimly lit corridor. Our bath
was the one at the far end. Without waiting for me, my host began to
disrobe, hanging his clothes on wall hooks. "Come along lad, the bath
awaits." He turned toward another door and added: "The steam room is
just through here."

I had expected for him to inspect what he was buying and, therefore,
was surprised by his exit into the bath. I shook out my coat, hung it
on a hook, then began to remove my shirt, trousers and shoes. My body
odor, now released from the confines of my clothing, entered my
nostrils causing me momentarily to gasp. Hopefully, I looked around
for a basin in which to wash myself, but there was none. After
inspecting myself for a sign of filth, and not finding any I entered
the steam room. I needn't have worried about my stench as the steam
was heavily laden with eucalyptus oil. There was only one dim light in
the ceiling, its rays diffused by the fog. A voice sounded out of the
mist, "Come sit with me. We must talk."

My sweat glands were activated and perspiration began to sluice down
my body. A cool wet towel hit me in the face, "You can wipe yourself
with that if it gets too hot and there is a cold tap over there."

I couldn't see where he was pointing, but wiped myself. New sweat
replaced the old as fast as I could remove it. I moved toward my host
until his silhouette came into view. He was sitting on a tiered wooden
scaffold, his legs stretched out. Not unexpectedly, he was displaying
a rigid chlen. He patted a place beside him and said: "Come, my little
one, sit here."

I had hardly seated myself before his left hand came to rest on my
knee. "My name is Pavlo. What is yours?"

"Isad."

"That is Turkish, is it not?"

"Yes."

"You do not look like a Turk."

The man's hand had moved to my abdomen and began scratching my pubic
hair. My chlen immediately lifted itself.

"My, that is a nice one you have there." Without invitation, he
grasped my rod and slid his hand up and down several times. He
apparently was pleased with me because he asked, "Could you come home
with me for the weekend... that is if your uncle does not come for
you?"

I knew that I would be well treated if I said "yes" and the offered
sanctuary was exactly what I needed, so I nodded a tentative "yes".

"Then let's get out of here."

"How will I get to Seleznevo?"

"Sunday evening I will put you on a train. I believe the Helsinki
train stops at Seleznevo before crossing the border. You probably know
more about that than I do."

I nodded as though I were familiar with the schedule.

"Tonight we will dine here in the city. I don't want to offend you,
but there are some things I need to know if we are to be companions.
To be blunt, do you like to have your chlen sucked? --And do you suck
back?"

Not knowing what to say, I simply nodded "Yes". And he let it go at
that.

"Good, Good. We will lay together naked, flesh against flesh. I will
give you fifty rubles if you don't let me sleep."

We tossed cold buckets of water on each other rinsing ourselves. After
toweling down we began to dress. He was surprised when I put on the
uniform. "You are a soldier? You look too young to be a soldier."

"I was at the front and exposed to a gas attack. I was released from
further service."

He looked at me with an expression of disbelief. "And the uniform, is
that all you have with you?" His eye went to my knapsack
questioningly.

I nodded "Yes."

"You have papers?"

Again I nodded "Yes" and handed him Isad's military identification. He
looked at them carefully, reading the description. "Hmmm. You have
blue eyes. Most unusual for a Turk." He handed them back to me and
then added, "Your hair is running."

His questioning had made me nervous so the comment about my hair
didn't register until I looked into a mirror; some of the dye the
gypsies had applied had streaked across my forehead.

My fright must have been apparent because Pavlo put his arms around
me, squeezed me to him, pressed his lips to mine and kissed me deeply.
His warmth and compassion engendered an instantaneous response; my
heart felt full. I pressed my lips tightly against his and let all of
my fear, all of my passion, flow from my body. To me, this stranger
had become my savior.

"My little one, let us go back into the bath; I have an urgent need
for you."  I had not as yet tied my shoes, so I slipped them off while
he removed my shirt, then my trousers.

He guided me back into the steam room and laid me down on one of the
tiers. I closed my eyes, intent on letting things develop as they
might. The light flick of his tongue tip fluttered across my chlen and
was immediately followed by descending lips. Then his tongue
titillated my shaft as it pulled upward, accompanied by a strong
suction. It had been a long time since I had last climaxed and his
next downward motion ended the exercise as my chlen pulsed, shot after
shot.

I lay there, recuperating from the adventure.

"You enjoy? Boy?"

"Hmmmm."

"Then let's go home."

Pavlo lived in a small apartment on the northwest side of St.
Petersburg. The neighborhood had, at one time or another, been a
family area, but now most of the buildings were occupied by artists:
painters, singers, actors, poets.

It was still early in the day when our taxi dropped us at the
entryway. Two women, one young and one old, were sitting on the stoop.
"Ah Pavlo. Just getting home?" It was the older one who spoke. The
younger one stared at me, her eyes penetrating my soul. Then her look
changed to curiosity. "Pavlo, who's the doll baby?" Then addressing me
she offered, "Honey, I'm in 4B. If you have any leftovers, I'd love to
get to know you better."

"Loren, you slut, leave the boy alone. --And, there won't be ANY
leftovers." My host chuckled, winked at her, grabbed my hand, and
pulled me up the steps and through the front door. "Never mind her.
She always talks like that, but Rosa isn't about to let her out of her
sight."

We had reached apartment 1C. After opening the door, Pavlo good-
naturedly pushed me inside. "My last roommate was about your size. He
left a good suit here. If it fits, you can wear it to dinner.

"That uniform is quite a mess. Looks like it hasn't been washed since
it was made. Rosa earns extra money doing laundry. I'm sure she would
be pleased to attend to it. Hang your coat in the closet and let me
have everything else."

I hesitated, wondering what I should put on.

"Come on now, don't start being bashful. We've made a deal so we are
both going to be bare most of the time."

I took my coat to the entryway closet, then started to remove my
shoes. Pavlo went into his bedroom, "Come in here. You can try these
on while I ask Rosa." He laid out trousers, a shirta  and jacket while
watching me strip. When I was nude, he stepped in front of me, put his
arms around me and buried his tongue in my left ear. "I'll be right
back, sweetie, there are not enough minutes between now and Monday for
us to do everything I have in mind." After switching to my right ear,
he let loose and picked up my clothes, then went to talk to the women.

I put on the trousers. They were a little too large; without a belt
they would be around my ankles.

When Pavlo returned he was not alone. Rosa was carrying my uniform.
"These need to soak overnight. I can have them ready by noon
tomorrow."

Loren looked at the pants I was wearing, and commented: "Those need
altering. Cuffs need to go up a little and the waist needs to come in
a bit."

Rosa and Pavlo were sitting on the edge of the bed. Loren knelt before
me, grabbed my crotch, and tugged at the legs. "I will turn the cuff
inside, so it won't show; it will be temporary. All you need do is
pull out the stitches and they will be back to the way they were." Her
one hand continued to hold my crotch while her other pulled out on the
waistband, then she slipped her hand inside. My chlen responded. She
looked at me, laughed, pulled the pants down around my ankles and
said: "Pavlo get over here and take care of this boy. If you don't I
will."

"Bitch! That's not for you."

She leaned forward, let her tongue touch my cock head, and said: "Look
at that beauty. Get your ass over here. Now!"

Rosa was laughing, "Loren you'd better stop or the boy is going to let
you have it right in the face. Judging from the way his tool is
pulsing, he's not going to last much longer."

There was something about my being watched and her prediction that
did, indeed, take me over the top. I could feel my sperm churning in
my balls and, before I could grab my cock head, it began to squirt.
The first shot hit Loren on the nose, then flowed down over her lips.
The second one caught her on the chin.

Pavlo and Rosa were laughing so hard that they fell off of the bed.
Loren attempted to evade the next salvo, but only succeeded in
shifting so that it hit her on the forehead.

My climax came to an end and the realization of what had happened
washed over me like cold water. I was embarrassed and momentarily
angry. Yet, I obviously had enjoyed it. If I hadn't, I wouldn't have
climaxed; but the idea that these two women were privy to my
willingness to prostitute myself made me feel ashamed and betrayed.
But what Pavlo was providing was worth any price. On Monday he would
put me on the train to Seleznevo and, with any luck at all, I would be
in Finland by Tuesday.

The women had left with all of my clothing; the uniform to be washed
and the suit trousers to be altered.

Pavlo took me in his arms and began breathing heavily into my ears. My
mind flashed back to that first night with Katrina, then alternated
back and forth between her and the gypsy boy. As Pavlo worked his way
down my body, my Chlen jumped to attention, as though I had not just
ejaculated.

I was on the verge of doing it again when the front door opened and
Loren walked in. "I'd better take the jacket too."

She laughed when she saw what she had interrupted, then sat down on a
chair and said, "Well keep going, I want to see how good he is the
second time around."

Again the affect of being watched caused my testicles to churn. I was
on the verge and, as I started to pulse, Pavlo pulled off of my cock
and directed it toward the floor.

"See how much I care for your curiosity. Look, he's a veritable
fountain of youth."

Loren stood and headed for the front door. "God! Copious quantities
two times in a row. If you intend to drain that reservoir, you'd
better get back to it." The door slammed shut as she departed.

"Isad. You have your choice. Would you prefer to snuggle up in bed or
on the floor in front of the fire?"

I never had been able to rest while traveling on a train, so I told
him, "I think the bed. I would like to take a short nap, then we will
have the rest of the night as well as tomorrow."

"Of course. However, don't forget my offer. You keep me awake and you
will earn fifty rubles."

I asked, "Where are we going to eat?"

"Frankly, my dear, I want to show you off to friends, so I think we
will go to a most unusual place; I doubt if you have heard of it. It's
rather decadent and the owner is a funny character. You'll love him.
In fact, sweetie, I suspect you will adore the place. It's called the
Embers."

Of all of the places he could have picked, the Embers was the last one
I would have wanted to go. The last time I had been there, it was as
Catherine and it had been with uncle Gregori. I prayed that we
wouldn't run into Piotr. He knew the truth about me and he might see
through my disguise.

It was long past sunset when I was awakened by lips wrapped around the
head of my petooshock. No, on second thought it was no longer my
petooshock, it had become my rigid chlen. I presumed it was Pavlo
helping himself to my wares, until I heard his voice coming from the
other room. "You have the boy up yet."

A throaty female voice said: "You might say that, more or less."

The voice from the other room asked, "You aren't helping yourself to
my larder again, are you?"

"Well, it's not like it's going to run dry. You wouldn't begrudge a
friend a snack, now, would you?"

I moaned, partially from pleasure, but mostly to let her know that I
was awake.

"All right Isad, I know you are awake. Get up and try on the pants.
Pavlo wants to show you off in town."

"Hmmmm," I repeated, "I've been awake for sometime. Just keep on doing
what you are doing."

"Oh no! Pavlo doesn't want to share you. Maybe, when you return from
town, I can offer him something that will change his mind."

From the other room I heard: "Loren. Enough is enough! Besides, you
should keep in mind that fish is NOT my favorite meat."

She retorted, "Well, you keep in mind that my favorites are: baby
octopus, young cow, and teenage boys."

Pavlo retorted: "Be that as it may, you never are in supply of any of
those and you are always lurking in the shadows to pirate whatever I
am fortunate enough to find."

The girl had left the bedroom and continued their banter face to face.
She had laid the suit trousers and coat on a chair. I pulled the pants
up over my legs. The upward motion pushed my chlen flat against my
abdomen. Quickly, I buttoned the fly, capturing my wild mustang.

The waist hugged my hips. A belt would not be needed.

My chlen had lost its rigidity, so I unbuttoned the top of the pants,
put on the shirt, and stuffed the tails inside.

I was pleased with my appearance, except I noted that there was
another black streak across my forehead.

I heard the girl say good-bye and, as the door closed, Pavlo came into
the bedroom. "Oh, Lover. You are a delight. Hmmm. I hope there will be
plenty of goodies later on tonight."

He again threw his arms around me and began licking my ear. "Here is a
very serious question for you: What's the most number of times you
have cum over a weekend?"

His inquiry caught me off guard and I blurted out the truth, "I've
never counted, but for fifty rubles I guarantee you will get as much
as you want."

"I'll give you a ten ruble bonus if you can do it again right now."

"Ten rubles cash? Right now?"

Pavlo took out his purse, counted out ten one-ruble coins, and laid
them on the bureau.

Quickly, before he could change his mind, I striped and stood before
him, my chlen proudly at attention. He pushed me back toward the bed
until it caught me at the knees and I tumbled backward. Slowly, he
sank to his knees. His hand grasped me at the base and waved my wand.
His breath grew warmer as he drew closer. My chlen began to pulse in
anticipation. "Pavlo, quick, I'm about ready."

I felt his hands slide under my buttocks as his lips enveloped my
entire head and I again climaxed.

"Hmmmm. Sweet as honey. Isad, I shall call you my Baklava." He
chuckled then added, "Nuts with honey, and a little bit flaky."

I lay there recovering from the sex, surprised that I had again
pleased him with my quantity.

"Hurry. You must dress. I want to be at the Embers before nine-
thirty." Pavlo was looking through his closet, pulled out a brown
cloth overcoat, and said: "This should be warm and it is cleaner than
your fur."

Still naked, I stood beside him and tried the garment on. It was much
heavier than my fur coat, so I asked: "Do you have a brush. The fur
will brush out and I think it looks nicer than this one."

"Take a look in the bathroom. There is a brush in the drawer next to
the basin. I meant to ask you about that coat. It is an expensive
garment. I would guess than it must have cost thousands. How did you
come by it?"

"It was a gift from my uncle."

"My, my! Your ... uncle ... is a most generous soul. Hurry up now and
get dressed." He bent over and kissed my petooshock.

After buttoning the trousers, I slipped the ten coins into my left-
hand pocket. "Thanks. I feel better having money in my pocket."

We walked several blocks to Lesnoj Prospekt where we boarded a
southbound trolley to the railway station; there we transferred to
another trolley which deposited us a block west of the Embers.

The doorman was occupied helping passengers from a taxi and we passed
into the foyer without fanfare.

Iveren was just returning from the large dining room. "Pavlo, how nice
to see you again. It's been too long. Let me see, two weeks? Three?"

Pavlo, pleased that he had been recognized, said: "Just two. Would you
have a table for me and my friend?"

Iveren's eyes grazed down my full length. I felt as though I was
standing naked before him. Quickly he turned his attention back to
Pavlo. "It may be a few minutes. Let me take your coats. Would you
mind waiting in the bar?" He pointed toward the small room, then
turned his attention toward the passengers from the taxi.

I looked around as we found our way to an empty table. Sasha Romkoski
was sitting in a corner, talking to someone. Other than that I did not
recognize anyone. "This is a nice place." I wanted Pavlo to believe
that the Embers was new to me.

We enjoyed an interesting drink that Pavlo told me was the specialty
of the house. It was Vodka, Galeanose, and a coffee flavored liquor
mixed into a tall glass of cold milk.

We had ordered a second glass just before Iveren told us our table was
ready. After we were seated a waiter handed us each a large menu, then
left us alone to browse through the many offerings.

Our table had a view of the entryway and, after remembering the
routine about the menu, I began watching those who came and went.

"Have you already chosen something?"

I nodded my head, "yes", even though I knew that Iveren would offer us
an entirely different selection.

The front door opened and two men passed through to where Iveren was
standing. I could hear his voice as he said, "Ah, Mr. Stalin, it will
be a short wait before we can have a table. Would you prefer to wait
in the bar?"

"No. We do not want a table. The bar is what we want."

The two men turned right into the small room and I almost passed out.
The second man was Piotr Veliky. He had looked in my direction and his
eyes had locked onto mine. I couldn't be certain, but I thought he
might have seen through my disguise; however, he continued on into the
bar without any hesitation.

My appetite was replaced with a knot in my stomach. Food was the last
thing I wanted, yet I must hide my fear; it would not do to let Pavlo
know that something was wrong. For just a moment I had an urge to
excuse myself to go to the men's room and then run away as fast and as
far as I could. If it weren't for the fact that the restaurant had my
coat and that I desperately wanted that fifty rubles, I would have
followed my instincts.

I lifted my glass and drained the contents in a single swallow. The
warmth of the liquor sedated my fear.

"Isad, my dear, be careful of those drinks. I don't want you to pass
out, at least not until you are in my bed."

Iveren's attitude towards us seemed to have changed when he returned
to tell us what were today's specialties of the house. He called me
"sir" and seemed overly concerned that our every desire was fulfilled.
When he left, Pavlo remarked, "I wonder what has gotten in to him?
He's not usually that servile."

Our waiter reappeared, carrying a bottle of Champaign, "Complements of
the house."

He poured the wine and we sipped it. It seemed very sour after the
sweet milk drinks. Pavlo looked at the label and turned toward the
waiter. "On the house? My god, this stuff costs a hundred rubles a
bottle."

"The house wants you to understand that your every desire is a
command."

Pavlo was at a loss, but seemed to be content that the best the house
had to offer was ours for the asking.

I suspected that someone had seen through my disguise and thought that
I was the Tsarevich, Alexis Nickolaevich Romanov.

I ate very little of what was set before me, while Pavlo ate
everything, including what I left.

Afterward he ordered another round of the milk drinks, and that I
drank. Then we waited for the check.

We drained both of our glasses. Pavlo beckoned for the waiter and
asked for the bill, the man's response was, "Oh. No sir, there is no
check."

I wanted to get out of there as quickly as I could, so I whispered,
"Pavlo, let's go home. I have something that needs your attention."

His eyes suddenly gleamed in anticipation. We left the restaurant and
he said, "We can take a taxi."

"No. Let's not do that, at least not just now. I'd prefer to take the
trolley, at least for part of the trip." I was concerned that we might
be followed, and if we walked we could observe anyone walking behind
us. Further, there wouldn't be a taxi driver who could disclose our
destination.

"Well, that was the damnedest thing I ever saw Iveren do. I wonder
what could have gotten into him?"

The building was dark when we reached Pavlo's home. He immediately
threw his arms around me once we were safely inside his apartment. His
hands sought my chlen. "Gone down already. Come on and I'll have it
yearning for release faster than you can imagine."

"I want to brush the moisture from my coat. You go ahead and get the
bed warm for me."

As Pavlo began to disrobe, I walked into the bathroom, closed the
door, and carefully examined the fur coat. And there it was, hidden
under the collar, a label bearing the Imperial double eagle, and the
initials A.N.R.

I looked through the drawers, found a pair of scissors, cut the label
from the garment and flushed it down the toilet. After hanging the
coat in the entryway closet, I removed all of my clothes and laid them
on a chair in the living room. I massaged my petooshock until it was
rigid, then entered the bedroom and jumped on top of Pavlo. I was
intent on making a good show of it. I wanted him satisfied and sleepy.
Once he was asleep I would make my escape.

In the next hour I brought him to climax twice and he made me cum one
more time.

We laid in each other's arms until he was asleep. Then he rolled away
from me.

Quietly I got out of bed and listened for any movement or change in
his breathing pattern. Satisfied that he was asleep I went into the
front room, dressed in the borrowed clothes, put on the heavy cloth
coat that was hanging alongside my fur coat, and carefully left the
apartment.

I was leaving before I could collect either the promised fifty rubles
or the train fare but at least I had the ten ruble coins in my pocket.
That would have to do for my needs.  At this point, my safety was far
more important than my comfort.

I hurried along the sidewalk, then looked back up at Pavlo's building.
His bedroom light was on. I hid in the shadows to watch. Soon all of
the lights in his apartment were on. Next I noticed a light turn on in
a window on the fourth floor. After it turned off I continued to
watch. Then I saw him, dressed in a robe at the entrance to his
building. He looked up and down the street, then returned to his
apartment. After about fifteen minutes his lights went out.

I continued to wait, looking for any sign of activity. Not seeing any,
I entered an alley and made my way northward, out of the city.

I knew that from then on I must avoid all public officials. I no
longer had any identification papers; I no longer could hide as a
discharged veteran; I no longer had anything which could tie me to the
Imperial family.

It took most of the night for me to travel the short distance out of
St. Petersburg. I moved carefully through alleys and by-way's.

The main road north was heavily traveled and patrolled by soldiers. I
kept to paths, dirt roads and trails, traveling mostly by night,
heading northwest toward Finland, but north of the official border
crossing.

On Thursday night I found a farm that I calculated was near the border
and took refuge in its barn.

Shortly after a rooster declared that the day was Friday, I was
startled by the sound of an old woman yelling at me. "Get out of here!
We don't house beggars." She raced at me brandishing a pitchfork.

I ran through the doorway at the opposite end of the barn and headed
north across an open field, the woman lagging behind me waving the
pitchfork.

Once out of sight, I slowed down, but continued on toward Finland.

On Monday I reached the Finish town of Imatra, at which point I felt
safe to head south toward Helsinki. The city of Lappenranta was the
official Russian-Finnish border station, so I skirted it to the west.
It had been more than a week since I had run away from Pavlo's. I
horded my ten rubles in case of an emergency. What few meals I had
were from scavenging through garbage cans at farms or from behind
restaurants.

It was too cold to wash myself, so I kept my coat wrapped tightly
around me, not wanting to smell my own stench.

I was ten miles beyond Lappenranta when I re-joined the main road
toward Helsinki. Just ahead of me was an old man attempting to re-seat
a wheel that had come loose from his wagon. I offered to hel, and
suggested we use a couple of logs to leverage the wagon up high enough
so that we could place the wheel back upon its axle.

The man told me he lived in Savitapale, just a few miles west and that
he was worried that the wheel might come loose again. He asked me to
travel with him. Later he would bring me back to the main road.

I agreed. As we traveled toward his farm he asked if I would be
interested in working for him for a few weeks. He had live stock that
needed attention and his wife had been sick.

In late January she died and he asked me to stay on.

In February, of 1917 the first political explosion in Russia was
reported. Tired of war and starvation, the Russian people blamed the
Czar for everything and he was forced to abdicate.

The gap created by the effective collapse of the Imperial government
was filled initially by the Mensheviks with the cooperation of
Trotsky's Bolsheviks.

The Duma was absorbed into the new government, but it was indecisive
and slow. People did not see much change and the second, much bigger
explosion followed - in October, which propelled Trotsky, Lenin and
Stalin into positions of power; the Mensheviks had been replaced by
the Bolsheviks.

The first decrees issued by the Lenin's government changed the laws
regarding ownership of land, denounced private ownership and
proclaimed all Russian lands thus transferred to the state for all of
the people. A second declaration stated that Russia was no longer a
participant in the Great War.

Russia gave up her historic possessions in Ukraine, Byelorussia and
the Baltic States. This, of course, completely satisfied Germany.

It was in October that the first reports of Bolshevik death squads
crossing into Finland to kill Russian aristocrats reached our ears. My
employer suggested it might be wise for me to migrate west to Sweden.
Finland was too closely allied with Russia while Sweden's ties were
more independent.

I worked my way down to Stockholm by December and it was there where I
read that the Imperial train had been commandeered, the family then
being taken, under armed guard, to the Siberian village of
Ekaterinburg. My heart ached for them and I wondered how my friend
Aleksey was holding up. I guessed that he had never received his movie
camera and had never returned to Gdov.

My celebration of the 1918 New Year was a sad affair. The Great War
had continued without Russia yet the new Russia was intent on
murdering those of us who had escaped. Hidden and afraid, I worked at
what ever jobs I could find that wouldn't require identity papers.

Sex had long since become something which no longer held any interest
for me. My days were occupied by the monotonous process of mere
survival.

I had moved on to Copenhagen by September and my heart was crushed
when I heard the reports that the Imperial family had been murdered in
Ekaterinburg. I cried for more than a week. Yet there was something
about the report which did not ring true. I could not believe that
Alex-T was dead. I was convinced that my heart would have told me so
if it were true.

In June of 1919 the awful war came to an end and people were again
free to travel; yet reports of the Russian death squads persisted.
Finally, in 1920, at the age of seventeen, I crossed into France.

                              + + + + +
                             PARIS FRANCE
                            DECEMBER 1920
                              + + + + +

"Sean! Hey Sean. Where are you?"

Charles McGee had hurried home to surprise his lover.

The two had lived together for almost a year and Charles' life had
become one of domestic bliss.

Sean had become the best of lovers. When they were at home he was
loving and quite domestic. Away from home he was as masculine as any
seventeen-year-old boy could be.

The only thing that Charles would have liked to change was a very
private part of the boy which he could not invade nor even touch. He
knew nothing about the days before their meeting at the beginning of
the year. He had guessed a lot, but he didn't really know anything.

"Sean. Where are you?"

He heard the front door open behind him. "Oh. There you are. Where
have you been?"

"Next door visiting Genevieve. I needed a touch up on my hair. My
roots were turning light."

"Well I have a surprise for you. Our drama critic quit and the editor
offered me his job. I now have two box seats for Pulcinella. Nijinsky
is the lead. After the show, the Russian Ambassador is giving a party
at the Ritz. Someone told me that it originally was set to be held at
the Russian Embassy, but both Nijinsky and Stravinsky refused to
attend unless it was held at the Ritz."

"I don't really want to go."

"Now come on Sean, you love the ballet; and this new piece by
Stravinsky should be unique. I worry about you. You haven't gone out
in weeks --except to your classes at the University. Please. Please,
just to make me happy?"

The boy put his arms around Charles and rubbed his nose into the
reporter's ear. "I can never say 'no' to you. Do I have anything
suitable to wear? How formal is it?"

"If it had been at the Embassy it would have been a black tie affair.
But, at the Ritz, I think a suit and tie should suffice."

Sean stepped back and looked at Charles with a lustful gleam in his
eye. "Do we have time for a quickie before we go?"

"No we don't. I tried telephoning you but I guess you must have been
with Genevieve. Besides if we wait 'till we get home, it will be nicer
and we won't be tempted to linger at the party. Now go on and get
ready."

"Don't be too surprised if Stravinsky's new thing sounds a lot like
his other work. The man's sense of music comes from the gypsies.
Firebird, Petrouchka, and Rites all have that same structure. You
don't have to be told that it's Stravinksy's; he tells you over and
over again within the composition. --And as for Nijinsky performing...
who else? Have you noticed the way the maestro makes goo-goo eyes at
him? I have a hard time stopping myself from laughing out loud."

The wisecracking continued while both men dressed. Sean was quicker
and sat on the side of their bed while watching Charles put on the
finishing touches. "I presume the ballet is being held at the Theater
des Champs-Elysees, is it not?"

"Yes, of course."

"Well, you'd better hurry up. It will take us close to an hour to get
there on the metro."

"Sean! We are attending as representatives of the newspaper. They are
sending a Limo for us."

"Sounds like bribery to me. They want a good review." Sean walked into
the living room and returned carrying a newspaper. "Listen to this:
The critic is referring to Pulcinella. After the war, Stravinsky and
Diaghilev's relationship was somewhat strained. --Ahhh. Diaghilev is
the house impresario of the Elysees isn't he?" The question was a
rhetorical one and Sean continued to read. "Stravinsky felt that
Diaghilev owed him money and Diaghilev felt betrayed by Stravinsky's
independent wartime productions of Reynard and L'Histoire.

"My God! They're going all the way back to the war?"

"Sean, who in the hell do you think wrote that piece?"

"You wrote that? And you expect a pleasant welcome?... I think not!"

Charles chuckled, "They'd suck our dicks if they thought it would
improve my review."

Sean was on the verge of making a suitable retort when they heard a
knock at the door.

"Yes?"

"Mr. McGee? The Limo is waiting out front."

"We will be right there."

Charles took hold of the knot on Sean's tie and moved it. "There.
That's better. How do I look?"

"You will be the most handsome man in the theater... bar none."

The driver was standing beside the limousine. As Charles and Sean came
down the front steps, the driver opened the door. "Are we going to the
artists entrance?"

Charles replied, "No. Front entrance like everyone else."

"Of course sir, I just thought the young gentlemen might be part of
the company."

There was a line of limousines in front of the theater waiting to
discharge their passengers. Eventually a doorman opened their rear
door.  Charles and Sean stepped out of the automobile and followed the
more illustrious patrons into the lobby. An attendant examined their
tickets, then directed them up the stairs where another attendant
escorted them to their box.

They were seated close to the right side of the stage. Most of the
seats on the main floor were already occupied and the noise of
conversation made it necessary to shout to be heard.

The orchestra filed in and began tuning their instruments. This first
activity of the performance momentarily brought silence to the
auditorium, but soon became only another part of the general din.

The most prestigious box, the one in the center facing the stage was
still unoccupied, but the French flag was draped across its front.
Charles pointed to it and whispered, "Premier Clemencaeau will be
attending." Then he pointed to the box opposite theirs and said, "The
Russian Ambassador's box."

The house lights dimmed and the overture commenced. The curtain had
yet to rise when Sean leaned over and told Charles, "Looks like the
Russians have finally arrived." A half dozen shadowy figures were
seating themselves.

The attention of the audience was riveted to the stage in anticipation
of this initial performance of the ballet Pulcinella.

The first performer moved on to the stage in cadence with the rhythm
of the orchestra. The footlights came up and Sean glanced over at the
Russian box. Only the robust figure of the Ambassador and his wife
were visible, the rest of his party was hidden in the shadows.

Nijinsky made his appearance. The Russian Ambassador fervently clapped
his hands. The orchestra paused, as did the performers until there was
silence in the Russian box.

As the performance continued both Sean and Charles' attention was
riveted to the outstanding performance. At one point Nijinsky was
directly below Sean. He could see the perspiration on the back of
Nijinsky's neck and the curvature of the man's buttocks as the
skintight leotard hugged his body. The sight reminded Sean of the time
Nijinsky had carried an envelope between his cheeks at Alexander
Palace so many years ago.

An hour later the curtain came down and the house lights were brought
up. It was intermission.

Sean looked across at the Russian delegation and froze. Just behind
the Ambassador was a naval officer... it was Piotr Veliky. The Russian
was looking at him and Sean thought he detected a slight sign of
recognition.

Charles had stood and said: "Come along, we'll have coffee in the
lobby."

Sean did not move. Charles turned toward him and added, "Come along
now, we have at least a half-hour before the ballet resumes." He then
saw, for the first time, that there was something wrong. Sean's face
was absolutely white. His breathing was slow and deep. Charles put his
hand on Sean's forehead; it was cold and clammy. He sat down and
asked: "What's wrong? Are you sick?"

"It must have been dinner. I feel like I'm going to throw up."

"Dinner? We haven't eaten dinner."

"I know, maybe that's the problem. But I've got to get out of here.
I'll take the metro home."

"Do you need a doctor?"

"No. No, I'll be all right once I get out of this crowd."

Charles pressed a 20-Franc note in his hand and said: "You take a
taxi. I'll be home as soon as the ballet is finished."

"No, you go on to the Ritz. If I feel better I will join you there."

As soon as Sean had reached their apartment he began packing a
suitcase. He had to get out of Paris; he had to get out of France. He
stopped midway in his packing, pushed the half-full case on to the
floor and laid down. "There is no point in packing a bag." If he were
on the run again, he'd have to travel light.

He was shaken to the core. He should get out of there, but he
couldn't; he wouldn't leave without saying good-bye.

It was after midnight when Charles returned. He raised his voice from
the living room. "Sean. Are you all right?" He heard a sigh from the
darkened bedroom and went in. "You should have been at the party.
There was the cutest Russian naval officer who asked about you. I'm
certain he has the hots for you. He was persistent and even invited us
to lunch on Wednesday.

Charles moved further into the room and stumbled over the suitcase. He
clicked on the light, saw the case, then saw the expression of terror
on Sean's face.

"What on earth... Sean what is wrong."

Charles laid down on the bed, holding Sean in his arms, as the boy
told him all, beginning with his birth in the Urls, his years being
trained as a replacement for the Tsarevich, and his escape from
Russia. It was near to five in the morning when the conversation came
to an end. For nearly an hour the two laid together, sharing their
existence. Then Charles said: "Well, we have no choice. You must leave
France as quickly as possible. As soon as the banks open I'll withdraw
our savings and I'll book you on a ship to America. I want desperately
to go with you, but that would make it easier to pick up your trail."

On Monday the telephone rang a number of times. Sean did not answer
it. Charles returned around noon with a ticket for steerage passage on
a passenger ship leaving from La Havre at noon on Tuesday. Next he
telephoned the newspaper and explained that he wouldn't be in until
late afternoon. His editor had a message for him from the Russian
Embassy. An assistant to the naval attach' wanted to speak with him.
Charles said he would return the call, then he was connected to the
city desk where he dictated his review of the ballet.

It was just after four in the afternoon when Charles telephoned the
Russian Embassy and asked to speak with Lieutenant Piotr Veliky. There
were clicks on the line and finally a woman's voice heavy with a
Russian accent answered. She informed him that Veliky had gone out;
"But please what is your number." Charles told her that he was calling
from a coin phone, but would again telephone the first thing tomorrow.

Charles then wrote six letters of introduction, addressed to six
different people who lived in America. Upon his arrival, Sean was to
decide which of the six he would contact. He was then to mail the
selected letter. A few days later he was to write or telephone that
person.

All six men were in some way connected with the newspaper business and
owed Charles substantial favors. Three of the six were homosexual.

If Sean needed to contact Charles, he was to write a letter addressed
to the "Drama Critic". The first paragraph was to contain the name of
the city. The second paragraph was to contain a telephone number. The
third paragraph was to contain date and time. The signature on the
letter was to be "Shakespeare, Jr.".

They talked all night. Just before daybreak, Charles left the
apartment, took a taxi to the rail station and checked Sean's bags
through to La Havre.

Sean had prepared breakfast in anticipation of Charles' return. The
two ate their last meal together, then Sean kissed his lover good-bye
and departed as though he was going to the University.

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