Piero dictated the composition title and started to walk between the desks, while his pupils began to think about how to develop it. Out of the window it was possible to see the top of the trees on the boulevard, from which rose, just attenuated, the traffic noise. He also looked at the classroom walls, whitewashed the last time who knows how many years before, the desks, neither old nor new, the neon lamps with the lights out. The bright sun filtered through the lower part of the glass which was washed (the top part was washed just once a month)...
Piero saw himself in his memory, a student in that same high school, just about ten years before - all seemed unchanged. Just some colleagues, his former professors, some beadles, one of the ladies, a secretary, had grown older... But not the building, it was still the same. He saw himself in the third row, fourth desk, when he passed small sheets to Carla during the mathematics tests. Who knows how many small sheets his students were passing behind his back, he thought smiling to himself. Piero was a "strict" teacher, but he was always available to his students. He was always stern with his students, probably to compensate for the insecurity deriving from his young age.
He was a conscientious teacher and he did all he could to help his students, to interest them in his discipline, to give them, more than a generic "culture", a method of study, a method of reason and to analyze not so much the passages selected from the literature, but rather the ideas, the concepts, the contents, life in a word. His boys, at least for a great part, answered to his commitment.
He looked at Carlo Alberto Tola. That bashful and timid boy was one of his favorite students. He knew he should not have any preferences and anyway he tried not to be influenced in his judgment, but Carlo Alberto was special, to him. In the first year he has seen this small boy from the middle school, he was an introvert, closed, almost unable to express himself. Now, in the second year, even if he remained reserved and quiet, he woke up. He had made incredible improvements and was able to speak and to reason in a remarkable way, and to plead his points of view. Piero knew, without any sense of false humility nor stupid pride, that the merits of the boy, was essentially his own, he had worked on that boy with care and had succeeded.
Of course, some of the credit also went to some of his other colleagues and above all of the boy himself. But Piero did remember the fights in the teachers' councils to defend Carlo Alberto. At the beginning, he was judged to be "a hopeless case" by more than one colleague. A school report, filled with low marks at the end of the first term of the first year, had let him pass at the end of the school year. Now, at the end of the first term of the second year, his reports were much better, with an average near the 70th percentile.
Like most of his other pupils, Carlo Alberto didn't appeal to him on a physical level. The fact was that he was not interested in adolescents, and that anyway he would never have an affair with one of his pupils. Anyway Carlo Alberto physically wasn't really his type. No. But in some ways he was his "creature" of whom he was very proud.
Piero thought that perhaps he would have had some difficulties if he were a teacher in the fifth year, where the boys, now eighteen, could start to appeal to him. At times he passed some of them in the corridors, sometimes even his former students that had developed into boys with really sensual, attractive bodies. But he didn't take risks with his students, still little boys having just started, or barely surpassed the threshold of puberty.
"Caterina, don't try to look at your book. It isn't honest!" he suddenly said, staring at the girl who blushed and bent her head on her papers, starting to bite her pen.
Piero looked at his watch, still one hour and fifteen minutes.
He recalled Carla, and himself... Carla and her marriage a few months before. When he saw her with the white veil and the wedding dress, he had whispered to her, "Aren't you beautiful! At last you can show off your white veil, the dream of every woman."
And she, always whispering, had answered, "Bullshit! The white veil isn't the dream of any woman."
"Really?" he had answered, sniggering, "... and, what is, then?"
"To be respected as a person and not labeled as a female and used."
"I was joking, come on... you know me. No?"
And with the air to pull his leg but looking straight in his eyes, she said, "I know you, you say? I don't really know you at all..."
Piero asked himself what she intended to tell him. Did she suspect his homosexuality? But inside himself he shook his head and told himself to be careful not to be paranoiac.
"Thirty more minutes, boys. Try to draw your conclusions..." Piero warned, going back to his desk.
He sat, letting his eyes slowly scan the twenty two students committed to giving their best in that composition, who just for pride, just to impress him, or just for the "mark"; but some of them, just for the pleasure in writing, to express themselves. Piero loved to write, he always had. When he asked Carla what present she wanted for her wedding, she answered, "One of your stories. You'll write it for me and publish it with a dedication to me."
Piero accepted. So he wrote the story titled "Complicity" where, using fantasy names and settings, he described their complicity as high school students in helping each other in their studies, and in the oral and written tests. The result was a good story, filled with humor and sweetness. The publisher immediately accepted the manuscript. Carla was delighted with the story and was very moved when she recognized herself as the "Pinuccia" in the story.
It wasn't ease to get Carla moved, she was a self confident woman, energetic, and very strong willed. She absolutely wasn't romantic, on the contrary, she was rather a pragmatist, her feet steadily on the ground. Piero admired her, for the way she had been able to handle her relationship with Beppe until she drove him, without ever forcing him, to want to marry her. Beppe was a very handsome man (at times Piero, envied Carla) and good-natured. They were without any doubt a nice couple.
The bell rang and Piero collected the test papers. He waited a few minutes for the stragglers to turn in their papers, then he went out in the corridor with the bundle of compositions and the class registers, crossing the bawling confusion of students enjoying the break and entered the teachers room.
"Hi, Gribaudo, is everything going okay?"
"Yes, and with you?" he mechanically answered his colleague of Classical Greek, who was leaving the room.
"Yes, but one of my sons is in bed with a fever."
"Which one, the little one?" Piero asked out of courtesy.
"No, the older one, Raffaele."
"Nothing serious, I hope..."
"No, no, just laryngitis."
"Well, best wishes..."
He had only met his colleague's oldest son a few times. He was a big boy, nineteen years old, a medical student freshman, a little clumsy, but with a nice smile that was attractive to Piero.
That's it, Piero was always fascinated by the way people smile. It is impossible to find two people who smile in the same way. From a smile it's possible to sense a lot about the value (or better the values) of a person.
One of the first things that attracted him in a man was his smile, his way of smiling.
He recalled the first time he went to a gay club. It was the "Blue Angel", a disco, now closed. While he had been in a disco several times, with his classmates, none had been gay. When he got the address of the disco on Po Street, not far from his University, he decided to go. Before entering, he hesitated for a long time and checked up and down the streets with the faint fear that somebody knowing him would see him entering the club and therefore know he was a faggot. But at last he decided, saying to himself that... so much the worse, if it happens, it happens. He paid the cover charge and went down the narrow stairs to the underground disco.
At first sight it was a disco like many others, a little narrower, perhaps, but with the same lights, the same music, the same crowd. He was surprised to see that there were also women, less than in a straight disco, but more than just a few. Just after he realized that some of those women were really transvestites, other lesbians, but there were also some girls that just liked to be in a gay setting.
That first time he didn't dance, nor did he talk with anybody. He remained seated in a corner slowly sipping his whisky and observing. He wasn't bored at all. He looked at the variety of humanity, ... not so different from that of the other discos. Several of the boys caught his eyes, but nobody seemed interested in him... Probably, he later thought, right because he never smiled.
Some of the boys danced in front of big wall mirrors, absorbed in their own reflections, almost if they were performing just for themselves. Others danced as couples. He loved seeing for the first time, two males dancing. He felt it was beautiful. During the few slow songs, the couples held on tightly, touching in a discrete, but sexy way. Piero wondered how t it could feel to be so near, so in contact with a nice male body. He wanted to try... soon or later he would.
Three evenings later he was again at the Blue Angel. After he was there for about an hour, when the dance floor was neither too empty nor too crowded, he decided to dance. It wasn't rare to see boys dancing alone, so he didn't feel strange. Little by little he let himself be immersed in the music and let himself go, flowing with the music. It was very agreeable. He had the sensation of everybody dancing with everybody - he was no longer alone.
After awhile he noticed a boy, about his age, dancing in front of him and looking at him, quite as if he wanted to tell him, "Look, I'm dancing for you."
He wasn't a handsome boy, but he was agreeable and, above all, he had a beautiful smile, slightly roguish. Piero responded to his smile and the other waved with his hand, almost as to salute. He answered with a nod and another smile. For a while they danced one in front of the other, one for the other. Then, when the DJ changed the music, the boy nodded with his head leaving the dance floor inviting Piero to follow. Piero followed him.
They sat in a corner and, trying to talk over the volume of the music, the boy, bent toward him, said, "My name's Luigi."
"Hi, I'm Piero."
"I never seen you here, before. Where were you hiding?"
"This is only the second time I've been here..."
"Where did you go, before?"
"Nowhere. All this... is new to me."
"New? You mean... you never went to any gay clubs?"
"No, never."
"But... you are gay, right?"
"Yes, I presume yes."
"You presume? Do you mean you are still a virgin?"
Piero smiled. He had never thought of himself as a virgin. Until then, he had always put that word as only relating to a woman. But he understood that yes, he was a virgin, so he nodded and felt he was blushing. But the colored lights of the club must have masked is light flush.
"Well, then... we have to celebrate. A virgin in our times, and here, is for sure a rarity!"
Piero again nodded and followed him to the counter. Luigi offered him a drink.
"How old are you, Piero?"
"Twenty. And you?"
"Twenty... and five."
"I thought less, I figured you were my same age."
"How nice, thank you! And... tell me, what is your type?"
"My type? I don't know, I never thought about that."
"Ah, I see. You are my type but... good God, a virgin... I feel rather embarrassed."
"Embarrassed? For me?"
"Yes. The first time for a virgin has to be something special and I don't know if I'd be able to give you something special..."
"You... did you have something special your first time?"
"Me?" Luigi asked sniggering, "No, not at all. My first time I was thirteen. I was almost raped by my rowing coach, in the boats depot. Not very romantic, anyway."
"Oh, then... it must have been unpleasant." Piero said trying to imagine the scene of the boy raped by his coach amidst the boats.
"No, not unpleasant, on the contrary... He was a handsome man and he knew how to do it. A little painful the first time, but pleasurable enough to let me want to do it again, and again... And then, to tell the truth, I had provoked him - I wanted him to be the first to... to take my cherry. So he fucked me good. But it was just raw sex, without a little bit of tenderness. He was really skilled, I must say... And the first time, I think, especially the first time, it has to be done with lot of tenderness, I think... Aren't you a little.. scared, thinking of your first time?" Luigi asked looking him in his eyes and brushing his wrist with his fingertips in a kind of light caress.
"No, I don't know... well, perhaps a little hesitant. I don't know... I wouldn't know what to do, how..."
"You did have some girls, right? There's not much difference... well, goodness, there is a difference, to tell the truth. Anyway..." Luigi said softly laughing.
"No, never..."
Luigi nodded, then seriously put his empty glass on the counter, and said with half a smile to Piero, "Would you like to... to try it with me?"
Piero, felt a quiver at that straight proposal, and, not being able to voice his feelings, nodded yes. Luigi smiled and took his hand. It was a firm grasp, not strong but virile, agreeable, that gave him a sweet sense of warmth.
"Do you have a place?" Luigi asked, his eyes shining at the iridescent lights of the room.
"No, I live with my family..."
"I see. Me too. That is, not really but with my boyfriend. He is not jealous, lets me have my escapades, but we never bring our conquests home..."
Piero smiled thinking that he was a "conquest" and thought that he would have liked to have a steady boyfriend, possibly one like Luigi... How it would be to live as couple, to have his own flat where they could live intimately?
Luigi again lightly squeezed his hand and Piero felt ready to follow him anywhere, to do anything the other would have requested.
But Luigi, said a regretfully, "Then, unhappily, we can do nothing, at least tonight. I'm sorry, I like you a lot."
"Me too..." Piero managed to murmur, feeling a little dazed at that first approach, at that first evidence that he was desirable.
"Do you feel like going out for a while and have a walk? Chat a little?" Luigi proposed. Piero nodded yes.
They walked to the Murazzi and strolled up and down along the river banks. It was pleasing to be near Luigi, so closed to him. Piero felt attracted by his maleness, so handsome, so winning and self confident... They talk about a lot of things, but not about sex. Then Piero realized it was nearly two 'o clock in the morning and said he had to go back home.
"I'll drive you, I've got a car." Luigi proposed.
"No, thank you, I have a car."
"Ah. Can we meet again? For instance there in the disco?"
"Sure, with great pleasure. Do you want my telephone number?"
"No! Never give your telephone or address to people you don't know well. Embarrassing things could happen, especially for you, still living with your family! If we meet, it will there, in the disco."
Then Luigi looking all around, saw they were alone, girdled Piero's waist drawing him nearer and kissed him on the mouth. Piero's first kiss. It was agreeable, electrifying, and Piero had a sudden, strong hard-on that the other felt with his body. Luigi, moving a little away, smiled at him.
"It's a pity we cannot... but who knows, possibly next time. I'll take you to your car, now... before I start to undress you here, as I would like..."
Smiling, they moved away. They went up to the square. Piero got in his car and they said farewell.
At home, he went to bed, thinking of Luigi he slowly masturbated, trying to imagine Luigi undressing him there at the Murazzi, and then embracing to make love standing, like the two he had seen in the bushes, accompanied by the discreet song of the river, caressed by the fresh breeze of the night, heedless of the danger of be seen... and after, Luigi would deeply kiss him on his mouth again, as he had done, but that second kiss would have been the seal of their intimacy, of their union and not just the expression of a desire.
That night he dreamed he was on a bed (his own? or that of another?), naked, on his tummy, with a naked man on him (probably the same Luigi...) that slowly penetrated him and fucked him for a long, long time, while grasping with one hand Piero's hard member, pressed against the mattress...
Next morning he woke up, recalling the vivid dream, and decided that sooner or later he would succeed in making it happen, to make it real... If just he could have a place all for himself...
So he started to look in the "Stampa" newspaper ads, looking even just for a small apartment, even a tiny single room, enough to put a bed, or even just a mattress. A place all for himself... he had little money, but... A place where he could bring his "conquests" and be able to have hours of pleasure, of intimacy.
The following week he again met Luigi. They danced together, talked, excited each other with light contacts full of desire, kissed again in a corner of the disco, Piero against the wall and Luigi pressed on him, feeling with a quiver of pleasure the reciprocal erections, the mutual desire, but at the end they had to say their farewells again without being able to do more.
That evening Luigi introduced him to a couple of his friends. One was Marco, the other Tony. Marco was really beautiful, but he didn't like him. He was full of money an so... of himself. Tony, instead was likable, but physically he wasn't attracted to him, because he was fatty, had an irregular face, teeth neither straight nor white and coarse hair... Anyway he had a good evening and his desire for Luigi had strengthened, widened. He started to feel his virginity like a burden. When they parted, he said to Luigi, "You really cannot find a place for you and I to go?"
"No, not yet. But I'm trying. Who knows... I am looking forward to be alone with you, too, in some quiet place..."
Those words pleased Piero, they were the explicit promise of future pleasures...
Piero put his registers in his personal drawer, the compositions in his case, exchanged some words with his colleagues about some labor union problems, then set out for his home.
Now for the last five years he had lived alone. He had found a mini-apartment, an attic on Madama Cristina Street, downtown. When he told his parents he wanted to live by himself, contrary to his expectations, not only did they not oppose, but his father said that if he were in trouble financially to furnish it, or to pay the rent, he could rely on his help. At times you create problems in your mind that you discover are nonexistent.
So, from age twenty one, Piero was free and master of his life.