Date: Tue, 29 May 2007 14:24:13 +0200 From: A.K. Subject: Malgre tout 01/13 (Historical) ---------------------------- MALGRE TOUT by Andrej Koymasky (C) 2007 written on October 18, 1993 translated by the author English text kindly revised by John ----------------------------- USUAL DISCLAIMER "MALGRE TOUT" is a gay story, with some parts containing graphic scenes of sex between males. So, if in your land, religion, family, opinion and so on this is not good for you, it will be better not to read this story. But if you really want, or because YOU don't care, or because you think you really want to read it, please be my welcomed guest. ----------------------------- CHAPTER 1 - Secret love The bell was announcing the 10 a.m. Mass. While his mother was finshing dressing Madelon, Jacques checked whether Jean was ready. Jules and Marie were waiting outside the door, already prepared and impatient. The Teissiers passed by and Sylvestre hinted a smile towards Marie, who blushed prettily and immediately looked away from the handsome young man. When their masters were gone, Jules whispered to his sister, "Master Sylvestre makes sheep's eyes at you, doesn't he?" "Not at all, yours are just fantasies..." the girl, troubled, answered. "Fantasies? But if each time he gets an opportunity, he has eyes only for you? He likes you, that's obvious." "Don't talk nonsense. How can you imagine that he is aware of someone like me...?" "You're pretty, prettier than so many coquettes of our village. And master Sylvestre would be lucky for you, anyway." In that moment their mother came out of the door, holding Madelon's hand. "You two, hurry up!" she yelled towards the door, then asked Jules, with a severe expression, "What were you saying about master Sylvestre?" "That he makes sheep's eyes at Marie..." The woman frowned at her daughter, "You, don't get such thoughts into your head. Those people never have honest intentions towards us. At most they like to amuse themselves. You keep clear of them, understand?" "But mum! These are just Jules' fantasies..." "Just as long as they aren't your fantasies!" the mother brusquely cut off, and after yelling a second time towards the door, went at a fast pace towards the church, followed by her children. Jean came out and sprinted to catch up with his mother and brothers, then Jacques emerged too, carefully closed the door and, in his turn, ran at a fast pace to reach his family. Junot came alongside him, "Hey, Marandin, are you coming to the tavern after the Mass?" "No, Junot. Next Sunday, possibly." "You always say next Sunday, next Sunday, but you never come..." "You know... the family... and then..." Jacques answered, embarrassed, and kicked away a stone from the path. He was ashamed to tell his companion they had no money to waste, that his mother had to do miracles with needle and thread to make her children's clothes stay in one piece, and had just to hope that some gentle person would give them some discarded clothes. He was ashamed to tell him that, if he had had some spare coins, he certainly would not spend them on wine, but would buy new shoes, because the ones he had on his feet, that he wore only on Sundays, could not support even one more repair. Once he entered the church, after making a quick sign of the cross and a hint of a genuflection, Jacques went to the right side, the men's side, with Jean and Jules. He moved up the aisle, towards the main altar and stopped, standing and slightly leaning against the wall, at the side of Saint James' statue. >From there he could see the Teissiers' private pew, with low doors at the ends, and he could also see master Sylvestre, at three-quarters, from behind him. "In nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritui Sancti!" the priest intoned. "Amen." The congregation answered, noisily standing up. "Introibo ad altare Dei." "Ad Deum qui laetificat juventutem meam..." Jacques was answering, along with the others. At one time he thought of the meaning of those Latin words, the language of the Church. The parish priest, at the catechism, had explained their meaning again and again, inculcating them firmly in the boys' minds. But for some time now Jacques had started to answer mechanically, without thinking of their meaning, because all his attention was focused on young master Sylvestre. They had almost grown up together, even if one lived on the beautiful master's farm and the other occupied one of the old ramshackle houses alongside it. Sylvestre was just one year older than Jacques. They had often played games together. And when, eight years before, Jacques' father died, Sylvestre carried the cross at the funeral. And who carries the cross at a funeral, becomes a "relative by the cross", that is something not dissimilar to the christening or confirmation godfather, or from the marriage best man. But the real change for Jacques had happened about four years before. It had been an almost abrupt change, even though not a traumatic one. When Jacques was around thirteen or fourteen, some facts became apparent that the boy was jealously keeping in the secret of his heart. The first one was that, with his puberty, Jacques became aware that his friends and mates, instead of maintaining their old friendships amongst themselves, were more and more drifting towards the girls who not only became the subject of almost all their conversations, but also of their attentions. But to Jacques, the girls remained "aliens" just like before his puberty and he was feeling happy only with his male companions and friends. He really wasn't interested in girls. At first his interest towards the boys didn't have clear connotations of a sexual attraction and Jacques mistook them for feelings of friendship. But he gradually felt, at first confusedly then more and more clearly, that there was also a physical and emotional involvement, an erotic component. The second thing happened when he was about fifteen. It was summer and Jacques, on a Sunday afternoon, was walking bare-foot upstream along the exposed gravelly river bed with a little improvised fishing net, in the hope of catching some fish to make their supper a little richer. His breeches rolled up under his knees, he was slowly walking in the water, spying the fishs' movements. He saw two big ones, not so far from him. He became still, his net in the water, hoping they would swim within reach. He held his breath. He saw them approaching, darting to swim against the stream. And finally Jacques struck and one of the two fishes ended in his net which the boy triumphantly hoisted up. It was big and was desperately darting inside the small net held in the air. Jacques was pleased. He was about to go back to the bank where he had left his basket with another two fishs, when something attracted his attention - some thick bushes were waving as if an animal was trapped in them. Jacques, surprised, went to the bushes asking himself what kind of animal could make the branches wave so much. Possibly a wild boar... surely not a small animal. A boar could also be dangerous. He approached nearer, prudently, ready to escape. And he saw two bodies, standing and gripping each other in a kind of struggle. Not animals but men. A silent, odd struggle... He noticed, stupefied, that both had their trousers lowered... and finally he became aware they were not wrestling - one of them was moving rhythmically on the other's back, while keeping him embraced. They were clearly having sexual intercourse. And they were both men! He barely knew them - the one behind was the miller and the one in front was the farrier's assistant. And the boy, about three years older than Jacques, at one point murmured, "Fuck me harder... I like it!" Jacques felt troubled seeing the scene that was unwinding between the branches and the bushes, but also fascinated. He had heard that those things happened between a man and a woman, but he didn't suspect they could also happen between two men. And both of them seemed to be really enjoying what they were doing. Jacques' uneasiness soon changed into arousal. He was totally fascinated and felt like penetrating further into the thick bushes, to better observe them from nearby. But a dart of the fish in his net recalled him to reality and so Jacques guessed that the two would not have been pleased to be caught in that circumstance, to be spied on. Thus, even though reluctantly, he silently stole away. He found his basket and put his prey into it, then took basket and net and moved further upstream going far from those bushes that continued moving in rhythm, turning to look back from time to time until they were out of sight. As he reached a big rock, he sat on it, his feet still soaking into the stream, to reflect on what he had just seen. Fuck me harder, I like it - the boy had said. It really seemed something agreeable, judging from the expression of their faces. He had also caught a glance of the member of the younger one, straight, hard, big. The boy was caressing it... Unconsciously Jacques caressed between his legs, through the worn cloth of his breeches, to feel his own erection. He felt an agreeable quiver. I like this... he confusedly thought. After getting to know that he had not yet had "carnal intercourse", the parish priest, on the occasion of the Easter confession that each year that all the village men made, had asked him "and do you touch your thing to feel pleasure?" Well, he was now "touching" himself, recalling what those two were doing amongst the bushes, thinking they were having a "carnal intercourse". The parish priest had said it was a mortal sin touching his own thing, and he had believed him. But now was no longer feeling so sure. How can such an agreeable thing be a sin? he asked himself. A sin, the priest had explained to them many times, is something ugly, really bad... Stealing, killing, coveting your neighbour's wife... After this experience, Jacques became aware he was starting to look at his companions with different eyes - he imagined being at times with one or at times with the other, there amongst the bushes having that "carnal intercourse". Sometimes he imagined being the one behind, at other times the one in front, at random. Fuck me harder, I like it. And these fantasies turned him on. Once, when one of his friends, during a break in the work in master Teissier's fields, told him he had kissed a girl of the village, and touched her between her legs, Jacques told him, "A dozen days or so ago, I saw two men doing it, up by the stream." The other laughed, "Really? And who were they?" "I didn't recognize them..." Jacques lied. "But... where they really fucking? In the ass?" the other insisted, amused. "Yes, yes, in the ass." "Ha, the perverts! If it was known who they were... they would have to leave the village!" "To leave the village? And why?" Jacques asked, stupefied. "Because they would lose face in front of all the others, wouldn't they? A man does such things only with a woman. But you really didn't recognize them? You really don't know who those perverts are? Good Lord, if it came to be known..." "No... they could have been foreigners passing by..." Jacques again lied, clearly feeling he could not betray those two's secret. He saw them each Sunday at the Mass. They ignored the other, as if they didn't know each other. The miller, a handsome man of thirty-five, was married and had four children. The farrier's assistant was in his seventeenth or eighteenth years. He was a big boy, strong and sturdy and had an open and likeable expression. The miller always sat on a pew, at the centre of the church. The boy, instead, was always standing at the end of the church, near the stoup, with his father and his elder brother. Jacques asked himself if these two did it only that time, or if they met often... and if they met always there, along the small river, or whether they did it in other places as well... When on Sundays afternoons he went to fish, he was now dividing his attention and his time between fishing and looking at the bushes, but nothing ever again betrayed an eventual meetings of the two. A third event happened when he was sixteen. On a morning, just before lunch time, he had to climb up a tree to cut a big branch broken by a lightning, that risked falling down. He carried a rope and the ripsaw on his shoulders and climbed, fast and nimble like a squirrel, reaching the bifurcation of the big branch. He was tying the part of the branch he had to cut, so that it could not fall while he was sawing it, and sat astride the sound part of the branch, when he heard a voice coming, singing ditties. It was master Teissier's son, Sylvestre. Jacques was about to call and greet him, but something held him back. Sylvestre drew near the shore of a small lake that was nearby; it was really more a big pool of clear water than a real lake. Sylvestre looked around, then started to undress. Jacques looked at him, keeping silent, still. As Sylvestre was undressing, he was carefully folding his clothes and putting them on a stump. He undressed until he was totally naked and dived into the water, starting at once to swim with vigorous strokes. Jacques felt fascinated by Sylvestre's body, which he was seeing naked for the first time. Surfacing from the water, Jacques could observe Sylvestre's head, his wide shoulders, the strong arms, the small and fair ass, the lean and strong legs beating in rhythm. Jacques admired him and thought that Sylvestre was really beautiful. He had always felt admiration and a liking for master Sylvestre, and now he could admire him, undisturbed. The boy swam for a few minutes, then came back to the shore. He emerged from the water and Jacques could see him in front - he admired his wide trapezoidal chest, his flat belly, the thick bush of his pubes from which was hanging at rest a beautiful member. His eyes lingered on the boy's genitals and this gave him a sudden erection. Sylvestre shook the water off himself and laid down on the grass, remaining naked. The sun rays made that young and strong wet body shine which seemed wonderful to Jacques who spread his legs and caressed his erection between them, imagining that Sylvestre was there caressing it, and felt an intense pleasure. He then imagined he could caress Sylvestre's member, and the pleasure became even more intense. When the sun had dried him, Sylvestre stood up, got dressed, and went away, towards the farm, whistling a tune. Jacques then emitted a deep sigh and finally started to saw the branch he had to cut. But his eyes and mind and heart were still full of the other's image. And after that day, he never again looked at his friends with sensual eyes, because at that point the beautiful body of master Sylvestre had erupted into all his thoughts, into all his fantasies. He then started to spy on his master's son and became aware that he was going often to the little lake, and usually just before lunch time. Thus Jacques, whenever he could and when he saw Sylvestre quietly going to have his usual swim, ran amongst the trees making a detour so to not be seen and to get to the shore before the other boy; he then nimbly climbed into a tree's foliage, nearer to the shore than the one from where he saw him the first time, and waited for Sylvester to come. Jacques spied on Sylvestre while he was undressing, while he was swimming, while he was drying under the sun. He was not able to go there each time, but usually not less than once in a week. And on one occasion Jacques felt his heart stopping at his mouth and felt like dying from the emotion. While the boy was drying under the sun, Jacques noticed that Sylvestre was getting an erection. At first Sylvestre lightly caressed his member, but then seized it fully in his hand and started to shake it, in a slow rhythm, up and down... The member seemed to become bigger, more beautiful, and Sylvestre face gradually became transfigured... Jacques saw the boy's body become tense, he almost "felt" it vibrate, until he heard the boy's moans and from the tip of the hard pole white spurts were gushing out, shining in the sun, like pearl necklaces that in wide arches were falling on the grass, near the youthful body. Sylvestre stopped, shuddering, relaxing little by little. His now free pole was slowly lowering and going back to its resting size. Jacques was holding his breath back, troubled, excited, moved. Sylvestre emitted a sigh, stood up, voluptuously stretched, dressed again and went away, a satisfied expression painted on his face, unaware of his silent audience. Then Jacques climbed down from the tree and thanks to the flattened grass he found the exact point where Sylvestre had laid down, and he searched... until he singled out, on the grass blades, some shining pearls, like translucent dew. He gathered some with his fingertips and looked at it. He then smelled it - the scent was light, peculiar, musky, pleasant. Instinctively he brought his fingers to his lips and with the tip of his tongue he tasted the few drops stolen on the grass blades - they were sweet and recalled raw mushrooms to him, an agreeable taste, not so different from what he had tasted when he tried his own seed after one of his nocturnal pollutions. Then, sitting where just a little before master Sylvestre was lying, he opened his breeches, seized his still turgid member and, imitating what he had seen his young master do, he masturbated and caused, for the first time voluntarily, the spurting of his own seed and became aware that this was giving him really intense and beautiful feelings. After that day, when he could go to spy on Sylvestre, Jacques masturbated himself each time, even if it seldom happened that Sylvestre did it again. He then dreamed to be naked near his naked hero. And the few times when Sylvestre masturbated himself, Jacques emotion and enjoyment were more than doubled. He then recalled the words he had stolen long before, near the river, "fuck me harder, I like it"! When the bad season came, Sylvestre ceased his brief and lonely visits to the little lake, so Jacques could no longer see him naked and even less in action. It was precisely that sudden lack that increased the boy's desire and he thus became aware he was hopelessly in love with his master's son. But he also knew very well that his love was beyond all hope. Jacques didn't lose any opportunity to look at Sylvestre, to do him some small services, to be useful to him. Sylvestre treated him with liking, but without ever giving him any real familiarity. Notwithstanding only one year of age dividing them, they belonged to two different worlds. Jacques also became aware that Sylvestre seemed interested in his sister Marie, and this on one side made him feel slightly jealous, but on the other hand gave him pleasure - who knows, he was dreaming, that if Sylvestre started to court Marie, they could even become friends... Then his fantasies ran unbridled - from the thought that he could spy on Sylvestre's while he was making love with his sister, to the idea that he could swap places with her in bed, and that Sylvestre became aware of the exchange but accepted him, telling him that after all to him there was no difference, and rather... Erotic, sweet, unlikely fantasies... Jacques also noticed that when Sylvestre wore Sunday clothes, he wore the latest fashion trousers, tighter than the usual ones, allowing one to guess the full consistency of what was between his legs, in a relief of sweet curves... And he could then recall to his memory what was hidden under that cloth, the treasure he had been able to admire, unveiled, several times... Thus each Sunday, from the new place he had chosen in the church, he could secretly admire his idol, his beloved and desired one... "Sursum corda." the priest from the altar intoned. "Habemus ad domino." Jacques answered, together with the congregation, but knowing perfectly well that his heart was not turned towards God, but totally and solely to his Sylvestre. And he thought that God had not to be upset with him, he had not to be jealous of Sylvestre. God, the parish priest had explained, is a God of love, and he was loving his beautiful Sylvestre by the sweet and gentle smile, therefore this could do nothing but please God... "Ite missa est." The priest said. "Deo gratias." Jacques answered and in his heart he really said thanks to the good Lord for having created Sylvestre and for having allowed them to meet, to see, to know each other. Sylvestre approached and his eyes met those of Jacques. While he was passing in front of him to go out of the church, he smiled at him making a gesture of greeting. Jacques, incredibly moved, leaned against the wall for a moment, until Jean pulled his sleeve. "Let's go. Jules went out already..." "Yes, Jean, let's go..." his elder brother answered, feeling happy to have once again been able to admire the beautiful shapes and the sweet smile of his beloved Sylvestre. ----------------------------- CONTINUES IN CHAPTER 2 ----------------------------- In my home page I've put some more of my stories. If someone wants to read them, the URL is http://andrejkoymasky.com If you want to send me feed-back, or desire to help revising my English translations, so that I can put on-line more of my stories in English please e-mail at andrej@andrejkoymasky.com ---------------------------