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The Angel of Pie Jesu.
By John T. S. Teller.
Part 65.
Book two: Journey of the Coin.
Gareth.
Thursday August 30th.
The last few days have been wonderful and today is no different. It's seven o'clock in the evening and we've had dinner that Gretel and Angharad have put together at the long table on the patio. The beers and the wine have been flowing freely and everybody is in a tip-top mood after Gunther and Angharad finally revealed that they were in love and what their plans were for the future. I've known about it since Monday, but I haven't breathed a word of what Angharad and I were talking about when we were discussing it in our Welsh language down at the beach. Aleric has been pumping me. He's pretty much worked it out, and even though he got angry with me a couple of times because I remained tight lipped and played dumb, he didn't know for sure until they came out with it today at lunch.
******************
We've had a great day down at the beach today, but yesterday was also a good day. We all went to Cardiff and spent the morning there. It's no London, but I have a special affection for Cardiff and its multicultural population, something it had long before the Brits began the relatively modern multiculturalism that is the UK today.
Cardiff was once the world's largest coal port, exporting coal mined in The Valleys and exported all over the world, and sailors from many countries broke their travelling and settled there. It has a large Maltese population and their swarthiness has melded in with the strong Celtic heritage of the people of the counties of Breconshire and Monmouthshire and Glamorgan.
A morning wasn't enough to explore the whole city, but we did take in the revitalized waterfront at Cardiff Bay, and the Wales Millennium Centre, home of the national opera, orchestra, theatre and dance companies, plus we visited the shops at Mermaid Quay before we took a quick look at the modern Senedd building that houses the Welsh National Assembly.
Yes, it was a good morning and it was made even better when Aleric played some CD's of one of his heroes – Aled Jones... the boy soprano who is now a successful baritone singer when we went up to Abergavenny to visit the grave of my grandparents.
I wanted to be alone when I was there, but Aleric insisted he was going with me, and when I bought some flowers to put on the grave, he insisted I get a bouquet for him too.
******************
LLanfoist Cemetery is nothing special. It lies on the south bank of the River Usk between Llanfoist and Abergavenny and we entered by the old Lych Gate and walked through the place hand in hand until we came to their gravestone... a simple, open-bible type headstone in black marble with gold letters and a black marble frame filled with green gravel. I would have had a monument higher than the Eifel Tower had it been up to me to commemorate what they meant to me, but their orders were that, because they were simple people, they wanted nothing special. But, unlike some others, their headstone and grave is well kept. I pay to have it cleaned weekly.
After we'd placed the flowers and arranged them, we stood awhile in silence, my arm around Aleric's shoulders and his around my waist, but when I said we'd be going, Aleric stopped me and asked me to wait a moment. I'd been okay up to that point, but when he went to his knees and knelt on the end of the marble frame and put his hands together, I couldn't stop the tears. I was not the only one. When my beautiful boy had said whatever he needed to say, he got up and wrapped himself around me and sobbed. Then I waited a short while until we'd both collected ourselves and without having to say anything to each other, we walked back to the car. When we got there we were both our normal selves again despite having gone through another of our spiritual moments together where words are superfluous.
Then I took them to see my grandparents' old home... a lovely rustic cottage on the outskirts of Abergavenny. I told them a few tales about the place and how I would walk from it to school because I spent much of my time being granny-reared as a youngster. This time Gretel's arms were around him to comfort him. I pretended not to notice, but when I caught Gretel's eye, we shared a knowing look. Our boy can be a complete arsehole at times, but inside he's as beautiful as he is on the exterior. Then we wended our way back to Chapel Farm.
******************
That's when I began the restoration project of my grandparent's room using all their stuff I'd had stored in the garage. Everybody mucked in and at eleven in the evening it was all done and dusted. Gretel made the final touches to the room... doing things only a woman can do, and then everybody left me alone to spend a few minutes with my memories. But as I knew he would, it was Aleric who interrupted my solitude. I'm glad he didn't know what I was thinking when I was sat in Granddad's old chair and he came in. I was cursing my parents for not being like my grandparents. He sat on my knee and hugged me and kissed me, and I had tears in my eyes when I returned his loving and hugged him to me to make sure I could get him as close to me as possible. His entrance was timely... I needed him at that moment to make a point in my own way to my parents that they hadn't got a clue what family and real love was really about.
But Aleric can read my mind, and after a while of being cuddled, he pulled away from me and looked into my eyes, and said, "Between us I think we've got it right."
"What do you mean?" I asked.
He stroked my cheek. "You've had wonderful grandparents and I haven't. But I've got wonderful parents and you haven't." I gave him a puzzled look. Tears were filling his eyes when he said, "I'm not always a daft bugger. I'm pretty sure your falling out with your parents wasn't all about business... if it was about business at all. It was about me, wasn't it? Well, your loving me was a big part in it. I'm sorry."
I wasn't going to argue with him. My soulmate is too clever for that, so I hugged him to me and told him, "I'm the happiest person in the world. Can we leave it at that?"
Again he pulled away from me, stroked the hair back on my head and looked into my eyes. Then he nodded and gave me a passionate kiss. But that's how we work, and after a while he said, "We'd better break this up or we'll be doing stuff in your grandparent's room." He pointed at the old pull-out divan. "Especially because that's like the one Mum's got that we used at Wieck." And we both laughed. Then I told him that I was going take a photograph of us both and make it a centrepiece on the old Welsh dresser that was full of photos and pottery and knick-knacks so they could enjoy us while we were away in Germany.
And the result of the time we spent in my grandparent's room was a special kind of loving when we went to bed. None of our fantasies surfaced... there was just me and my boy bathed in the love we have for each other. It was beautiful.
********************
Gunther and Angharad were sitting close together when Gunther came out with their plans of betrothal at lunch. He was as nervous as hell, but he shouldn't have been. Apart from me, everybody has been talking behind their backs about it since they came to join us on the beach on Monday. They did join us for a couple of hours on Tuesday, but since then we've hardly seen them. Angharad has told Dai and Rhoswen what's happening, so now everybody knows what's going on.
The twins made us laugh when Gunther let it all out. They both got up and went to Angharad and smothered her in kisses. Then Gottwin said, "That's great! We've got a big sister who can spoil us now!"
Aleric grinned, and said, "Gareth will give you a job on loads of money so you'll have plenty to buy us stuff with. We need some new Xbox controllers. Ours are worn out."
Although it was all good fun and everybody was creased up laughing, it gave me the perfect opportunity to give substance to many thoughts that had been going through my head since Angharad told me about their plans, so I butted in and said, "He's wrong and he's right, Angharad. Gretel won't let you spoil them, but there will be a job going if you want one. The boatyard me and Ralf are buying should be ours in about eight weeks. There'll be a job going there for an English/German speaker. The Deutsch-Britischer Yacht Club nearby provides quite a lot of work for the boatyard, so your multilingual skills would be used. Plus I believe you took your degree in business studies?"
Angharad nodded. "Yes I did. I also speak some Spanish and some French. Not as well as I speak German, but I can get by."
I looked right at her. "There you go then. You won't be on your own. We're retaining most of the staff there, so you can bed in slowly. I'm sure Ralf will agree. We'll pay you a decent salary. Bear in mind that the cost of living in Germany is far higher than it is here. I can help you out with a place to live as well, which will be perfect for that job. You and Gunther can have the house across from his parent's house. It's a nice place on Schwanenwerder, a small island across the Wannsee from where Gunther lives now. You'll have to pay rent for it, but you'd have to pay rent wherever you decide you want to live, but I won't begin to charge you until you're working. Gunther will be working at the boatyard too. He's pretty much decided that's what he's going to do." I chuckle. "No catching buses or driving to work. You'll go by motor-cruiser every morning unless you want a long drive down to Potsdam and up the other side of the Wannsee."
Angharad studies me for a moment. Will she look a gift horse in the mouth? She pleases me when she says, "That sounds fantastic, providing it's what Gunther wants. And thanks for the free lodgings until I start work."
I shrug my shoulders. "Of course. I wouldn't have it any other way. Do your own stuff and let us know, and no problems with the free lodgings." Then I add, in Welsh. "It's near the in-laws, but far enough away to do your own thing if you know what I mean." She grins at me, and nods. I wink at her. "Having you about will help me have some secrets. We can chat in Welsh and they won't have a clue what we're saying. But living there will have its downsides. The twins might be too close for comfort. You'll have to let you-know-who deal with them. He can put his foot down with them if he's a mind to."
*******************
Friday August 31st.
It's been a beautiful day today and we've spent half of it at the beach, and then we've come back to eat the leftovers from yesterday's dinner, plus lots of sundry bites and sweets that Gretel knocked up before we left to go to the beach. She's an amazing wife and mother and friend.
Dai and Rhoswen have been invited to join us, and when they arrive they're not alone. In fact, he and his extended family arrive in three cars... carrying gifts galore for the future in-laws. He makes me laugh when he gets out of the car and says, "You don't mind me bringing my lot with me, do you Boyo? Thought it best we all get acquainted before she buggers off to Germany. Took a load off my mind that has... her buggering off. Just me and Rhoswen to do our own thing now. I've been looking forward to this for years."
I laugh at him. "Be my guests, Dai. I sort of expected they'd all want to be nosey buggers. Gretel has made a load of food up. It's all on the big table indoors. Tell them to tuck in and enjoy the place." I look at the four young kids that his daughters have produced. They range in age from three to eight. The two eldest are boys aged seven and eight, and two girls aged five and three. A boy and a girl for each of his two daughters. The five year old girl has Downs Syndrome.
*******************
What a wonderful evening it is. A crazy one... but great. Little Beth, the Downs Syndrome child, is spoiled rotten by the boys. Little Gwen is too, but Beth gets the most attention. It's not surprising. I've met a few children with the illness and I've never known one that wasn't utterly adorable and immensely loving. And the boys lap it up. They even insist that she plays football with them on the lawn in front of the house. Laughter... children's laughter, and it's beautiful, especially because two families who hadn't a got a clue the others existed eight months ago are now becoming one big extended family. And all this because I went to a theatre and watched a small boy sing.
It's beautiful, but nothing is ever completely beautiful. Little Hansie would not have been involved in such a terrible accident if I'd not gone to the theatre. But shit happens and we can't go through life thinking we should have done this or we shouldn't have done that. All I can do is try and make little Hansie's life better when he's well again.
Aleric. I can't take my eyes off him for more than a minute or so, and it seems that same problem is afflicting him. Every couple of minutes he throws me one of his dazzling smiles. I know, in part, why he's doing it.
Earlier, when we were getting changed for the evening, he was rooting through one of the drawers where he's put his stuff and he was getting exasperated. I asked him why he was getting angry. He wouldn't answer me, and then he went storming off. In a couple of minutes he was back, grinning from ear to ear and holding up his green shorts. "Mum was ironing them," he said.
"There's plenty more shorts in there," I said.
He laughed. "I know that, but these fit snugly on my bum, and I know how you like looking at it, so these are for you tonight." He gave me one of his evil grins. "You were useless last night. These will get your juices flowing and I might have a good time tonight."
And I am. Part of the reason I can't stop looking at him is because he's not wearing a tee-shirt and those damned shorts he's wearing are typical old fashioned German shorts when boys were not ashamed of showing off their beautiful bodies. Kurt bought them for him, but I think it was a joint venture. Aleric has told him that, after his eyes, his cute bum is my main attraction. They're both a pair of Tarts!
And they do show off his gorgeous bum... and they do emphasise his fine legs... and they do reveal his slim upper torso from his lower waist right up to his beautiful head. He's a sexy little bastard, and he knows it! That's why he's flashing me those gorgeous smiles every couple of minutes. And he's right... he is getting my juices flowing. He's a clever little bugger for his own ends. His sexual satisfaction is paramount in all things, and until he is satisfied, then I won't get what I want most... our precious loving moments. He wants those too, but sex comes before love with him. It's the way he works.
************ ************** ************* ************** *************
Dai Williams.
Gareth and I have taken a walk down to the chapel to get away from the maddening crowd. I suggested we did, and I'm sure he knows what I want to talk about. We reach it, he opens the door with the key, and we go inside. Then I breathe out a long sigh and say, "It's cooler in here Boyo. The weather is on the change. You've been lucky, weatherwise... you've caught the weather just right, but there's rain on the way. Probably Sunday when you go back. You going back in your private jet?"
Gareth chuckles at me. "I don't own a private jet. I hire one when I need one. I don't waste money on stuff to show off. I leave that to the big heads of this world who think money makes them better than other folk when, in truth, they couldn't hold a candle to someone like you. What do you want to talk about? Angharad and Gunther?"
I chuckle. "Can't get nothing past you Boyo. Angharad says there's more to you than meets the eye. I told her I already knew that. Will they be alright in Germany?"
Gareth picks up one of the German language bibles and opens it at Genesis. Then he reads to me: And the Lord God caused a deep sleep to fall upon Adam, and he slept: and he took one of his ribs, and closed up the flesh instead thereof. And the rib, which the Lord God had taken from man, made he a woman, and brought her unto the man. And Adam said, This is now bone of my bones, and flesh of my flesh: she shall be called Woman, because she was taken out of Man. Therefore shall a man leave his father and his mother, and shall cleave unto his wife: and they shall be one flesh. And they were both naked, the man and his wife, and were not ashamed.
I stare at the man I've come to admire. "Didn't have you down as a God-fearing man, Boyo! You taken the conversion?"
Gareth grins at me. "I'm not, Dai. This is analogous and not fact as far as I'm concerned. Therefore shall a man leave his father and his mother. The opposite also applies... Therefore shall a woman leave her father and her mother. Your Angharad. I like her. She's down to earth and proper Welsh. She has her own mind, just as you do behind that daft façade you put on. Gunther is a special young man. He's like his dad. That young man has carried the family through times that would be trying for most families, and now he's reaping the rewards of that dedication. You've never been to Germany, have you?"
"No Boyo. Never had need to. What's them Germans really like?"
He thinks before answering. "Well, for most of them they're akin to what you are as a person... why you're a Master Builder and not just a builder." He waves his arm around the chapel. "This! This is a work of art. You created this from a derelict building. I couldn't do that. And the result of what you've done is immeasurable in my eyes. And the Hahn family think just as I do. But there's been an unforeseen consequence of what you've done. That's how life works. Trust me... I might be younger than you, but I know as a certainty that for every action, there's a reaction, and that applies to spirituality as well as real life. You've brought life into this building, and the rewards for that will see you and Rhoswen happy. Those two will be happy in Germany and you'll reap the rewards of their happiness. Just make sure you two visit them regularly, and part of my thinking is not just about you visiting them... we'll have fun together when you come over."
I grin at him. "That we will Boyo. But I am a God-fearing man, and I'll show you how I celebrate that. You take a pew."
He does, and I go to the old organ and pump the pedals. Then I play All Things Bright and Beautiful and give him my best baritone version while I'm at it. When I've finished, I turn around and I'm amazed at what I see. Aleric must have come into the chapel while I was singing, and he's sitting with Gareth. Gareth has his hands on Aleric's shoulders and they're both smiling at me. All Things Bright and Beautiful. I only wish I could open my heart and tell them that's exactly what I'm thinking. But I can't. Some of us are bound to that eternal silence. Only The Blessed get to be what they are. So I grin at them and ask, "Did you enjoy that Boyos?"
Gareth translates what I said. Aleric grins and looks into my eyes and gives me a lovely smile. Then he says, "Ya Dai, das war gut."
Gareth scuffs him on the ear. "Speak English!"
Aleric grins at him, and then at me, and says, "Yes Dai, zat vos gut."
Gareth grins and points at the door. "Back. Mutter und Vater!"
Aleric gets up, points an agitated finger at Gareth whilst muttering something in German, so Gareth sits down again and sighs. Then he says, "Stay where you are Dai. We've had our orders."
Orders. Aleric walks to the front of the chapel and kneels on the edge of the chancel. Then he looks up at the window with his likeness in it, puts his hands together and begins to silently pray. It takes only a couple of minutes, and then he gets up and comes back along the aisle to us. He points a finger at Gareth. "Back. Muther und Vather!"
We go out, Gareth locks the door, and we stroll back to the others. Am I being taken into their confidence or is it just natural what they do? They hold hands until we come in sight of the others, and then they release them. Food for thought there! But the most beautiful food was seeing Aleric kneeling. He's stunning in every respect, and he has a super-sexy body when those damned cute shorts are tight on his little bottom.
************ ************** ************* ************** *************
Bedri Tabak.
The place is almost full and I am adopting my best business mode as I serve my well-paying clients. All my bedrooms are also fully booked. But one remains empty. I am an old and silly man where matters of the heart are concerned. The room my beautiful boy Aleric has occupied has become sacrosanct to me. It has become a shrine... a place where I can spend some silent and thoughtful moments thinking about him. I am in love with him... deeply in love with him. Being a wise old fool, I know he can never be mine, but the crumbs from the table are becoming more frequent, not in the presence of his glorious and divine body, but now in a modern way.
Since he went away to seal his love with Gareth, not a day has passed without he has blessed me with at least two of his texts, and in each one he has ended them with those beautiful words: Love, Aleric. But then he teases me. He also adds three xxx's. They are supposed to mean kisses, but I know I will never experience the sensuality of his divine mouth in the passions of love. But poor beggars like me cannot be choosers... A kiss on the cheek from my beautiful boy is worth more than the cost of lost revenue from his room and sundry items for sale.
He has also sent me photographs. He is a very, very naughty boy! One photograph is of the sole of his right foot, which is dusty and slightly soiled, and his words accompanying that photograph are: Thinking of you. Love Aleric. xxx. I am in absolutely no doubt he will have been chuckling to himself when he sent it. But that's what he is... a boy of passions and sexuality and sensuality and naughtiness and fun... The Perfect Boy. Had that been all he sent then I would have been more than satisfied, but then he sent me something so beautiful that even when I am serving my clientele, I see the image on each plate of sukuk shish kebab I present, and that is because his boyhood is growing larger by the month. Indeed, even though in the photograph it is fully at rest and resembles in size a cooked sukuk shish kebab, I know when the blood of passions are running freely, it will resemble an uncooked one. The photograph is one of my Beautiful Prince standing before the full-length mirror of a large wardrobe, and he is naked. But there is something very special about the image of him. And he knows it! It is not of a boy aroused with passions, but one of innocence before the passions begin. We share unspoken thoughts. He has presented himself to me as the virgin child, unsoiled by sexuality, but available to be taught The Passions, and the hidden message behind the image is that he is presenting himself to me for further education.
I think that before the year is out I may be required to be his tutor again if The Prophet Muhammad (PBUH) is good to me. I will ask Aleric if Gareth has business overseas which will take him away for a few days. If he has, then I will prepare His Room. Knowing him as I now do, he will have need of it.
But even though these things have pleased me immensely, there are other things that are troubling me, so much so that even tonight I have served a client with Kokoreç instead of pastırma... something not tolerated in my humble establishment... serving a client with the wrong dish of their choice.
*********************
The Troubles came to me at four o'clock this last morning when my humble residence was as quiet as the stillness of a star-filled night in the desert. I saw It not, but It roused me from my slumbers and planted a thought in my old head that I should go down to my workplace and drink coffee. That alone was worrying. I am not a man who drinks coffee at night. Unless I am in need of earthly desires, I prefer the delicate essence of honeyed camomile in my hours of rest. But I obeyed The Thought and did as I was bade to do.
There is nothing so silly as an old man obeying A Thought and drinking coffee in the dimly lit workplace where he spends most of his time thinking of boys past. I was on a refreshed second cup at table 12 when I saw something that should not have been.
I left my working boys to clean the premises before I went to my bed. One had not been scrupulous in his task. Beneath table 4 was a rolled up and discarded magazine. I left my seat, went and picked it up, and opened it. Der Spiegel... in the German Language. A German speaking client then. I recalled the man. He was alone and was served by my boy Semih. I tried to recall the man. That was strange. I know all my clientele, but he was a man of anonymity. I could not recall his features. The copy of the magazine was an old one from 2005, and the front cover depicted a Chinese Dragon and an American Eagle, battling for supremacy. A Dragon versus an Eagle. The moment I looked at it I recalled my error of long ago when I mistook the German Eagle for the Turul. I felt the chills within me when I saw the image. Aleric has told me that Gareth is of an ancient tribe, and that the sign of their past is a dragon.
I opened the magazine and began to read it. I was past halfway when the chills presented themselves again, only this time they were so strong that I very nearly spilled my third cup of coffee. The left hand page where I opened it was half-taken by a photograph. I recognised one of the persons in it immediately. Since Aleric told me of his abuser, I have seen it often while I have been plotting his downfall. Herr Biermaier! He was with another man, and between them was a choirboy holding an award plaque and a large cup trophy.
I read the description below the photograph. The man was Pieter Brucher and he was presenting the plaque to the boy as best soloist of 2005 in the S....... Boys Choir, and winner of best soloist of the entire district of Mecklenburg-Vorpommern.
I am an old man and my eyes are not what they used to be, so I retired to my room to review what I had seen and read, and it was in my room that many of the pieces of the jigsaw of my life began to find their place.
I required an ancient magnifying glass to put the major piece into place. The award plaque the boy was holding was indeed a trophy! Shaped as a shield and the centrepiece, in silver, was in the shape of a large bird, and this time I was not mistaken when I saw that it was The Turul! At last, the words of my master were beginning to come true. But The Turul had nothing to do with Biermaier. It took me until the dawn was breaking before I discovered that.
Biermaier; Brucher, and The Boy. The poor boy's name was Siegmund Hausegger. The poor boy! Although I am a humble man, I am not without self-praise regarding my knowledge of the most beautiful of human creatures... The Boy. I have only to look at one and I can reveal his traits and likes and dislikes. I am a Professor of Boys and I know immediately when a boy is being abused. There is something in the countenance and in the eyes that reveals that dark secret, and I saw, both in the countenance and in the eyes of Siegmund Hausegger that his abuse was of the worst kind. And I knew immediately who his abuser was. No, even though there may have been contact between Biermaier and the boy, his serious abuser was not Biermaier, but the other man beside him... Pieter Brucher.
It is only when you know what you are looking for that you can see things that others would miss. The photograph revealed all to me. Although it should have been a joyous moment in his life, the eyes of the boy were sad and filled with fear. Yes, he was smiling, but the smile was false. Very probably, he was smiling because Brucher's cruel fingers were digging into his shoulder to make him do so.
And just before the dawn was breaking, the Sign of the Turul was obvious to me. Herr Biermaier is just a distraction.
My beautiful Aleric, who I love and adore and worship, when we had coffee before he went with Gareth to seal his love in his House of God, was fullness itself when he gave me chapter and verse on what had been happening to him since he met the man he loves. I implored him to hold nothing back, and he did not. And because he did not, I, Bedri Tabak, am the only person who can save him from a fate of which he is ignorant... a fate that may destroy a love between two people that is the most beautiful I have encountered in my entire, long life. And that is because, although I may be old, I am more than able to negotiate the up to date things humans have created to reveal secrets about themselves on the internet, the modern version of the Old Silk Road from Hangchow to Constantinople, where gossip and self-revelations and secrets were common-knowledge.
Pieter Brucher is of a long line of descendants that go back to the old travellers who ventured across the Old Silk Road, and whose sign was that of The Turul. Pieter Brucher is the danger to my two favourite lovers. He is a cruel man, and not unlike many of the barbarians that were his forebears I knew after reading everything about him that, in some way, I would have to deal with him.
And then, after the long night, folds of sleep were descending over my tired old eyes, but still I was troubled. The cover of the magazine, Der Spiegel, depicted a dragon, which I could put into context with this complicated miasma of events, but the sign of the American Eagle... I could not.
*********************
The Spirit has sent me a sign but has left me with a puzzle. It is around. I must be vigilant and not miss any other signs It will direct me to... and I am now certain that I am being directed.
When it is time for the client who I served the wrong meal to leave, I present him with a bottle of the wine he was drinking together with my humble apologies and inform him that there will be no bill to pay tonight. He is effuse in his praise of my establishment and thanks me for my kindness. He is right to do so. I am a good man. Allahu Akbar!
************ ************** ************* ************** *************
Aleric.
Gareth's pinkler is soft beneath my bum as I sit on it and explore his upper body. This is something I never tire of... caressing and playing with everything he is. He is my Beautiful Man and I am the luckiest boy in the universe. There must be other boys my age that will be doing just as I am at this moment, but none can be as fulfilled as I am. And I have plenty of time to explore him. He's taken away the fiercest pangs of my crazy lust.
******************
The tight shorts I'd been wearing were responsible for his first actions. I knew how he was feeling when we were showering together. His passionate kisses were accompanied by an almost brutal assault on the formerly sparsely clad bum that had been driving him crazy with desire from the moment I put them on. But that was my plan. I know how he works. We showered; we dried, and then he carried me to bed in his strong arms and placed me in the doggy position before attacking the part of me he was almost crazed to get at. It was sensational. His tongue and mouth have become tools of his desires and my needs. I allowed him a full ten minutes of that, revelling in the sucking and licking noises he makes when he's lost in his desire for me. When he was finished, my sphincter was tender and so pliable that he didn't need gel to get into me and fuck me. But he did use gel, and I was pleased he did. Inside me is another muscle that he penetrates, and I need him to be well-greased up to do that without it's really painful.
I think, psychologically, that when he's fully inside me and we're coupled and I feel full of him, that's my peak of sexual satisfaction. Well, until he fucks me and fills me with his spunk. That's better, especially as he did it tonight. He knows what turns me on... those long, slow strokes when he almost pulls out of me and then thrusts himself at me until he can go no deeper. I know he enjoys it too. His hands and fingers that fondle and caress everything he can see before him are firm, and occasionally hurtful. But I like that. It gives me a feeling of power. I'm so attractive and wanted by my Beautiful Man that he's lost in his own world when he's fucking me. But then came the moment I was waiting for, and he timed it perfectly. Those feelings were beginning in my jaw and sending shock waves down to wherever the explosion of lust happens, and he slammed himself into me and ejected his spunk as far inside me as he could, and at the same time, I came onto the towel he'd placed on the bedsheets for when I spurted my stuff. It was our supreme moment... a mutual detonation of sexuality that's like nothing else in the sexy side of my life as far as I'm concerned. When it was over and Gareth was fondling me as he was bringing me down from what he'd done to me, I had a smile on my face. My green shorts plot had worked a treat. (Who's a clever boy then?! LOL.)
I knew what would come next. He always does it. Not that I was complaining. (I enjoy it as much, if not more than he does.)
He laid me on my back and attacked my defenceless front. I kicked him in the face when he tried to suck my toes, but he didn't carry it on. It was a moment of fun in a sea of sexuality. By the time he was towering over me and staring into my eyes, there wasn't a square centimetre of what was revealed to him that he hadn't spent time licking and kissing. Then he lowered his face to mine and we shared a kiss of spit and tongues. Only when he'd sucked my tongue dry did he start his journey back down me, eventually ending up with my pinkler buried deep in his mouth, my legs wrapped around his neck, and my grip on his hair so fierce that it must have been hurting him as he brought me to my second climax.
The third time was my punishment for teasing him all day. We'd spent about fifteen minutes after my second climax, laughing and giggling about various things, and especially about me teasing him so cruelly. That's when he raped me. He sat on my knees, grabbed both my hands with his left one and pinned them to the bed above my head, and then grinned evilly at me. I struggled, but he was far too powerful for me. I told him to get off me. He shook his head. I told him I would scream if he didn't. He shrugged his shoulders and told me to get on with it. Then he grabbed my swollen pinkler and began to hurt it, bending it and squeezing it so hard that I was wincing at the pain. But he wouldn't stop, well, not until he wrapped his strong hand around it and began to wank me. And that was done as fiercely as the other things he'd done to me. But I was helpless and unable to stop him, and there are times when we're having sex that I love what he does to me, and I was powerless to stop the sensations when they came. When it was over and I'd come down from the assault, he smiled at me and kissed me softly on the lips. He released my hands and I gripped his hair and brought his face to mine and thanked him for what he'd done with a kiss filled with so much passion that it left us both breathless. He had raped his boy, and it was beautiful because I was well aware that he only did it because he finds me so attractive. But that's the egocentric part of me.
******************
He tans well. It's the darkness of his being that does that. There's a measure of gypsy in him. He says it's his Celtic heritage. I'm the opposite. Although I have brown hair, I'm pale of skin and it's taken me all summer to get a proper tan. But my bottom is almost white when contrasted against the rest of me when I've got nothing on. I noticed that more when I was taking the photograph I sent to Bedri. He's not sent me a text back complaining about it, so he must be okay with it. I did it in one of my crazier moments early in the week. It took me ages to get my pinkler soft. Well, it was almost soft. It hung down over my balls, but `soft' is when I've been in the cold sea. It was nothing like that. It was sort of a warm softness. I was being kinky again. It was a sort of a message to Bedri that it was his to wake up if I visit him again. Will it happen? That lollipop thing he used on me still haunts me. In fact, I've thought a lot about it. I wouldn't want Gareth to use it on me. It just wouldn't be the same. Whatever it is has to be used by a Master of Boys. And Bedri is certainly that.
Master of Boys. Bedri isn't the only one of those. My Beautiful Man is becoming one. He's just proved to me that he is. What he's just done has put me in my proper place. I've teased him all day and he's taken his revenge. I like it when he's powerful and strong and doesn't give a fuck what I say to him and takes what he wants and not what I want. I want it too. In fact I love it when he treats me like shit at times. I give him enough, so why shouldn't he do the same? In fact I know exactly what's going through his mind when he does it... I'm not the boy he loves... I'm a sex object. I like being a sex object. Why shouldn't I? It's provided me with all the sex I need up to now.
I run my fingers through his pubic hair and then the hairs on his chest. He isn't like a brown bear as Biermaier was. Gareth has the perfect amount of hair on his body to please me. In fact, everything about his wonderful body pleases me. I follow the contours of his strong shoulders and run my hands along the sides of his body. He's a fraction over 1.8 metres tall and weighs 85 kilograms. I'm 1.6 metres tall and I weigh about 52kg's. He's well-muscled and athletic... I'm delicate framed and slim. Even though I'm fourteen, he can still lift me like a child, as he did tonight when he took me to our bed to make love to me and to rape me.
Rape me. It wasn't rape, it was punishment. I'd been a very naughty boy and that was my punishment. He'd hurt me, and he wasn't really trying. I can't imagine what he would do to someone if he was trying. Couple that with his sometimes violent temper and I wouldn't like to be in the shoes of whoever was incurring his wrath. I've only glimpsed that anger a couple of times. I recall seeing that look in his eyes when I pissed him off and he nearly buggered off to England and also when I was being stupid and he came storming in after I'd painted myself with Ich Liebe Dich. Kurt said he was in a violent temper when he'd fallen out with his parents. Although I'm glad I wasn't there, in one way I wish I had been. His violent nature is a part of the man I love, just as his supreme gentleness is.
He breaks my thoughts. "I'm sorry I hurt you."
I smile at him. "I deserved it, but next time, smack my bottom, please."
He grins at me. "I would have done but they would have heard it all through the house. Is your cock sore?"
I lift it up and examine it. "It's slightly bruised."
"Is it out of action now then?"
I grin at him. "I think if you would give it one of your special kisses it might improve."
He giggles. "Bring it here then I'll see what I can do."
And that's just what he does, and my final climax of the night is when I'm leaning over his face and he's teased the nerves of my knob so well that the inevitable conclusion is my final deep thrust into him, and I know that he's deep throated me when the inevitable feelings explode again. He is learning!
When I get off him, he asks, "Is it feeling better?"
I grin at him. "Much better. I think I might wear those shorts again tomorrow."
He chuckles. "Please yourself."
I giggle. "Do you want me to suck you off now?"
He shakes his head. "I wouldn't if I were you. I might get really vicious and ram it into your tummy."
Another giggle from me. "You're not big enough. And you're useless."
Gareth laughs and pulls me into his arms. Then he kisses my hair and says, "I love you Aleric Hahn."
I nod on his chest. "I know you do. Are you glad we met?"
I feel his head nod on the top of mine. "Yes. Now bugger off to sleep. We're going to the beach tomorrow and then we're going to see Dai's choir sing tomorrow evening."
I nod. "I'm looking forward to that."
"Looking forward to what? The beach or the choir?"
I giggle. "The beach. Did you see that lifeguard with blonde hair? He's gorgeous. I'll bet he's not useless."
Gareth's voice is dry and sarcastic. "Put your green shorts on then. But don't come complaining to me when he hangs you up by your balls and shoves his cock down your throat. I'll be too busy with that boy who was wearing really tight speedos. Apart from when you bloody Germans visit, I thought they'd gone out of fashion in the UK. He couldn't keep his eyes off me all the time we were there."
I lift my head and look at him. "He's only about eleven!"
Gareth grins at me and nods. "So, do you think if I'd met you when you were eleven that I wouldn't have wanted to fuck you?"
I grin at him. "Would you really?!"
"Yes. Most definitely. And I'll still want to fuck you when you're fifty."
I chuckle and settle my head back onto his chest. What he's said has pleased me in so many ways. The bit about him still wanting to fuck me when I was fifty was the best bit, but his comment that he would have wanted to fuck me when I was eleven is the stuff of fantasies. I remember Biermaier putting his hands up my short pants when I was that age, and even though I was disgusted at what he did, I can still remember that special feeling when his fat fingers first touched my pinkler. It couldn't help itself. Within a few seconds it was nail hard and throbbing, and it's never stopped throbbing since when somebody else touches it. LOL.
I'm now looking forward to tomorrow even more. I'll sort out the sexiest pair of speedos I've got. The blue ones with the diagonal stripe going across them should get me noticed. I might even get my bottom spanked tomorrow night if I play my cards right. LOL.
To be continued...
You can find my other stories on Nifty here. If you wish to comment on this or any of my other stories, just drop me a line to john.thestoryteller@gmail.com Genuine comments will be appreciated. All flames will be extinguished in the trash bin.