Date: Tue, 20 Mar 2018 11:39:16 +0100 (CET)
From: marin.giustinian@laposte.net
Subject: On the Edge of Eden

In the following diary, all of the characters are totally fictive. For
whomever it would be illegal, immoral or forbidden for any other reason
whatsoever to read a story about love between a young man and a consenting
lad of sixteen is kindly requested to refrain from continuing. Free photo
album (pdf) from this story is available upon request at
marin.giustinian@laposte.net. This being said, I hope you enjoy the tale.

ON THE EDGE OF EDEN

by Marin Giustinian

Eighteenth century, London, England and Northern Italy.

----------

Aboard the barquentine "Capucine", Saturday, April 22, 1775

Here I am, on a small packet boat sailing to Bordeaux and beyond, leaving
behind London with all of the life I've lived up until now. I've found a
small place on deck, in the lee of the wind, where I can write in my diary
about the most important thing that has ever happened to me since my
birth. It all started just a week ago.

One of the better known bankers in the City, Lord Ryder, held a reception
in his sumptuous, stone and brick townhouse over in Kensington for which my
two mates and I were hired to play chamber music. The butler in charge of
the venue told us that an extremely important handler in charge of the
international affairs of the very old and very aristocratic Italian family,
the Borromeos, is the guest of honour. I had no idea who he was, but
assumed that he was a rather high ranking personage to have such a
reception held in his honour!

So we practiced some of the trickier but delightfully cheerful scores of a
late Venetian composer, Antonio Vivaldi, whose pieces for the woodwind
flute I fancy as well as my two colleagues, on spinet and viola. We did a
jolly good job that evening, now that I think about it.

So, getting back to the point, here in detail is what really did
happen. Once the evening was over and the guests were leaving, we were
packing our instruments away when the butler himself came up to me, gave us
our pay and told me that their Lordships, Lord Ryder and the guest of
honour, his Lordship Baron Bartelemeo Marcacci, would like to have a word
with me in private and bade me follow him.

Somewhat startled, I bowed and said, "Of course, Sir". Taking leave of my
mates, I gave them their share and told them I was withheld. They smirked
and joked as usual having seen me more than once having to deal with some
shady proposal, be it male or female, at the end of the evening.

As I timidly approached their Lordships, I noticed that the Baron was the
same gentleman who had spent several long moments attentively listening and
staring at me during my solos.  Lord Ryder introduced me to the Baron,
leaving us in the small drawing room in which they were conversing. I was
then invited to sit as the Baron took the armchair beside me, thanking me,
in almost flawless English, for the time I was according him.

I was completely flabbergasted! I nervously sat on the edge of my chair,
knees squeezed together and armpits dripping. Even though his tone was
quite reassuring, I felt completely subdued by his nobility.

He began telling me why he wanted to involve me in a plan that my presence
and music had just inspired him. He explained to me that he had assumed the
care and upbringing of an orphaned lad to whom he referred as his
"godson"― I didn't have the least idea of what a "godson" could
be. The young man went by the name of Silvano Lascario. He was, as claimed
the baron, of noble extraction, aged fifteen, and presently living in
Prince Borromeo's palace on an island in a lake back in his country. I
understood nothing about who and what he was talking to me about. I did
understand however that his intentions were in no way raunchy. Unless...?
I'm ashamed of being so suspicious... but we all are these days.

He carried on saying that his godson suffered severe moments of
melancholia, distress and gloom and even though the household took
excellent care of him, the lad seemed resolutely unable to cheer up,
refusing even to leave the island, having become terrified by the
possibility of facing again the violences that had murdered his parents and
nearly himself.

This criminal information put me a bit ill at ease.

According to him, the chap, even as a child, was a fervent music lover and
he held that music, poetry and learning in general could be one of the best
remedies for such acute melancholia.

To this, I fully subscribe.

For this the Baron had hired a young priest as tutor for his humanities. He
also hired a spinet master for him to study music, but it prevailed that
neither were able to foster the boy as was needed, still being quite
destitute, lost in his fears as well as in his grief.

I really wondered why he was telling me all this. I smiled and listened,
waiting for him to conclude and inform me as to what could eventually be
expected of me.

Then he told me that he was very impressed by my sensitivity. He had been
enchanted by the 'heart', so he said, that I put into the music, insisting
on the sensual quality of the sound. He also congratulated me on my humble
yet elegant demeanour, rare as he said, at my young age and he felt that I
was seemingly gifted with the same delicate manners and fair allure as his
godson.

I was of course blushing profusely, hearing such flattering comments and
was still stunned that a man of his position not only deemed speak to me,
but even considered me having any kind of similarity with his noble
ward. Why did he share such very personal matters with me, a perfect
stranger of my inferior rank?

Then, at last, he came to the point. Becoming more formal, he politely
asked me if I would kindly consider coming with him back to Italy and be
employed as Silvano's mentor and adult companion, instruct him in my art of
the flute and teach him some English as well. He then told me the sum of
wages he was offering, in sterling. I nearly passed out! He said also that
he would, of course, assume all travel expenses, wardrobe, room and board
and any other expenses which could occur during this mission.

He never made any lewd insinuation which could have led me to suspect less
noble intentions. In fact, he gave me an impression of sincere honesty
― and God knows that such is a very rare quality these days,
especially amongst the higher class gentry!

I was, in fact, overwhelmed and shook by his story and even more so by his
very generous offer, asking me, in fact ― to help cure this
young lad. I begged him to let me think about it and also seek counsel from
my mother. The Baron replied that such precautions were a mark of wisdom
and that I should take all the time I needed to make a satisfactory
decision both for me and for Silvano.

However, I had to decide soon because it would take a certain time to
arrange everything concerning my passage with them. They had to leave, he
and his valet, Renzo, on the evening tide of Friday next, only one week
away. Upon this, he gave me his address in London, inclined his head with a
very warm smile and calmly repeated that he expected a prompt and positive
answer.

Oh my God! I was absolutely bewildered by this invitation as I sat,
bewildered, probably looking like a moron, staring into oblivion. One of
Lord Ryder's footmen scurried over, asking me if I were all right and once
reassured, reminded me that it was late. I thanked him, finished packing my
bag and began the long walk home, lost in my thoughts, upset and yet a bit
bemused by this totally unbelievable opportunity.

My thoughts played havoc with my mind. The Baron definitely was a man of
great dignity and therefore I should trust him, but on the other hand, this
whole arrangement was so sudden and unexpected, and could be, I think, a
bit suspect. Ah! Why does life in London make one so distrustful of things
that seem too good to be true?

If I left with him, I would terribly miss my friends and the intimate
pleasures I enjoyed with them and, of course, I would terribly miss my
mother, and yet such a windfall shouldn't be, by any means, neglected. For
me, even Windsor seemed terribly distant ― so imagine Italy! It
is in another world ― different language, religion, landscapes,
all of this was muddling my wits.

Yet my soul lives in a world of beauty, art and music -- and Italy is the
country that excels in that. Their musicians and artists are certainly the
most brilliant in Europe. Never had I imagined that any decision could be
to this extent so totally excruciating!

I tried to convince myself that the night would wisely advise
me. Poppycock! I tossed and turned in my bed until dawn. When I went down
to breakfast, my mother immediately saw that I was in shambles and asked me
what had happened. I blurted out all that I could about the Baron, his
godson, his offer, my fears. I emptied my sack!

She clapped her hands and shouted "Praise be the Lord!", then grasping my
shoulders, she looked at me straight in the eyes and said, "You're big
enough to defend yourself, Ashley Montgomery. So, now go up and dress in
your best attire and haste yourself in a hackney over to this gentleman's
address and tell him that you gladly accept his offer and bow to him to
express your gratitude".

She carried on, telling me, that with my talent, at the age of only
twenty-three, under the protection of a rich and noble Baron, I should by
no means refuse to take him up on it! Italy could be my best chance to gain
wealth and fame. She added with a twinkle in her eye that from what she had
heard, Italian men, like the Greeks, were also more lenient with male lust
for their own kind than the English and that would let me indulge more
freely in my "sinful" ways. After all, I can't deny that she is always
right, so therefore I obeyed her to the letter!

His Lordship made me wait only a brief moment and received me in his
personal apartments. He seemed very pleased with my prompt decision and
answered all my questions concerning the island, the palace, the Borromeo's
estates, himself and so forth and so on. I was amazed at how little I knew
of the world outside of London!

He calmly informed me that he worked as the man in charge of overseas
transactions in which the Borromeo family was ― or could be
― involved. The family's headquarters are in Milan. Prince
Borromeo and he had studied together in Locarno and have remained dear
friends ever since. He was also in charge of the supervision of their more
intimate and homey summer palace on one of their islands in Lake Maggiore,
located in northern Italy. The island estate is called Isola Madre. When
the Baron took his unfortunate godson under his protection, the Prince
immediately granted unlimited hospitality to the orphan and assured him
that his staff would take good care of him when his godfather, the Baron,
was compelled to travel on business. He went on to say that the Prince and
his family seldom came to Isola Madre, preferring their larger palace on
Isola Bella. However, Isola Madre was fully staffed and the gardens were
still being transformed, under the Baron's supervision, into a new
'English' garden (he insisted on English). He said that the island was a
haven of peace, a perfect retreat in which Silvano's affliction could be at
least soothed if not, with tender care, healed.

He then questioned me, testing me, so to speak, on my sincere and
trustworthy dedication to such a mission, to Silvano and of course to my
music.

I was again impressed by the virtue of this man and his concern not only
for his ward, but also for me. He also explained to me what the duties of
'godfathers' for their 'godsons' are for the Catholics. That impressed me
too. Pray that I live up to his expectations. His esteem and evident
affection spurs me to strive for equal excellence.

So, in the lapse of only three days time, he had my documents and passport
issued, my travel trunk purchased and packed with new attire, music scores
galore and a double set of flutes. He even gave me a purse stuffed with a
few guineas (an absolute fortune!) and shillings for any, as he said,
menial expenses of my own.

I went to bid farewell to my mates, who, of course, understood nothing
about where I was going and why. We both wept as I hugged my mother
― and here I am, sailing for the first time in my life on the
sea, heading abroad!

Our travel plans go like this : Once we arrive in Bordeaux, we should take
a scow up the River Garonne to Toulouse and from there, charter a
coach-boat plying the Canal du Midi to take us to the Mediterranean port of
Sete. This should go without any major threats, however in Sete we must
find a well armed 'tartane', which is, as I was told, a swift, coastal boat
linking the French and Ligurian ports for passengers and small freight. The
fact of it having to be armed is important because of the Barbary pirates
who infest those waters. Passengers and packets are good prey for them,
because of the ransom, the profits of selling Europeans for enslavement and
booty they bring. It is said that they are a real danger and I do admit,
this information terrorises me.

Well, we shall see what Divine Mercy has in store for us. Now that I am
underway, I must live through each day as it comes and pray that we arrive
alive!

Being on the sea is a whole new experience for me and I must accustom
myself to the stench, the close quarters and the heave and roll of the
ship. I implore the Divine Holy Ghost to favour us with good wind and no
tempest! I also think that I'll let my diary rest some. I realise that
writing while traveling is nearly impossible. I can resume when we arrive
to where my mission begins!

----------

Milan, Friday, June 2, 1775

What a joy to be able to open this diary again, trim my quill and smell the
scent of ink as I pour some ink into the well. I've missed conversing with
my diary. It really helps me sort out my thoughts.

I shan't waste time nor ink on the details of our voyage. It is enough to
state that all went well, with no real hardships. I feel I have grown a lot
in my mind and ways, having had to cope with so many strangers, foreign
tongues and behaviour in such crowded conditions, deprived of hardly any
time or space of my own. The Baron has set me up in a rather nice boarding
house close to Borromeo's home offices. He said that I need some time for
myself as well as some decent food. How right he is! Here I have a clean
room, by myself with a bed for me, alone without sharing it with Renzo!

Over the span of our voyage together, the Baron, Renzo, and I were able to
become quite well acquainted. I learnt to appreciate their respective
qualities, cultures and predilections. Sometimes language was a
problem. Renzo's English is quite limited, but I am very impressed over the
way they both master French! As for me, anything other than English is a
total mystery for me and it can sometimes be quite embarrassing!

Neither one ever mentioned having a wife. The Baron once said that his
talents were better employed managing business than coping with female
moods and whimsies and I note that Renzo is only devoted to his master. He
and Renzo are busy concluding business with the Prince.

I feel the same about my devotion to music. If one day I am stung by
Cupid's arrow and fall in love, that love must be intimately linked to my
heartfelt passion of music and not only to my cock. A passion must be
shared and not lost in the maze of simple lust one for the other.  While
underway, I was also glad that the Baron spoke to me often about Silvano,
well informing me on his background, character and above all telling me
about the dreadful event which had orphaned him.

He related that the lad's parents, members of the very noble Lascario
family of Turin, were traveling in their carriage, on the road between
Turin and Milan, when they were attacked by bandits. Their coachman, as
well as the postilion, dastardly fled, leaving the man, armed only with his
sword, to protect himself, his wife and their only son. Not only did the
bandits plunder the trunks and rob them of their attire, purse and all, but
also attempted to mug and bag Silvano who could have been sold in secret to
clandestine Barbary slavers in Genoa. They in turn would sell him on the
block in Algiers or Tripoli, certainly bringing a handsome sum for such a
comely lad. They shot both of his parents with their pistols. That's how
they were both savagely murdered, struggling to protect their beloved son
who had barely escaped by darting into a very thick wood. He hid therein
until hunger and fear drove him out to seek help. Poor fellow! I shudder at
the thought.

More pleasantly, he also described in great detail the island, its garden
and the palace. I now feel that I know the lad and his surroundings as if I
were already there. The Baron also said that he was sending a messenger to
announce our forthcoming arrival on Isola Madre.

Coming, we encountered no pirates between Sete and Genoa, however I
suffered a touch of seasickness all the way. This being said, having
discovered, for the first time, overland travel with the stage coach up to
Milan, I found it horrible, dusty, crowded and bone rattling to say the
least. In a few days we shall go with the Baron's own personal carriage to
take a boat in Angera, whence we finally set foot on Isola Madre. I close
with these considerations on our voyage by noting that I am, safe and
sound, which in itself is a godsend!

----------

Isola Madre, Saturday, June 10, 1775

At last, here we are! The pains and strains of our travels are now over!
Yesterday, as the launch slipped into the harbour of this magnificent
island-estate, the domestics and gardeners, lined up behind two gentlemen
appearing to be the estate steward and the butler, waved and applauded our
arrival.

Then I saw Silvano. I knew it had to be him. He was so overwhelmingly
beautiful I thought I was hallucinating, dreaming a dream, having a
celestial vision of some fairy prince like creature appearing to the poor
mortal that I am. There before me, beaming, was an absolute angel.

As the Baron stepped ashore, his godson, breaking all the rules of
etiquette and protocol, ran up and eagerly hugged him. Then, as I came
aground, I smiled at him, bowing my head. He glanced back at me, with no
expression whatsoever and looked back at his godfather. After having kissed
Silvano, the Baron simply nodded his greetings to his staff and beckoned me
to come with him as he headed up to the alleyway to the palace, followed by
some of the higher ranking members of the household, the chaplain and a
rather ugly, mousy looking young priest, the tutor. No mention was made of
me to anyone. I was a bit puzzled, feeling somewhat invisible.

Once in the palace, I was told that I could now retire, unpack, freshen up
and settle in. The Baron said to me as we left that I would be sent for
later, that instructions had been given to assure my well being, that a
personal servant was appointed to my service and that I should above all
have no worry. A servant in livery beckoned me to follow.

We climbed the stairs to the last floor and then went down a
corridor. Passing by a door in front of which we paused, the valet spoke
Silvano's name. I presumed that these were his quarters. The next door down
was open with my trunk and luggage already delivered. I assumed that this
was going to be my new home.

It was a rather spacious, panelled room and well lit by two square windows
and tastefully furnished with a large canopy bed, a table, two chairs, a
desk, a chest of drawers, a wardrobe with mirrored doors and a small
fireplace. I was shown then into a decent sized, tiled antechamber
furnished with a shallow, circular, pan-like pewter tub, a long table, some
chairs, basins, lidded buckets and jars. Another door further to the rear,
obviously connecting with Silvano's quarters, indicated that he and I share
this same commodity.

As the valet left, a young servant, quite handsome, I must admit, came in
bearing two buckets of water, one cool and the other, steaming hot. He had
some linen towels draped over his shoulder and after having placed them on
a tall stool by the tub, he approached, bowed and smiled. Presuming I would
understand nothing in his own tongue, which would be totally correct, he
proceeded, without any explanations whatsoever, to undress me. I was not
used to this surprisingly intimate behaviour, but I went along with it for
he was quite resolute and skilful in doing what he was doing. It became
obvious that this fellow was in fact going to bathe me!

Since I was a babe, I had never been bathed by anybody else but
myself. Here, it seemed normal that this young servant take care of
me. Once I was completely naked, he beckoned me to stand in the tub and
anointed me with warm water and some kind of perfumed ointment which
lathered abundantly in my hair and over the rest of my body. He pleasantly
sponged me all over, especially in my most private parts, under the arms
and, of course, my hind. As my member swelled I nearly swooned over the
delicate care it was receiving. I began to feel lightheaded and shameless,
even a bit bold as my cock twitched under his touch. My young servant,
obviously proud of the effect his fondling had on me, took matters in hand
and stroked me even more deftly until I spewed with buckling knees all the
backed up semen that I was deprived of tending to during these last days of
travel.

After such an intimate moment, I sighed and brought my hand up to my chest
and very carefully enunciated my name, Ash-uh-ly. I then shrugged with a
smile as I tilted my head and put my hand on his chest. Understanding my
gesture, he then smiled, patting me on the shoulder in return and spoke out
his name, Luca. He rinsed me again from head to toe and towelled me all
over.  He then bade me sit in the chair by the table and brushed my hair
until it was almost dry, shining and wavy. He removed from a drawer in the
table a long razor, a shaving brush and a soap bowl. He poured more warm
water in a barber's pan and went about whetting the razor on a leather
strap. He was going to rid me of the scrawny, itchy whiskers that had
spread over my face over these past weeks. I nodded my consent and away to
work he went.

Once this was done, my face was wonderfully smooth. Luca rubbed it with
some spice scented alcohol, which however stung greatly! To conclude the
situation, he stood behind me and massaged my shoulders and neck with
another fragrant oil. I nearly dozed off from the pleasure of his hands
kneading my sore muscles. It is such a new and wonderful experience to have
someone take such scrupulous care of me. I felt better than I had ever felt
before. Having decided that his job was done, he invited me to rise,
ushering me back into my room.

He spread my attire for the evening out on the bed. Being brought up in the
Quaker tradition, I had never worn a wig nor any other frivolous
adornments. I was very pleased to note that the clothes I was given were
also elegantly plain ― unusual for continental taste. Just as
Luca had finished dressing me and was unpacking my belongings, I found it
hard to recognise myself in the mirror, admiring the transformation I had
undergone.

A page boy knocked and entered, bowed and handed me a note. It said that if
I were presentable, I should take my favourite flute and scores and follow
him.

I was more than presentable. I had never felt myself so becoming, fair,
relaxed and self-confident as I did then. It was also a joy to be expected
to play, I imagine for the household and of course and above all, for
Silvano ― whom I was yearning to charm as well as to tame.

I followed the page through a succession of magnificent rooms to arrive in
a very ornate drawing room. The Baron was there, well groomed and handsome
as ever, talking with a small group of gentlemen and Silvano. As I entered,
he immediately came over and complimented my fine looks and, in front of
everybody, formally presented me to my future ward. I understood only then
that, of course, I had to be 'presentable' in order be presented... at
last! Bless Luca!

Once his introductions were over, everyone politely applauded and Silvano
then bowed in my direction, took my hand and kissed it saying, "Benvenuto
Maestro".

This polite gesture of respect, welcoming me was very gracefully done just
as I assume he was instructed to do.

The Baron said that he had explained to Silvano, in front of the others,
that I was here to be his mentor, music master, English teacher and senior
companion. He then added, "Now it's time for you to play for us some of
your music. You must impress the household and thus establish your rank as
well as your credibility, my boy".

I nodded my thanks to the Baron, then to Silvano, raised my instrument to
my lips, inhaled and let the first notes of one of Corelli's allegros fill
the room. The music worked its magic at once.  As I played, I admired a
very gentle smile gradually spreading over Silvano's delicate face as he
ever so slightly swayed, his eyes lost in some distant dream ―
the last notes vanished into silence, he was the first to applaud!

I was requested to play another, then another. After three pieces, the
Baron told the gathering, plus the servants huddling in the doorway, to
have pity on me so that I could rest a moment before going to dine. Silvano
then came nearer and asked me quite politely, in English, "Maestro, may I
try?"

Of course I was thrilled to hand him my flute. He put his lips around the
slender tip and blew ever so softly, making a sad wail come out of the
instrument as if it were lamenting his shyness. Undiscouraged, Silvano
didn't frown. Instead, he simply sighed, mumbling to himself "Questo,
dominarò!" (This I shall master!).

The Baron came up to us and told Silvano that he must learn to play as well
I do and if he worked hard every day with me, he too could become an
equally gifted musician. Silvano beamed, thanking his godfather, then
turned to me, as if to seal the deal, opened his arms and hugged me. I
awkwardly hugged him back and gently caressed his cheek, pulling away and
bowing to conclude our tacit agreement.

This Latin exuberance in physically expressing affection is still so new to
me. It really challenges our English reluctance to hugs and kisses. I enjoy
them, but they still make me feel a bit uncomfortable.

The scent of Silvano's hair lingered behind as I followed him, along with
the others, to the dining room. The butler, probably according to the
Baron's instructions, had seated Silvano to my right.

I was perhaps the happiest I had ever been in my life, me, a simple piper
for parties and pubs, now a soloist seated at the table in a Prince's
palace, presided by a Baron, with a beautiful young and noble disciple by
my side, gleeful for the first time in months as his playful glance met
mine, making us both stifle an inappropriate giggle.

The wine went to my head a bit faster than I expected and when the meal was
over, I was granted permission to retire to my room. I was full and yet
emotionally empty, exhausted and fulfilled, relieved that the journey was
now over and my mission, finally beginning.

As I rose from the table, Silvano did the same. I understood that he was
asking permission to accompany me and retire as well. The permission was
gracefully granted and we returned together through the suite of rooms,
climbed the stairs, led by Luca, who had two lit lanterns that he held
hanging in his grip. As we stopped in front of his door, Silvano took one
of the lanterns. I touched his shoulder. He looked at me. I handed him my
flute saying, "This is now yours".

"La mia?"

"Yes, yours -- a gift".

"Grazie Maestro!!! Oh! Grazie!"

He stood all his height and kissed me on the cheek ― and I
kissed his in return!  "Good night, Silvano".

He held the flute with great respect, turned and bowed.

"Buona notte, Maestro Ashley".

Luca opened the door, whispering something to Silvano who then vanished
behind his door as we left.

Luca opened mine and we entered. I thanked him as he lit the candle by the
bed, turned down the covers and gestured to help me undress. I dismissed
him, not really needing his services. He showed me the chamber pot under
the bed, bade me good night and entered the antechamber, closing the door
behind him. I supposed he was going to tend to Silvano. The poor fellow's
work had doubled upon my arrival now that we were two, benefiting from his
services.

I felt that I really needed to be alone just to relish the magic moments
I'd just lived. I went over to the window enjoying the cool, balmy night's
fragrances of flowers and cut grass floating in the air. The star studded
sky was shimmering, mirrored on the immobile surface of the lake. Some
muted toots and shrieks coming from the neighbouring window brightened me
up even more.

I know I am on the threshold of a fabulous, new life. Yes! As I write these
lines, I know that I am on the edge of Eden and that after laying down my
pen, I shall crawl, buck naked, between the lavender scented linens of that
huge bed and shall sleep and sleep and sleep to my heart's content!

Tomorrow, I must write to my dear mother and share with her all this joy.

----------

Isola Madre, Sunday, June 11, 1775

My dearest Mother,

At last, we have arrived to destination. The island and palace, named Isola
Madre, which means in English, Island Mother, are in the southern part of
Lake Maggiore. The manor house, called here a palace, is very discreet,
almost plain compared to our English estates but the "English" gardens are
beautiful beyond description. I am sitting at a desk in the elegant room I
was given on the uppermost floor of the house. A very handsome and helpful
servant, Luca, tends to my person with fealty and grace. Through the window
I can admire the lawns and shrubs, now in full blossom, and beyond, the
lake, bordered by mountains. You would love it here. The lake is like a
saltless sea. There are villages along the coast and a town called Pallanza
which is our nearest contact with the mainland, but I doubt I will often
leave the island. After having lived in the rush and stink of London all my
life, I shall deeply enjoy the peace and the purity of this luxurious
refuge. The Borromeo family is owner along with a fairy tale palace and
gardens on a neighbouring island called Isola Bella and a very large castle
in the town of Angera, on the southern stretch of the lake, whence we took
the launch, rowed by ten young men, bringing us here. In fact, the Borromeo
dynasty governs all the lands surrounding the lake and even beyond, north
into Switzerland and I don't know how far south. Even though my benefactor,
patron and protector is not of the Borromeo family itself, he is very much
at home here, taking care of Borromeo's business and the estate on Isola
Madre which seems to also be his pride and predilection. The staff and he
treat me like a person of quality. I wasn't aware that my ward is also from
a very old noble family. I am impressed by the consideration granted to men
of art and music here. If they excel in their art, if they approach
sublimity, they are referred to as being 'Divo'. In fact, that is a status
in society apart from all the others, whatever be the rank in society of
their parents. This I suppose is impossible in England where one's rank in
birth greatly determines one's place in society, like as in our case. After
being introduced to the household, I was requested to play several tunes
before dining, As I finished, I overheard someone, whilst nodding in my
direction, and say, 'Divo'. The young man to whom I must teach my art fell
under the charm of my music. His attitude changed completely from a sullen
young lad to a smiling fellow. As we went to retire, I handed him, as a
gift, one of the flutes I had been given and he spontaneously kissed me on
the cheek. He is now very motivated to learn. Music brought his smile
back. Joy had deserted his handsome, fair face. Now his joy has returned
and doubled by my own. It is so very heartwarming to do him good. I feel I
shall enjoy befriending him, sharing not only my skills but also my
affection. Now I must find my place in the household. The situation of
'Divo' seems to be, as of yet, unprecedented here and I must be vigilant as
to how I manage my status. However I am sure that all will turn out for the
best. Don't fret for me, Mother. My money bag is already full. Whatever
happens, I shall always, like a lucky cat, fall on my feet. I want you to
know, dearest Mother, that I am well, happy and so very glad that you
encouraged me to undertake this unbelievable endeavour. As always, you are
never wrong concerning me. Might the Holy Ghost protect you as He does me!
Let us be grateful for His loving concern.  Your faithful and devoted son,
Ashley

Upon showing the butler my letter, pointing to the address, I shrugged,
eyes lifted to heaven, and sheepishly smiled. He smiled condescendingly as
he uttered something making me understand that he could take care of this
petty matter of posting my missive. I gave it to him and bowed. He bowed
back, spun around on his heels and disappeared.

Now I must draw up a schedule for myself and Silvano. We need to devote
ourselves to three major tasks : First, perfecting Silvano's knowledge of
reading music, studying harmony, counterpoint, fugue and composition. Then
there is English to be studied for fluency in a conversation. Finally, the
better part of our time must be dedicated to mastering the skills of
blowing, fingering and mouthing both kinds of flutes we have and making
music together.

----------

Isola Madre, Wednesday, June 21, 1775

Little by little things have been sorted. The spinet teacher was relieved
of his functions and the tutor's time was reduced to three small mornings a
week.

I still enjoy all the devoted attention Luca lavishes on me. It keeps me in
a perfect frame of mind and body. However, I wonder if Silvano benefits
also from the same intimate, relieving care ― at his age, it
could do him great good!

I mingle little with the staff of the palace but don't shun them
either. The chamber and scullery maids let me know that they find me quite
becoming even if their flirting glances from under bowing heads are
unavailing. The valets, footmen, chef, gardeners, boatmen and other
servants keep a respectful but cordial distance. The seamstresses and
tailor have all my measurements and my winter garments are under way. The
laundry maids keep my clothing and sheets freshly washed and ironed every
week. My relation with the chaplain and the tutor is however rather cool if
not inexistent. Perhaps the fact that I am a Protestant could explain the
distance they observe ― if it isn't simply a question of base
jealousy.

The butler has installed Luca's lodge on our corridor with a bell cord for
me, and since Silvano will soon be of age as a young man, he has one
too. He is now free to sleep in as he desires and summon Luca in the
morning as he desires. Thus when I wake up, I ring him for breakfast and
grooming. For my other meals, I am invited to have my lunch and dinner in
the music room with Silvano. The cooking is quite different from what I was
used to in London but apart from the occasional red pepper they use, it is
really delicious. Whenever the Baron is in the palace, we are requested to
dine with him in the formal dining room which, I must admit, is always
quite an event!

----------

Isola Madre, Friday, July 21, 1775

Tomorrow, we celebrate Silvano's coming of age. He turns sixteen and
henceforth shall be considered a man. The Baron is here of course and a
festive banquet has been planned for the higher members of the
household. Silvano and I have practiced a duet to be given in concert
during the after dinner cordials in the family drawing room. While doing
this work on the duet, I shared with Silvano some of my professional
'secrets'.

As I had learned for myself, the usage of the lips, tongue and throat is
primordial. Teaching these intimate details to Silvano was never a
problem. His lips are plump and cover quite well his teeth, which are, by
the way, very white and well set. The lips protect the flute from damage by
the teeth. The mouthpiece and its slit are very sensitive and delicate. He
enjoys licking and lipping the instrument down to the barrel before
blowing. He is also able to open and close his throat with great ease,
giving husky warmth or a silvery sparkle to the resonance of the notes
accordingly. His breathing is plenteous and steady and his lung capacity is
outstanding. He can blow quite easily without coming up for air for an
amazing length of time. The more we work, the more I am persuaded that he
will soon be able to play just as I strive to, with -- how shall I put it?
― with voluptuousness. At any rate, that's how I like to imagine
the young shepherds of Arcadia charming each other, with their reed flutes
and the goodwill of god Eros. These sensuous qualities amount to nearly
nothing but it is precisely those precious, little 'nothings' that change
everything.

Silvano is indeed a very bright lad and is making surprising progress in
everything we undertake. But above all, it is his eagerness to please me
that is noteworthy. I am sure that the warmth of our shared, masculine
complicity contributes to this propensity.

Once, as we were working on holding notes, Silvano said that when he felt
the sound he was making start to vibrate and resound in his flesh, a sudden
rush would run through him like a shiver, a frisson, just like the thrill
of love he feels when hearing my music and even more so when we are playing
duets together. Love is, of course, the secret of everything. Yes, indeed,
love is the key and it seems that what we feel happening between us exceeds
simple fellowship! Oh! Calm thy heart, Ashley! Time and destiny will govern
what happens. Leave it up to fate. That which begins in grace rarely
backfires for he who is respectful of the blessings bestowed on him.

At any rate, I have yet to see him flinch, balk, mope or grieve whilst we
are together. Only once did I find him on the verge of tears when, during a
practice, a pageboy brought him a packet the Baron had sent. He opened it
finding a small, oval, miniature portrait of his parents, commissioned by
the family's notary. He instantly slipped it into the side pocket of his
frock, excused himself and wiping his cheeks, fled into the garden. I let
him go. He needed a moment alone to dissipate his grief and find his
composure again.

I realise that maybe I keep him so busy, so tense that he has little time
for his moods. Perhaps I keep him far too busy only with work ―
Now that I come to think about it, maybe we should, in fact, find some time
to also enjoy distractions and even spend ourselves doing things such as
calisthenics together. A lad of his age needs some free time to grow, to
feel, to question himself and above all, to have physical fun!

I know that he enjoys sailing the small skiff docked in the boathouse. I
was told he would take it out as often as possible before my arrival. I
shall ask him if he would consent taking me out on the water someday
soon. I would love to share that experience with him, wherein he, rather
than me, be in charge of us.

----------

Isola Madre, Sunday morning, July 23, 1775

As the household attends mass, I return to my diary. The birthday
celebration last night was fantastic. The whole evening was exquisite and
highly inspiring, but the way it ended was even more so!

First of all, there were the preparations. For our grooming, Silvano and I
shared for the first time our connecting antechamber as Luca bathed, shaved
and massaged us. He styled our hair and perfumed us together. We all three
were visibly aroused, enjoying the mirth and warmth of this new
situation. We were then dressed in our finest attire. Of course, my clothes
were less exuberant than Silvano's but I must admit, I really enjoyed him
putting perfume on my neck and a touch of powder and rouge on my cheeks and
lips. He too tied his hair back with a large red bow, powdered and perfumed
himself abundantly and Luca painted his lips a very bold crimson. It amazed
me how much such a tiny detail could enhance even more his beauty --
something totally unimaginable before witnessing it.

I'm even playing with the idea that helping nature's given beauty could be
a Godly virtue. Adorning the body with brocades of many colours, laces and
ribbons, and of course glittering jewels, combing and arranging hair, using
perfumes, all of these contrivances could be to a person what gardening is
to a plot of land -- and this island wherein we abode is a perfect
illustration.

Luca stood back and smiled in approval at the results of his efforts as we
looked each other over making the final touches, laughing, putting a lock
back in place or flitting a spot of lint off a shoulder. With our
instruments in hand, we left our quarters and tripped light-footed down the
corridor and stairs to join the others, cocky and gay as any two youthful
fellows could be.

As we entered the main hall where the party was gathered, we were heartily
applauded and when the Baron arrived just behind us, he came straight over
congratulating us most cordially. I stepped back so that Silvano could
relish alone the affectionate birthday attention in which he was basking.

Wines in crystal goblets and antipasti on silver plates were served as
Silvano mingled with the others, receiving gracefully their birthday
felicitations. Even though I had tried to learn and use some Italian, my
ability to converse was extremely limited. I thus kept somewhat to myself,
simply taking in the beauty of the moment.

The Baron, noticing me off by myself, strode over and thanked me for all
that I had accomplished in so little time with his dear Silvano. He then
clapped his hands, calling for the attention of the party and gave a very
brief but seemingly laudatory speech, gesturing often in my direction. I
was deeply stirred when Silvano rushed over to me and hugged me tight,
under the applause of the others.

I understood that the Baron had highly praised me and I feared that a tear
or two might betray my commotion. Notwithstanding, I was able to keep my
composure as any correct Englishman should. And at this point, the butler
came to my rescue as he announced that dinner was served.

It turned out to be an epicurean feast rinsed with the finest of wines. The
chef had outdone himself and was even paged to come and be
congratulated. After sweets, we all went to the family lounge where
cordials were being poured.

When everyone was served and settled, Silvano spoke up and announced our
little concert. The piece Silvano and I had worked on was a fantasy that I
had transcribed from one of the easier Wilhelm Friedemann Bach's duets.

It was a smashing success! We definitely amazed everyone. After our duo, I
turned to Silvano and addressed him pronouncing a sentence I had memorised
in the best of my Italian, "Il mio regalo per te, caro Silvano, sono queste
tre fantasie che ho composto per i tuoi seidici anni." (My gift to you,
dear Silvano, are these three fantasies I composed for your sixteen years.)
Applause.

I felt the inspiration of Silvano's smile as my melodies soared. At the end
of the third piece, I saw Silvano beaming, a tiny tear adoring his face. I
was overjoyed. I winked at him, nodding him to come closer. He winked back
and dashed up beside me. We encored once more our duo to top off the
concert, reaping a standing ovation.

I admit I was a bit tipsy with emotion, as well as from all the wine and
cordials of which I generously partook. I saw that Silvano looked somewhat
blurry eyed also. We therefore decided to go for a sobering stroll in the
gardens and asked permission to take leave of the party. Away we went, arm
in arm, gleefully swaying down the alleyway leading to the boulders on the
shore by the boat landing.

The silent moon had spilt a stream of silver on the lake and the fragrance
of the gardenias, jasmine and roses embalmed the warm evening air. We sat
down on a wide flat stone, listening to the lapping ripples caressing the
gravel below and admired the dark, hazy endlessness spread out before us,
saying nothing, as if to not disturb such a velvet moment.

Then Silvano took my hand and said, "I want to tell you myself what you
already know concerning the tragedy that I endured last year."

I gently squeezed his hand in mine, "As you please, I'm listening".

In a very steady, calm voice he confided himself to me, with all the gory
details : the attack, the murder, his escape, his rescue with some passing
monks. He was poised as he told this. As he spoke, it seemed that this
haunting burden simply dissolved into the night. Then silence. A spirit of
relief hung in the air. He slipped his hand out of mine. We looked at each
other, then at the lake. After a long moment suspended in time, we ever so
gently leaned in one against the other and turning our heads, our lips
slowly met.

Time stopped!

Surprised by the sudden influx of earnestness tingling throughout both our
bodies, we sprang to our feet and again, this time almost feral, we clung
to each other, our tongues dancing together, our lips quivering, our breath
suspiring as if we were each the music of the heartbeat of the other. Our
cocks hardened even more as we nudged and ground ourselves ever so lovingly
into each other. Forthwith, we both broke into a fit of laughter, not
because of nervousness ― nothing comical nor even awkward had
happened. We laughed like children laugh when they are happy, simply
because we were both ― totally overwhelmed with joy!

Also Silvano and I have a date to go sailing tomorrow!

----------

Isola Madre, Monday, July 24, 1775

This morning, the sun streamed through the blinds onto the bed. Suddenly,
in a flurry, naked under his floating nightgown, Silvano bursted into my
room and landed, kneeling on my bed. He swept back my hair and tickling me
as he laughed, repeated over and over, "Get up, get up! The wind is
perfect! The sun is already high!"

I grabbed him in a massive hug and rolled him over, flat on his back, both
of us bumping against the bedhead. We wrestled, turning each other
over. The sheets swaddled us, wrapping us up together. He was soft and
lithe in my arms, breathing fast, trying to free himself, screaming,
"Lascia! lasciami". (Let go! Let me go!)

Suddenly, Luca dashed in, alerted by all the noise we were
making. Startled, he admonished us to cease. He thought we were fighting
instead of frolicking. Oh, the look on his face! Our guffaws vexed the poor
fellow. We were laughing to tears. As he was heading toward the door,
Silvano and I, still captive of our linen sheets, called him back. Silvano
quickly told him that there was neither harm nor offence and that we were
just jesting. He told him that we were going sailing and that we had
decided to take, as he said, a fun-day off.

We finally wiggled our way out of bed and told him that he didn't need to
groom us nor serve us breakfast this morning and that he too could take his
day off. Pleased and pacified, he smiled, bowed and wished us a pleasant
outing.

We quickly dressed. Silvano returned with two straw hats and his
satchel. We took another sack with a rain cape, just in case. Passing
through, we raided the kitchen, much to the dismay of the scullions
cleaning up. We grabbed some tarts for breakfast, some bread, cheese and
fruit with a bottle of wine and nearly stumbled as we ran down the lane to
the boathouse. I had never felt so carefree in all my life!

However, arriving at the boathouse and seeing the skiff, I must admit that
I was a bit nervous about going on the water in such a frail craft. Silvano
was obviously quite proud to handle the situation alone. He was clever and
precise, as in everything he does, securing and releasing knots, paddling
us out of the little port and hoisting the sails into the breeze. He
trimmed the mainsheet which billowed perfectly in the breeze and underway
we tacked through the glittering water. Even though I was deadweight
aboard, it was wonderful admiring Silvano at the tiller, feeling the skiff
gently heave and lean under the wind.

Seeing the houses of Pallanza drawing nearer, I asked, "Are we going
there?"

"No, dear Maestro. We're going to my favourite place on the lake!"

He then pulled the tiller making the skiff lurch even more to port side. It
heeled, picked up speed on the beam reach with me braced on the bench and
Silvano proudly perched on the starboard gunwale, hair waving in the
breeze, smiling for all he was worth!

We eased into the river's mouth at the far end of the western gulf and
beached on the strand in the shallows. Silvano then confided to me that
this was where he used to come to drift and dream, hidden by the reeds. He
went on telling me that before I came into his life, he would come here
because, as he said, the river drove away the demons clawing at his
soul. It dulled his fears and gave him peace. Then laughing, he exclaimed,
"Now I want to laugh at the demons and enjoy just having fun here, together
with you!"

I felt tears swelling in my eyes, blurring my vision of Silvano who was
shucking off all his garments. He slid, lithe like an otter, disappearing
nude into the water. I felt rather stupid, as I sat, in the boat, totally
clad, a straw hat pulled down to my ears, wondering what I should do.

I didn't know how to swim!

Breaking surface, Silvano shouted, "Come on in!"

I shouted back, "I can't! I don't know how to swim!"

"No need!" he answered, standing, his hands in the air, showing me that he
was barely chest deep in the river.

Then let it be! I undressed in a flash and stepped out of the boat. I waded
with great precaution towards Silvano. Just as I was nearing him, he
tackled me, toppling me over, ducking my head and all. Sputtering and
spitting, I grabbed him back and there we were, two rowdy urchins,
splashing and tumbling, laughing and cursing like mad.

Soon we were spent. We pulled ourselves out of the water and collapsed on
the shore to catch our breath, recover and dry. There we were, naked and
splayed on our backs in the grass. The breeze in the reeds whispered their
silly secrets ; a lazy dragonfly circled above. We were one with the world.

I looked over at Silvano. His forearm was draped over his eyes and just a
hint of a smile embellished his lips. His beautiful cock had filled,
stretching towards the sun, a crystalline drop of desire gleaming in the
slit of its tip.

"Silvano?"

"Yes?"

"Our kiss last night? How do you fe...?"

"It was the best gift in the world!!" he blurted, crushing my question.

Then, slinking up, he snuggled halfway over me. He took my cheek in hand
and leaned over my face. Closing his eyes, his lips lit on mine, longingly
― with a touch of gentle passion and an enormous flow of
unrestrained love. My kiss revelled under his and melting up against him,
our bodies writhed together in a turbulent surge of lust.

Oblivious to all but each other, divine Eros took hold of our will and
swept us away with wantonness, driving us close to frenzy. We kissed,
inhaling each other's scent, our frantic mouths darting sporadically hither
and thither over our gleaming skin. Craving each other's throbbing, sobbing
cock, the thrill of love-making spread through us in a flash flood of
delight, beginning with our lips, tongues and throats as we bonded, sucking
each other in a rhapsody of mutual fellatio. Our merging moans and delicate
whines became increasingly urgent. Then all at once, the simultaneous
eruption of our semen gushed into each other's throat as we swallowed, the
best we could, the only libation that could quench the fire of that
singular thirst.

Silvano slowly writhed around and leaned over me. Giggling, his butterfly
tongue sipped my smile and a bit of his semen, lingering on my exhausted
lips. It is said that if you hear the chirps of a wagtail as it takes off
in flight, it is an omen of good luck. We heard two of them singing as they
both flew together, up from the reeds into the sun.

All of a sudden, jumping up, his hands on his hips, his wilting prick
swaying, Silvano announced, "Ho fame!" (I'm hungry!) Then off he ran,
splashing through the shallows, to fetch the victuals stowed in the
skiff. Oh! How we feasted on the bread and cheese of that humble banquet,
spread out on the grass, guzzling the wine and savouring the ripe, juicy
fruit.

Silvano looked at me as I carried the empty bottle and basket back to the
skiff. He asked me to bring back his satchel. On my return, I handed it
over to him. His expression was at the same time pensive and a bit playful.

"You know, you are as beautiful as an ancient statue of some pagan god," he
stated.

I sort of laughed when he said that. I've never considered myself as being
beautiful. I could say of myself that I'm not ugly but absolutely not
― at least up till now ― beautiful.

"Would you please pose for me? I want to draw you like you are now."

He pulled a pad of paper out of his satchel and several stems of
charcoal. I knew he sketched every now and then, mostly plants and fowl in
the gardens and sometimes the statue of Adonis near the lily pond, but I
never saw him draw live people.

I was flattered and a bit ill at ease. "Well, where do you want me to go?
What pose should I strike?"

Images of all kinds of classical statues ran through my mind as I awaited
my instructions.

"Over there by the tree, and take the rain cape to drape on your
shoulder. Pose as if you were pondering some deep and serious
matter... like the mystery of love."

Vast mystery indeed!

I did the best I could and since he said nothing, I guessed I was doing it
to his satisfaction. In fact, posing this way and being scrutinised so
closely by Silvano made me feel strange, in some curiously pleasant way, as
if I were an object of devotion. As he sketched, I relished marvelling at
him, nude in the sun, deeply engrossed in his task. Then the inevitable
sprung up. Little by little I erected.

"Oh Ashley, what are you doing? I wanted to depict you as a man of wisdom,
not as a lecherous satyr!"

"It's one of love's mysteries, Silvano".

Mocking anger, he cast his pad on the ground and swaggered over to me with
a mischievous grin on his face. Suddenly he grabbed my cock and said,
strangling it blue, "Well then here is another mystery of love! You are
totally useless as a model ― but I love you anyhow!"

"Release me you ludicrous scoundrel. Don't injure my cock! That hurts!"

"Don't exaggerate!"

"Who's exaggerating here? Ouch!"

I was stifled by another kiss. He released his grip and darted off towards
the water with me in pursuit. We rushed together into the lazy, limpid
current, enjoying another luscious spree of naked delights. As we kissed,
stroking each other and laughing, the milky filaments of our semen slowly
spread and vanished into the river's transparency.

It was hard having to return. Silvano postponed dressing. He wrapped his
arms around himself and looked down on the crushed grass where we first
made love. He smiled and sighed saying, "I guess we must go, alas!"

We hugged a long moment before reluctantly donning our clothes and slowly
headed back to the boat. Did we fully realise that neither of us shall
henceforth be the same as before ; that bonded by our intimate communion,
our lives had changed forever?

Before boarding, Silvano quietly asked me, almost in a whisper, "Have you
done that with many others?"

"Yes, from time to time, with my mates in London, but it was never like
now. It was never meaningful like it is with you. It was not ―
love, but only lust."

Did I just say Love? Had the dart of Eros stung me? Was I facing the fall?
Had I already fallen? My heart raced ; my thoughts went awry!

"Did you say...? ― Ashley, did you really say, Love?"

Then without any hesitation whatsoever, I spilled all that my heart had to
say, "Yes, Yes, Silvano, I did -- I love you. I love you as much as love
can bear! Silvano --, Ti amo!"

"Anch'io ti amo! I too love you, Ashley! Other than Luca helping me squirt
some needed relief and sometimes also with my own hand, I have never felt
anything compared to what has happened between you and me. Never have I
been enraptured, spell-bound, ravished by another person, thriving on him,
devouring him, loving him in total abandon. Never have I felt such divine
joy. Never do I need anyone or anything else! ― Oh carissimo
Ashley, my love for you makes the angels sing". He took my arm, leaned in,
whispered, "Listen" and hummed in my ear a simple, soul-lifting melody.

----------

Isola Madre, Friday, November 3, 1775

Here I am after having neglected this diary for ages. Happiness has a way
of doing that. Our routine seems changeless. Fortunately there are the
seasons which remind us of time's advancing. I often think about that first
day by the river. We returned there from time to time to, let us say, renew
our baptism. Here, together on this island, time is like the river. It
passes by, never stopping and yet it is always there, almost the same,
invisibly changing, yet seemingly lingering at a standstill.

August arrived and flowed into September becoming October with sporadic
autumn chills and the colours of the foliage changing. Our days and nights
are filled with music and lust. We make love in all the ways we know how,
and ways we had never thought of before.

I have exchanged letters with my wonderful mother who welcomed Silvano into
the family, jokingly calling him her 'son in sin'.

The wonder of love is seeping deeper into our lives as the weeks merge into
months. Our joy of giving to and receiving from each other the liquid light
of life and the living breath of music surges through us each time stronger
as every new day dawns.

Neither the Baron nor the household seem to have any qualms whatsoever
about the love Silvano and I overtly share. Only the chaplain looks down
upon us with a hint of scorn, but whatever! Luca is no longer surprised to
find us naked, cuddling in one another's bed as he brings up breakfast and
he really enjoys grooming us both together when we don't groom each other.

Our love kindles inspiration as we play our own compositions. It is an
immense pleasure blending our music as it flows into surrendering
silence. I am also beginning to finally utter some decent Italian and
Silvano's accent is the only weakness in his English. He has taken to
keeping a diary too. The tutor finally informed us that his lessons were no
longer needed and that he had decided to take his leave. The Baron had no
objection at all, neither did Silvano, saying that henceforth he could
study as he pleases, on his own.

Yet in the midst of all this harmony, as the nights lengthened and the
outdoor pleasures became scarce, I really felt the need to go a bit
rampage. I felt it would be great just to go out on a spree! The calm of
the island, now that winter is coming, got somewhat on my nerves. My city
blood started to throb again and my birthday was coming up in week. I asked
Silvano if he would like us to go dine and spend the night in a tavern in
town just for the fun of seeing and mingling with other people and enjoy
some unbridled revelry together. Because it being my birthday, I was sure
he'd accept.

----------

Isola Madre, Wednesday, November 8, 1775

He said yes! I was happy as a lark. Silvano didn't hesitate an instant to
joyfully declare that he too was now ready and very happy to indulge in, as
he said, the adventure of facing the world again, with just a touch of
debauchery ― as long as it was with me.

Trust had abolished Silvano's fear as the aching loneliness that once
choked him to tears yielded to love. For myself, I've changed too, the
drabness of my former Quaker ways, with their share of hypocrisy has
shamelessly surrendered to cheer, laughter and the pursuit of pleasure. I
feel free to let my music heed my moods and drives. I even fancy red pepper
with my spaghetti! I think it is high time for both of us to really
rollick, be it in love, in lust and, why not, in some good liquor!

So, the following morning, I inquired as to which 'locanda', or pub with
upstairs accommodations, in Pallanza was the best. "Da Beppe" was highly
recommended. It turned out to be just at the foot of the new church above
the harbour.

We packed our overnight bag, took our instruments and off we sailed in the
afternoon sun. We were given a room with view on the lake and informed
Beppe that we were here to dine, drink and celebrate my birthday. He cocked
his head in a friendly way and said in some decent but broken English
something that sounded like "My lord, you can count anything on
me". Silvano laughed as he sidled up to the fire repeating "Count anything?
Really?"

Our dinner was a country-kitchen feast, succulent and rich, served by Beppe
himself at our table by the hearth. Men, of all ages and stations in life,
came, gathering for drinks talking, laughing and smoking. As they entered
either alone, by twos or threes, they courteously bade us the good
evening. It was obvious that even though we were here for the first time,
everybody knew who we were. Surely some of the palace boatmen had already
frequented the place and gossiped to their hearts' content.

After dinner, ale, wine and grappa flowed freely. Beppe strutted in,
bearing a sort of cake with a lit candle stuck in the middle, saying to
everyone that this is how birthdays are celebrated in this gentleman's
land, England. A big hurrah rose in the smoky room, goblets and mugs were
raised as all kinds of compliments were shouted out. Then a short, stocky
fellow pulled out a mandolin from a sack stashed under his table and
started to strum up a very lively tune. I blew out the candle, cut up the
cake and passed it around for all to partake. Silvano disappeared and
immediately skipped back in with our flutes.

Improvising along with the gentleman's excellent music, we played all three
together, entertaining the patrons and the few florid harlots therein. The
fireplace and candles brightened the room, wine and liquor flowed as
suddenly lighting and thunder broke outside. Sheets of rain battered the
window panes as the storm raged on... and no one seemed to care!

Having downed a goblet too many, Silvano's face was flushed, his hair in
total disarray. He ripped off his shirt and, naked down to his breeches,
floating low on his hips, stepped out of his shoes and rose like the flames
in the nearby chimney. The mandolin man and I struck up a spirited
jig. Everybody began clapping their hands in rhythm as Silvano swayed,
rolling his provocative rump, frontside bulging. Sweat began to trickle as
he turned, spun, knelt and skipped, his legs never quavering, his arms held
out as if in a trance, his long, slender fingers quivering in the air
surrounding him, heavy with smoke and the scent of sweat. He was Dionysus
incarnate, a young dancing god, casting his feverous spell, driving all
insane with marvel and lust. My flute and the mandolin sped on and on,
increasing until at a certain point, Silvano convulsed and stumbled,
collapsing in my arms. He was drenched. Grabbing my head he ground his
forehead against mine, then planted a torrid kiss on my thirsty lips as the
whole room cheered "Che belli sono, che belli!" (How beautiful they are,
how beautiful!).

Silvano and I unsteadily stood, bowed to our admirers and staggered away,
carrying flutes, shirt, shoes and each other the best we could under the
deluge of hurrahs and wolf-whistles. Shouts of "Buona notte raggazzi!
Godatevi!" (Good night fellows! Enjoy!) ushered us up the stairs to our
room.

The chill of the room hit us as we unlocked the door. Tossing off the rest
of our clothes, we dove into the bed, clasped together, laughing and
kissing as the night thundered afar. Never had Silvano's semen been so
sweet. I was also congratulated on the abundance of my own. The quest of
rapture had entangled us in its thralls, sweeping us away in a spinning
rhapsody of love and flesh ― as always.

Just as the night slowly slipped into dawn, Silvano, cuddling me even
closer whispered, "Are you awake?"

"Almost, and very much in love with you."

"I need you inside of me. I need you to breed me deeply... Now! The time
has come, hasn't it?"  His need triggered mine with the same imperious urge
to merger in him and he, in me. I replied with the same insistence, "Yes,
the time has come for it to happen".

And it happened.

In reckless abandon, we sucked and slavered, stretching and wetting each
other's hind entry. Silvano abundantly bathed my cock with his saliva. My
own slickness seeped generously from my slit. I slid in him with hardly any
strain. The pang yielded to ecstasy as I kissed his lust swollen lips. With
the rising sun, he rode me with increasing ardor as I spilled myself deep
into him. Then I slathered Silvano's drooling cock with my own spit mixed
with my semen leaking down his thigh. He entered me with infinite delicacy
as passion overwhelmed us both, losing control. Crying aloud, we upsurged
both as one in total bliss.

I don't know how much later, I rose and opened the window letting in the
much needed fresh air. Silvano scrambled out from under the covers,
shuttered an instant and then, brutally shaking his head, changed his mind
and threw me back on the bed. We collapsed together and wept for joy,
hugging tightly, legs entangled. This was the first morning of all
creation. Our love was complete, strong and right.

As we went downstairs to breakfast, we tried our best to look a bit less
disheveled and starry-eyed. Beppe knowingly smiled, hugged us both in a
rather fatherly way and handed me the bill.

When we stepped outside, the sun was already high in the stark blue
sky. The intense light reflecting on the water pierced our eyes as we
bailed out the skiff, sculled into the lake and set sail, slowly heading
back to the island.

Exhausted, elated and exalted, we returned to our Eden, knowing that
nothing henceforth could threaten our blessed, celebrated and glorified
love. I knew that loneliness was henceforth banished from my life as began
this morning my twenty-fifth trip around the sun.

Upon our arrival at the palace, Luca rushed up to me with a missive in
hand. I took it and ripped it open. It was from the Baron who was on
business in Venice.

Ca' Pisani, Venice, All Saints Day 1775

Dearest Ashley and Silvano,

The other day at Florian's, I met a certain Sior Manin, a trustworthy and
highly respected connoisseur of music here, acting as an impresario for the
better musicians and composers. I took the liberty to tell him about both
of you, your duo, your scores and the mastery of your different kinds of
flutes. He was deeply interested, always on the lookout for new talents. He
would like to audition your work in view of having you perform a series of
public concerts and private recitals he could organise for you in the
better theatres and palaces of the city. I should be very happy to finance
your travels and stay if you decide to accept his invitation.  I remain
affectionately yours,

Marcacci

We looked at each other and winked. Silvano grabbed Luca and said, "You are
coming with us to Venice!"

"Siete matti!" (You are crazy!)

"Not enough, Luca! Not enough!"

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marin.giustinian@laposte.net