Date: Tue, 25 Dec 2018 10:30:24 +0100 (CET)
From: marin.giustinian@laposte.net
Subject: Powerful Flowers

In the following story, 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 two consenting young adult
half-brothers is kindly requested to refrain from continuing. A photo album
(pdf) concerning this story is available upon request
<marin.giustinian@laposte.net>. This being said, I do hope you enjoy the
tale.

----------

POWERFUL FLOWERS

by Marin Giustinian

----------

Let me set the story this way.

Oliver and Ramsay McGregor were soon to be sent out into the world. The
times were hard for Glenbrook, one of the last alternative, new-age
communities remaining in rural Scotland. That's where our half-brothers,
born of the same single mother, grew up. She had to give them her surname,
their fathers being long gone and unidentified even to her. She seemed to
prefer liquor and drugs to life. Their grandmother, Venus McGregor, was
still a pure, steadfast, flower-peace-and-love woman, swishing around in
her white Indian shawls, blondish-grey rasta locks hanging beyond her
shoulders. She was nearly always shrouded in a cloud of ganja sativa. Mama
Venus was everything for the boys. With her, they had always lived in a
world of their own, bonded to each other by the unspoken force of self
protection.

As lads, they were more or less left to themselves. Even older, they
mingled little with the other people who drifted in and out of the
community. The boys were house-schooled by their grandmother. Being six
years older than Oliver, Ramsay was his companion, his idol and his mentor.

Venus often reminisced about the life in Glenbrook at its beginnings. The
post-hippy new-comers to to the valley had taken over an old vacant
farmhouse and rehabilitated the surrounding land for organic farming. They
were able to obtain a legal settlement for their project and later, with
the land being so poor, they took up greenhouse gardening. Soon, Venus
opened up a campground with a little store stocked with their vegetables,
handicrafts, knitwear and woollens, not to mention their primitive 'art'
works.

In the beginning, all was hope and joy, song and dance and everybody
believed in a brilliant future of peace and love for humanity in spite of
Margaret Thatcher. That was in 1986. Thirty years later, the picture wasn't
the same. It was simply bleak. Doubt, gloom and drugs were more of the
trend. The aftermath of the punk movement and the social disasters caused
by the dominant, ultra-liberal economy had passed by there, intoxicating
even this remote, harmless settlement, founded to be a place completely of
happiness, "out of this world".

Mama Venus was the Pachamama. She and her only daughter were the last
remaining founders of the Glenbrook Community. There was a lot of turnover,
but the number always averaged between eight to ten, covering a large range
of ages anywhere from vagabond teens to elderly soul seekers. Everyone
depended on Venus and, in fact, she was extremely dependable. When it came
to handling whatever showed up, she was there and she did it. This being
said, her grandsons had her priority, their disordered mother being
incapable of giving them the care they needed and deserved.

Nonetheless, Ramsay had grown into a strapping young man of twenty-four,
still a bachelor, all the time working outdoors, trying to keep things in
order -- if not simply together. Oliver, eighteen, was more of a
dreamer. His feminine side was, so to speak, more prominent -- not girlish,
just delicate and mild mannered. Mama Venus seemed a bit more drawn to him,
to her sweet, little 'flower boy', as she called him. She had taught him
how to make flowers out of paper, sometimes, silk and he was really good at
it.

"Flower power will rule the world one day, my love!" she declared when he
was just turning ten.

Oliver's reaction was scientifically exact and really quite funny.

"Mama Venus, we all know that flowers are just good smelling sexes!"

"That's exactly what I mean, my sweet, little lad! You'll understand
later..." was her reply as she tapped him on his cute, little
behind. Oliver only shrugged and ran off to return in his own fantasy
world, playing alone, as usual.

The only thing the boys' deceased grandfather had left behind was a dusty
replica of a horse drawn gypsy wagon, gathering cobwebs in the back of the
abandoned barn. The boys vaguely knew it was there, but they showed little
interest in it. What's a big, old wagon good for without a horse when
you're a growing boy?

After Oliver had turned eighteen, Mama Venus summoned the two brothers one
evening after tea . She wanted to have a talk, in private. The brothers
looked at each other, a bit puzzled. This was not her normal way of dealing
with things.

"Ramsay, Oliver, come along, we're going over to the barn. We have some
matters to discuss," she stated, standing, taking her lighter, her pouch of
ganja and pipe with her, "Come on!"

(Let's now have Ramsay relate his story with Oliver.)

Oliver and I followed. Her demeanour was rather imposing and her stride,
quite determined.

I pulled the heavy barn door open. The evening sun cast its beams all the
way to the opposite end, illuminating the wagon. A cat or two scrambled out
as we three entered. Mama Venus invited us to sit as she took place,
throning on the bale of hay facing ours. She stuffed and lit her pipe,
simply saying, "I've got to tell you boys what's on my mind concerning you
two."

The tone was so stately that Oliver slid down on the ground and snuggled up
against my knees for reassurance. His contact was reassuring to me too.

"We're listening, Mama Venus."

"Good. You're both grown now. I think it's time you get out of here and go
see how things are elsewhere."

Oh my God! Gasp! The world stopped turning. Doom crashed down upon the both
of us. I nearly fainted, turning ash pale. My mouth went dry as blotter
paper as I stuttered with anger boiling in my throat, "What? I don't
understand!"

"Why are you throwing us out?" shouted Oliver, suddenly sitting upright.

"Hold on boys! Hear me out. Glenbrook has become a sad, hopeless place. How
many people do you hear laughing here? I only hear you two laugh and even
not that often! Your grandfather and I created this place with your mother
when she was just a little girl, hoping it would be a place of love,
laughter and fellowship. My man and I had been living like carefree gypsies
in that wagon there for close to fifteen years. Our daughter was
growing. So we and the five others traveling with us decided to settle and
make a life in Glenbrook. We laughed often. We all believed that happiness
was a power, able to make everything possible -- we could make it without
settling down, getting a job, being swallowed up by the system. That's what
we believed then... and I still do now! Alas, several years later my
wonderful man fell, head first, off the roof. We were mending that same
roof up there over our heads. His skull exploded like a watermelon when it
burst open scattering blood and brains everywhere. God, was it a wretched
mess! He was as handsome as the rising sun and there, he was nothing! The
tragedy shattered our dream. Your poor little mother was eleven at the
time. She was just standing there when he fell. She screamed, 'Daddy!' We
found her, splattered with his blood still steaming. She was panting,
paralysed, trembling. She never got over it. For months afterwards, she
would just wander around Glenbrook wailing, 'Daddy, come back'. Little by
little the others started getting on each other's nerves, arguments
started. Some left, others arrived. We got the greenhouses more or less
working and then we set up the camp grounds. Your mother became a very
generous teenage girl with the boys passing through. When she was sixteen,
she fell pregnant with you, Ramsay, and when she was twenty-two, you,
Oliver, followed. Your fathers came and went, never knowing you were even
on the way... and we never even knew who they were."

"All that we know, Mama Venus, and in, fact, we don't care!" I bluntly
stated.

"What does all that have to do about us being thrown out of here?" demanded
Oliver, still upset.

"Okay, I'll get to the point. You two are beautiful. I declare that's a
fact. It's just as true as water is wet. That beauty of yours has a
meaning. It means that you were put on this earth with a purpose. You were
born to enhance the world, put beauty in the world. That's your duty,
whether you like it or not! Beauty isn't a privilege, it's a mission that
has been conferred on you to help the world stay the way it should be : a
great place for life, love and peace! And how are you going to accomplish
your mission? Well, I don't know! You don't know either, and you can't know
if you hang on here. Here you'll end up rotting before you're ripe. Your
destiny is beyond Glenbrook. It calls you to go on the roads and live
lightly on the edge of this world. As long as you have each other, you'll
always survive. You've survived here and believe me that's a lot! You
survived because you love each other and don't let anybody or anything
intoxicate you with ego problems, contradictions and stupidity. Not even
your mother's decline affected you. Others don't affect you. You just enjoy
each other, nature and being alive. So you've got to get out."

"Going where? Doing what?"

"See that wagon over there? Now it's yours. It too survived. If it wasn't
sold or stolen, it's because its destiny kept it here to take you away, to
save you. Now it's up to you to clean it up, live and leave in it. It's in
good shape. All it needs is to be made beautiful again, scrubbed down,
greased, waxed and varnished. I'll give you the money necessary to change
the tarp. All you have to do is take your personal belongings, papers,
etc., along with your bedding and all the cooking ware you need. We've got
more than enough of that stuff in the kitchen. You just hit the road, boys,
because you've got to start going in order to find out where you're
headed. That way you'll find out how to spread more beauty into this sick
world of ours. Just heed your heart, tune in on nature and keep moving!"

"And I guess you think we can pull that wagon by ourselves?" sassed Oliver,
shuffling his feet in the dust.

"There's all the harnesses you need inside the wagon. Grease them up,
polish the brass..."

"But, Mama Venus, be serious! We need a damn horse and I don't see any of
those around we could just hitch up and go!" I pled.

"I'm getting there, damn it! Be patient! As I was about to say, we'll take
the truck and go to a stud farm I know near Inverness. If the price is
right, I'm buying you not one 'damn' horse, but two. This wagon is made for
a pair of fine high strung horses instead of just one big plough
horse. Ever since my state pension's gone up a bit, I've put aside enough
cash to help you escape out of here! We're going to find the horses you
need next Tuesday and you'll be leaving with enough cash in hand to see to
your needs until you come up with something yourselves. Even if neither of
you have a diploma, nor any other kind of nonsense, reality has it that
you're both smart and clever as straight razors. You, Ramsay, are very
persuasive. You could sell ice to an Eskimo. You are good with your
hands. You can fix, make, put together anything. You work wood, you weld,
you can fix whatever needs fixing, you know how to work that smartphone of
yours... and you, Oliver, you're an artist, you have natural elegance and
perfect taste. Your way with colours, the skill with which you make your
silk flowers -- which are, I admit, way more beautiful than mine... Well,
you just continue making them. They are easy to sell, my sweet flower boy!
Whatever you two undertake, you're both condemned to succeed together,
becoming yourselves, becoming somebody -- come what may!"

"So we're going to buy a pair of horses next Tuesday. Is that it?" giggled
Oliver.

"Do I have to say things twice, you morons! Hug me!"

----------

After a rather chaotic truck ride to the stud farm with Mama Venus, we met
Rolls and Royce. Those were the names she immediately gave to the very
handsome horses we fancied. They seemed to like us too. They had already
done carriage work together, were freshly shod and up to date with their
vaccinations. They were young, high spirited yet seemed docile enough for
our meagre understanding of horses. At any rate, it was love at first sight
on bath sides. The price was stiff but Mama Venus didn't blink an eye when
she paid cash on the spot. We were given all of their papers and they even
seemed happy to climb up into the truck with us. Mama Venus knew exactly
how to secure them, repeating over and over, "Now pay attention to this and
do like that -- now look at what I'm doing! You must... etc." giving us a
crash course in being horse owners for the first time in our lives.

Rolls followed Royce into the barn like they had always lived there. We
filled the water trough. Oliver and I took turns brushing and petting them
until they shined. We fed them oats and hay and went back to work on the
wagon.

I checked and rechecked the brakes, the axels, hubs and all of the other
mechanical parts of the wagon. All that was needed to be done, I did it. I
tightened, greased and adjusted everything correctly. During that time,
Oliver washed, scraped and scrubbed the inside down to the bare wood.

Well, it's useless to describe all of the work we accomplished, but what
was done, was well done. We spent the last week installing the new
snow-white tarp, finishing the last details, polishing the inside woodworks
with good smelling, natural beeswax, rubbing till everything glowed. We did
four coats of marine varnish on the outside. When all was done, we were
ready to hit the road for a driving lesson and trial run.

Mama Venus controlled the whole procedure. Rolls and Royce already knew
what was expected of them. They stood immobile as Mama Venus told us how to
attach the harness, belly bands, traces, reins and all.

Once we were done, I asked, "Are you happy, Mama Venus?"

"Yes, and no, my dears... I'm happy to see you boys handle all of this so
well. I'm happy to see my youth come back to life with you. But, God damn
it! I'm going to weep my eyes dry when you go. I'm going to weep for
happiness because it's what you have to do and I'm going to weep for myself
because I'm going to miss you two so very, very much!"

We closed in on her and hugged her tight... After an instant, she shook us
off, teasing us in a very commanding tone, "And you're going to phone me at
least once a week till I die! Got it!"

"Got it!"

Mama Venus sat in between us on the drivers bench. She shook the reins,
made a clicking sound with her mouth and ordered, shaking the reins,
"Rolls, Royce, Get going!" and they effortlessly eased us out of the
barn. The harness creaked a bit and the wheels squeaked at the beginning,
but after a half a mile down the road, all was working perfectly. We took
turns driving, working the brakes downhill and turning around. Mama Venus
even coaxed them to trot some. After about two hours, she decided it was
time to go home.

"Did we pass the test?"

"With flying colours! From now on, you two are going to live in the
wagon. You're going to make your bed, trim the wick of your lantern and
give the stove a good burnout. Sunday, we're going to have a party for your
departure! And by the way, don't forget to keep good track of your debit
card, insurance papers along with the vet's book for Rolls and Royce,
and..."

"We know what to do, Mama Venus. Don't worry!"

We loaded the wagon with our meagre belongings. Oliver brought along his
material for his flowers. I filled my tool box with the best basics I owned
and we showed up at the luncheon party. I had the feeling that only Mama
Venus cared about our departure. The others were just there for a good meal
and the beer. It wasn't much of a celebration and it was better like
that. We said good-bye and climbed into the wagon, leaving Glenbrook and
its weary world behind.

The weird and warm feeling we shared was unknown to the both of us. I don't
know how to describe it... I felt Oliver's presence much more than usual. I
felt him WITH me. Of course, I knew he was 'with' me -- but now, he was
REALLY with me, and I was really with him too. We didn't talk. Just every
now and then, we looked at each other and smiled. We nudged shoulders from
time to time. He drove a while, then I took the reins. As the night was
drawing nigh, we pulled off the road into a little clearing by a stream,
unhitched Rolls and Royce, petted them well, thanking them for being so
nice with us and let them graze. We then settled in for the evening.

I lit a fire and helped Oliver with the potatoes. We ate. When I came back
inside after tending to the horses, Oliver was washing up by the stove. I
followed suit and we turned in as usual. However, it wasn't 'as usual' at
all.
 I felt Oliver's voice a bit choked as he asked, "Are you
afraid, Ramsay?"

"A little... and you, Oliver?"

"Not really..."

"Liar!"

Then he did something he had never done before. He grabbed hold of me, as
if he were drowning, squeezing me hard and kissed me in the neck. For the
first time I realised how soft his hair felt. I kissed him back.

"Good night, brother."

"Good night."

We went to sleep like that... entwined.

----------

Heading west was exciting, seeing other people, crossing through
villages. We actually drew a lot of attention. Of course, we had to stay on
the small roads, as far out of traffic as possible. Stopping overnight
wasn't always easy. Some farmers refused us entry ; others asked us if we
needed to water our horses. We always asked if we could charge the
smartphone. One lady even said we could come in and take a hot shower if we
wanted. We were well groomed, but maybe she thought we might smell
some. Who knows?

Rolls and Royce were petted a lot and even spoiled with a sugar or two from
admirers at stopovers in the villages. We were photographed a lot. At one
point a group of giggling girls wanted their picture taken on the drivers
bench with Oliver. I admit, I wasn't used to that kind of behaviour but I
found it fun. For Oliver, it was torture. His natural bashfulness kicked in
really strong. He just looked at me with a pleading smile and turned a
bright red as the lassies invaded the driver's bench. Mama Venus laughed
when I told her about him and the girls. Oliver overheard me and was peeved
for at least an hour.

One day a policeman controlled us, asking what was our game, where were we
going? I simply replied that we're going where our heart leads us and our
game? Put beauty in the world. He didn't know if he should laugh or have us
locked up in the nearest insane asylum. All I did was tell the truth and
that truth made me laugh inside. Mama Venus really defined our mission
well, our purpose in life. It fit me like a glove. She knew us better than
we knew ourselves. She knew the good our purpose could do to others too.

As we went on, Oliver let me do more of the driving as he retired inside to
work on his flowers. He would sit at the pull-out table by the bed and let
his fingers fly, wrapping the wire stems, trimming the petals and leaves,
tinting them with diluted, coloured inks, shaping them with spray
stiffener, hanging them to dry. I must say that they were exceptionally
beautiful. What I liked the most was that he didn't try to make them look
like real flowers. He made them as creations inspired by flowers instead of
simple imitations. They were more like dream flowers, never competing with
nature. We were made to create and not copy -- at least that's what came
into mind seeing my wonderful Oliver so involved, intense and happy.

When we arrived in Poolewe, a small town on the Atlantic coast, it was
market day. We left the wagon on the outskirts and let Rolls and Royce
graze some. We decided to go shopping. Oliver put some roses in a basket
and followed me.

"Why are you carrying those flowers with you, Oliver?"

"Can't you see it's market day? I'm going to sell them. I've got twenty
paper ones and five silk."

"And how much are you going to ask?"

"I don't know. What do you think? Maybe a pound for a paper rose and five
for a silk one?"

"Oliver, I really think you could ask five pounds for a paper rose. Look,
they are really big and the colours you put on the paper, all washed out
and delicate like that, are worth more than a pound. You should have them
pay for your time as well as the stuff you use. And for the silk ones, at
least fifteen pounds. They must be more expensive than a vulgar pack of
cigarettes! You can start off like that, and if they don't go, you can
lower..."

"I'll see! Now, you go do the buying and I'll do the selling! Meet you back
at the wagon."

I got back before him. When he returned, his basket was empty and the smile
he had on his face showed that he had done well!

"So? How much?"

He dug out of his pocket a fist full of bank notes and another of coins.

"I don't know yet. Let's count!"

After double counting, there were a hundred and seventy-five pounds laying
on the table.

"There was even a woman who told me that if we came back, she would like to
order some more."

"And what did you answer?"

"I just said, maybe... Who knows?"

----------

We decided to return inland and make a little halt. Oliver wanted to use
some time working. We returned to the shores of Loch Maree. Having passed
by there on our way over, we loved the view of the islands, covered with
woods, and the mountains floating in the background. We found a clearing
overhanging the water, just beside a little gurgling stream. I fished and
Oliver started making flowers like mad. I wrapped some stems for him in
between gathering wood, taking care of Rolls and Royce, keeping the wagon
in perfect shape and doing the cooking.

"Ramsay, I'm going to finish up all the flower material I have with me. I
need to build up a good stock to be ready for other sales. We must call my
furnisher to order more stuff and have it sent. For that, do you think we
could introduce ourselves and have it delivered to the lodge down the
road. You're good at talking with people. Could you ask?"

"Sure, of course. I'll go see what I can do. Make me a list for your
stuff. I'll glance at our bank account on internet to see how much money we
can afford to invest. Give me a list of what you need and several flowers
too. You never know if the innkeeper might want to buy some..."

When I entered the lodge, I saw that the manager wasn't in a very good
mood. I began by asking if we could dine there that evening, even if we
didn't have a room. He nodded and handed me a menu. While I studied it, we
struck up a bit of conversation and when I identified myself as the fellow
with the horses and wagon, his face lit up. He said he had seen us on the
road and had always dreamt of living like that, travelling to faraway
places, always free to be on the go. He had inherited the lodge from his
father and grandfather and confessed he resented being shackled to
it. While we were chatting, his wife idled up. She listened in on what we
were saying and when I mentioned our hand-made silk and paper flowers she
saw in my hand, she said she could be interested in them for some table
bouquets.

"Oliver! Good news. The fellow who runs the lodge and his wife are really
nice. We're going to eat there tonight at their restaurant. We can afford
the treat because they are probably going to give us big order of
flowers... silk ones at that!"

"That's great. Can we call my furnisher?"

"No sweat, we'll do it tomorrow. We'll see if we make a deal with the
lodge. It get could modify the quantities we'll need."

"If you say so -- About eating in the restaurant... I've never done that
before, Ramsay... You haven't either... Do you know how it's done?"

"I guess you just do like the others. I looked at the menu and it's going
to cost us a small fortune, so don't panic when you see the prices. Just
remember, you've got to heed what you feel. You only reap what you sow..."

"Would you be discovering that you're a business man after all?"

"Business is not the only thing I'm discovering, Oliver! Come on, let's go
to work."

We talked about making a little floral table piece to show the innkeeper
and his wife. I went about my chores while Oliver started to work on his
idea. An hour later, he had composed a wonderful little dome of rose buds
that would fit in perfectly on a table. On a crisp, white tablecloth it was
going to be absolutely stunning. We washed and dressed and were welcomed at
the lodge right on time.

Restaurant dining is quite an experience! The dining room was buzzing with
people. The music was soft and nice. Oliver was fascinated by all the
coming and going of the waiters. Not only did we have a great meal, but
when the innkeeper's wife came over and saw Oliver's bouquet on the table,
she asked how much would we would charge for thirty. I quickly started
counting in my head : An arrangement, in a little wooden box : £20.00 x
30 = £600.00 - £15.00 for all the material used comes out to
£585.00 of pure profit.

"We can deliver you thirty small table centrepieces, each arranged in a
tiny hand-made wooden box, flattering the lodge's elegantly relaxed,
country atmosphere for a flat fee of £660.00, in cash of course."

"Of course. So, that boils down to £22.00 per arrangement. That seems
reasonable enough. Very well, when can you deliver?" she asked.

"Five days after our material is delivered. Will that do?"

I saw Oliver flash me a panicked look. I gave him a wait-a-minute smile,
nudging his foot under the table.

"That should do. Gentlemen, enjoy your evening."

She nodded and politely took leave of our table.

"Ramsay, can you explain that to me? What's all that about wooden boxes and
only five days for such a the job? You've lost me there!"

"Listen to me. We are going to gather the better looking crates that are
piled up in the rubbish behind the lodge. They are made out of slim pieces
of wood. We'll cut them into little planks about one inch by four then glue
them together making a frame around a square bottom. You can then make four
to five open roses, without stems, glue them in the box and the deed is
done. Easy! Elegant! Good idea, No?"

"I'll just have to work faster. You are too clever! Where did you get all
those ideas?"

"I guess it's your talent that rubs off on me, Oliver! It's your creative
soul mingling with mine!"

He rewarded me with a never-to-forget smile. I filled my glass, emptying
the bottle of wine into Oliver's and we toasted to our first business deal
together.

While we were strolling back to the wagon, we called Mama Venus. Oliver
made her laugh describing the meal, the restaurant and above all the order
for a whole series of flowers to be made and arranged in little tabletop
boxes.

We had drunk perhaps a glass of wine too much, but who cares! The night was
clear and warm. Moonlight danced on the surface of the waters. The twilight
sky was aglow and so were our hearts. Is this what Mama Venus meant by
saying, "To know where you want to go, you've got to get going first"? Your
destination is not where you you think you want be. It's the road itself
that leads you to where an unknown appointment with happiness awaits you."

As we were walking, Oliver simply took my hand. It felt good holding his as
he held mine. We hadn't done that for years. There are things you do when
you're a child that you should keep on doing when you're grown. Oliver is
my half brother, but he's also my best companion. Good God, I love him so!

I'll call in our order the first thing in the morning.

----------

To avoid the chill off the lake later in the night, I lit the stove upon
arrival. Oliver went to take care of the horses who obviously were enjoying
their holidays. When he returned, he flopped down, sprawled out on the bed
and began giggling.

"I'm so happy, Ramsay! I feel like I'm floating!"

He was glowing in the lamplight. He propped himself up on one elbow, held
out his other arm, tilting his head he said, "I need a hug, brother! Come
hold me down so I don't float away! Come on... Pleeeeease..."

"No problem little fellow. I'm here for whatever you need!"

"Yes, I know, but I'm not a kid anymore and I still need your hugs. Is that
weird?"

Whatever it was that overtook me, it was wonderful! I simply jumped on the
bed, grabbed my brother's lithe body in my arms and kissed him in the neck,
tickling him with my beard. He wiggled, squeezed me hard, then went
limp. We looked at each other in the eyes. A warm smile lit his face even
more. We were almost nose to nose. I breathed his breath, inhaling the
scent of the lingering wine. I leaned in a little closer. He lifted his
head ever so slightly and our lips met. Furtively at first, then more
vigorously, we kissed. Our tongues met as our mouths opened. Oliver was
humming. The vibrations of his treble voice filled my chest and I hummed in
bass harmony. My legs squirmed as I pressed my now very hard cock on his,
even harder. He humped me as I writhed on him in total abandon, both of us
wallowing in the tangled covers together.

Suddenly realising what we were experiencing, I backed off and rolled over
on my side. Oliver turned, facing me and whispered, "Don't stop..." then
began unbuttoning my shirt.

I gasped and laughed out of pure bliss. We both stripped in a flash. His
spicy scent went straight to my head. We snuggled under the covers, moist,
nude, carefree and very much in the thralls of a brand new dimension of
brotherly bonding.

Suddenly nature took over... nature, instinct, whatever. I discovered the
ecstasy of my brother's flesh, his ardor as well as his dexterity. I
discovered the wonder of my cock in his mouth, throbbing, jerking on its
own. I discovered the thrill of his in my mouth, dancing on the threshold
of my eager throat. We hummed even more until the final surge quenched this
unique thirst of flowing one into the other, giving and partaking of each
other's most intimate offerings.

Words vanished from my head. Only light, warmth and tenderness, combined in
a feeling of dilatation, remained as we licked each other's lips, kissing,
relishing the mixed aftertaste of our semen. After a silent good-night hug,
we sank, elated, into the oblivion of slumber.

----------

I woke up to the smell of coffee. Oliver had already lit the stove and was
sitting on the edge of the bed, still stark naked, smiling at me. He handed
me a hot mug.

"Good morning, brother! Want some coffee?"

"Bless you, Oliver. There's a lot of sunshine out there this morning!"

"And in here too," he replied, touching his heart.

He continued, "It's the most beautiful morning that ever was. I feel
so... I feel so much me!" he uttered, twisting around on the covers,
rubbing the inside of my thigh, "Why didn't we do that before, Ramsay?"

"I guess it wasn't the right moment for us to discover ourselves like
that. We weren't on our own -- in our heads that is. Now that it happened,
are you happy?"

"And you?"

"I'm simply the happiest fellow that ever was!"

"I guess we don't have to sneak away to jack off anymore. I always thought
that was so stupid. Didn't you?"

"Never thought about it. It was always a by-myself thing."

Oliver gently took my stiffening cock in his hand and looking off through
the window said, "You know, Ramsay, when I jacked off, I did it mostly
thinking of you..."

"Yeah, me too," I replied, feeling that feeling that special urge to move
my cock in his hand. I put my coffee mug aside.

"So you only thought about yourself?"

"No! About you! Dimwit!"

With that, I grabbed Oliver and began tickling him real hard, shouting, "I
love you, my wonderful dimwit!"

He retaliated by twisting my cock so hard that I screamed, "Stop it! That
hurts! I've got to pee! Stop it I said!"

He finally freed me and once outside under a deep blue sky, I peed to the
sun, feeling like I wanted to sing!

When I got back in, Oliver was straightening up the bed.

"Are you going to get dressed or do you want to come take a dip with me? No
one's in sight."

"Okay, just a splash! I don't want to catch pneumonia."

The water was cold! I can't say that it was freezing, but... We didn't stay
in long. Once out, we rubbed each other red with our towels by the stove. I
looked down at Oliver's crotch. His balls were shrivelled up like mine, but
not his cock. It was plumping up really nice as he flashed me a cute, foxy
smile.

"We've got to go to work now, Oliver."

"Why don't we make up for lost time some? Just to begin with. What do you
say, brother? It's early. We can work later."

With that he took my head between his hands and kissed me. Of course, I
melted.

Once back on the bed, the sun flowed through the window. Bathed in its
light, we made long, deep love to each other. It became something we've
done nearly every morning since!

I called the furnishers just when they were opening. Perfect timing! Sooner
would have been useless!

----------

While we were finishing the little boxes, our stuff arrived. The week sped
by. I was beginning to pick up Oliver's skill and I helped him with the
roses. We delivered. The innkeepers were happy. They paid in cash and as a
tip, invited us for a meal. They also said we should call in on the hotel
in Kinlochewe, only about ten miles from there. The owner was a good friend
of theirs and could be interested. The innkeeper said he would ring them
up, recommending us and telling them that we'd be passing by.

The hotel in Kinlochewe gave us some really good business! They even bought
a few little boxes to sell in their shop window. They looked great in the
showcase along with some luxury woollen and leather goods. Oliver was
complimented on his skill and elegant taste. His hand-tinted, silk flowers
were highly appreciated. They preferred the roses to all the others. I did
too. Also they loved the giant crepe paper flowers. They thought they were
perfect to decorate the dining room for a wedding venue. When they asked us
if we had a brand name, in case somebody asked, Oliver spontaneously
replied : BROTHERS, and gave them our phone number.

"I've got to think about a bigger, deeper box full of stem roses. It could
be really appealing," mused Oliver getting back on the wagon. I felt so
proud of him!

Other weeks followed as autumn began to spread its cloak of yellow, red and
gold over the countryside. We worked our way back to Poolewe and the
National Trust Inverewe Gardens. The tourist season was almost over but
most of the shop was still open. We went on the little road leading to the
north shore of Loch Maree and found a great spot by a stream for our horses
and wagon. We loved the place so much that we thought it would be a great
to stay midst nature for awhile, not too far from the village. We bought
two bicycles with a little trailer to go back and forth the three and a
half miles to the village and the gardens.

We met some really nice people and became good friends with Marjorie, the
lady who ran the gift shop at the gardens. She immediately understood our
work and imagined we could make a little flower cart to expose our flowers
to sell. She said she could put it out in front of the shop when the
weather permitted and inside otherwise. That way the silk flowers weren't
lost among the other items and plants. She insisted on the fact the flower
cart could be good for merchandising. Since she was in the business, I
believed her and thought it was a brilliant idea too. She said we must test
sales and if they were good, she said she would buy our stock and retail
it.

I immediately saw what could be done : a very neat little cart with an
awning and two elegant wooden wheels with a metal hub and axel. It must be
easily dismantled, light and non-imposing. Oliver said it should recall the
flower mongers in the old engravings of Covent Gardens. The weather was
clement enough for me to work outside. A carpenter acquaintance of hers
agreed to sell me the plywood, cut to the dimensions I required. I found an
axel and a pair of wheels on internet and ordered them to be sent to the
gardens.

In a week it was built all painted a brilliant off-white. Oliver made roses
of all sorts by the dozen. The stick-on letters, all bright red capitals,
spelling out BROTHERS had arrived and we fixed them on the cotton canvas
awning Oliver had hand-sewn to perfection. That was the final touch. We had
come up with a wonderful object, easy to put together, transport and store,
not at all cumbersome.

We invited Marjorie to drive over to our site and see it. She was
enchanted. We put it in her car and followed her on our bikes to the
gardens. We assembled it in her storage area and fixed a date for an
'unveiling'. She wanted to invite friends and colleagues in for a glass of
wine, make an inaugural evening sale and see how it worked.

Spirits were really high as we we returned to our wagon. We prepared
ourselves a gourmet dinner -- well, gourmet for us -- and opened a bottle
of pink sparkling wine to celebrate our accomplishment. We could really be
proud of ourselves. After dessert, Oliver seemed a bit lost in his
thoughts, smiling dreamy eyed as he mused, sipping what was left of the
wine.

"You remember, Ramsay, Mama Venus saying that we were born to put more
beauty in the world?" he mentioned speaking ever so softly.

"She said a lot about that..."

"You see, for me there's nothing more beautiful than the energy that
surrounds us when we make love. I want us to scatter on our bed all these
antique pink roses I finished yesterday and give ourselves to each other
with infinite love, care and pleasure. We won't damage them and even if a
drop or two of our semen fall on the petals, it won't hurt... In fact, it
would be their consecration. That way, our roses can radiate the power our
loving gives them and put beauty in the world."

"Wow, that's a beautiful thought!" I exclaimed, "but we don't need a
purpose to make love, you and I. Loving is the purpose of our love," I
said, sitting down beside him.

He put down his glass and snuggled up to me, pleading, "Sure, you're
right... but I want to make love with you here and now, in our flowers," he
insisted, "I don't know why, but I feel like it's necessary for them, for
us and for the world... You see, our love is too much to keep to ourselves
and there's no way to share it. We can only share its energy. Real flowers
spread their pollen and charm us with their scent. Our flowers have no
scent, but their presence can charm by the energy of our loving they
spread. That would give them more of a purpose, make them less -- how to
say -- 'decorative'. That would give them power."

I laid back on the bed and pulled Oliver over on me, kissing him with
infinite tenderness. His eagerness made me warm inside. He smiled with the
deepest look in his eyes I'd ever seen. He was seeing my soul.

I blushed and stuttered, "I'll go split some more wood for the stove..."

He suddenly hopped up, full of joy and chanting, "And I'll fetch our
precious oil, a fresh towel... and spread out the flowers. Hurry up!"

When I came back in, arms loaded with firewood, my brother was waiting for
me, nude among the roses, bathed in the tender glow of the hanging
lantern. I stoked the stove and undressed under Oliver's tender gaze. His
outstretched arms beckoned me to join him, fill him, love him. I climbed,
joining him in the roses, my cock already leaking on the petals as we
cuddled. Just as I entered him, he spewed, shivering from
anticipation. Then he looked over his shoulder, smiling at my
disappointment and whispered, "Don't be upset. You'll charge me again with
so much energy that I'll come in you too... and your semen will flow again
a second time on the roses just to mix with mine."

It was a more sacred moment than I could have ever imagined. Spent, happy
and full of each other, we gathered the roses, still damp from our
overflowing. We lined them up, standing, in an open wooden crate box.

Only the firelight glittering through the window of the stove door cast its
flickering gleam. A gentle mist was falling outside. All was silence and
wonder. We snuggled up, breathing together our drowsiness in a kind of
haze.

"Love to you," I uttered with a deep yawning sigh.

"You too!" he whispered, nibbling on my ear ever so lightly.

----------

We installed the cart and filled it with flowers under the two very
flattering spotlights Marjorie had installed. We finished just as the guest
started coming in. The installation was an immediate success. Marjorie came
up saying that she heard only compliments over our cart and especially the
flowers. With her, there was a distinguished gentleman waiting to be
introduced.

"Boys, I want you to meet Gordon Holmes. He's an American journalist,
specialised in interior decoration. He has a holiday home here in Poolewe
and is a very important fan of Inverewe Gardens and Estate. He works for
several of our better home and decoration magazines and seems very
impressed in your work, aren't you, Gordon?"

"Yes, I am! Pleased and honoured to meet you guys. Those are mighty
powerful flowers you have here, and displaying them in the little cart is
very effective. Makes me want to buy the whole setup! In fact, if Marjorie
allows me, I'm buying the whole box full of the antique pink roses you've
got there. They seem to beg to be mine..."

She replied, very suavely, "Of course Gordon. Just slip me your Visa Gold
and they're yours, you lucky fool! -- Boys, your flowers are selling like
mad. You're going to have to replace them all as soon as possible for me?
When the season begins, it's going to be pure folly! Can you do it?"

We both winked at each other, answering, "No problem, Marjorie! No problem
at all..."

Gordon took pictures and promised us an article praising the silk roses by
BROTHERS as the most elegant in the world!

"Thanks, Gordon, and Merry Christmas!"

"And a Happy New Year to you and to BROTHERS."

----------

It was a very happy year, indeed.

We stayed on by Loch Maree until late spring. We contacted other guest
houses, hotels and shops in our area. We placed two more carts. That was
enough to keep us very busy. Oliver made boxes over boxes of silk roses,
each one more elegant than the other. We enjoyed putting the final touch --
or drop if you want -- on each batch.

Gordon called saying that he had contacted some very influential decorator
friends in Edinburgh and that they absolutely needed to meet us. I thanked
Gordon and said, "We don't plan any expansion. We sell well enough here and
around and don't feel the necessity to do more. If they want to come to
Poolewe when we're there, we'd be glad to meet them, show them how we live
and share our philosophy of things with them."

He sounded a bit taken aback by the fact that we didn't jump on such a big
business opportunity, but that was the way it was.

Loch Maree became our home base. We made our rounds once a month. Rolls and
Royce loved the rhythm of twenty days off and ten on the road. So did we!
A year and a half went by. We made good friends in Poolewe and enjoyed
visits and visiting together.

This spring, the daffodils, bluebells and all kinds of other native flowers
flooded the woods, parks and meadows. The trees in blossom heralded the
coming summer and the heather. In May, we rented a car and drove back to
Glenbrook. Nothing had changed. Mama Venus was still just as exquisite as
ever.

"Here's a bouquet of roses for you Mama Venus!" exclaimed Oliver, getting
out of the car.

"Are you crazy? They're too beautiful for me! Keep them for sale... "

"Don't worry about that, Mama Venus. We've got everything well under
control," I stated, kissing her on the cheek.

As we walked into the house, I asked her about our mother. She told us that
she had been hospitalised after a bad fall. She also said that it would be
important that we go to see her. They discovered that she was also fighting
lung cancer and that her days were counted. I was appalled and at the same
time said to myself that it was better that way.

I realised, with Oliver and even Mama Venus being always so present, so
close, so 'there' with me, that our own mother was never actually
'there'. And the saddest was that she, nor no one else, really knew where
she was... It hurt me some, seeing her smile when she saw us come into the
room. Maybe was she finally 'there'. It's never too late, I guess. At any
rate, we felt a moment of grace lingering in the air when we uttered,
"Bye-bye, Mummy."

In the car returning to Loch Maree, I asked Oliver how did he feel the
visit. He simply said, "It was good to see Mama Venus and to tell mother
good-bye. There were no ghosts there to haunt me. I didn't feel like I went
back home. The road with you is my only home, Ramsay. We are home for each
other."

He's so right. The road is our home and all of nature is our yard.

He went on saying, "We are good together, you and I, avoiding the
mainstream. That's our destiny, our heritage and our force. Our life is the
way we live it and it's so precious. I'd never risk being wrecked on the
reef of doing more, striving to succeed like that Gordon fellow wanted us
to do. We're not in his world. You're you and I'm me and together we
continue blending with nature, and not fooled and sucked up into the
system. I love what I'm doing and doing it with you. That's all. I love
you, Ramsay... That's all and that's it."

He squeezed my thigh, leaving his warm hand laying there. He was gazing out
the window, daydreaming as I drove. The feeling was good. It was
right. Ours is a good life. Our incestuous secret is the key to everything,
maybe to life itself. I'm sure Mama Venus felt it when she said just an
hour or so ago, "You two are literally out of this world! And that's where
you belong! Bless you, boys."

----------

EPILOGUE

Let's imagine the rest. Ramsay, Oliver and Mama Venus can guide our
thoughts, our dreams and our hopes. Let's see where and how far deep down
inside they lead us.

So long! It was a real pleasure. See you around next time!

Marin Giustinian

----------

A free photo album (pdf) of Powerful Flowers is available on request,
showing the brothers, Mama Venus, Rolls, Royce and the wagon as well as the
flower cart BROTHERS.

Contact : marin.giustinian@laposte.fr