Date: Sat, 11 Jun 2005 21:33:53 +0200
From: A.K. <andrej@andrejkoymasky.com>
Subject: Who has to forgive - chapter 3/9 (Young Friends)

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WHO HAS TO FORGIVE
by Andrej Koymasky (C) 2005
written the 2nd of February, 1993
translated by the author English
text kindly revised by
David

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USUAL DISCLAIMER

"WHO HAS TO FORGIVE" is a gay story, with some parts containing graphic
scenes of sex between males. So, if in your land, religion, family,
opinion and so on this is not good for you, it will be better not to
read this story. But if you really want, or because YOU don't care, or
because you think you really want to read it, please be my welcomed
guest.

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CHAPTER 3

GERBERAS

Roberto was on his terrace. He put his camera on the tripod behind the
parapet wall, he mounted the powerful zoom he had just bought, and he
was looking for striking views in the sea of roofs sloping down below
him. The flowered balcony of a renaissance house in the distance
attracted his attention. He brought it into focus, corrected the
framing, and shot, satisfied. Then he searched through the lens for the
cathedral's dome and tower, but from that perspective the shot didn't
seem interesting to him. He moved the lens, aiming at the flight of
roofs of the lane.

He was looking for the best framing, when a sudden screeching of brakes
from Giaculli Street attracted his attention. He looked and noticed a
young man in black trousers and a white shirt. He framed him with his
zoom lens, and enlarged the image. He saw he had a tray in his hand, and
a black bow-tie, and realized that he was a waiter at the bar. The youth
was coming up the lane, towards his house. He set the lens at maximum
enlargement and framed just the face of the waiter... and stood staring.
He was young and of an incredible beauty. He followed him with his lens,
shooting one picture after another, and he saw the youth brightening
into a very sweet smile, so beautiful, directed at who knows whom. But
that smile penetrated straight to his heart, and it was love at first
sight. Roberto felt his blood pulsating wildly all over his body,
hammering at his temples. He shot one photograph after another until the
boy, nearing the side of the lane below his house, disappeared from the
view-finder. So he stopped shooting, leaned out and saw that the boy was
entering the bar just before the typographers, almost beneath his house.

God knows how many times he had passed in front of that bar, and yet he
had never noticed that splendid boy. He looked at the exposure counter -
there were just four left before the end of the film. He shrugged his
shoulders, took the camera off the tripod and rewound the film. Then he
hurried to his laboratory to develop and print the pictures. He wanted
to see that boy, with that smile again immediately. He felt a strange
sense of urgency. Having developed the film, he cut out the ten shots
with the boy's face and dried them. He slipped the film into the
magnifier and took out the large size of printing paper. He focused the
first shot. The boy's face appeared the color inverted, serious and
intense. He mentally counted the exposure and flipped the switch. Then
he went immediately to develop and fix that first image. The face
appeared on the paper, life sized. Roberto watched in fascination as the
image developed, revealing itself, and again perceived all its beauty.
He had black curly hair, lit from behind by the sun. He had green eyes,
in which golden specks shone. He had well shaped sensual lips. His
expression was serious, but calm and intense. He was looking to the
side, his mouth slightly open as if he was about to say something. He
hung the picture to dry and went to print the second shot. Then the
third, the fourth, and he saw again that smile, so intense and sweet and
full of promises. The boy's eyes, his lips, his whole face was pervaded
by that incredible smile and Roberto again felt his heart beating
strongly.

He had never seen anyone so beautiful... not even in his most pleasant
dreams, not even in his sweetest fantasies. That boy was beauty
personified. Roberto lightly brushed that face on the still wet paper,
with a kiss. Then he went to develop the other shots of the boy. In the
last ones his face was barely visible, since the shots were from too
directly overhead. He looked again at all the shots and chose the three
most beautiful. He went to observe them in full light to see what he had
to correct to make perfect prints of them, and then resumed his work.

When he finally re-emerged from the laboratory with the three shots in
his hands, he saw that the sun had already set and that the sky was
darkening fast. He went downstairs, having decided to go into the bar,
but it was already closed. So he returned home, and began contemplating
that extraordinary face in the pictures.

"Who are you?" he asked in a low voice, "What caused you to enter my
world, you unknown splendor? And to think that you work just down there
... What's your name?"

Roberto thought that just being able to look at him was great good
fortune and joy. "Maybe you have a girlfriend, and you won't even notice
me... But perhaps I can get to know you, become your friend, who
knows..."

Roberto fantasized, at times caressing these marvelous images, at times
brushing them with delicate kisses.

"Your name is Beloved..." Roberto murmured looking at the pictures, and
felt his heart singing. He chose the most beautiful of the three
pictures and hung it on the wall near his bed, directing the light of
the night table lamp onto it, and lay down on his bed to contemplate it.
"You are too beautiful to be real... and perhaps I will not be able even
to gain your friendship... But it'll be enough to contemplate you, my
Beloved!" Roberto whispered and his eyes filled with emotional tears and
the image flickered, almost as if it had come alive.

The following day, early in the morning, Roberto lay in wait on his
terrace, his camera ready with a new film of ultra-fine grain, waiting
for the unknown boy to appear again on the street. He saw him arrive. He
was wearing soft khaki-colored trousers and a dark green T shirt. He
shot pictures until the boy disappeared below his house. He thought of
going downstairs to meet him, but this time he lacked the courage. He
waited until he saw him coming out, wearing the black and white waiter's
uniform, a tray in his hand. The boy was going towards Giaculli Street,
so that only his back was visible. Roberto shot a picture anyway,
thinking that even the nape of the boy's neck was beautiful. Then he
waited for the boy to return, and shot more pictures.

Roberto felt excited and emotional. That unknown waiter had entered into
his mind and had made inroads into his heart, in an unexpected way and
with unsuspected force. "And you can't even imagine what you have done
to me!" Roberto thought, smiling sweetly at the image of the boy. And
felt torn - should he go downstairs and try to get a closer look at him,
meet him... perhaps get to know him and if he was lucky, even to become
friends with him? And who knows, even... his lover? "No, don't dream too
much!" he told himself. Lover, even! Miracles happen only in fairy
tales, not in real life. But could he possibly dare at least to make his
acquaintance... "What do you think he can find interesting in you?
Nothing! He is as obviously gorgeous as and probably already chased by
girls, who give them selves to him without a second thought. Can you
imagine him wasting his time with the likes of yourself?"

Finally he decided to go downstairs and have a coffee at the bar...
Every step he went down, he felt as if his heart was beating harder, and
when he reached the street and turned to his right, he was seized by
panic... "What are you doing? What are you expecting? Don't be so
silly..." he told himself and, his heart in his mouth, not even daring
to look inside the bar, he walked over to the corner of Giaculli Street.
His heart was still beating wildly. He waited to calm down, took a deep
breath. Then, reasserting all his courage, he decided to go back,
determined to enter the bar this time. He turned and stopped,
thunderstruck -- the boy was there, practically in front of him, the
usual tray with coffee cups in his hand. He looked at the boy half
stunned, barely able to breathe, until the boy passed by his side and
disappeared behind him. Roberto was still literally unable to move, to
breathe. At last he emitted a low sigh, halfway between a sob and a
moan, and moved, staggering almost like a drunk, and mechanically he
returned home.

Seeing the boy there, real, within arm's reach, had been a real shock to
him. In all his life, he had never felt anything like that, so intense,
almost violent, and yet so full of sweetness. The boy passed close by
him lightly, quickly, almost without looking at him. And yet Roberto
felt surging out of him all his youthful energy, all that physical
fascination and felt overwhelmed.

"God, how much I desire you!" he thought, almost astounded at the
violence of his feelings. "You have bewitched me, Beloved!" He had
difficulty regaining his self-control, controlling his desires. "I love
you, I love you madly!" he thought while entering his home. His emotion
was so intense that he was shaking.

Little by little he cooled down. He took a long shower, almost cold, and
finally regained his lucidity. "You are a fool, Roberto," he told
himself. "He didn't even look at you, he doesn't even know you exist,
and even if he did, he very likely wouldn't care at all. But... how
beautiful he is!"

Roberto started spying on him again from his terrace and saw that every
morning, around eleven, the boy brought coffees to the typographers
under his house.

A few days later, passing in front of the bar, he managed to look inside
and saw him busy behind the counter. Nowadays Roberto thought about him
day and night. The wall in front of his bed was covered with pictures of
the boy. His entire life had changed, since that first sudden vision.

Finally one day Roberto made up his mind and entered the bar below his
house. He sat at a table and in the mirror he watched the boy, who was
rinsing some glasses behind the counter. He saw him drying his hands and
coming towards his table. He suddenly felt prey to a kind of panic, his
heart in his mouth.

The boy approached him: "May I help you?"

He raised his eyes and saw the boy smiling at him, that face he now knew
so well but that, seen in person, radiated a completely unique
fascination.

The boy asked again, in a gentle voice: "May I help you, sir?"

"Eh? Yes... yes, a coffee..."

"Plain?"

"Yes, plain..."

"All right, sir."

God what a beautiful, fresh, dulcet, fascinating, sensual voice... In a
short while the boy came with his coffee and again smiled at him. But
Roberto noticed, spying on him through the mirror, that that smile was
not just for him, but for all the customers... Nevertheless it was
splendid, fascinating, enthralling. It seemed as if he was smiling just
for you...

"Everybody must be in love with you, Beloved!" Roberto thought while he
was mechanically sipping his coffee. He never lost sight of the boy in
the mirror. Then the bar owner answered the telephone, and told the boy
to take two cappuccinos and two croissants to the drug store and the boy
went out. Roberto waited until he got back, to enjoy the sight of him
once again. Then he stood up and paid for his coffee, leaving a good
tip, and returned home. He would have liked to stay longer in the bar to
contemplate the boy, but he was afraid someone would notice his glances,
and he didn't want to risk it.

Days passed and Roberto alternated times when he spied and took pictures
of him from his terrace, with his now daily visits to the bar. Fleeting
visits, as he was very much stirred and at the same time frightened by
the attraction he was feeling for the boy. Inside, he was increasingly
feeling the desire to touch, embrace, caress, or kiss him... to shout
his love to him. And that scared him.

Until one morning, when the boy was bringing the usual coffees to the
typographers, Roberto picked from the pot a gerbera of a red as
beautiful as his passion, cut it under the head and when the boy came
out of the typographers, he threw the flower-head making it spin so that
it fell in front of the boy. When Roberto saw that the flower was near
landing, he hurriedly stepped back from the parapet to avoid being seen,
his blood furiously hammering at his temples from the boldness of his
gesture. He didn't dare to peek out again for several minutes afterward,
and remained there, standing still, breathing hard.

Antonello, when the gerbera landed with a light muffled thud just in
front of him, stopped in surprise and looked upwards, but saw nothing.
He thought that the flower just fell down by chance and went into the
bar without thinking any more about it.

But on the following day, another red gerbera landed in front of him.
This time Antonello bent down to pick it up, admired it for a moment,
then again looked upwards, but there was nobody at the house windows or
on the top floor terrace. Antonello went into the bar, put some water in
a low glass cup and placed the gerbera inside, without a stem, so that
it floated. He asked himself if it was just chance or... But who would
throw him flowers? No, he concluded, it had to be chance.

But on the third morning, again a gerbera landed in front of him, this
time brushing his body. It could not be chance. Perhaps this was a joke?
Or a girl who wanted to be noticed? But there was no-one in sight... He
crossed the lane and looked more carefully at the house from the front.
From there he could see some gerberas peeping out of the top floor
terrace's parapet. Whoever it was, it was from there that this curious
floral homage came. Back in the bar he put this gerbera, too, in a glass
cup on the counter.

Roberto didn't go to the bar any more. Now that he had started this odd
and dangerous game, he was afraid to be seen. What would the boy think
if he discovered that he was the one throwing the flowers? Would he
laugh at him or, understanding the real meaning of it, would he insult
him by publicly calling him a faggot? Roberto told himself he had to
stop this game. He could not expose himself in that way. What would they
say on his street if they suspected that he had taken a fancy to a boy?
He had been silly to throw those flowers... really a stupid, foolhardy
man.

So, on the fourth morning he didn't even go out onto his terrace. But,
right at the usual time, he heard his doorbell ring. He went to open it,
asking himself who it could be, and there in front of him he found
Antonello, smiling, with a coffee cup on a tray.

"Ah, you... I brought you your coffee..." the boy said with a slight
smile.

Roberto stood a few seconds as if paralyzed then, almost stuttering,
said: "But I... I didn't order it..."

Antonello widened his smile and said: "I know it's on me, to thank you
for the flowers..."

Roberto blushed violently and looked at the boy, feeling lost, then
started to say: "I..." but wasn't able to add a word.

"Aren't you going to accept my coffee?" Antonello asked, sounding
somewhat astonished.

"Eh? Ah... yes, yes thank you... come in, don't stay there at the
door..."

Antonello entered then said: "It was very nice of you to throw me those
flowers, but... why did you?"

"I... well, I... it's that you... you are so beautiful... It was homage
to your beauty..."

Antonello put the tray with the coffee cup on the table and said:
"Nobody, ever before, has thrown flowers to me ... that was a very nice
gesture... And then... do you really think I'm that beautiful?"

"Yes, you really are beautiful. You should know it." Roberto said
feeling he was drowning in the boy's eyes.

"You are the first to tell me so. But drink your coffee or it will get
cold. You know, good coffee, as they say, must be like the ideal man --
hot, strong and sweet..." Antonello said with a delicious tone. Then he
added, in a low voice: "It must be really good to meet a hot, strong,
sweet man, don't you agree?"

The coffee almost went down the wrong way and Roberto's eyes bulged.

The boy became serious and asked: "Did I say something wrong?"

"No... Not at all..." Roberto stuttered, putting down the cup.

Then Antonello asked: "How was the coffee?"

"Very good... perfect."

"Strong, hot and sweet?"

"Eh? Yes... oh yes..."

"And you? How are you? Are you hot, sweet and strong, too?"

Roberto's face flushed again and he said: "I don't know..."

"I would like to find out, you know? May I come back here at the end of
my shift, this afternoon at four? Would you mind?"

"No, on the contrary... I'll wait for you..."

"Yes, because I have to go now, but I'd like to know you better and...
thank you better, if you'll allow me." Antonello took the tray with the
empty cup from the table, said good bye and, at the door, he repeated:
"This afternoon, at four 'o clock, then. OK?" and went out.

Roberto was astounded, almost dazed, but gradually a kind of euphoria
seized him -- the boy, the Beloved, came to him and wanted to know him
better, and would come back... His fantasy cast off all restraints and
he started having more and more beautiful, and pleasant, and daring
dreams... Five more hours and the boy would come back to him... to him!
And the time seemed like it would never pass.

Roberto went into a kind of frenzy, and started to clean the whole
apartment. He cut all the red gerberas and put them in a pot at the
center of the table, and took his bath, carefully shaved, brushed his
teeth, carefully combed his hair, and picked out his most beautiful
clothes. Then he combed his hair again, then arranged the flowers better
in the vase, all the time looking at his watch. And he was telling
himself: "Perhaps he wants to know you just because he is curious, but
this doesn't mean that... Anyway, he wants to get to know you, and in a
little while he will be here again... And then... he wants to thank me
better, he said. What did he mean? No, Roberto, don't embroider on his
words, now. He was just in a hurry; he had to get back to his job...
That doesn't necessarily mean he really wants you... to make love with
you... The thought of it probably hasn't even occurred to him..."

He looked at his watch, and wanted to look out from his terrace, but he
didn't dare. He skipped lunch -- he was so agitated that he didn't even
feel hungry. He thought he should offer him a drink, and checked the
fridge to see if there was enough ice, and beer, then he checked the
liqueurs, then... he was restless, upset, and also excited.

He went to his bedroom to look at the pictures... and concluded that he
was a thousand times better in person. How was it possible that boy as
beautiful as the Beloved could exist?

He realized that they had not even introduced themselves.

Again he rearranged the flowers in the center of the table, rechecked
the fridge. He looked again at his watch, then checked himself in the
mirror for the umpteenth time -- even if that boy liked men (hot, strong
and sweet, he said!) how could he like him, after all he was so
ordinary?

God isn't he beautiful when he smiles!?

And finally, from the church of the Carmelite came the tolling of the
bell announcing four o'clock.

Roberto realized that he was so nervous he was shaking. He stood up and
was about to go out to the terrace to see him come out of the bar, but
stopped and sat down again. Then he noticed that one of his shoes was
untied and bent down to knot it again. He stood up and went again to
check the fridge in the kitchen, and while he was on his way back to the
living room, the door bell rang.

And time seemed to stop.

And a strange calm descended on him, suddenly, unbelievably, and he
found himself at the door almost without realizing he had gone there,
and opened it.

Antonello smiled: "May I come in?" he asked with sparkling eyes.

"Of course, come... come in..."

They sat at the table and for a while both were silent, Roberto was lost
in the boy's eyes.

Antonello said: "I didn't introduce myself yet. I saw on the door that
your name is Roberto, right?"

"Yes..."

"My name is Antonello."

"It is a wonderful name..." Roberto said, feeling as if he were in a
dream.

"Yes, I like it. But your name is also beautiful, sir. How old are you?"

"Me?" Roberto asked and mentally called himself an idiot for that
question. "Twenty eight."

"Ah, eleven years older than me, I'm seventeen. But I thought you were
younger, sir."

"Really?"

"Yes, you have a youthful air about you. I thought at most twenty-four."

Roberto smiled faintly and said: "And I thought you were nineteen. But
why... why you don't stop with that 'sir' and call me by name?"

"May I? Yes, I'd rather. We're both young, after all. And then I... I
wanted to thank you better than just with a coffee..."

"Ah yes? And how?"

"Like this ..." Antonello said standing up. He went up to Roberto and
placed a kiss on his lips. It was a light, chaste kiss, but to Roberto
it was like an electric shock. His eyes were drawn to Antonello's gaze
as if they were magnetized. Antonello pulled his face back slightly from
that of Roberto, and asked him in a whisper: "Why are you trembling?"

"I... I don't know..."

"You know, I would really like to find out if you are strong, sweet and
hot..." Antonello said and sat down again.

Roberto was in a state of total confusion, but managed to ask: "Why me?"

Antonello seemed surprised by the question: "Because I noticed you at
the bar, and I'm interested in you... you threw me flowers and you made
me curious... and I feel attracted to you. You are a beautiful man, you
are fascinating."

"Me? Beautiful?"

"But of course! Hasn't anyone told you that?"

"No, no one."

"Neither a woman nor a ... man?"

"No one."

"And yet, you seem so beautiful, to me."

"You are really beautiful."

"Do you like me, Roberto?"

"Incredibly!" the young man whispered and again blushed.

Antonello smiled: "That's already the third time you've blushed. And you
are delicious, when you do. But why? What reason is there to blush? You
like me, I like you. Isn't it wonderful? And looking at you I feel
like... kissing you, but not like before. Kissing you for real, I mean.
Have you ever kissed a man?"

"Me? No... Never."

Antonello stared at him and asked: "But... would you like to try it,
with me?"

Roberto couldn't answer, but he nodded in assent and felt incredibly
excited. Antonello stood and went over to him, offering him his hand.
Roberto also stood up, taking that hand, and they were face to face.
Antonello lightly circled his waist, pulling the man gently to himself.
He moved closer, and their mouths met, opened, joined and then Antonello
kissed him deeply, leaning against his body and pressing him against it.
Roberto could feel that the boy was as fully aroused as he was, and
their turgidities lightly brushed against each other, almost as if
declaring themselves, feeling each other, communicating their mutual
desire, finally totally unveiled.

They embraced, at first sweetly, almost shyly, then tighter. Then they
clung to each other -- feeling, exploring one another through their
light clothes, then slowly parted, gasping slightly, their eyes fixed on
each other's.

Antonello drew back half a step, still keeping his hands on Roberto's
sides, and asked: "Is everything OK?"

"It couldn't be better..." Roberto murmured, deeply moved.

"Do you want me?" Antonello then asked.

"Yes, I want you." Roberto answered as in a dream.

"Me too..." the boy said, then added, "But first... I would like to know
you better."

"Know me?"

"Yes. I don't want you to be one of many. I want to see if you are
special."

"Me? Something special? I'm afraid I'm not..."

"Why? Why do you say that?"

"I... I don't know."

"Then, let me find out, let me decide, OK? And let you understand who I
am..."

"You are so beautiful."

"Yes, perhaps. But would my beauty be enough for you, if then there was
nothing more?"

Roberto looked at him, slightly surprised, than said: "Maybe not, but...
I feel you are special."

"And maybe you too are. When you came to my bar, I noticed you, but just
as a handsome man, nothing more. But this morning, when I came with the
coffee, in those few moments the simple curiosity that led me to find
out who threw me flowers changed into real interest. That very gesture
of throwing me flowers told me that you were special. I felt I had to
know you better, that it might be worth it."

"Why?"

"I don't know... maybe your eyes. Other men look at me with desire, but
all they want from me is a fuck, and nothing more. Instead, I'm looking
for something else..."

"You are looking for something else?"

"Yes, something else, perhaps it is love, maybe or at least a little
gentleness, affection, tenderness. And you could be the one I'm looking
for, who knows? This morning, and now, too, your eyes are not undressing
me, the way you look at me is... special. And the flowers are red...
like love..."

"Yes, like love. I don't know you yet, but..."

"But what?"

"But ever since I saw you for the first time, more than a month ago... I
feel I've been in love with you."

"Without knowing me?"

"I know your smile, every crease of your smile. And the smile reveals
very much..."

"Your smile is gentle, sweet, clean..."

"Yours is glowing and sincere."

"And you still haven't asked me to fuck, and you haven't groped me
either ... even though I could feel your desire. And I like that. And I
like the way you blush... And I like how you responded to my kiss. Is it
really the first time you've kissed someone?"

"Yes, even though I'm twenty-eight."

"You don't have a boyfriend?"

"No, not even a girlfriend. But for over a month I've been dreaming of
you..."

"Have you ever made love with a man?"

"Yes, but I haven't for about ten years."

"Why not?"

"Perhaps fear, or shyness, or... who knows? Though sometimes I have had
the desire to make love to a man, somehow I have never followed through
on it. Maybe because nobody ever attracted me the way you do..."

Antonello brushed Roberto's cheek in a light caress, and then said: "I
would like to lie down with you, on your bed. But fully dressed, for
now, without doing anything yet, just being close... Am I asking too
much, Roberto?"

"No, I would be glad... come, Antonello...what a beautiful name!"
Roberto murmured and, taking the boy's hand, took him to his bedroom.

They pulled off their shoes and lay down, half embracing.



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CONTINUES IN CHAPTER 4

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In my home page I've put some of my stories. If someone wants to read
them, the URL is
http://andrejkoymasky.com
If you want to send me feed-back, or desire to help revising my English
translations, so that I can put on-line more of my English stories
please e-mail at
andrej@andrejkoymasky.com

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