Patrick was happy to have rescued the young Kutkhay that day on the ship, and to have decided to keep him with him. Not only because he had acquired a skilled servant and handy boy, intelligent and devoted, but also because he felt for the boy some kind of tender and confused affection. He was proud of the progress Kutkhay was making, and saw to his instruction with attention.
Moreover, he liked the joyfulness of his "goldfinch", his smile always fresh and luminous, his eyes alive and attentive, and, not last, his handsome aspect. He didn't consider him at the same level as the other slaves and not just a simple servant, but some kind of loyal and precious assistant. He had developed for Kutkhay a sense of protection and tenderness.
Sometimes he thought he was seeing in him a younger brother; that brother he didn't have and that from his childhood he always wished to have. Nevertheless, Goldfinch was different from a brother. He was aware that the boy was dependent on him, which possibly gave him a sense of importance and also one of responsibility: he loved feeling responsible for the boy who had entrusted himself completely to him.
Moreover, he felt in the boy the strength of the savage nature, although under the growing mark of civilization, and this also he loved. He felt him to be spontaneous, simple but not unaware, and he liked it when, alone in the countryside and possibly near a river, the boy asked his permission to disrobe, to run freely in the wild, or to splash in water, or to climb a tree, nimble as a squirrel. Then he found himself lost in admiration of his lean body, not boyish but not yet manly, sweet and yet strong, sparkling with health and the joy of living from all his pores.
At times he felt the impulse to embrace him. But was afraid that the boy would misunderstand his gesture that he would feel a sexual implication that wasn't there, and so he restrained from doing so. But when somebody had a compliment for the boy, Patrick enjoyed it as an artist enjoys hearing a positive appreciation of his masterworks.
He did introduce his protégé to reading, and at times he observed him, engrossed on a book, forgetful of all that surrounded him. He had such an intense expression, was so concentrated that Patrick was quite afraid to disturb him by making a noise, so he would stand there to look at him, to admire him, and felt within himself an incredible sweetness.
For that young man absorbed by the financial world, proximity to that boy was like being in an oasis, like a balm that allowed him to feel the beauty of life. And Patrick was grateful to his Goldfinch.
But Kutkhay shared in the depths of his heart a similar feeling of gratitude, and for that he was always ready to obey any order of his master; or, rather, he tried to anticipate it.
Moreover, for Kutkhay, to wake up in the middle of the night to go to admire his young master had become quite a ritual. At the first light of dawn he went silently back to his own bed, so that his master wouldn't know about his little secret, afraid he would forbid him to do so.
Unlike his master, Kutkhay, having experienced sex and relations with his own sex, was also feeling a strong physical attraction for his master, but always succeeded in controlling it.
One morning he woke up hearing his master calling him. He jumped from his bed, put on the light cloth pants and run promptly to his master's room, barefoot as ever.
"Goldie, go downstairs and prepare everything for my bath."
"Yes, sir!"
Patrick had successfully gotten the boy to not call him master, so now Kutkhay always used the term "sir" that he had heard the first time he saw him. He went downstairs, running as always, and hurried to the kitchen.
"Annie, the young master desires to bathe this morning."
"The water is warm. Warn Matt."
"No, the young master said I think to that."
"Good. You know where the tub is, and what you have to do, right?"
The boy hesitated: "No..."
"No problem. Come here, I'll show and explain it to you..." the woman said with indulgence.
She liked the boy who, even if he seemed to be a white man, and clearly was the young master's protégé, never did put on airs with the other servants or slaves.
Kutkhay took the big wooden tub and, with some toil, brought it up to the first floor, put it near his master's bed and carefully placed a clean bath sheet inside it. Then he went down again and was back with two buckets of warm water that he emptied into the tub, repeating that operation several times until the tub was half full, and then came back with two more full buckets that he placed near the tub.
Then Patrick rose from his bed, pulled out off the shorts he wore in bed, and entered the tub. The boy looked at the beautiful, completely naked body with adoring eyes: it was rather rare he could admire his master naked.
"Take the bar of soap and lather my body well."
Kutkhay felt moved: he would have to touch that splendid body, he would have to rub the soap on it with his hands, inch by inch! He always had envied Matt, but now that good fortune was his. If he were skillful, perhaps his master would ask for his assistance again... He started, his hands slightly trembling with the intensity of his emotion. He rubbed the soap everywhere, with extreme tactfulness, starting at the neck, then the beautiful shoulders, the strong and muscled arms, the wide back, and the smooth and well-developed chest. When Patrick stood up, Kutkhay ran the soap over the lean waist, the hard and hollow stomach, the velvety buttocks, the strong and well shaped thighs... and when Patrick said to him in a natural tone and without overtones:
"There too..."
the boy softly soaped the heavy thicket of blond hair on his groin, and the beautiful hanging genitals. Kutkhay at that point was fully aroused and the light cloth pants did nothing to hide his erection, but his master seemed not to be aware. Kutkhay in fact looked at him, blushing, but Patrick had his eyes shut and was enjoying that light, tender massage.
When Kutkhay had finished soaping him completely, Patrick sat down again in the tub, lathered his hair, and then started to vigorously brush his body.
Kutkhay was burning with desire. He would have... but it was surely not for him to take the first step, and his master seemed not to think of that at all. Patrick didn't even faintly suspect the tempest he had stirred up in the boy's senses.
"Now, Goldie, pour a bucket of clear water over me, slowly, so I can rinse." he quietly ordered.
Kutkhay did that with skill. When his master also rinsed between his legs, the boy felt his desire arise again very strongly and his hands trembled. And when, carefully rinsed, Patrick climbed over the rim of the tub and asked the boy to dry him, Kutkhay felt intoxicated, as if he had drunk too much... He started to dry that body he adored, with extreme delicacy, feeling powerfully the desire to embrace it, to held it tight, to love it.
At last the sweet torture came to an end.
"Before putting everything away, go and get me a dressing gown, Goldie."
The boy chose one of light blue silk, and helped him to put it on.
"I was thinking, Goldie, you can wash yourself too, now. Yes, it will be better. Go on, get naked and enter the tub!"
Kutkhay for a moment was astounded: usually he bathed in the coach house, the same day all the personnel did, the other servants and slaves. But it was, more than an invitation, an order from his master. Thus, turning his back so as not to show his erection, he pulled off his breeches and entered the warm water, sitting down, the soapy water hiding his embarrassing state. He started to lather all his body.
He noticed that his master was looking at him.
"You have a really beautiful body, boy." he said.
Kutkhay blushed slightly. "Never as yours, sir." he said shyly but happy for the compliment.
"You are growing and becoming a really handsome lad." his master insisted.
Kutkhay, when washed and rinsed, turned again so as not to show his nakedness, got out of the tub and dried himself. Then he put his breeches on again. Patrick had noticed the slight embarrassment of the boy, but had simply attributed it to a natural sense of modesty, and he smiled to himself.
"From now on, each time I bathe, you will too. I want you always perfectly clean, Goldie; twice a month, as the personnel do, is not enough."
"As you wish, sir." the boy answered, starting to take two buckets of dirty water downstairs.
In his fantasy he imagined how wonderful it would be to bathe together with his master, at the same time. He imagined how much he would love their lathering each other... and then his master couldn't fail to sense his arousal, to notice his erection... and then, perhaps... But, he concluded, those are just daydreams. His master could have had thousands of occasions to have sex with him, if he felt like it. Evidently he was not interested in him, the boy thought with regret. He did know very well that men liking men were rather rare: even in his tribe the majority had sex only with women.
And yet he knew that his master didn't have a woman, or rather that he never had occasion to think that he could be alone with a woman. But it could be that here it is like in my tribe before the real marriage ceremony... he concluded to himself.
One night, as at times it happened, he had fallen asleep on the carpet while watching over and admiring his sleeping master. He didn't realize how much time had passed, until a hand, cool and strong, gently shook him by a shoulder. He jumped up in confusion and saw his young master in front of him.
"What are you doing here on the floor? Why aren't you in your bed?" Patrick asked him, amazed.
Kutkhay, suddenly aware of his discovery, and his nakedness, blushed: "I... I wanted... watch over the sir..." he honestly answered.
"But why? And, don't you feel cold, in here?"
"I.. no, no doesn't matter."
"But why don't you sleep in your bed?" Patrick asked again.
"I... I feel lonely in there, and then... I like to watch the sir."
"Every night you come to sleep there?" the young man asked, astounded.
"Don't be upset, sir..."
"No, I'm not upset. But you are shaking, my boy! You are so cold. Come..." he said leading him toward his wide bed. He climbed in, slipping under the blankets ant drawing Kutkhay nearer to him. "I too at times, I feel lonely, you know? Stay here near me, now. There is enough room for two," he continued covering him carefully. Patrick felt a great tenderness toward the boy. "Let's sleep, now. Goldfinch." he gently whispered, lightly caressing his head.
Kutkhay huddled up completely, taking care not to brush his master's body with his own, afraid he would notice the desire that was awakening in him. The boy felt, although in a confused way, that in the young man there was just tenderness for him, but nothing more.
In fact Patrick, although he had never felt physical desire for a woman, had not even thought that it was possible to feel physical attraction for a male. Even if he was now twenty three, he had never yet cared about the problem of a sexual relationship. Some very rare times he had found relief by himself, masturbating, but this act was never accompanied by an erotic fantasy of any kind.
Toward the boy he felt just a strong liking, a sweet tenderness, but no attraction or conscious sexual interest. So, with innocent naturalness, he draw the boy nearer to him, caressing his shoulders slightly. They felt asleep, Patrick serene and quiet, Kutkhay happy but tense.
During the night their bodies sought out each other unconsciously, probably just seeking reciprocal warmth. Kutkhay woke up and knew that even his master was now aroused: he could sense his erection, through the fine batiste of his shorts, pulsing slightly against his thigh. Kutkhay could sleep no more, until the morning, when everything was back to a normal state.
His master woke him up shaking him gently. The boy opened his eyes and saw the smiling face of his master at a hand's breadth from his own.
"Did you have a good sleep, Goldfinch?"
"Yes, sir, very well."
"Do you still feel lonely, now?"
"Oh no, sir!"
"Good. Me neither. So then, when you feel lonely, you will come in here with me and not on the floor on the carpet, understood? We will be company to each other. But now get up, dress and bring my breakfast: this morning I want to eat in bed."
After that day, the boy did sleep more and more often in his master's bed, and in a couple of months, when Patrick was going to bed, he just called the boy every night, to have him at his side.
Before sleeping, they chatted a little then they fell asleep, while Patrick lightly caressed his hair or a shoulder, and at times even his chest. In those caresses there were no sexual allusions, and yet Kutkhay was fully aroused. But he did his best to make sure that his master wouldn't become aware of that. Sometimes, during the night, the man leaned his entire body against him, and at times the boy woke up feeling his master's erection pushing against him. Then he often felt tempted to slide one hand between their bodies to feel his erection, to enjoy it, but he never did. It was not for him to take the first step. Respect for rank was a principle that had been instilled into him from childhood.
On occasion, before going to sleep, Patrick would ask him to tell something about his previous life in the village, about his tribe's customs. The boy would speak in a low voice, until the regular and deep rhythm of the young man's breathing made him understand that his master was asleep. Then he became silent and waited for the sleep that wasn't long in coming, enjoying the proximity of that loved and desired body, and ready in the morning to jump out of bed to serve him with renewed enthusiasm.
In reality, Patrick too always felt alone. Even as a small baby he had to sleep by himself, in a room just for him. So now that sweet and discreet presence, fresh and warm near him, gave him a pleasure until then unknown and unsuspected but, perhaps subconsciously, desired since his childhood.
If on the one hand Kutkhay was more and more in love with his young master, and he was so in a painfully conscious way because of his preceding experiences with his gentle Mokoa, on the other hand in Patrick was growing stronger that sentiment of sweetness, tenderness and protection, and possibly even of affection towards the boy, but it was a sentiment to which he was not able to give a name, because he had no prior experience to draw upon and because his education was such that he could never consider it possible to fall in love with somebody of his own sex, least of all with a servant. Religion, society, education, all contributed to make him fail to understand what was developing between him and the boy.
But the master's lack of experience and innocence, coupled with the boy's deep respect for him, caused that, little by little, between the two was came about a tight and pure intimacy that in a different situation would have ended quite surely either in a sharp refusal or in a rather materialistic sensuality.
Thus days and weeks elapsed and the two were more and more close and united, even if their relation remained on a non-physical level.
Patrick continued to take care of the boy's education. But, as he wished the boy to go beyond the simple ability to read, write and do basic counting, he decided to entrust him to Rodney Rupert, a young university student of a poor family, so that Rupert could pay for his own studies giving lessons to the boy.
The young man lived in a small and modest house not far from De Bruine's Villa, and in the evenings, after supper, he had a little free time to dedicate to his studies. He lived alone with his mother, a seamstress. His father had died when he was a small boy.
When Kutkhay went to his lessons, the mother was almost always in bed or getting ready for sleep, because she had to awaken very early. In fact, she could cut and sew only by daylight, all the day long, and at evening she was always very tired.
There were three rooms in the little house: the mother's bedroom, the kitchen and the wide room with a fireplace where the mother worked and a sofa where Rodney slept. The room was furnished in a poor but dignified way, and it was here that Rodney and Kutkhay studied.
Kutkhay had an immediate liking for the youth: he had a light voice and a pleasantly lively attitude. They were sitting side by side at the table, where there was also the paraffin lamp that gave them all the light they needed. Rodney was two years older than Kutkhay. He was of nice aspect, even if you couldn't say he was really beautiful. He had a casque of fine hair, thickly waved, of a dark brown with copper nuances, eyes a brownish-gold with two long eyebrows that emphasized their depth, a small nose slightly uptilted that gave him a lightly mischievous aspect, a wide mouth with straight, full, vaguely sensual lips. The whole of his face was lightened by a frank and honest expression. His body was delicate but the modest clothing did not hide the well-developed muscles that showed the youth did a lot of physical exercise. But there was one particular above all that at once attracted Kutkhay's attention: his tight trousers outlined and let see clearly, the presence of a remarkable virile endowment.
From the very first time they met, Kutkhay noticed that Rodney's eyes lingered for a long while on his body with barely hidden interest, and that pleased him.
Patrick agreed with Rodney on the teaching program, the time table and the salary, so Kutkhay started his course. Sitting near him during the lessons, Kutkhay's look often lingered on the area between his young teacher's legs, and each time the boy got a hard on. Especially when there was a little more familiarity between them. At times Rod, while they were reading from the same book, would lean toward him and circle his shoulders with an arm or lay his hand on Kutkhay's arm.
After the lessons, Rod often complimented him: "You are a perfect student, you give me real satisfaction."
And Kutkhay was very glad for those words.
Occasionally, doing a break during the lesson, the two youths chatted for some minutes near the fireplace, lit now that it was winter. Rod prepared tea and they sipped it slowly. Kutkhay loved to look at the other's face, lightened by the last flames of the hearth in an ever-changing play of light and shadow. Even his hair changed color, with the flickering of flames, between a dark brown and an ancient gold. His skin shone like precious ivory and to Kutkhay's eyes, in those enchanted moments near the fire, the young man became more desirable and exciting than ever.
He also liked the smell of the burning wood, the bright reflection of the embers' heat, and the sound of Rodney's low, calm voice. It was an ensemble of sensations that involved all his senses and pleasantly mixed into an erotic amalgam that had the effect of increasing his desire for the other.
One evening, when Kutkhay was about to go back to the villa, Rod extended one hand and took his student's hand in it. They remained so, still, looking at each other, straight into their eyes, that shone in the pale light of the last reddening embers and seemed mysteriously animated.
"See you tomorrow evening, Goldie." at last Rod said with a voice that was like a caressing whisper.
"Sure. I like to come, to stay here... with you." Kutkhay answered with emotion, his voice slightly choked.
"I'll wait for you. Don't be late." Rod said, leaning towards him, and gave him a light kiss on a cheek, barely brushing it.
His hand held Kutkhay's tightly, his eyes shone intensely, then he moved away. But Kutkhay had read desire in them and quivered. Rod accompanied him to the door and there, before opening it, gave him another very light kiss, but this time on the lips, then bade farewell.
Kutkhay went back to the villa, lost in a thousand thoughts. Something in that young man attracted him irresistibly. Recalling those two light kisses Kutkhay clearly understood that he could easily make his that young teacher, who was just anxious to surrender to him. But he was his teacher, it was for him to decide...
A few evenings later, during the break, Rod offered him some liquor for the first time. The heat coming from the fireplace, together with that provoked by the liquor, awakened in Kutkhay a vigorous impulse of desire for the other. He looked at him and noticed that Rodney was aroused: the proof throbbed, in an unmistakable way, under the cloth of Rod's trousers, tighter than ever.
So Kutkhay took his hand and pulled the youth to him. They were both sitting on two cushions in front of the hearth. Rod slid near him, looked at him in silence, then lightly embraced him, leaning his head on his shoulder. They remained so, still: just the crackling embers broke the silence that had come between them and surrounded them. Kutkhay put his lips on his ear, barely brushing it with them, then, instinctively, began to bite very lightly on it. Rod sighed almost imperceptibly, with something like a quiver, turned his head a little and kissed the boy on his neck. After a while they moved away and went back to study.
From this time, almost every evening, sitting near the fire for the break, they moved close to each other and their touching, their little kisses, their embracing became more and more intimate and exciting. Both knew very well by now what the other desired, but neither yet dared to make the first explicit move. Possibly it was also the presence of the mother in the next room that stopped them.
One evening, however, as soon as Rodney opened the door and had Kutkhay enter, he said: "Tonight we are alone. My mother went to see her sister who is about to give birth... she will be not be here for at least a month..." and his voice was warm, sensuous, full of implication.
To Kutkhay it was a clear invitation. So, impulsively, he embraced him closely. Rod momentarily seemed surprised, but then abandoned himself and kissed Kutkhay hotly on the mouth. At once the two were aroused, and each felt clearly the other's erection. Their embrace became tighter, their hands started to explore each other's body, their lips united again and their tongues searched each other's mouth. Calmly and methodically, without their mouths separating, Kutkhay started to undress his companion, who docilely let him.
When he was completely naked, Rod whispered: "Now let me undress you, Goldie. I want to see your naked body, to touch it... at last."
Quivering, Kutkhay pushed him to the sofa and murmured with sensual voice: "As you wish, Rod..."
The other had a ghost of a smile and his eyes shone in anticipation. When Kutkhay was completely naked, Rod caressed his gorgeous body, making him quiver with desire, then his beautiful turgid tool, and stretched out on the sofa whispering with passion, his voice rough with the emotion: "Take me, Goldie, please, take me! I want to feel you inside me. I've desired that from the first day I saw you!"
Kutkhay didn't need to be asked, he was glad he could at last give free vent to his sexuality after so many months of abstinence. So, without hesitation, he made Rod turn around and, holding him tightly against his body, slowly but steadily entered him. Rodney throbbed under him, happily savoring the vigorous ride of his splendid student. That evening they forgot the lesson, just aware of the other's desire which they happily welcomed and satisfied in a very long and warm session.
But the relationship now begun with Rodney, instead of lessening the desire that Kutkhay felt for his young master, had the effect of increasing it, to make it even more intense. During the night, when the boy was alongside Patrick, often half embraced by the young man, lightly caressed, it become more and more difficult for the boy to remain there quiet, calm, to control his arousal, to do nothing...
The return of Rod's mother at first put a check on their activity, through fear that she could wake up and catch them in an act of intimacy. But the mutual desire was so strong that during the lessons, they started again to brush, then to caress, to kiss... until one night, during the break, although remaining dressed, they started again to have sex, to give each other reciprocal pleasure without any limitation. Rather, the risk they were taking contributed to make those moments even more exciting. On the other hand, it had never happened before that the woman, after going to bed, would awaken again.
Anyway, they were now reduced to uniting without undressing, their clothes still on them, just the trousers opened and partially lowered, in a kind of feverish haste. Then they resumed their lesson, continuing to caress each other intimately, and to kiss from time to time. Finally the boy went back to the villa in a hurry, anticipating the moment he could see his master again, and be near him.
One night, before falling asleep, Patrick asked Kutkhay:
"You go willingly to Mr. Rupert's lessons in the evening?"
"Yes, sir."
"Is your teacher good?"
"Yes, very much."
"So you like him."
"Yes."
"He seems a good boy to me, serious and likeable. I'm glad to help him by paying for your lessons. And I have the feeling that you are making remarkable progress under his guidance."
Kutkhay thought of what they were doing in the breaks and felt a slight tinge of remorse toward his young master. Remorse and regret. How much more he would have preferred to make love with Patrick instead of Rod. Could that ever happen? He was really afraid that the answer was no. It was not that he wasn't all right with Rod, on the contrary, but he would have renounced a hundred Rodneys to be able to make love with Patrick just once... Immersed in those thoughts the boy became aroused, above all because he could feel the warmth of Patrick's body so near to him, and the man, as now often happened, was lightly caressing his back.
Suddenly from outside came a strong and prolonged rumble of thunder that made the window panes tremble, followed shortly by a vivid flash of lightning and by a loud sharp thunderclap, quite nearby. Kutkhay instinctively shuddered and huddled himself up. He wasn't afraid of the thunder; it was just the surprise that had made him start.
Patrick encircled him in his arms, holding him tight, and whispered: "Don't be scared..."
But the trembling that now shook the boy's body was not from fear but emotion. It was the first time that his master had embraced him and tightened him against his strong bare chest, and the sensation was so beautiful and intense as to stop his breathing.
He cuddled closer against him and the young man held him with more vigor: "Be quiet, my sweet Goldfinch, I'm here, you have nothing to fear. It is just a passing storm: in this season they don't last long."
Kutkhay felt the man's skin against his own, in direct contact, and quivered with pleasure. A new flash of lightning was followed by a nearer thunderclap: the storm was assailing the villa, but a completely different and more violent storm was raging in the heart and body of the boy.
Now violent raindrops beat against the windowpanes filling the room with noise: Kutkhay listened to it and felt that it was exactly the same as the sound of his maddened heartbeat. It seemed almost impossible to him that Patrick couldn't hear it. His head leaned against the strong man's chest: how sweet it was to stay that way, to feel the smooth warm skin against his cheek!
Little by little this ineffable sweetness descended into his heart and Kutkhay relaxed. His master had started to caress his hair and a sensation of peace encompassed him. His excitement was now calming down and, as if in reply, the storm outside began to move away, to diminish.
Patrick, continuing to caress him, whispered: "Now we can sleep, Goldfinch. Tomorrow morning I have to wake up early. I have to leave with my father to go to Portland to oversee the loading of some ships. I will be away for three or four days."
"Will you bring me along?" Kutkhay asked in a whisper.
"I'm afraid not, it will not be possible. We take just a small coach and it will be fully loaded, we have to take lot of things, with us. So..."
"Then, I will wait..." the boy said with resignation.
They fell silent but both remained awake for a long while. The storm from time to time still grumbled, far off.
"I will miss you, sir." Kutkhay whispered.
Patrick didn't answer, and since for some time he had ceased to caress him, the boy thought that his master was fallen asleep.
But after a long while, Patrick murmured: "I too, I will miss you, you know, Goldfinch?" and started again to caress him, while the boy cuddled more closely against him, searching for that warmth that soon he would miss for some days.
The night was now quiet. Far, far away could be barely heard the barking of a dog that succeeded but faintly in disturbing the quietness of the deep and dark night.
Kutkhay was thinking: ever since his master had rescued him on the ship, and brought him with him, this was the first time they would be separated. For three, four, nights, he would have to sleep alone, he would be alone.
For the first time he felt he was in a foreign land. Sure, before he had found a thousand strange things, also before he had problems adapting to that new life, so different, so strange, so complicated, and at times he still had those problems. But his master had always been near him, his master who protected him, who helped him, who defended him.
This first separation, even just for a few days, gave him a sense of dismay, of fear. Suddenly all the strange aspects of this culture, so different from the one in which he was born, from whence he came, all the difficulties that he met and that until then he had always put aside, seemed to pour down on him. Yes, he was a little acculturated, he was integrating, but he wasn't yet a white man even if many believed him to be one. His strength came just from the safety of feeling protected, but now...
Three, four, days, he told himself, will pass rapidly. It is a short period, after all. Four days ago, for instance... what did he do? What had happened? He couldn't remember everything in detail, he was confused, seeking to put his memories in order, and suddenly even just four days seemed to him a terribly great, long period.
Too long!