"Yes, just once. I am Gilles, born in Tournai in 1327 and I'm son of a dyer. I grow up well, quiet, in a household without economic problems. When I am thirteen, one of my father's apprentices teaches me how to masturbate. Children's games, nothing more. But when he stops doing it with me, I miss the pleasure to have somebody's erected member in my hand, to be touched there by somebody's hands. So I start to look around to find somebody I can teach that fine game. Until I am fifteen I do it with several other boys, but all of them, after a first enthusiasm, soon start to be interested in girls and don't want to do it with me any more.
I am absolutely not interested in girls. One day I try it with a boy older than me. He tells me to stop trying those things, and that doing them is a mortal sin. I never thought about that. I am quite stricken by that idea. I am a good Christian, those games between boys were done in secret, sure, but just because adult people never understand what boys like. And anyway nobody talks about these activities, not even the adults that, of course, do them. But I thought it was just a secret, not a mortal sin!
So I go to confession, and the priest confirms the words of that boy. I enter a crisis. Sure, I don't want to do mortal sins. Sure I repent. Sure I will never do it again. No, not even by myself. He absolves me. But it's easer said than done. Desire is strong, it gets stronger everyday. A fight against myself begins in me, against my desire. Until a boy, younger than me, Jean, tries it with me, and I surrender and like it a lot. Even because the boy gives me head - I never tried that before and it is wonderful... I like feeling his sweet lips on my little hard rod, his tongue whirling on the burning tip of my quivering tool, and I like the merry smile he shows while dedicating himself to my pleasure. Yes, I like it very much. And I feel an incredibly strong pleasure when he greedily swallows all my seed in great sips, continuing to lick my hypersensitive rod's tip...
When I go to confession again, the priest threatens me with the torments of hell, the eternal fire if I don't mend my ways. The struggle inside myself starts again, but Jean gets round to me and manages to have me surrender to him, and not just once. I feel a growing pleasure having the young, greedy boy sucking me. I feel like becoming mad, like if in me there are two opposed persons, one good and one evil, one a saint and one the son of the devil... I pray, I intensely pray, but each time Jean entices me, I surrender to him.
One day Jean, after having fully aroused me with his sweet mouth, offers himself to me and persuades me to penetrate him. I do it, and at once I feel it is such a sublime thing that, for the first time, I ask myself how such a wonderful thing could be a sin. It is so great being sheathed in his tight and hot channel, moving up and down inside him, and hearing him whining with joy. It is so beautiful feeling under me his gentle and tender body moving, and moaning for the pleasure he gets in giving me pleasure... It is so wonderful flooding his hot and throbbing channel with my seed, and thereafter, while relaxing satisfied, to be embraced and caressed by Jean, who, between a kiss and another, thanks me to have made him so happy...
But the religious convictions are strong. I confess again, I again fight, I resist to Jean, even if it is really difficult. I succeed in making him give up. Jean is wounded, disappointed by me, and this gives me pain. But then the boy finds another lover, and this makes me jealous... And in reality desire seems to strengthen in me. Sometimes I feel like going to look for Jean again. Sometimes I look at my friends with badly hidden lust. Sometimes I furiously jack myself off... to go then again to confession. The priest terrorizes me. I feel lost. This situation continues for months and months.
I am seventeen when the priest, to whom I tell all my pain, decides to do an exorcism on me to send away the devil that evidently took possession of me. But absolutely nothing happens. So, the priest orders me to pass all night in church, prostrated on the floor in front of the big crucifix, amongst four lit candles, and to uninterruptedly pray for mercy. He takes me to church and closes the doors with his keys.
It is at dead of night. The church is silent and just the candles in front of the Holy Virgin with Child's statue and the four around me are lit. I pray, cry, invoke the Virgin, Christ, all the Saints to help me...
At a certain point I see a great light, incredibly strong, emanating from the statue and it seems quite as if the Virgin is smiling at me. Then also the statue disappears and just the blazing light remains. I stand up, approach that light like I am in trance, attracted, and the more I approach, the more I feel healed of all my pain. Then suddenly, it is as if in the light a diaphanous image I cannot clearly distinguish materializes. Is it an angel? The same Virgin? A saint? I don't know, I can't understand.
Then I hear a voice that tells me to stop worrying. My life will be short, I will die in exactly four years, but they will be four years full of happiness, because I'm about to meet the right person, and that this person is waiting for me right now, just in front of the church. The voice tells me to go, to entrust me to that person, to be faithful and in love. Then the voice says also that, when I will die, heaven is waiting for me. The great church door, which was locked, is now wide open even if nobody came to unlock it, and anyway just the parson has its keys. I go out, the night is clear. I look around.
Under the old stone cross, on its stairs, somebody is sitting. I draw nearer. It is a young man, so beautiful! He has the attire of a pilgrim. He smiles at me, I smile at him, hesitantly. He tells me that he was waiting for me, asks me if I want to go with him. I say yes. I turn towards the church, the light has disappeared, and the great door is again locked. He stands up, takes me by my hand and brings me out of town. He leads me to a hayloft, takes a candle from a corner and lights it with a flint stone. He smiles at me, asks me to undress and he too undresses - he really is a splendid man. He lies on his mantle that he has spread on the hay and invites me to join him. He invites me to make love with him.
I lie near him. He embraces me and I feel excited and moved. He kisses me in my mouth - it is a wonderful kiss, long, full of passion. Then he lowers, to kiss, lick, suckle all over my body, he lingers on my turgid nipples, and I feel like dying for the pleasure. He reaches my genitals and, having him turned upside down, I have his perfect genitals in front of my eyes, so that, at the same time with him, I part my lips and take his beautiful tool into my mouth. Thus we are united in a circle of pleasure and joy, and inside me I feel that what we are doing is beautiful, right and holy.
We make love, we unite, I am his and he is mine, and it is sweet and good. When he takes me, he makes me lie on my back, comes close to me and penetrates me. While he moves, he holds me between his arms and kisses me. I feel him slipping in and out and the pleasure is immense, a pleasure not just physical. I feel I belong to him, I feel that between his arms and legs I've found my place in the world. While he moves inside me, he caresses, smiles, kisses me and whispers sweet words to me. I feel in paradise. Then he gives himself to me, and I'm not able to say if I like best being taken by him or to take him. I would say that there is no difference, I love welcoming him inside me, I love how he receives me inside him.
I feel I am deeply in love with him and I am about telling him so, when he tells me, right at that moment, that he knows I am in love with him, that he is in love with me, that if I follow him I will be happy till the end of my days and even more. I swear to him that I will be always and only his. We fall asleep, intertwined. I feel happy, there is no more place for remorse in me - he is the man who has been sent to me, with whom I will be happy for four years.
At dawn we leave. We merrily walk, side by side. We beg from village to village, from town to town, from city to city and always people give us food, right for that day. At evening we always find a shelter, a place where to sleep and to make love. And during the day we talk about a thousand and one subjects, I never get tired of listening to him. In winter we find every day somebody who hosts us in a warm place, and always the accommodation is such that we can unworriedly make love. Not one day passes without us making love at least once, in complete tranquillity, fully enjoying each other's body in cheerful and vigorous tenderness. His body is so beautiful that it moves me just to look at it, his genitals are so perfect that I would like him not to be forced to cover them with his clothes. I adore being his, I adore making him mine.
It is like a dream. We own or carry nothing, and yet we miss nothing. Just to give you an idea about our living, I'll tell you three of many extraordinary events.
One day his sandals break down in a way that it is impossible to repair them. He laughs, throws them in a ditch, and resumes the way, barefoot. Just in that moment a man riding a horse passes at full speed. When he passes us, something falls down from his saddlebag, landing right in front of us. I pick it up: it is a bag. I open it, it contains a pair of new sandals, exactly fitting the feet of my lover. So he quietly wears them and we resume our way.
In a similar way, another day while we are playing and bucking in a field like two kids, my breeches, worn and old, tear badly. They now barely cover my genitals. I feel a little shy to go around in that condition. We pass in front of a house and a woman comes out with a frowned face, a pair of new breeches in her hands. She sees us and opens up in a kind smile. She tells us that she has sewed these breeches for her youngest son but that, having made a mistake when she cut the cloth, the breeches are too small. Then she looks at me and says that they could fit me, so she gives them to me. They fit me perfectly, almost as if she took my measurements.
But the most interesting event happens one day when we are at the square of a village on a market day. I suddenly feel terribly aroused, so I whisper to him that I want to make love with him. He smiles, takes my hand and drives me to a heap of hay, which is in one corner of the square. He says that we can make love there. I look around, there are many people and the heap is in full view... At that moment the church bell rings out, and everybody goes inside the church. We remain alone. He pulls me on the hay, undresses me, I undress him, and we start to make love, in full day light, in the now deserted square. I feel, know that we have nothing to worry. In fact I take him with calm, I enjoy him, he takes me and enjoys me, we continue making love until both of us are fully satisfied. We quietly relax, kissing each other. Then we stand up and dress again. And from the church the people come out, resuming their activities...
I could tell you dozens of these extraordinary facts.
We wander without a goal, going where the wind takes us, as he says. I love him intensely and feel filled with his love. In spring we plait flowers garlands for each other, in summer we bathe in the rivers, in autumn we search and eat blackberries and blueberries, in winter we play with the snow, and we enjoy each other day after day. Nothing upsets us, never, not even for an instant. Making love with him happens so spontaneously, be it day or night time, in the open or in a room, and never ever anybody comes to disturb our sessions of passionate union.
1347 comes, the pestilence rages in all of Europe, ravages France. At the beginning we help to bury the dead, but then they are too many, and it is necessary to burn them. We continue to wander. Even in these terrible days we miss nothing, and our love continues to bloom. I know that I don't have so much longer to live, the four years are elapsing, but near him, I'm not afraid.
In fact in 1348 the plague takes me: it is pulmonary plague. He assists me, doesn't leave me alone for a moment. He tells me not to worry, that I will pass away in my sleep, without pain. In fact it happens this way. One evening, after kissing me, he sweetly whispers to me to close my eyes, because the time has come we must part. I nod, smile to him, close my eyes... and I gently part from my thinned and strengthless body. I see him bent down to me, smiling and caressing me, then a great light, like the night in the church, then nothing. I am again a soul without a body..."
"But he, was he real, concrete, a true man..." Eugenio asked with a disconcerted tone.
"So real to make love with him for four exact years. So concrete to feel him inside me and to enter him. Such a true man that he felt the need to eat and to evacuate... No, it is not a dream, I assure you. It has not at all been a dream."
"But... and the vision?"
"That also, was not a dream. In fact he was there, waiting for me. He came for me. When I asked him how it came that he was there outside the church in the middle of the night, he simply told me that he arrived there in his wanderings, and that he felt the need to sit there, under the stone cross. And that, when he saw me, he clearly felt I was the person he was waiting for ever since, he had hoped to meet one day, and that's why he abandoned one day his carpenter's work and started to roam, looking for me."
"It seems incredible..."
"I can't understand you. All seemed normal to you when I was forced to prostitute myself, or when I was raped? Life is made of hard things but also of sweet things, of dreary things and of magic... You cannot accept just one part of it."
"But, perhaps, all the four years before your death were just the fruit of a hallucination provoked by the plague... and that superimposed on the real four years of your life..."
"No, I exclude that in a more absolute way. I could have had a hallucination as a body, but once my body was dead, I would have recognized it. I know, because I had hallucinations in other lives. But when I am a soul again, detached from my body, I can review at once, quite like they are superimposed, the hallucination and the reality surrounding that body in that moment, and as a soul I can clearly distinguish them. Nothing of all that in the life of Gilles. You must believe me."
"I don't know... this last story left me rather perplexed. Beautiful, but so unlikely!"
"Why do the beautiful things seem unlikely? That's quite like you see a wonderful flower, and you say it seems artificial, but then you see an artificial flower which is very beautiful, and you say it seems a real one... All that is beautiful has not to be believed, then? Man is a really funny animal."
"If you are a human soul, you too are part of man's errors."
"But at least I, afterwards, have an objective view of things. As a man, on the contrary, I have only, and just, a subjective view, even when one says it is objective. I think it is the fault of the senses: you believe too much in what you think you see, hear. It is the brain that cheats on you, because it interprets. I, at least in this phase, don't interpret, I know. Little, but I know..."
"Don't you think you conceited yourself?"
"It is not possible, for me, being so."
"Nobody in the world is humble like me... the haughty said!" Eugenio sneered. Then he asked: "Okay, but you, now, how do you explain those... miracles, visions..."
"I don't explain them, I don't know how and why they happened. Simply, we yet know too little to be able to explain everything. Like telepathy, for instance. There are things that man has in himself but he doesn't yet understand, know, and then he labels those things as miracles, magic, chance, fate, destiny... or he denies them! It seems that it is so difficult for men to just say: I don't understand, I have not enough knowledge, elements to understand..."
"So, you believe in miracles."
"Call them so, if you want. I simply think that things we are not yet able to explain, happen. My idea, but I am not sure, is that some kind of talents are yet sleeping inside men's body, and they sometimes, for certain people, on some occasions, arise for a moment."
"I see. And, tell me, I noticed that in all your story you never called him by his name. What was his name?"
"I don't know, I never asked him."
"You never asked him!?" Eugenio unbelieving said.
"I never needed to call him. When I was thinking I wanted to have him near, or I wanted to talk with him, he was there looking at me, ready for me..."
"Come on! At least when you were making love, didn't you feel the need to murmur his name?"
"Sure... 'Love' is how I called him..."