Consiglio's Bed

Two stories within one. Guilio,a boy from Venice, 1457, is made into 
a eunuch by Consiglio. His ghost travels with the bed upon which he
was castrated. It reappears (both bed and boy) in Boston, 1999. The
ghostly haunt is stopped only when another boy, mirror-image of the
first, lies upon the bed.  

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Consiglio's Bed, (REVISED)  by Ganymede





WARNING:



This story contains a graphic description of sexual acts 
between a man and a MINOR boy. If the subject of man/boy sex 
offends you, if this material is illegal  in your place of resi-
dence, or if you are under the legal age for such   material, do 
not read further! You have been warned! Read at your own risk!

 The story is copyrighted under the pseudonym, Ganymede. 
 While violent acts are mentioned in passing, they 
do not occur. The author has no intention of causing harm, or 
inciting other to harmful acts against minors. 

Feel free to post it to other  newsgroups or send it to your 
friends. If you enjoy my story, please contribute funds to a char-
itable organization providing services for boys.

The story is fiction, however the bed is very real and is 
presently in my bedroom in Boston. More about the bed in Part 2. 
Any resemblance to any individual, alive or dead, is unfortunate.

FINAL WARNING:

If you are under the age of 18, if this material is illegal 
in your   place of residence, or if man-boy relationships aren't 
your thing, then exit   now and save yourself from a life of sin!



 Consiglio's Bed, (REVISED) by Ganymede



Chapter 1. Venice, 1457



The polished steel flashed brilliantly in the last rays of 
afternoon sun that managed to enter the deep courtyard of the Ca' 
Foscari. The lithe-bodied boy darted away out of reach, catching 
his breath while he considered his options. The Captain's blade 
hovered, flickering at an unsteady equilibrium, resting before it 
came back with a sudden down-sweeping lunge. Again the boy moved 
back, again surveying the possibilities for an instant before 
deftly parrying his sudden movement with a well-aimed attack to 
his apparently unprotected flank. To an observer, the boy seemed 
to anticipate every move of his opponent, yet his movements were 
similarly expected. It was forever frustrating, and the boy 
twisted away to avoid the inevitable upswing of his attacker's 
free hand. The swords clashed with a loud ring that echoed off the 
stone walls.

"A good one, my Guilio. You are finally beginning to fight 
like a swordsman at last," another man called out. His name was 
Lucian. He was somewhat younger than the boy's adversary, 
although not in the same physical condition.

The boy's face was red from exertion and glistened with tiny 
beads of sweat. His hair was a tousled mass of dark curls the 
color of African mahogany. Yet in the sunlight, there was a hint 
of Venetian red that glistened on fine strands. His eyes were 
blue, soft, pellucid like the muted Venetian sky. Again the boy 
charged, now breathing heavily. His right hand ached, the tendons 
from his shoulder to his thin wrist pulled tight. No longer did he 
move with easy grace. He clenched the rapier. With each punishing 
engagement, his bad temper grew. However, the man grinned, slyly 
moving back. Like an idiot, the boy pursued him, until it was too 
late. Cornered between the colonnade and the steps, he had no 
where to turn to. He tried to back away and nearly lost his bal-
ance.

"Master Foscari, should you wish to see your next birthday, 
do not do that again."

Guilio grinned. His birthday would be celebrated the next 
day. He was born on the Spring Equinox, a good omen for some, a 
bad omen for others.

"Listen to him, Guilio," Lucian commented dryly. "Today, you 
are not fighting for your life, but without doubt there will come 
a day when you will be." He swallowed, bringing moisture to his 
parched throat. "He is merely testing your mettle, boy. Show him 
no anger. Bide your time until you can strike safely. When you are 
weak, you must be patient in the things you want."

The boy lunged quickly, his sword ringing hard against the 
marble column. Laughter rose behind his back and he spun around. 
Another man stood there, stoically examining the three of them. 
Two, the Captain of the Guard and Lucian, the tutor to his son, 
dropped to one knee, and the boy bowed his head deferentially to 
the Doge. Even the son of Francesco Foscari owed allegiance to the 
Doge. During Foscari's thirty years of leadership, Venice had 
expanded from a city with a small navy of its own, to a powerful 
state with far-flung territories. He was eighty-four years old 
and close to the end of his reign. Still, despite nature and 
against all logic, he had sired again at the age of seventy two. 
He looked lovingly upon his youthful progeny, captivated by the 
slender boy's handsome face and slender body.

"Guilio, you must listen to Lucian. You must learn to be 
patient in all things," he counselled. "Both he and the Captain 
are teaching you important skills, and not just how to defend 
yourself with a sword." 

He turned to the soldier who taunted his son with a wavering 
sword. A emblazoned blood-red tunic showed his status as the Cap-
tain of the Palazzo Guard. The captain came to his feet, yet 
avoided the Doge's steady gaze. Unlike many in the venetian court, 
he was no fawning syncophant, Instead, he averted his gaze 
respectfully.

"He is doing very well, my Lord. What the lad lacks in stat-
ure and strength, he makes up for with speed and agility."

"Still, I want you to work him hard, Captain. His life may 
depend on the skills you teach him now." 

The old man crossed the courtyard slowly. Guilio waited, his 
head still bowed until he was addressed. A moment later he felt 
his father's hand upon his shoulder. His gnarled fingers, still 
strong, rubbed over the leather armor that shielded the boy's thin 
chest. 

"Guilio, I love you dearly. You came late in my life and I 
have treasured you all the more for that. You are the most pre-
cious thing I have." He fingered the gold medallion of the Foscari 
family that hung around Guilio's neck. "I am proud that you wear 
this, Guilio Foscari, as you should be."

"Yes Papa," Guilio said meekly. "I am trying hard to be what 
you want of me."

The old man smiled slightly. Already the boy was everything 
he wanted in a son, and more. "You must learn how to fight with 
your mind as well as with the sword. That is why I have entrusted 
your education to Lucian. This Venice of ours, despite its magnif-
icent palazzos and the beautiful Canal, is still a savage world. 
There are many who would kill you if the chance arose. Some men 
would slit your pretty neck merely to get at me."

"Yes Papa."

"Trust no one."

"Yes, Papa!" the boy answered eagerly.

The old man smiled. "It is not so simple, child. When I say 
trust no one, there are different reasons for each man. Only in 
time will you learn the reasons, and for some it may already be 
too late. There are some men who would kill you. There are others 
who would take advantage of your youth."

"Yes, Papa," Guilio replied dutifully.

The elderly man sighed. "I have long accepted that I will not 
live to see you grow to manhood, my Guilio. I feel my strength 
ebbing with every sunrise. Hear my words and remember them well. 
Should you wish to stand tall, trust not those who you are fond 
of." His voice lowered to a soft whisper. "Not Lucian, not Con-
siglio, and especially not Iacopolo." The old man's muted warning 
came with a gasp at the end. It was as if the name `Iacopolo gave 
him reason to fear.

"But Papa, Iacopolo is my brother?"

"Trust no one, my son. Listen to my wisdom. I have not been 
Doge all these years without making enemies. Lucian would be cau-
tious in your company, but there is a reason why he is so fond of 
you. And while Consiglio will not slit your scrawny neck, for that 
is not his way, there is always another thing that can be easily 
cut. And to trust Iacopolo is not only foolhardy, but of consider-
able hazard. To do so would place your life in his hands. It would 
be a galling end to all that I have done."

"Yes Papa," the boy replied uncertainly. He gazed blankly 
upwards.

"Return to your lesson, boy. But remember this. You are a 
beautiful boy,... a very beautiful boy. It is good that you are 
becoming an accomplished swordsman. Do not forget that the sword 
defends your life, but not your body. You must learn to fight with 
your mind," he said as he touched his son's forehead. "Otherwise 
you will soon find a man's rapier sheathed between your cheeks. 
Although it will not kill you, you are girl enough to bring men to 
desire you. If that were to happen with a person like Consiglio, I 
fear you will never be a man."

"I don't understand," Guilio questioned nervously. "I'm not 
a girl. I'm a boy. Of course I will become a man."

"You will understand in time, Guilio. Not every Venetian boy 
becomes a man. There are always some who make that choice. How-
ever, until you understand, you must be careful. Be very careful 
my angel-boy. The gods have been good to you, but the fact is, my 
darling Guilio, you are much too pretty for your own good." The 
old man turned away, speaking directly to Lucian in a muted under-
tone that the boy was not supposed to hear. "I trust you to guard 
the boy carefully, Lucian."

"Yes Sire. I guard him like he is the son I cannot have 
myself."

Francesco smiled ambiguously. "Then enough is said. I know 
that he is safe with you, yet you must always be vigilant against 
the man who would steal his virginity. I will not have him become 
a scabbard for any man's sword. He is too precious to me."

"Yes, my Lord. I will always guard him carefully," Lucian 
said. His voice crackled, breaking tone between the words, chang-
ing from a reedy sing-song to a warbling alto. "You should know, 
my lord, that Consiglio already favors Guilio." He paused awk-
wardly. "And I fear the looks are being returned."

The old man appeared unperturbed. There were the many ways 
for a boy to discover how to give and receive pleasure. A rela-
tionship with a man of noble birth was a fact of life in fif-
teenth-century Venice. Such relationships, if carefully formed, 
could yield a lifetime of dividends, from business ventures to 
political allegiances. Indeed, when he was only a few months older 
than Guilio, Francesco had been personally responsible for unit-
ing the Foscari and Raspini families for the first time in a hun-
dred years.

The old man smiled slightly. "I have seen it for myself, 
Lucian. He could do far worse. However, know that I still expect 
you to protect my son from Consiglio."

"Is your fear of Consiglio the pederast, or the barber of 
boys?"

Francesco examined the tutor closely. "After tonight, I will 
have no fear of the one. On the morrow, my son will celebrate his 
tenth year. Even Consiglio would not tempt the wrath of the Coun-
cil by stealing his eggs after the sunrise. Besides, Lucian, no 
member of the Council would give consent to any warrant that took 
my son's manhood."

For a moment Lucian turned cold. Then, he nodded, watching 
the slender boy who moved with the enviable grace of a gazelle. 
"Then by default it must be the other. My Lord, then you should 
know that there are many men much worse than Consiglio who would 
eagerly take the lad's virginity."

"I know from experience that what you say is true. I also 
know for a fact that Consiglio is very fond of Guilio. What is 
more, I have also seen that the boy is happy in his company," 
Francesco admitted.

"Some would consider Guilio a prize worthy of a Prince. Even 
a king." 

"No man should be trusted with my Guilio."

"I understand your concern, my lord. Yet when urge is mutual, 
it is very hard to resist."

The old man nodded as he stroked his bottom lip thoughtfully. 
"You speak the truth, Lucian. Sometimes it is impossible to stop. 
Perhaps it is for that reason that nature has provided a way for 
men and boys to be lovers."

"And Consiglio? You would deny the natural urge when it is 
Guilio who receives his favor?"

"I have long known that Consiglio favors pretty boys with wit 
and charm so it comes as no surprise that Guilio is of interest to 
him. Were you not the same at Guilio's age, Lucian? And yes, I 
too, have seen them together. I am an old man so I have no incli-
nation to pretty boys myself, yet I understand what could attract 
another man to my sweet Guilio. His face is temptation enough."

"He could protect Guilio, Sire," Lucian suggested wisely.

"Protect Guilio? Yes, should I die, I suppose that is true 
for Consiglio. He is a man whose protection would afford certain 
advantages to a boy  in the intrigue of Venice. What is more, 
unlike some pederasts, Consiglio would not bring dishonor to the 
name of Guilio Foscari. However, there is another reason you know 
well enough. That alone is reason why I will not have my son 
become his consort while I live. I have my principles and I stand 
firm on them," he said adamantly. He turned away. "Captain," he 
gestured. "Come with me. I have a small matter of state to discuss 
with you."

He left, cautiously picking his way through the construction 
debris that littered the courtyard. He seemed very old. He disap-
peared into the deep shadows, leaving the boy and his tutor alone.

"Lucian," Guilio asked after a few moments. "Yes, Master 
Foscari?"

"My father,... he said something I don't understand,.... Why 
would I find a man's sword sheathed between my cheeks? And that 
thing, about it not killing me, but I would never be a man. What 
did he mean?"

Lucian smirked knowingly and raised his eyebrows. "That is 
his way of speaking of such matters, Master Foscari."

"His way? I don't understand. Why do people always speak in 
riddles?"

"Because you are still too young to know the why and how of 
such things. For now it is better that you do not know. In time 
you will learn and his meaning will be very clear to you. Be con-
tent to know that what he said was not a bad thing. Despite his 
words of warning, it will not kill you. While many have trouble 
sitting afterwards, I know of no boy who has died from it. Some 
unfortunates may wish it for the first few times they sheathe the 
sword. But after that the pain is of real consequence than the 
mild discomfort of constipation."

"But a rapier between my cheeks? I don't understand. I know 
if I swallow this sword I would surely die. It doesn't make any 
sense."

Lucian smiled patiently. "That depends on the size of a man's 
sword does it not, my boy?"

"Yes," Guilio ventured. "But I still don't understand."

"Your father is right in saying what he did. You are a very 
pretty boy. You need to be very careful."

"Careful? About what?" Guilio asked persistently.

"About asking too many questions for one thing. Your curios-
ity could even be taken by some men as a sign that you are inter-
ested."

"I am always interested, you should know that by now. That is 
why you are my teacher," the youngster grinned. He brushed tangled 
locks of moist hair back from his forehead." But why must you 
always talk in riddles?"

Lucian smiled warmly. "Because it is the way of men when such 
matters are addressed." "Is the lesson over?" Guilio asked sud-
denly. He watched the Captain and his father disappear inside the 
palazzo.

"For today it is enough. I can see that you are tired. We 
have time for other things that will enrich your mind. You have 
acquired some skill with the sword, but there is always more to 
learn needed to defend your life. A good mind is as important as a 
strong body for the Doge's son." Guilio gestured towards the wait-
ing gondola. It bobbed gently against the dock, its stern buffeted 
by the steadily freshening wind that blew along the canal. The 
detailed asymmetrical facades of the adjacent palazzos seemed to 
sparkle in the pellucid air. However, Lucian shook his head. "Let 
us walk instead, young master. Today, we will go via the Rialto on 
our way back to the Palazzo."

They walked abreast, his arm around the boy's thin shoulders 
to offer a measure of protection when they were jostled by the 
hordes of afternoon shoppers in the narrow streets. Yet his close-
ness was unnecessary. People stepped aside when they approached, 
recognizing one or both of them. The boy, a mere stripling with 
subdued pride in his parentage, did not mind his tutor's proxim-
ity. Indeed, it made him glow with a deep satisfaction of knowing 
that he was well liked.

That afternoon he felt closer to Lucian than ever before. 
From his birth, he had always been distanced from his father. His 
father was old enough to be his great grandfather, and he had lit-
tle in common with a boy of nearly ten years. However much more 
than years separated father and son. One difference, unrecognized 
by the boy but comprehended by his father, brought Guilio ever 
nearer to the men who threatened his very existence. Francesco 
Foscari was engrossed in the affairs of state and the intrigues of 
Venetian politics, and he was barely with his a minute each day 
before another problem engaged his interest. When the opportunity 
arose, it was not surprising that young Guilio sought affection. 

Lucian was both friend and mentor, and for that reason alone 
Guilio spent more time with him than any other person. His father 
entrusted Lucian with Guilio's upbringing, and in time, the boy 
trusted him with his life. Yet there were things that Guilio could 
not tell Lucian, private thoughts that lingered in his mind long 
after the cause had dissipated. These unshared thoughts were like 
a chasm between them. And there were many questions a growing boy 
needed answers to, but Guilio dared not ask them. Strangely, 
Lucian broached the subject of Guilio's interest without prompt-
ing.

"We have always been good friends, but we are probably closer 
than most people realize," he began uncertainly. "I must tell you 
that I have become very attached to you, Master Foscari."

 Guilio nodded, suddenly eager that they continue talking. 
"I am fond of you too."

Lucian paused a moment and gazed down at his young charge, 
the corners of his mouth crinkling as a smile formed. Now, no mat-
ter which way he studied it, there was no hiding his feelings. 
"That is good, young sire. I have something to say. It is very 
difficult for me. I do not want to make you angry."

"I will not be angry," Guilio promised.

"And if you told anyone what I am going to tell you, I would 
be banished from your sight forever," he stressed. "I beg you to 
keep it secret. I could not bear to lose you."

Guilio looked at him aghast and shook his head in immediate 
denial. "Never would I tell, Lucian. I would die if you were to 
leave my side."

Lucian smiled a little more. Although still clearly nervous, 
he drew closer, his intention clear. "What I want to tell you is 
difficult enough, but because I admire you so I must find the 
strength," he began slowly. "Sometimes,... Master Foscari,... 
Guilio,... a man can have strong feelings for a boy. It begins as 
friendship, but it can easily become much more. In time it can 
become love, a very powerful love that knows no equal."

He hesitated, glancing around the empty piazzetta. The sun-
lit marble facade of Il Savanati glowed golden-amber. He swal-
lowed nervously as he bared his deepest secret. "You asked me 
once, a year ago perhaps, whether only men and women can love. I 
told you then that men can also love men,... It is also true that 
a man can love a boy," he added quietly. "Indeed, many ancient 
philosophers would say that love of a man for a boy surmounts all 
other. It is the purest form of love."

 "I have read that in Plato. He said as much, though it is 
often hard to decipher what he intends. And a boy can love a man 
too," Guilio ventured with certain knowledge.

"How do you know that with such confidence?"

"I,... I don't know. I've heard it said by boys my age. I've 
wanted to ask you if it's true."

"It's nature's way although many show distain for it. You 
feel it too, don't you my beautiful Guilio,..." Lucian stepped 
back a single pace, his eyes meeting the boy's steady gaze with 
fierce intensity. For a moment, Guilio felt a wave a fear rising 
up from the pit of his stomach. It seemed as if he was looking at 
something he had always been frightened of. How often, how long 
had he wanted to address that lingering fear inside him? Guilio 
nodded and quickly looked away.

 "Lucian,... why do I feel this way?"

"How do you feel, little one?"

"Like there's a bird inside me. It seems like he's fluttering 
his wings and trying to get out. And I feel so hot when I'm with 
you."

"Just with me?"

"No, I feel the same, perhaps even more with Consiglio, like 
there's a fever making me ill. Yet I know that I'm not sick."

Again Guilio met his eyes, his dancing, mysterious, all 
knowing eyes. Lucian's dark eyes gazed into the boy's mind and 
read his churning thoughts that dwelled on subjects not yet 
broached. Guilio shivered from his mere propinquity.

"It could be that,..."

"What?"

"Perhaps what you feel are the pangs of love."

"Love? I don't understand."

"I think you're in love, Guilio," Lucian said softly. "You 
are old enough to feel the need."

"How can you tell?" Guilio asked.

"There are signs. When being together makes you tremble like 
a lagoon reed in the faintest zephyr. When your heart beats faster 
the moment you see the one you love. When your male part stirs and 
reaches out for him. It points the way for your heart to follow. 
That is love. It strikes without reason and cares not what you 
want. In time, love melds your heart and soul with his, until you 
live only for one purpose, and then you think always and only of 
the one you want to be close to."

"I'm frightened," Guilio whispered.

"There is no reason to be afraid. I will always be here to 
protect you. That is my role in life, sweet boy."

"But you just said,... if anyone knows,... you would be ban-
ished."

"Or worse," Lucian commented drily. "Being sent away would 
be the least of my problems if your father discovered how you feel 
about me. He expects me to keep you safe."

"You love me too, don't you Lucian?" Guilio asked awkwardly.

"Of course. You are an easy boy to fall in love with," Lucian 
smiled. "You are the most beautiful boy I have ever seen. There is 
no boy, or girl for that matter, in all of Venice who compares 
with you. They are in your shadow. And there are many others 
besides myself who are besotted with your beauty. You stand alone 
with no equal."

"Not even the choir boys?" Guilio teased.

His question provoked another cautious smile. "Not even the 
choir boys, young sire. They are certainly as beautiful as angels, 
yet thou art a god among them," Lucian added for emphasis. "You 
hair is flecked with spun gold when the sun shines upon it. Your 
lips are the lips of the Madonna. Your flesh has both the softness 
of a newborn and the firmness of a leopard. Your eyes are cerulean 
blue, and clear like the pellucid sky of this beautiful city. I 
can gaze into your soul and know you love me."

"Luc-ci-ci-ian,... you're making me f-f-feel s-s-
strange,..." Guilio stammered. "I'm frightened."

The man brushed long stands of silken hair back from the 
boy's brow. His fingers lingered, caressing a smooth temple. "You 
are a very beautiful boy, Guilio. Don't be afraid of how you feel. 
Loving someone is nothing to be ashamed of. It is an honor that 
you love me."

"Lucian,... Iacopolo told me it was evil for a man to love 
another of his sex. He said it was against God's will for men to 
love each other," Guilio began."Although I am still a boy, eventu-
ally I will be a man like you."

 Lucian blanched. "Forget what he said, my little boy-god. He 
is only jealous that you are such good friends with Consiglio and 
me."

"Often he tells me to be careful when I bend over in front of 
you."

Lucian shrugged dismissively. "Iacopolo will always hate me. 
You have nothing to fear from me in that respect, Guilio."

"Why does my brother hate you? You are my tutor."

"I cannot tell you, Guilio. You must trust me in this. You 
are better off not knowing why he hates me. It is too dangerous 
for you to know. It is Iacopolo who is evil, not the love between 
two men. Neither is it wrong for a boy to love a man,... because 
the love you would share with a man is given by God. It should be 
accorded the respect it is due."

"How do you know I will be better off not knowing?" Guilio 
asked openly. "I trust you, Lucian, and now that I love you too, I 
must know why he hates you. Iacopolo is my brother, yet I have 
never had any feelings of love for him. I don't know why, but he 
has always been cruel to me."

Lucian nodded understandingly. "I am not surprised. There 
can never be affection between the two of you. You and he are like 
the faces of a ducat. You are joined together by bloodline, yet 
you are completely opposite in all other ways."

"Like good and evil?"

Lucian beamed. "Good and evil? Yes, so you do understand. You 
are a perfect angel, my beautiful Guilio, and Iacopolo is the 
Devil. Like the coin in your pocket, it would be better if you and 
he could not see each other. There is harmony in that."

"Isn't that Iacopolo over there?" Guilio said loudly as a 
couple turned the corner of the piazzetta.

"Hush, Guilio. We should not disturb them," Lucian cautioned 
swiftly. His head bent down and his hand reached to the boy's 
shoulder to turn his face away.

"Why? It's my brother," Guilio countered. "And that man 
beside him, it's,...Con,..."

"Yes, Guilio. It's Consiglio," Lucian interrupted. "It both-
ers me that they are together."

"Why is he talking with Consiglio?"

"What your brother does is none of your concern, Master Fos-
cari. Take my advice and forget that you have seen him here 
today."

"Why?" Guilio demanded.

"Some things are better left alone. He did not intend you to 
see him. That is reason enough not to speak of it to anyone."

"Where are they going?"

"There are some things better left unknown."

"Why is Consiglio holding his hand?" Guilio demanded anx-
iously. 

"I expect for the same reason that I hold your hand when we 
walk together," Lucian answered awkwardly while he offered his 
hand.

"Are they friends as close as that?"

"Speak no more of this. Come, my darling Guilio, let us be on 
our way. Please forget what you have just seen. It would not be 
safe for you if Consiglio knew."





After they crossed the Grand Canal, they followed the surge 
of people towards San Guilio. There in the great piazza, they 
stopped. The Byzantine facade of the great church glowed and 
flashed in golden splendor, the mosaic of gold leaf and glazed 
tile eternally beautiful. 

"Come Guilio. Let us pray here instead of in the Palazzo 
chapel," Lucian said. 

Guilio nodded, grateful to be away from the pious priests and 
adoring women who haunted the Palazzo, demanding servitude to the 
glittering artifacts of the sanctuary. Inside the great cathedral 
they would be left alone. Lucian led the way past the four great 
gilded horses and into the basilica. Inside, the cool darkness was 
relieving. The still air hummed, vibrant with the Church's glory. 
Incense fumed and sent a pungent smell everywhere. It was other-
wise quiet and mystical, its ethereal magic seeming to emanate 
from the Pala d'Oro altarpiece and the white marble tomb of Saint 
Mark.

Guilio knelt in the first row, Lucian directly behind him in 
his rightful place behind the seats reserved for the Doge's fam-
ily. The boy made the sign and whispered a prayer for his father. 
Then relieved of family duty, he hastily relocated to the row 
behind where he wouldnot be noticed. The choir began, voices of 
two dozen boys most of them no older than Guilio, lifted together 
in harmony to honor the Holy Trinity with song. Yet some boys were 
older and their voices were clearer than crystal, singing purer 
notes than any of the others, and voices strong enough to rever-
berate through the sacred vaults. Strangely, Guilio understood 
intuitively that the boys who sung those notes were different to 
him, yet he did not know why.

"Lucian," Guilio asked as quietly as he could. "Those older 
boys,... I know some of them are fifteen or sixteen. Why are their 
voices no different to mine?"

"Hush," Lucian whispered in return. "You should not speak in 
His House."

However after a few seconds he smiled and raised his eyebrows 
in mock horror that the Holy Father would overhear their conversa-
tion. He bent his head lower and spoke directly to Guilio's near-
est ear.

"Those boys are eunuchs, my darling Guilio. They will never 
sing like men. For good reason, they're called castrati."

"I've heard them called that. But why will they never sing 
like men?"

"Always with you there are questions."

"And what's a eunuch?" Guilio demanded under his breath.

"Ah, a eunuch is,... Hm,... Do you know what a gelding is?"

"A horse. Everyone knows that," Guilio replied adamantly.

"Your horse is a gelding, Guilio. But tell me, is it a stal-
lion or a mare?"

"He's stallion of course," Guilio blushed. "He has a thing 
that hangs between his legs."

Lucian smiled slightly. The singing finished and the sono-
rous words of the evening benediction began. Guilio breathed 
deeply, inhaling the fetid air that seemed to pervade all of Ven-
ice during the hot months of summer. Unlike past years, the smell 
seemed worse than usual. Sometimes the canals were like open sew-
ers, soiled with the brown scum of human waste and the bloated 
bodies of dead animals. Perhaps it was an omen for the plague to 
return, but life went on in Venice as if there was no tomorrow.

"Is it? Have you looked between its hind legs to make sure 
everything is there that is supposed to be there?" Lucian queried 
with a smile. Guilio giggled, blushing ever deeper scarlet as he 
thought of his horse's long black penis. Although the principle 
was the same as his own small dangling appendage, without exagger-
ation it was bigger than his forearm. "He has a thing there, just 
like I do."

"Ha! A thing makes a horse male, but not a stallion. The boys 
who have been made into eunuchs all have things not much bigger 
than yours. They have no balls, however. That is the difference. 
Haven't you noticed that your horse has no balls in the pouch that 
hangs beneath its thing."

"Balls?"

"Those little eggs that hang below your thing, my innocent. 
Those are your balls, Guilio. If they are lost, a boy becomes a 
eunuch. That loss makes them choirboys. They are the same as geld-
ings."

"But how does a stallion become a gelding?" Guilio asked. 
"How are they lost?"

Lucian chuckled. "So many questions. If you must know it is 
done with a knife," he answered simply.

"Why is it done?" Guilio asked awkwardly as he stared at the 
boys in the choir. A knife implied that their balls were cut off. 
He shuddered involuntarily as he imagined cold steel against his 
male part, removing two tiny eggs from a purse of skin that felt 
like the finest Chinese silk.

 Lucian nodded. "The choir boys are castrated to keep their 
voices pure. There are other reasons too why a boy is gelded, but 
that is the main one. They are chosen very carefully. Only boys 
with perfect tone are subjected to the knife. It would be a waste 
to do otherwise for there is no reason to preserve something that 
is less than perfect. You ask why is it done to them? With man-
hood, your voice will become deeper, little Guilio. Then, no mat-
ter how hard you try, you will no longer be able to sing your 
soprano song to the heavens."

 "Who chooses them?"

"Ah,... the boy himself for one, his parents, the local 
priest. Sometimes the barber. It depends." He paused thought-
fully. "Each year the boys who seek a place in the choir are 
brought before Cardinal Rancini and Consiglio."

"Consiglio?" Guilio asked uncertainly.

"He is the patron who compensates the families for the loss 
of their sons after the final selection is made. It is a tradition 
that some payment is made. For some boys it is a token, a few duc-
ats at most, for others from good family I have seen Consiglio 
give the boy's weight in silver coin."

Guilio's head turned away. He looked at the choir boys 
thoughtfully. For almost all of them, it was easy to determine who 
had been castrated. Among the older boys, he recognized the pale 
thin boy whose delicate soprano reminded him of a high-pitch of a 
piccolo, the two red-headed twins who sang a haunting melody in 
parts, the dark-haired gypsy. Suddenly, he had a mental image of a 
boy's body outstretched on a bloodied wooden table. "H-h-how?" 
Guilio asked sickly.

"How is it done?" Lucian asked with a patient sigh. "It is 
done very carefully, usually with a very sharp razor so as to pre-
serve as much of the feeling as possible. It is not intended as a 
punishment but as a gift."

"Who is this person who does such a thing? A doctor? Is he 
the barber who my father was talking about in the courtyard?"

Lucian smiled at the breach of confidentiality. The boy had 
excellent hearing. "The barber is the ball-cutter more often than 
not. It is he who makes a choirboy into a eunuch."

Guilio nodded thoughtfully. "Both you and my father have 
talked of him today and I have never heard of it being done 
before. Will they all be that way in time?" he asked as he studied 
the boys standing behind the altar.

"All of them? I think not. Some of them are still quite young 
and it is difficult to tell whether it is worthwhile taking the 
eggs until the voice is fully developed. For that reason, it can-
not be done too soon, but if it is done too late, the voice will 
lose its charm. However, if it is going to be done at all, the 
eggs will always be cut before a boy reaches ten years."

"Why is it always done before ten years?"

Lucian sighed inwardly. Before ten years was the law, but it 
was not always so. Some things had changed with Francesco Foscari 
as Doge. "It's the law, Guilio. It must be done before the boy can 
count his age on all his fingers. That is what the law says. One 
finger for every year. If he is older there is a chance that he is 
already fertile. And if it is done before he is ten years old, a 
boy will not regret losing that which he does not have."

"There is really a law for that?" Guilio pressed. It seemed 
that there were laws for everything.

"Castration can only be done with a warrant. It must be 
signed by the boy's father and sealed by a member of the Council."

"And there are laws for animals too?"

"No! A foal is not so lucky. The farrier uses the knife only 
to prevent breeding and make the animal docile," Lucian answered.

"What does docile mean?"

"A gelding is very gentle compared to a stallion is it not? 
That is docile. A eunuch is the same way. A boy who has lost his 
manhood will not be aggressive. He cannot become a real man. 
Enough of this talk of eunuchs and geldings. We are in God's 
house, Guilio," Lucian admonished playfully.

"I have another question, Lucian," Guilio whispered. "I 
promise it is the very last one. If this thing is done to a boy to 
make him into a eunuch,... so he cannot sing like a man, and he 
will be docile,... what else happens to him because of it? How is 
he not a man? I have seen men in my father's court who are gentle 
and they can sing, yet surely I know they are men."

Lucian replied patiently. "That is not the worst of it, 
Guilio. If it is done before a boy's balls ripen, he will not be 
manly. His male part is stunted, and it will never grow bigger. 
What is more, he cannot father children, and women will not want 
to lie with him."

"What happens to him then? Does he become a priest?" Guilio 
whispered.

He studied the gaunt cleric in his crimson and gold-embroi-
dered robes as he performed the ritual blessings at the altar. Had 
he been castrated as a boy, Guilio wondered? Yet as soon as the 
question formed in his mind, he knew that the priest was not a 
eunuch. His voice was sonorous, booming through the mosaic-cov-
ered halls of the basilica when he uttered the ancient latin 
phrases of prayer.

Lucian sighed. "No more questions, my angel." He smiled 
slightly. "But I have heard it said that priests and eunuch boys 
have much in common during the darkness of night. I have heard 
that a priest's vows of chastity extend only to women and girls. 
The ascetic life does not eschew all pleasure, and beautiful boys 
are among the greatest of pleasures. Eunuch boys are highly trea-
sured by men who know what real pleasure is." 





That night, after evening prayer Guilio undressed in the 
flickering candlelight. His thoughts were of Lucian, as they had 
been all night. Hours earlier Lucian had spoken of the relation-
ship between them as being more than friendship. His words of love 
were like tormenting barbs that pierced the boy's innocence. And 
while there was a strange void in his belly as if he had not 
eaten, Guilio realized an inner happiness from finally knowing 
why his body trembled whenever he was close to Lucian. Part of him 
glowed with the first flames of passion, while his mind reeled 
with the meaning of Lucian's words. However, what was most dis-
turbing, his male part was no longer dormant. He urinated care-
fully, directing his pale dribble into the night basin with 
considerable difficulty. At first it did not want to come out, and 
he had to strain down to force the stream through his erect penis. 
It was hot and hard between his fingers, and he trembled from even 
the slightest touch on his sensitive skin. It was very different 
to the little sleeping thing that usually adorned the center of 
his body.

He finished his ablutions and pulled on his nightshirt to 
cover the uncomfortable projection that continued to protrude 
from between his thighs. He walked to the shuttered window. Out-
side, Guilio could hear the distant raucous laughter of soldiers, 
sailors, courtesans, and whores, loud footsteps and belches on 
the bridge across the canal. In the darkness of night, Venice 
turned to drunken vice. It was not safe to be outside. Nor was it 
safe inside the palazzo, for when the boy turned around to walk 
back to his bed, a figure stepped from the shadows beside the 
fireplace.

"Iacopolo!" Guilio gasped with sudden fear.

"No, it's me, your friend Lucian. Don't be afraid, my beauti-
ful Guilio."

He walked forward, one hand held out in greeting. "How did 
you get in?" Guilio asked nervously. "You could not come through 
the door. It's locked and Iacopolo has the key," he explained. "He 
locks me in every night."

"I know." Lucian closed the gap between them. "I had to see 
you again, my beautiful boy. I have not stopped thinking about 
you."

"And I have thought about you all the time too, Lucian," 
Guilio blurted out. "Why do I feel like this?"

"How do you feel?"

"I feel funny,... it's hard to explain. I feel hot, and then 
I feel happy, and a moment later I feel frightened. I heard the 
Council talking about a case of plague in the Calle del Forno and 
I keep wondering whether I am getting sick?" 

Lucian nodded reassuringly. "Those are nice feelings, my 
angel. You're not getting sick. Those feelings are normal when 
you're falling in love."

Guilio took a deep breath. He needed a thousand questions 
answered, but one question was foremost in his mind. Before this, 
he would never have found the courage to ask Lucian. Now, for some 
strange reason, the words came very easily.

"My thing is big," Guilio announced solemnly. "It's hard 
too."

Lucian grinned as his eyes lowered. "So my beautiful young 
boy has a stiff cock. Has it not done that before now?"

Guilio glanced down, noticing the pointed disturbance in his 
shirt. "Sometimes in the morning it gets big,... but it's never 
like this. It hurts."

"It hurts?"

Lucian came closer until he was only an arm's length away. 
Suddenly, for no reason Guilio could explain, he wanted Lucian to 
hold him in his arms. His male part throbbed, joining with the 
gnawing hunger in his belly to make his body tremble uncontrolla-
bly. He shivered, barely cognizant of why he needed Lucian's 
embrace and the closeness of his body against him. Never before 
had Guilio been so aware of his male part. All of him seemed be 
concentrated in those few short inches between his legs, and he 
had an inexplicable realization that only Lucian could relieve 
his agony by touching him there. From ribald jokes told by his 
father's friends, and from playing with other boys, Guilio knew 
that such things were not openly admitted, not unless one wanted 
to play what others referred to as the woman's role. 

"It throbs," Guilio said uncertainly.

Lucian smiled again. His hand lightly brushed the boy's 
shoulder, twisting his fingers in Guilio's curling locks. The boy 
stood straight and tall before him, yet he barely came midway to 
the man's breast. The polished steel of his sword, hand-tooled 
from Toledo like was cool against Guilio's thigh as he leaned for-
ward. Lucian's hand eased down his back, rubbing his small shoul-
der blades with strong massaging fingers. Lucian's other hand 
cradled his buttocks, caressing lightly. Guilio yielded to his 
welcoming embrace.

"You have a nice little bottom, Guilio," he teased. "Perhaps 
one day you will find out whether it is so small that you cannot 
imprison a man within you."

His hand followed the curve of the boy's buttocks, his fin-
gers inquisitively entering the crevice that separated the two 
halves. Guilio shivered, consciously aware that a man should not 
touch him in that way. Still, he could no more stop Lucian than 
take flight like a bird. His gentle hand felt warm and strong, and 
very nice.

"You feel so good.... Lucian?..." Guilio asked uncertainly. 

"Yes my darling boy? What matter of question do you have for 
me this time?"

"Nothing,... It's so hard it hurts me."

Lucian kissed the top of his head. "When a boy loves a man it 
is natural to want to be so close to him that you are joined 
together. Your body is telling you it wants to join. That is the 
reason why your little cock is so stiff."

"How?"

"How does it get stiff, or how do a man and boy join 
together?" Lucian asked patiently. "I do not know the answer to 
the first, but the second is easy."

"Being close to you makes me feel good," Guilio sighed. "I 
want to be with you forever, Lucian. I want to know how they 
join?"

"They join by putting the male part of one within the other, 
darling boy. That is how it is done when a man and a boy are in 
love. Do you not remember what Francesco said about a man's sword 
being planted between your cheeks?" Lucian asked. Guilio nodded 
slightly. "This furrow between your legs is precious," he said as 
he stroked the split between the boy's small buttocks. "There is a 
hidden treasure within his crack that a boy can give to the man he 
loves. There is an opening to an inner passage that rises within 
your belly. If the man is careful, it does not hurt too much."

"I don't understand. There is only the place I poop from," 
Guilio begged. "You're talking in riddles again, Lucian."

"It is one and the same. A man's cock is the sword and a 
boy's bowel is the scabbard. In that way they can be joined 
together. The man's part goes into that place. A boy's body is 
made that way," Lucian explained obscurely. "In time you will come 
to appreciate that part of you can tightly sheath a man's prick. 
Sometimes it is called sodomy, and there are those in the Church 
who decry it, but it is the only way for a boy to share himself 
with the man he loves. Once you experience it, you discover the 
joy that makes life worth living."

Guilio shrugged, ignorantly dismissing that which he did not 
understand. Each answer Lucian gave provoked another hundred 
questions, and instinctively he realized that now was not the time 
for questions. Still, he quivered with an urgent need to know 
more.

"I know my father said no,... but Lucian, when will a man 
join with me?" Guilio asked awkwardly.

"It's hard to say except that when the moment is right. Per-
haps when you're older, my beautiful boy."

"Why not now?"

"Not now!" Lucian smiled at the tormented youngster. "You're 
not ready. A man's sword would tear your little arse apart on the 
first full thrust between your legs. Although other men might, I 
know that I could never hurt you like that, my darling Guilio. 
That is why it is important for a man to love a boy before they 
take that step together. It takes time to prepare a boy's furrow 
for his first ploughing. You must be patient until I have readied 
you to take a man's cock."

With his arm around Guilio's shoulders, he guided the boy 
back to the bed. The candle flickered, threatening to extinguish 
itself and leave them in darkness. Strangely, the notion of being 
alone with Lucian in the dark did not frighten the boy as it would 
if he had been alone. Although Lucian's arm was comforting, it 
made him anxious. He breathed quickly, his trembling an equal 
match for the rapid beating of his heart. What Guilio wanted more 
than anything else seemed to be just out of reach.

"Then when?" Guilio whispered anxiously. 

"Lie down on the bed, my angel, and I will show you other 
ways of being close to a man," Lucian breathed.

The boy obeyed, shifting to the center of the bed so that 
Lucian could sit beside him. His hand lightly caressed a slender 
hairless leg, from ankle to knee. "How did you get in?" Guilio 
asked curiously. "There is a hidden passageway that few people 
know of," Lucian said absently. His fingers fondled Guilio's 
knee, then when he did not complain, tentatively lifted the night-
shirt away and gradually progressed further along the boy's bared 
thigh. Guilio smiled contentedly and gazed unwaveringly at Lucian 
with secure knowledge that the man was as happy as he was.

"When I was a boy about your age, I often came here to stay 
the night," he explained.

"Here? To this room?"

"It was Iacopolo's room then. He was thirteen and very hand-
some, but he was never beautiful like you," Lucian sighed.

"But why did you come here, to my brother's room?" Guilio 
asked shyly.

"I came with Consiglio, to fulfil his longing for Foscari 
flesh. I was not only his servant,... It was my duty so I slept 
with him, Guilio."

"Why didn't you sleep in the servants' quarters?" Guilio 
asked. He almost added that servants were never allowed to be on 
the piano nobile except when they had duties to perform.

"Consiglio is a pederast," Lucian answered.

"A pederast?"

"A boy lover. Think of the Latin. Ped and rast, boy and love, 
but the word does not always mean what it says."

"Oh!"

"I expect you have heard the word before in your father's 
court. It is rumored that there are even a few men in the Council 
who would rather bestow their favors upon the boys of Venice than 
take a wife. Giovanni Tremachini, for one, and Guiseppe Cravagio 
for another. Be careful of them, my darling."

"I have heard my father say that they are bad. What is wrong 
with a man being a pederast?"

"With a wife, a man breeds and the City grows stronger. With 
a boy, there is no way of breeding. The thing in itself is not 
bad, for man or boy. Until I was twelve I was Consiglio's cata-
mite, Guilio." Lucian hesitated, familiarity leading him to 
expect the boy's inevitable question. "A catamite is a boy who is 
kept by a man for the purpose of sodomy."

"Can I be your catamite, Lucian?" Guilio asked.

Lucian grimaced when the words came to his ears. He rejected 
temptation as he always would despite the longing in his loins.

"No! Dear boy, I could never use you like that. I cannot deny 
that any man would sell his soul to make love to you if you gave 
him the chance. But you must understand that a catamite is a boy 
who has no other value than to bare his buttocks and take his mas-
ter's cock. If the man is your inferior, such servitude does not 
have the rewards to justify the task. Remember you are the Doge's 
son. For you, love must make the thing worthwhile."

"You were his servant?"

"I did what was required of me with a great satisfaction on 
my part. Later, when he asked me to serve Iacoplo, I obeyed 
because that was my duty. Iacopolo was cruel even then," he added 
vaguely.

"My brother hurt you?" Guilio asked with concern.

Lucian shrugged. "A servant, catamite or otherwise, has no 
choice but to fulfill his master's wishes. What I did with 
Iacopolo, I did because Consiglio wanted me to. It was expected of 
me that I took his friend's cock without complaint. It wasn't 
always bad, Guilio. Consiglio is a good man. There are ample 
rewards for there is certainly an abundance of pleasure in it for 
the boy after a while." He smiled slightly. "The fact is that I am 
tutor to the Doge's son now because I sheathed Iacopolo's sword 
when Consiglio wanted me to." 

His hand withdrew and for a few seconds Guilio felt a rush of 
disappointment that Lucian would leave him alone in the darkness. 
Instead, he lifted the boy's nightshirt up, pulling it with a firm 
tug until it was above his hips. Guilio's penis pulsed and his 
eyes opened wide in anticipation that Lucian would actually touch 
his heated flesh. Lucian's hands returned to the boy's thighs, 
still moving with purposeful intent while rubbing gently. Guilio 
quivered, wanting nothing more than for Lucian's hand to brush his 
extended member.

"When I was a boy I used to arrive about this time. Iacopolo 
slept in the same bed as you do now," Lucian said. "The passageway 
begins directly under the bridge beneath your window. It is well 
hidden, and unless you knew where to look, you would never find 
it. I often come here at night when you are asleep to make sure 
that you are safe, darling boy."

Guilio gazed at him with affection, imagining him standing 
near the bed and looking down at him while he slumbered. "Will you 
wake me when you come from now on?" Guilio asked with blatant 
eagerness.

His eyes met Guilio's, seeking out the meaning of his ques-
tion. A slow smile appeared when the boy did not look away. While 
Guilio could disguise his words, his unblinking eyes betrayed 
him.

 "You would have me sodomize you, Guilio?" he asked softly.

Guilio nodded slightly. "I want to join with you, Lucian. I 
want your male part inside me. I think I've always wanted you 
to,..."

Lucian chuckled. "The need is mutual it seems, my beautiful 
boy, for I have always lusted after you. I dared not dream that 
you would love me in return. I am but a tutor to the Doge's son 
and such love should not be. It cannot be!"

"I don't understand, Lucian. I know how much I love you!" 
Guilio complained. "Do you not want to love me in return."

"It is not a matter of my love for you. I have love for you 
in great abundance. Simply, I cannot give you what you want no 
matter how much I long to share that special pleasure with you. 
Mind, you must not tell anyone of this conversation. Francesco 
would geld me yet again if he even thought I had thoughts of soil-
ing your precious body with my prick. He was right in saying there 
was enough girl in you to bring a man to desire you. I am not even 
half a man, but I love you and for that I would risk everything. 
But know this Guilio, I simply cannot join with you the way you 
want. It's not because I don't love you, I do not have what you 
want."

"I love you too," Guilio whispered breathily. "I don't 
understand why we can't join."

Lucian regarded him thoughtfully. At first, he spoke slowly. 
"Upon my word,... you are a lusty boy.... I will return to your 
bed again before this night is through. By dawn, dear Guilio, for 
what it is worth, I will have coupled with you. We will celebrate 
the start of your tenth year with the loss of your virginity. I 
suspect that with only a little practice you will welcome my cock 
between your pretty cheeks,... It will have to do until you are 
ready for a real man like Consiglio," he added under his breath.

Then, without warning his fingers touched the boy's small 
penis. Guilio trembled. His hand was warm and strong. His hand 
enclosed the boy's shaft, squeezing on swollen hot flesh. Guilio 
sighed, quivering under Lucian's loving touch. He felt a pressure 
building within his loins, breaking free. His hips strained 
upward, seeking more as he pushed against the man's enclosing 
hand. A sudden pain seared the end of the boy's rigid penis.

"Ouch!" Guilio complained.

Lucian smiled, still grasping the boy's male part, the part 
of him he referred to as a cock.

"My cock hurts, Lucian!" Guilio added daringly. He smiled as 
he used the unfamiliar word.

"Your skin has pulled back, my darling. That's all. See! It's 
normal that it stretches so the crown unveils."

Guilio glanced down. For the first time in his ten years he 
saw a little bulb sitting above his male part. It was the size, 
shape, and texture of a small cherry. Even in the dim light of the 
candle it was red and shiny. The skin that had previously enclosed 
it was now tightly bunched up beneath the helmet-shaped head. It 
appeared to be the source of the boy's discomfort. 

"Oh!" Guilio grinned at Lucian. "What is it?"

"The crown is the most important part of your cock, silly 
boy. It is the jewel that bestows the best feelings of all."

"Why does it hide inside?"

"Always questions, my little Guilio. Don't worry that pretty 
head of yours about such things. Accept that it's supposed to be 
like that," Lucian gazed down at him.

 "It feels sore," Guilio complained. "I don't like how it 
looks. I didn't know it did that."

"At your age it still needs a little help to come out. When 
you're older, perhaps three or four years from now, Guilio, it 
will only be partially covered."

"Lucian, it feels so nice when you touch it," Guilio said 
slowly as the man's fingers caressed the tingling tip of his 
penis. He tensed as tightening spasms rippled through his body.

 Lucian grinned back at him. "I see you share one thing with 
Iacopolo. I hope you will not be a horny bull who wants only to 
squirt his seed because of it."

"What do you mean?" Guilio asked uncertainly.

"Your balls are very big for a boy of your age, my Guilio. 
Your purse is already full despite the fact your balls are still 
pulled high. You have yet to show the first signs of coming man-
hood and your balls are prodigious. Iacopolo was the same way, not 
over-endowed in cock, but endued with large balls. They are a gift 
from God to be worshipped by the man who loves you."

As Guilio watched enthusiastically, Lucian's hand began a 
steady up and down stroke, no longer enclosing the boy's penis in 
his fist, but using only one finger and a thumb to stretch the 
skin back and forth over the inner tube. Suddenly, sensations 
exploded through Guilio's nearly naked body and he had an over-
whelming urge to urinate despite an empty bladder. Lucian's hand 
jerked faster, and his finger and thumb squeezed ever tighter. 
Guilio's body arched upward without reason, contorting with 
ecstasy until it seemed like he was bowed from ankles to shoul-
ders. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest. His buttocks 
clenched as something started inside him that he could not stop 
even if he had wanted too. If felt as if something was ready to 
burst inside him. It was only then that Guilio realized that 
Lucian's other hand was underneath him, a single digit driving 
relentlessly into his nether place. He gasped loudly when it 
pushed through his tightness and suddenly penetrated his hidden 
orifice.

He would never forget that first time. Lucian's hands knew 
what to do to give a boy pleasure and he spared no quarter. He 
attacked from front and rear. It felt like he was rubbing from 
inside as well as from outside, such were the feelings from the 
finger lodged deep within Guilio's bowels. The boy, only a dozen 
hours short of ten years old, gasped and groaned and quaked as 
hitherto unknown sensations coursed through his body. For min-
utes, his virgin penis became the focus of it all, then he became 
aware of something offering even greater delight located deep 
inside him. By squeezing down with all his strength the feelings 
were intensified. The sensations became so strong that he was 
overpowered by the imminence of something exploding inside him. 
Guilio begged him to stop. Lucian smiled and yielded to the boy's 
demand. His probing finger eased away and Guilio slumped back.

"What happened? Why did you stop?" Guilio gasped amid the 
trembling throes that continued to plague him. 

"Because you asked me to, darling boy. Besides, you've had 
enough for now." He continued to hold Guilio's throbbing penis. "I 
don't want to make this beautiful little penis sore."

"Why do you call it that? What is a penis?" Guilio asked.

"Because that is the proper name for your male part, your 
thing. Some call it cock or prick, and there are many other names 
for it too," he explained. 

"You put your finger in my bottom," Guilio said plaintively.

Lucian tilted his head and regarded the young boy with amuse-
ment. "It felt good, did it not my Guilio?" Guilio nodded eagerly. 
"There is more pleasure in your young body than any man dares hope 
for."

"I don't understand. It felt good,... but also strange. It's 
dirty there, isn't it?"

"You will understand in due time. For a boy like you, that 
little hole between your cheeks is where you will hold a man's 
cock to show how much you love him. You father talked of it as the 
sheath that holds a man sword," Lucian smiled placatingly. 
"Still, you are correct in your observation that it can be dirty 
there. You must remember to keep that part of you clean at all 
times so that you are ready for Consiglio when the time comes."

"Yes, Lucian." Guilio paused thoughtfully. "Lucian,... what 
do you mean about me being ready for Consiglio?"

Lucian sighed. "My Guilio, there are some things I cannot do. 
For those things you need a real man. What you need is a man like 
Consiglio."

Guilio thought fondly of Consiglio, remembering easily the 
man's frequent displays of affection that warmed his heart. In 
recent months he had been courted with small gifts that would not 
draw attention to their growing friendship. He relished the 
attention, finding in the dark-haired man a surrogate father who 
treasured every word they shared. He smiled. Lucian inclined his 
head. 

"You like Consiglio, don't you?"

Guilio smiled again. "He is my friend."

Lucian chuckled. "It is sometimes said that if a boy's friend 
is a man, then it is only a matter of time before the friend 
becomes a lover, Guilio. And for love you need a real man."

The boy looked away meekly. "I can't help liking him. He is 
always nice to me."

"That is only as it should be, Guilio."

"Lucian,....?" Guilio asked uncertainly. "What you said, 
about you being his catamite,.... If I can't be your catamite, 
then is it possible that I could be Consiglio's catatmite?"

"If that is what you wish, I am certain it will happen. I 
think you will be happy with Consiglio. He is a real man."

"You are a real man!"

"Me?" Lucian sighed again. "No, my beautiful boy. Consiglio 
is a man in ways I am not."

"I don't understand."

"Little Guilio, I was cut when I was twelve, a year after the 
first hairs had sprouted on my groin."

"You were cut? What do you mean?" Guilio asked curiously.

Yet he knew the answer before the question passed his lips. 
Like the boys in the choir, his tutor had been gelded. The boy 
remembered Lucian's clear feminine notes when he chose to join his 
voice with Guilio's soprano in song. There was no other explana-
tion for his high-pitched voice and hairless skin. Guilio felt a 
strange sense of imminent and inevitable termination of his own 
manhood. He shivered coldly. 

"Will you come back again?" he asked quickly.

"You mean tonight? You must have liked it a lot," Lucian 
teased with a playful smile. Suddenly he looked away. When he 
returned to look at the boy's face he was no longer smiling. "Per-
haps I'll return when the guard is changed again. You'll be fast 
asleep by then. If you wish, I'll wake you."

Guilio grinned back at him confidently, unaware that his 
fate was sealed, and had been for some time. For no obvious rea-
son, he was feeling very tired. He yawned sleepily. "Wake me when 
you come back," he instructed. "You have to promise, Lucian." 

After a loving squeeze, Lucian lifted his hand away from the 
boy's slowly softening penis. "I promise, beautiful boy. Next 
time we should use some oil back there. Otherwise you'll be sore 
on your birthday."

"Sore? Why will I be sore?" Guilio asked tiredly. He yawned 
again and stretched out on the bed.

"Enough of your questions! Unlike a woman, a young boy needs 
oil to lubricate his love passage when he's with a man. It's sim-
ple enough to do, yet it is often overlooked. It is necessary for 
you to enjoy what happens. For now that's all you need to hear. 
You have a beautiful body and you must learn how to take good care 
of it. Go to sleep, my darling. I'll wake you when I return, I 
promise," Lucian whispered. 

He backed away into the darkness from which he had come. He 
regretted coming, yet the deed was started. Indeed, it had been 
started ten years earlier. What would follow was inevitable and he 
had long accepted that the outcome was beyond his control. Before 
the dawn, he would come again to the room, but at least the boy 
seemed ready for the consequences of a night time visitor.





"Lucian?... Lucian is that you?" Guilio whispered furtively. 

He sat up, pushing the sheets away. The room was pitch dark, 
the spluttering candle having gone out while he was asleep. There 
was no sound, yet he knew someone was in the room with him. He 
looked about him, trying to see through the inky blackness.

 "Lucian, stop playing games!" he said insistently.

In the terrible silence that followed Guilio heard someone 
breathing. The person were close. Even as his mouth opened to 
scream Guilio smelled him, a familiar smell of garlic and red wine 
from the vineyards of Frascati. His hand cupped the boy's mouth, 
strangling the cry before the air rushed past open lips. Guilio 
kicked up, instinctively fighting for his life. The hands crushed 
him down into the bed, grabbing his limbs with difficulty as he 
struggled against them. The hands held him tightly until he 
yielded.

"Be still, brat," Iacopolo snarled. "I won't hurt you."

"Iacopolo," Guilio gasped. 

"Guilio, don't fight him," Lucian warned out of the dark-
ness. "We've come to take you to someone who,... to a man who 
would like to,... to be with you."

"Who?" the boy demanded. "What do you mean?"

"Consiglio has sent for you," Iacopolo said with his mouth 
placed close to the boy's ear. His breath was stale, and the boy 
turned away.

"Don't call out, my dear," Lucian warned. "There is no reason 
for you to be afraid. We will not hurt you."

"Wrap the blanket around him, Iacopolo instructed. "Con-
siglio would not be happy if my darling boy caught cold."

Guilio was more anxious than he had ever been, and his heart 
pounded frantically. He felt a curious mixture of fear and excite-
ment, for no better reason than his father had wisely cautioned 
him to beware of Consiglio for a reason undisclosed. Yet he also 
sensed that his presence was required by Consiglio for a reason 
not unrelated to the pleasure he had experienced with Lucian. The 
boy glared at the two men, confusion evident in his pale face. 
With respect and affection for one of them, and frightened of the 
other's cruelty, Guilio thought of his father. Too afraid to call 
for help, he frantically willed the Doge's guards to save him from 
an unknown fate. Never before was he so aware of his father's 
position and the fact that he was a lure for any man who wished to 
do him harm. Guilio was hefted up and draped across Iacopolo's 
broad shoulders like a sack of flour. Again he was cautioned to be 
quiet while he hung limply, whimpering and still thinking of his 
elderly father. He imagined the Captain and the Palazzo Guard 
breaking through the door any moment, and even convinced himself 
that he could slay them by his own hand if the opportunity arose 
to seize a rapier. However, such fantasies were the result of 
shock. He was silent, uncertain and fearful of the consequences of 
attracting attention to the midnight escapade.



Although he was carried carefully, he was bumped frequently 
against cold hard stone. He knew that he was not in the main hall 
of the palazzo, for the walls there were lined with tapestries. 
They said nothing as they crept through darkened passages. There 
were no words, not even when he felt the cold air and recognized 
the sour smell of the canal, not even when he was lifted into a 
bobbing gondola. He heard the muffled splash of the boatswain's 
oars as the boat moved unsteadily away from the dock. He buried 
his head against his arms and sobbed, biting into his flesh with 
trembling jaws. He was convinced that death awaited him. He prayed 
that he would not be tortured before his end came. Always he won-
dered why Lucian had betrayed him, and why Consiglio had sent for 
him.

Minutes passed, or perhaps it was a matter of hours for 
Guilio lost all sense of time. In the black night, amid the twist-
ing canals, Venice was a maze, and with each change of direction 
he became increasingly disoriented. Then he felt the sudden 
impact of the gondola against a piling and heard the muted whis-
pers of instructions passed from one man to another. Hands grasped 
his body and he was lifted up from the wet bilge and carried into 
a building. For good reason, few buildings in Venice were built 
with cellars, dungeons, or stables. Instead, the ground floor of a 
palazzo doubled as entry, stables, storeroom for trading, and 
cellar. The smell of nutmeg, mace, and cinnamon was redolent in 
the first room Guilio was brought to. The owner was a merchant or 
trader, of that much he was certain. His heart sank, for not only 
was Consiglio the patron of the boys' choir, he was a leading mer-
chant of Venice. He was carried up the stairs and down a corridor, 
bumping infrequently before he was finally laid down.

Guilio heard a door close. A fearful silence descended. He 
waited, imagining that a knife would be thrust between his ribs, 
and again he hoped his death would come quickly. While it made no 
sense that he would be placed on a bed only to be murdered, there 
was no other reason for him to be spirited away in the dead of 
night. Surely they would kill him elsewhere. After a minute, even 
faint sounds were reassuring. He heard the scrape of a chair 
against a marble floor, footsteps coming closer, a faint rustle of 
clothing. He waited, not daring to breath. He tensed and steeled 
himself not to cry out when the blade found his heart. Again he 
prayed for a merciful death and hoped that his body would not be 
returned to torture his father. He had heard the stories of Paolo 
Contarini, the Venetian boy who was murdered a year earlier, the 
boy whose head was returned to his father in a jewel encrusted box 
stolen from a church treasury. The boy's father committed suicide 
the next day.

He felt the blanket being lifted away from his face. Without 
the woolen cover, the freshness of cooler air reached him and he 
gasped. Then suddenly, the yellow light of an oil lamp filled his 
dazed eyes. Guilio blinked rapidly and turned his head away to 
face the polished blackened frame of the bed on which he lay. 
Hands roughly dragged away the protective blanket.

"Look at the beautiful boy. Such a perfect specimen of boy!" 
Consiglio said admiringly as he stepped into the boy's vision.

"Let me go," Guilio demanded.

Consiglio smiled. "I'm not going to hurt you, Guilio. Don't 
worry. A boy who is as beautiful as you has nothing to be afraid 
of." 

Guilio glared at him. "My father will find you," he stated, 
leaving the implication of discovery unstated.

"Your father? Who is your father, boy?"

"Francesco Foscari!"

Consiglio laughed. "That old man? You jest, child. His with-
ered cock could not stiffen enough to squirt his seed before it's 
sucked back into his balls. Francesco is not your father. This man 
is your father!"

He gestured to the other side and Guilio turned, feeling a 
dull sickening in his stomach. Iacopolo stared at him.

"This is foolish! Everyone know's that Iacopolo is my 
brother," Guilio announced bravely.

Again Consiglio laughed. "No, it is you who is wrong, beauti-
ful boy. He cuckolded Francesco. The old fool actually thought he 
was still man enough to impregnate your mother. No, pretty little 
Guilio Foscari, Iacopolo sired you. He is not much for women, but 
he still fucked your mother. Just one time was enough to plant the 
seed in her hungry cunt."

Guilio shook his head in denial, and risked a quick glance to 
see whether his brother confirmed the other man's lie. Iacopolo 
smiled with delight. "It's not true," Guilio argued heatedly. 
"Francesco Foscari is my father."

"Francesco Foscari is your grandfather," Consiglio answered 
with continued amusement. "Tell him, Iacopolo."

Iacopolo spoke at last. "It's true. I filled your mother's 
cunt a single time and you were started in her belly."

"YOU LIE," Guilio reported angrily. He spit.

Although Iacopolo quickly stepped back out of range, drop-
lets landed on his embroidered jacket. Angrily, he lifted his hand 
to hit and Guilio tried to turn away.

"YOU WILL REGRET THAT, FOSCARI BRAT!" 

"Our father will kill you," Guilio cried. He spit again, 
harder, sealing his fate as his saliva splattered the man's gaunt 
chest.

Iacopolo's anger seemed to grow as he grew taller. Iacopolo 
reared above the frightened boy, threateningly clenching his 
fist. His other hand jerked his dagger free from his belt. It mat-
tered nothing to him that the cowering boy was his son. However, 
instead of claiming his life, he smirked. 

"Perhaps,... it matters not whether you acknowledge me as 
your sire. I'll have your balls for my breakfast either way, my 
precious boy. You'll not father anything," he said cruelly. 

Consiglio stepped closer to intervene. "I've always said 
that he's a pretty thing, Iacopolo. If one was inclined to boys, 
he'd make an interesting mate for a man. He's a far better compan-
ion than any wife could be."

"Sometimes I think that he's more girl than boy." 

"That's very true. I'm surprised you haven't fucked him 
already."

Iacopolo shrugged. "The little brat is of no interest to me."

"Has no one fucked his pretty arse?"

Again Iacopolo shrugged. "No one that I know of. Lucian hangs 
about him like a hungry wolf. I doubt that he has taken the boy's 
virginity. What say you, Lucian? Have you fucked the whelp with 
that miserable thing you call a cock?" he asked loudly

There was a moment's silence before Lucian answered from the 
far corner of the room. "No, my liege. His arse is virgin. He's 
not been touched by me, or any man to my knowledge."

 "He didn't fuck you, did he boy?" Consiglio asked pointedly. 
Guilio shook his head quickly. "Down there, between your legs, did 
he put his cock in the hole there?"

"No!"

"He hasn't? Has any man?"

"No!" Guilio retorted. 

Consiglio chuckled and looked to Iacopolo with exaggerated 
surprise. "Even with his pretty face your son is still a virgin? 
It's hard to believe he's still untouched. No matter! I'll mount 
him myself this very night. Given my desire for him, I am glad 
he's saved himself for me. This way I can take my retribution 
against Francesco, and enjoy the bloody spoils of first-time vic-
tory too."

"Are you going to kill me?" Guilio asked without comprehend-
ing the meaning of the words he heard.

Iacopolo and Consiglio shared a silent glance. They both 
smiled slightly. Guilio shivered with fear and drew back into the 
pillows behind him. 

"Hardly. I have never harmed a pretty boy beyond the point of 
taking his manhood. My darling child, I could never hurt you like 
that. I'm a religious man, am I not Iacopolo? Why, am I not the 
patron of the Boys' Choir, and a very good friend of Cardinal Ran-
cini? I love boys, don't I Iacopolo?"

Iacopolo laughed softly, his eyes fixed on the frightened 
boy. "So I have often heard."

"Besides, the Ten Commandments forbid the taking of a life, 
and I would not do penance in hell for all eternity for killing a 
Foscari. There is an easier and much more enjoyable way that makes 
my vengeance on Francesco all the better," Consiglio answered.

"He's going to fuck you, Guilio." Iacopolo interjected glee-
fully. "And when he's done you'll walk bow-legged with his seed 
inside your bowels."

Consiglio shrugged. "But I'll fuck you not for as much my 
vengeance on your father but as the only means of satisfying my 
lust for you, pretty boy. I have longed to pierce you with my 
sword. I have always dreamed of fucking that little arse of yours 
until you beg for more."

"And then, when he's done, you'll belong to him forever," 
Iacopolo added.

"With all the strength I have, I hate you, Iacopolo," Guilio 
snarled.

Iacopolo laughed. "Consiglio will own you, boy. As a matter 
of course, you'll either sing in San Marco or be bonded to him 
before the dawn. My pretty son a choirboy or a catamite? Con-
siglio's boy-whore? How appropriate! You do know what a catamite 
is, don't you?" Iacopolo taunted. "That is your future with Con-
siglio, it's entirely up to him to chose. Catamite or choir boy? 
Either way you'll not be a man. As choirboy you'll lose your pre-
cious eggs. As Consiglio's boy you'll have no need of them."

Guilio nodded slightly. Had it only been that afternoon when 
Lucian told him of such things? "I don't want to be a choir boy," 
Guilio pleaded.

"You don't want to be a choir boy? Ha! Listen to him whimper, 
Consiglio. You'll make a splendid choir boy. If you knew what Con-
siglio has planned for you, Guilio, you would beg to a choir boy."

"I don't understand," Guilio said.

"It's true that choir boys without balls are able to sing 
without equal, however eunuch boys have other skills besides 
singing, Guilio," Iacopolo laughed. "With your beauty and girlish 
ways, you should be grateful to lose your eggs before they ripen. 
You'll not miss them I'll wager when you are sleeping in a 
priest's hard bed. Your tutor, your dear companion, Lucian, is the 
proof of that."

"Let me go. I'll not tell anyone," Guilio pleaded. "I prom-
ise."

Iacopolo stepped closer and leaned over him. His breath 
smelled strongly of garlic and wine. "You'll not tell anyone 
because after tonight you will be far too ashamed, Guilio. No will 
listen to you. It's only right that Consiglio will fuck your arse. 
He fucked me when I was not much older than you are now, just as I 
sodomized Count Raspini's two boys before they were ten years old. 
Our family has a history of pederasty. Your grandfather was the 
first Foscari to lay with a Raspini. I see no reason why you 
should not be the last. A good arse-fucking at your age will make 
you all hungrier for it when you're older. You'll be a true son of 
Venice when Consiglio's done with you. And if a choir boy is your 
destiny, then the priests of Rome will take their pleasure from 
you instead."

"Why are you doing this? I've never done anything to make you 
hate me."

"I've hated you from the day you were born. But know my 
hatred is because Francesco dotes on you. You're his favorite, and 
with luck, losing you to Consiglio might even kill him. Then I'll 
take my rightful place as Doge," he laughed. "I'll give you to 
Consiglio tonight. You'll have no need of a place in Francesco's 
house after your virginity is lost."

"Iacopolo,... please,.... let me go."

Iacopolo said nothing. Instead, he dragged the boy's night 
shirt upward to expose his milky thighs and lower abdomen. Guilio 
felt deathly cold. He was more exposed and vulnerable than he had 
ever been. His little wilted penis lay impotently against his 
belly, his fat rounded scrotum shrivelled like a walnut casing.

"He's beautiful," Consiglio purred from the other side of 
the bed.

"That he is," grumped Iacopolo. "He has his mother's fea-
tures. He's a pretty little thing. I'm proud to give him to you to 
enjoy for a night or two. He should be proud to offer his arse for 
your pleasure."

"He's much more than some pretty little thing to enjoy for a 
night or two. There are any number of boys in Venice who can bare 
their behinds to satisfy a man's lust. Your Guilio is pure tempta-
tion, a shining sun where other boys are mere candles. I expect 
I'll want to keep this boy after his blood has wet my cock." Con-
siglio observed admiringly. His eyes travelled the length of the 
young body. "Though his cock is lacking, he has big balls like 
your's, Iacopolo."

"Indeed he does. Tis a pity he lacks a stalk worthy of his 
eggs."

"No matter. What your son lacks between his legs, I'll make 
up for with what is between mine."

"I know him well. He'll bend to your will like a reed before 
wind," Iacopolo. said cruelly. "He even has the look of a woman. 
He'll always serve you well, even better than I did at his age. 
And if you cut him, the boy will take the cocks of Holy Rome with-
out complaint"

"Come Iacopolo. We have much to discuss before I mount him. 
Perhaps I'll give you his balls for your breakfast. I haven't 
decided. Lucian, remove his night shirt and get him ready for me," 
Consiglio said. "See how far he stretches before he bleeds. You 
know how much I like a virgin, but he'll like it more if he's 
loose."

"And oil him thoroughly," Iacopolo sneered. "He has much to 
learn before the dawn. It would not help his education if he was 
to faint from pain." Iacopolo grinned at Guilio. 

They left as Lucian sat down on the side of the bed. He 
watched, waiting until the other men were gone before he turned to 
the cowering boy next to him. His hand lifted up and he stroked 
the boy's soft cheek. His eyes half-closed in sympathy. 

"You know what Consiglio will do to you, don't you Guilio," 
Lucian asked gently.

Guilio's head moved slightly. He breathed deeply. He said 
nothing.

"As you know, Consiglio likes boys instead of girls. He had 
me on this very same bed before I was ten. A hundred boys or more 
have laid where you lie now. Many of them became choir boys even-
tually," he added dispassionately. "It's the only way to prolong 
the pleasure that a man wants from you.

Guilio shook his head, sending his long curls into even 
greater disarray. The man he had always thought to be his closest 
friend and companion smiled. "Why me?" he pleaded. "Why can't you 
stop them?"

"This is between Iacopolo and Consiglio. It is true that 
Iacopolo fathered you, my boy. Therefore, you belong to him. As is 
his right, he have given you up to Consiglio to do with as he 
wishes for the night. And if Consiglio beds you as he says, then 
you'll want to become his thereafter. The other thing,..." he 
pasued uncertainly. "It is Iacopolo's was of making jest."

"Why,... Lucian? I feel affection for Consiglio. He does not 
have to take what he wants. I will give it of my own will."

Lucian nodded. "Somethimes that is the nature of the love 
between men and boys. It is good that you like Consiglio. I expect 
he'll take you as his catamite. You'll learn to make love and his 
bed will be yours to lie upon at night. In time, you will be a 
slave to his desire, just as I submitted to his lust every night 
before he found a boy he desired more than me."

"Lucian, I never did anything to hurt Iacopolo. Why is he 
doing this to me?"

"Because he hates you, Guilio. Remember, earlier today when 
I said that the two of you are the sides of the same coin. He is 
your father so you are part of him, beautiful boy. But you are the 
side of good, not evil."

"I don't want to,... I don't want to,..."

The eunuch sighed wistfully. "A catamite's life is not so 
bad, Guilio,... All is not lost even if Consiglio agrees to cas-
trate you, but it is better if he does not. A life with him, even 
for a few short years, is a far better life than the gelded boys 
who sing in San Marco. Believe me, Consiglio is better lover than 
the priests who come to them at night. There is always plenty of 
pleasure to be had with a man like him."

"It's not Consiglio," Guilio muttered. "I like him enough to 
give him what he wants. He doesn't have to take it. In truth, I've 
always wondered why he looked at me with hungry eyes."

Lucian nodded understandingly and smiled. "There are many 
advantages with a man like Consiglio. For a boy like you, there 
will be considerable happiness once the pain has passed. It's good 
that you are fond of him. Still, I wish I had the means myself to 
satisfy this need within you."

Lucian's hand squeezed the boy's thin shoulder until he 
winced and looked up to meet his eyes. With deliberate slowness he 
pulled the braided cord that secured the top of Guilio's night-
shirt. The neatly tied bow came undone. He tugged at the loops 
below, unravelling the cord until the boy's chest was exposed 
almost to his navel. He gazed with regret and longing at the 
smooth hairless skin.

"I love you, Guilio. However, I have long known that Con-
siglio too, has tender feelings for you. It is better that he 
takes you on this bed."

"Why,... why me,...?" Guilio begged miserably. 

"You're a very pretty boy, Guilio!"

"I don't understand."

"You're far too pretty for a boy, Guilio. How often have I 
told you that?"

"I thought you were making fun of me," Guilio mumbled self-
consciously. "What does my face have to do with it?"

"Everything, my beautiful boy. But it is not only your face 
that causes a man to want to love you. Your body is equally beau-
tiful. No one in all of Venice is so endowed with charm and wit."

Guilio sighed. "I can't help the way I look. It's not my 
fault."

"That is true." Lucian smiled slightly. "It is the reason why 
men desire you, yet it is not only because of your looks that Con-
siglio has brought you here tonight. You should enjoy what God has 
given you in excess. No other boy in Venice is so fortunate."

"I know what he is going to do to me," Guilio said softly. 
"And I'll do my best to please him." Suddenly he shuddered fear-
fully. "I also know what happens with the knife. You told me what 
is done to the choir boys. My voice is good, but I cannot sing 
like them. I don't want that!"

Lucian shook his head. "In time, and with practice you, could 
sing as their equal. And even if being gelded were a certain 
thing, it is not so bad. It is not the worst thing in the world. 
Like your horse, the boys who are cut do not miss what has been 
taken."

"Perhaps," Guilio said uncertainly. "I'd much rather be with 
you or Consiglio."

Lucian smiled. "You need not worry for Consiglio, my pre-
cious boy, at least not that way. Consiglio loves you. With him 
you will live much the same as in Francesco's Palace. However, you 
will learn other skills, special skills that please a man and give 
both of you more pleasure than you can imagine. Remember well what  
Francesco said. You are closer to the female sex than a male-child 
should be. It is his way of saying that nature is not infallible. 
Even God makes mistakes, and his mistakes can be corrected by the 
deeds of men."

"This thing Consiglio will do to me when he returns?" Guilio 
asked fearfully. "Will it make me into a woman?"

Lucian smiled consolingly. "A catamite is better than any 
woman. After it is done, you will flower with the best of each 
gender. Really, my Guilio, he will be doing you a service. It is 
said that a boy does not miss what he has not experienced. Believe 
me in this, for I know there is no shame in it, despite what oth-
ers say. There is only a little pain in the entry. It goes quickly 
even from the first, and while there is soreness in your nether 
region it will pass when you do it again."

Guilio glared at his tutor with defiant arrogance. He said 
nothing. 

"With or without the cutting, after this night is through 
you'll never breed sons of your own, Guilio. You will never go to 
women for your desires to be satisfied. That was what Francesco 
was unable to say, although he knows it to be true. As Consiglio's 
consort your life will begin anew. You'll have no need for women 
when you're with him," Lucian added with a teasing smile. "And you 
will be happy, my Guilio. After you've been with him you'll be so 
happy that you will forget what you have lost. Trust me in this. 
With or without your balls, this part of you will always desire 
men, and they will desire you. From now on, the little cock 
between your legs belongs to Consiglio. See, already it's becom-
ing hard, just at the mere thought of being petted by a man's 
hand. It longs for Consiglio's touch. You should be glad to be 
Consiglio's catatmite."

Still Guilio said nothing. He wanted to feel rage, anger at 
his brother-father, unmitigated hatred for the unwarranted jeers 
he would endure. Yet, there was truth in it. He wanted to be 
touched by a man. He had always wanted that. He felt the hot 
stiffness growing between his thighs. He watched silently as 
Lucian manipulated one of the bed-posts. It came away when the 
mechanical lock parted, and he saw a polished silver instrument of 
uncertain function.

"What is that for?" Guilio asked nervously.

Lucian smiled. "To ply the trade of sodomy, for that is what 
catamites do. Your body must be prepared to sheath a man's sword. 
Consiglio has entrusted me to get you ready for him. To make love 
to a man, a boy's behind must be properly loosened. Always a vir-
gin bleeds a little, but without preparation your arse will split 
and your blood will stain the sheets. This is the tool that is 
used, sweet boy. Even its shape has been perfected. Tell me, what 
does it remind you of?"

Guilio examined the object, consciously aware that it was 
entwined with his future role as Consiglio's catamite. Its origin 
was obvious even to a boy who was unfamiliar with a man's anatomy. 
For although it was vastly larger, the similarity to his own penis 
was unmistakable. It was of a length and diameter appropriate for 
a ten-year-old boy. It was long enough to test his limits, thick 
enough to temporarily widen the entry into him, large enough for 
him to get used to both pain and pleasure. He swallowed nervously.

"A cock?" he whispered uncertainly. 

Lucian smiled. "Indeed, it is the same size as Consiglio's. 
Indeed, your master had it fabricated in the likeness of his own 
manhood. That way you will be ready to ride when he returns."

"Lucian,... will it hurt?" Guilio asked fearfully.

"Does it hurt?" Lucian repeated. He studied the boy wist-
fully, remembering his own youth. "For your first time, and the 
next, perhaps even a time or two after that. Trust me that it will 
not hurt beyond the first few times. I know you will grow to like 
it just as I did. Are you afraid?"

"A bit," Guilio ventured. "It's so big."

Lucian nodded understandingly. "Some men have cocks that are 
even bigger than Consiglio's, but his is more than large enough to 
rip your opening, dear boy. However, he is always gentle in such 
matters, and taking your virginity is a special prize that he will 
cherish long after he has bed you. Be grateful that Iacopolo has 
not exercised his right to take you. In the morning, your behind 
will be tender from Consiglio's love. With Iacopolo, your bowels 
would be ruptured."

"It's so big."

"Do not worry, dear lad. Let us see what can be done to make 
it fit."

Guilio sighed wearily. Deprived of sleep and frightened by 
the nature of his predicament, he submitted. "This thing you 
hold,... it really goes inside my bottom-hole?"

"The place a boy shits from has a very special function when 
he's with a man. Do not worry that you will soil his member for it 
is the only way your love for him can be shown."

"Will it hurt a lot?"

"What pain you feel will depend on what you do. I can teach 
you how to aid the penetration of his penis so the hurt is less."

Lucian placed his hand on Guilio's side and pushed gently. 
Obediently, the boy complied and rolled onto his side, then onto 
his belly. His firm buttocks were small and slightly pinched. 
"Lift up, my dearest. Your rear should be elevated for the least 
discomfort. Some boys even prefer a pillow underneath. For 
myself, I've always thought a crouching position to offer the eas-
iest penetration."

Guilio complied again, moving to the required position by 
kneeling down and lowering his head and shoulders onto the bed. He 
felt Lucian's warm hand graze the tender flesh of his cheeks, his 
fingers rubbing gently along the dividing crevice.

 "There is magic within this metal tool," Lucian explained. 
"It will hurt until the tip is in far enough inside you that you 
cannot push it out."

"Will it hurt a lot?" Guilio asked again with increasing ner-
vousness.

"That depends on you. There are ways that you can make it 
easier. Besides it is far better for both when the boy helps."

"What do I do?"

"For one thing, perhaps the most important is that you push 
back against it, Guilio. Only a little will help somewhat. Push it 
into you as hard as you can and you will feel the pain much less. 
Trust me in this. Welcome it into your body with all your 
strength. Try to make it part of you and you will not cry in pain. 
Indeed, I have even seen some boys enjoy it the very first time. 
And another thing, it will help me if you place your hands behind 
and part your cheeks."

Lucian placed the burnished-silver crown against Guilio's 
brown, puckered opening, eagerly exposed between his widespread 
cheeks. He teased the opening with a slight pressure, rotating the 
hemispherical knob over the boy's indented anus. The virgin ori-
fice tightened, instinctively anticipating its forthcoming 
deflowerment. He smiled and gently stroked Guilio's back.

"Don't be frightened, my darling. It is the same for almost 
every boy at first. Relax the muscle within, while you push back 
to greet it."

"It feels strange, like it's covered in slime."

Lucian smiled. A small trickle of amber-colored oil dribbled 
down Guilio's rounded scrotum. He pushed with deliberate firmness 
to push the ram against the hydraulic pump. Still more oil oozed 
out from the nearly invisible holes in the blunt-ended tip. He 
rotated it, working the lubricant over the sensitive pucker.

 "It's the oil you feel, Guilio," he explained. "Remember 
what I said in your bedroom,... about a boy needing something to 
lubricate his love passage." Guilio nodded. "Consiglio designed 
this himself and had it built by the finest craftsman in Persia. 
When I press the end into you, some oil is ejected where it is 
needed most. It is a masterpiece of engineering. Without it you 
would be very sore."

He pushed again, testing the rim of Guilio's anus. Despite 
its small size, it seemed pliant, with sufficient flexibility to 
allow the tip to enter without undue effort. He smiled, grateful 
that the boy's pain would be short-lived if he did not panic. He 
intended to be patient, but even the greatest caution was of lit-
tle help if the boy fought back against impalement.

"Now, my Guilio. I want you to take a deep breath," he 
coaxed. "Fill your lungs,... and again. Breath very deeply. Take 
the air deep inside. Concentrate. tell yourself you will take this 
thing between your cheeks. That's good. Now close your eyes and 
push. I want you to push as hard as you can. You can feel the 
spike piercing your hole. It wants to be inside you."

"It hurts," Guilio whimpered disagreeably.

"It's like a hard turd that you want to expel. Push hard, my 
boy. Push it out your bowels."

"It hurts so," Guilio wailed. 

"Push hard! As hard as you can! Stretch yourself wide, 
child."

Guilio whimpered, then gasped loudly when the pain intensi-
fied. It felt not unlike a huge stake was being relentlessly 
wedged between his legs. His knees shifted apart and his hands 
gripped the pillow. He pushed back, using all of his strength to 
obey Lucian's demand.

"I can't do it any longer!" Guilio sobbed. "I can't do it."

"It's already inside you," Lucian observed with a wry smile 
of unexpected success. "What you feel is your ass resisting the 
loss of its virginity." 

"It hurts so bad!"

"It's nothing compared to Consiglio's cock," Lucian com-
mented dryly. "I lost my virginity without the help of this 
instrument. My blood was everywhere on the sheets."

"Am I bleeding?" Guilio asked amid frightened gasps.

"Not much, little one. You are fortunate for there is no 
blood to speak of. So, sweet boy, you are not even ten years old 
and your virginity is lost." 

"Now what happens?" 

Lucian smiled but did not answer for words could not describe 
what followed. He twisted the silver shaft easily on the oily 
film. The boy groaned. The motion induced a momentary spasm and 
the tight rectum grasped the rippled surface, squeezing tightly. 
More oil leaked out of the man-made pores. It twisted again, sink-
ing further into his gut while oil continued to seep out. The fra-
grant smell of extra-virgin olive oil rose from behind Guilio. He 
felt it pushing and pulling, working its way further inside him. 
The patina was streaked with a crimson sheen, yet nature's inter-
vention as much as the film of oil facilitated its motion. He 
became looser, his anus dilating quickly to accommodate the girth 
and length of the glistening projectile while it continued to pen-
etrate ever deeper.

"It hurts!" Guilio groaned.

"It hurts less when you've been properly stretched, Guilio," 
Lucian said gently. "We can't stop till the task is done."

"It feels horrible!"

"Is it so bad that you cannot feel a distant pleasure, even a 
slight joy deep inside you?"

"I,... I,... feel something. When you push it gently, it,... 
it makes me tremble."

Lucian smirked. It was impossible not to be envious of the 
boy when he discovered the sensations for the first time. He was 
happy that it had occurred so quickly. Sometimes days, even weeks 
were required before a boy accepted that the feelings were plea-
surable. 

"That's the way it should be. In time, the pain will fade 
completely. Then the joy will increase until you are unable to 
stop. You will take all of it in a single thrust and still be hun-
gry for more. Even now, after all these years I am still awed that 
anything could feel so wonderful. In time you will be overwhelmed 
by it as well."

"It still hurts," Guilio wailed.

"Yet I can tell that it also feels good for you," Lucian 
responded without hesitation. 

"How can you tell?" he gasped

"There are signs, darling boy. When a boy is willing, he 
always shows what he likes. Sometimes he lies in silence and dares 
not admit that it is good, but at other times he pushes back for 
more. When he trembles with the joy of it there is no question 
that it pleases him. Your body quivers with unfilled hunger."

He grinned and deliberately levered the projecting end 
upward to increase the force against Guilio's small prostate and 
bladder. The boy twitched and suddenly began to gasp. He felt an 
overpowering urge to urinate. The pressure, a torturous combina-
tion of pain and pleasure, was boundless. He shuddered every time 
that Lucian moved the object, groaning with every tremor that was 
initiated deep within him. The tearing pain abated when his anus 
expanded sufficiently to relieve the pressure. What remained was 
a sensation that was terrible in its implications. Finally, with 
his jaws clenched tightly together, and his face buried in the 
down pillow, Guilio lost control. Pale urine dribbled from his 
shrivelled penis to join a growing dark, wet circle beneath him. 
He fought to remain conscious, resisting the intense elation that 
sought to overpower his sanity.

It was much later when Lucian eased the slick silver shaft 
from Guilio's anus. He touched his nose to it, now hot enough to 
melt butter. He smiled, resisting with difficulty the urge to 
taste when he inhaled the sweet musky scent of the boy's deflow-
ered rectum. Guilio groaned and shifted uncomfortably, accommo-
dating his displaced insides to the sudden void. He was exhausted. 
Always, it was the same, Lucian mused. It mattered not that a boy 
was unable to produce semen. One dry orgasm had followed another, 
draining his young strength if not his manly juices. After less 
than an hour Guilio was unable to stop. Then, ravaged by over-
whelming lust, he took over, pumping and plunging against each one 
of the four the mechanical dildos at the corners of the bed. His 
fate was no longer a matter of concern to his tutor. Even if he 
did not relish the first thrust of a man's penis, his well-
stretched bowels would be all but oblivious to what would follow 
when Consiglio returned. 

Only minutes passed before the wood-paneled door creaked 
open. Consiglio's gaunt frame was lit from behind, his robe hang-
ing in deep, dark folds. He gestured to Lucian to leave him as he 
silently crossed the floor. He stopped several paces from the bed 
and studied the meek boy. In the flickering candlelight, Guilio's 
nude body was intensely arousing. Guilio's arms and legs were 
widespread and he breathed slowly and he shivered with anticipa-
tion while he returned the man's gaze. The nagging discomfort 
between his buttocks begged attention. Consiglio smiled, stepped 
closer, and with a soft rustle, his robe dropped to the floor. He 
was naked. Guilio felt a strange excitement as he looked upon the 
man's lean body. He shivered perceptibly. The man's sex was huge, 
thick and long and crimson, its crown surmounted by a scarlet hel-
met of considerable size. Compared to the metallic imitation, it 
appeared even larger in life. Swollen with lust, Consiglio's 
organ seemed gigantic. Guilio was awed. It was the first time that 
he had seen a man's penis erect. He swallowed, fear building as he 
shivered again in anticipation. He felt as if he had waited his 
entire life for this moment.



Chapter 2.



"Be quick, Iacopolo. We must hurry if our work is to be fin-
ished before dawn," Consiglio muttered anxiously. He retied his 
robe. "There is no time to waste this night."

Iacoplo pivoted. "And the thing I talked of earlier? What of 
the cutting? Have you forgotten?"

Consiglio turned slowly. "Why do you hate your son so much 
that you want him emasculated?"

"We agreed,..."

"We agreed nothing, except that I would have the boy's vir-
ginity in return for my vote in the Council. Nothing more, 
Iacopolo. I promised nothing beyond that. This night I have 
deflowered the lad. Isn't that enough?"

"It's never been enough before for you, Consiglio. You'll 
want more than a single coupling. The look on your face tells me 
that you want him for your bed mate. You only have to cut and my 
son will be your catamite."

"He's made his choice already, Iacopolo. He lies contented 
and ready to sleep in my bedchamber."

Iacopolo laughed. "His choice? Is it so easy to forget? Con-
siglio, just the slightest hint from me that you have sodomized 
Francesco's favorite, and you'll never see your darling boy 
again. He'll be twenty before he returns to your bed, Consiglio. 
Indeed, even after the old man dies, he'll lie with any man I 
choose before you plant your seed in him again."

Consiglio's eyes darkened. He glowered at the man before 
him. "What of the boy's wishes? Has he no say in who he sleeps 
with?"

"No! You should know well that if you wish to sodomize him as 
often as you want, you must have the father's permission." 
Iacopolo smirked. "And for you to have my permission to take his 
as your catamite, he must be cut."

"That is your price for him to be my lover? You're mad, 
Iacopolo," Consiglio shouted with sudden anger. His eyes darted 
away to the small form huddled under the blanket. He remembered 
the softness of the boy's skin, the hardness of his sex, his fren-
zied culmination at the end of their coupling. Guilio had no equal 
in all of Venice. "I will not agree to it. My precious Guilio will 
be no choir boy."

Iacopolo laughed. "He does not have to sing in the choir, but 
you are correct in one thing. His balls are the price you must pay 
for him to be your catamite. You have to bed a eunuch," Iacopolo 
answered. "Indeed, Consiglio, it may not be such a bad thing. From 
the looks he has given you in recent weeks he is ready to be 
mounted on a regular basis. What need a boy have of balls between 
his legs when a man like you is behind him?"

"What need he has is need enough to keep what God has given 
him. He'll know another pleasure in time."

"The men of Rome would not agree, Consiglio. In confidence, 
even Cardinal Rancini has said that Guilio is well suited to being 
gelded. We both know he's as much a girl as any choir-boy who has 
not been spared the knife. His face is enough to make any man 
happy," he added. "And if not you, there are always others who 
will not hesitate to pay the price I ask of you."

"There is no time. Already the sun's light is in the east," 
Consiglio countered weakly.

"Even now Lucian is waiting outside your chamber with Ran-
cini," Iacopolo said threateningly. "I sent him to fetch the Car-
dinal while you sodomized the boy. Both an catamite and a gelding, 
or nothing, Consiglio! Agree to my price or you will not see the 
lad again. I'll take him to a barber in the Arab Quarter and pay 
the price with a handful of Ducats to have him gelded. Perhaps if 
Guilio tries hard he'll even be able to sing in San Marco. You can 
listen to him there."

Consiglio's face darkened. Of all the boys he had loved, none 
was the equal of the beautiful boy, Guilio Foscari. His eyes nar-
rowed with hatred of the man before him. "Then both. Damn you! 
Cover your son up, Iacopolo. Even masked, it is possible that Car-
dinal Rancini will recognize the boy I cut this night. What Rome 
says in confidence, Rome will not say before witnesses. Only the 
boy's crotch need show, just enough to prove that he is hairless. 
I will not risk Francesco's wrath to carry out your evil plan."

"And I thought Rancini was your trusted friend," Iacopolo 
said slyly.

Without answering, Consiglio walked away. He could not find 
the words to express his anger. From the bed, Guilio glared hate-
fully at the man who he had believed to be his brother for his 
entire life. He pulled away, impotently shielding his genitals 
from view. Without hesitating, Iacopolo tied ropes around each of 
the boy's thin wrists with a painful tug and knotted them 
securely. Guilio hated him, as much at that moment as ever before. 
That this man was his father was almost impossible to believe. He 
remembered Lucian's words of warning. His tutor was absolutely 
correct in his assessment that father and son were the opposite 
sides of the same coin.

The door opened and then closed again. As Consiglio started 
to walk back again, Iacopolo quickly lifted the woolen blanket to 
cover Guilio's face and milky-white shoulders. In the suffocating 
darkness Guilio heard Consiglio's footsteps, and those of another 
person crossing the room.

"This is the boy, Cardinal Rancini," Consiglio explained.

"How old is he?"

"Nine years old this last summer." Iacopolo answered.

"Old enough to bed, or cut, depending on your pleasure eh, 
Consiglio," the other man said thoughtfully. "When is his birth-
day precisely?"

"When the sun rises today he will be ten. I can swear to it, 
for he is my bastard son. I sired him with a woman whose name is 
best left unknown," Iacopolo answered swiftly.

"He has not ripened?"

"Not yet. Nor is there is any sign that it is near. See for 
yourself. There's not a hair on him. His prick is still small and 
his balls are no bigger than the black olives from Liguria," 
Iacopolo answered. He lifted back the blanket to expose Guilio's 
pale shrivelled sex. Its reddened appearance left no question 
that it had been subjected to recent abuse.

 "And what is it to be this time, Consiglio? Catamite or 
choirboy?" Rancini asked cynically. "Will you take him as your 
bed-mate, or send him to San Marco?"

"I,..." Consiglio began.

"It does not matter whether Consiglio takes him as catamite 
or he becomes a choirboy!" Iacopolo interrupted. "Either way his 
balls are gone before the sun rises."

"I come not a moment too soon then. Who is he?"

"Nothing more than a whore's brat, Rancini," Iacopolo 
answered quickly. "He's of no importance to you. All you need to 
know is that he has a good voice."

"A good voice? He will need more than a good voice for this 
to be worth the doing. It is a big price to pay to sing a soprano 
tune for a few more years." 

"What more should a boy have to qualify him for the knife? If 
he has a pretty arse and a stiff cock is that not reason enough? 
With a handsome face like this lad, he's well suited to being laid 
upon his back with his cheeks parted." Iacopolo said with glee.

"Ah! Then that should be more than enough to make it worth-
while. I only hope the lad's the type who would prefer to keep a 
man happy at night." Rancini suggested.

"He's that and more. As k Consiglio. he's had the boy trice 
tonight," Iacopolo smirked knowingly.

 Consiglio's hands lovingly stroked Guilio's inner thighs, 
gently pressing into the sides of his scrotum. He guided the small 
testicles from side to side. He spoke softly, barely aware of the 
other men. "It's a pity to mutilate something so perfect."

Iacopolo laughed. "You'll do the boy a service, Consiglio. 
One day he'll thank you for his loss."

"You've done this often enough before, Consiglio," Cardinal 
Rancini acknowledged. "So I trust your judgement, but until now, 
I've always felt it's a pity to geld a boy whose voice has not 
been tested in song."

"As you know old friend, for the last fifteen years I've 
gelded all but three of the boys in the basilica," Consiglio 
answered with considerable pride in his achievement. "Yet none of 
them can compare to this boy. His beauty exceeds that of any of 
the lesser sex."

"Even without seeing his face I can tell that he has no equal 
in all of Venice." Rancini agreed. "But that is even more reason 
not to cut him."

For a moment, Consiglio hesitated. His eyes were troubled 
while he studied Guilio's nude body. There was only one way that 
he could have Guilio in his bed again. Iacopolo smiled confi-
dently.

"Despite my reservations, perhaps Iacopolo is right. The boy 
is his son after all. I have had his pleasure three times this 
night. No boy has been the happier for losing his virginity. Yet, 
he is very different to any boy who lies willingly in my bed. 
Iacopolo is mad with hatred of the boy." 

"I am indeed. What the knife denies to my bastard does not 
have any value in the first place," Iacopolo retorted slyly. "My 
belly gnaws with hunger. Cut him so I can break my fast."

Rancini laughed as he looked down at the small form partially 
hidden beneath the blanket. Sight unseen, he sensed that the boy 
was exceptionally beautiful. That the boy appeared to be frail, 
even feminine, bothered him. "Is he strong enough. Although it 
doesn't seem to hurt them beyond the obvious, I've heard that boys 
can die if it's done badly."

Consiglio nodded in agreement. "That is true, but as you 
know, I've not lost any yet. He's stronger than he looks. A boy 
like this one will be up and about within a week. Beyond the scar 
between his legs to show what has been taken with a knife, he'll 
be none the worse for it."

"I expect he'll be wanting to make up for lost time," Rancini 
guffawed. "He looks like he's had a good time with you already 
this night."

Iacopolo chuckled. "It's been a long night for him. He's 
probably anxious to get it over so he can sleep, Rancini. It's a 
pity he'll have to wait a week before he's on his back again with 
his knees beside his ears."

Rancini snorted. "It's worth the wait to see the wound prop-
erly healed before a boy is mounted again, and not only because 
the wound is unattractive."

"No matter," Iacopolo shrugged. "He'll still be horny."

Consiglio nodded slightly. "That's true enough. The boy's 
certainly been a willing mate tonight, Iacopolo. I've had more 
pleasure this night with him than with all the other urchins who 
have laid upon my bed this year alone. However, I am a gentle man. 
I would not hurt him for anything." 

"I've heard, Consiglio, that the appearance of a boy may be 
improved by taking the skin from around the cock," Iacopolo said 
obscurely.

"I've heard the same," Rancini interjected. "It was in ref-
erence to the Jews."

Consiglio nodded absently as he studied Guilio with affec-
tion. "The Jews perform what is called circumcision on their boys. 
As do the Arabs as a matter of course, and I have heard that the 
negroes do it too. It is a simple thing to do by cutting around 
the crown."

"And is it also true that a boy's cock can be removed as 
well?" Iacopolo asked slyly. 

Rancini laughed. "His cock? Now, I've heard that this is 
sometimes done in Africa for boys who are destined for the slave 
markets in Persia. I've never seen one, yet I've heard that a ser-
vant boy in the Tresparini Palace is so disfigured. It is said one 
of his brothers slept with the Sultan's daughter.In my opinion, 
such things are a waste of a pretty boy."

 Consiglio scowled. "It's likely to kill a lad for the veins 
are plentiful in the stalk. It serves no purpose other than to 
deny him all his pleasure." 

"I imagine it would be poetic justice if a boy fucked the 
wrong hole. What do you say to that, boy? Should we cut away that 
pitiful thing between your legs and make a girl of you?" Iacopolo 
laughed. He glanced dismissively at his son to ascertain his reac-
tion. "What say you, Rancini? Do you have the warrant for my sig-
nature?"

"I have it here," Rancini answered as he held out the parch-
ment. "Both rules are firm. I accept that the lad has yet to count 
his age on all ten fingers for you say he was born on this day's 
dawn ten years before. The matter of permission remains. I presume 
the boy assents to this?"

"He does," Iacopolo answered quickly.

"I must hear him say it," Rancini said. "`Consent given 
freely and without undue pressure brought to influence his judge-
ment.' Those are Foscari's exact words. It is the law," he added 
with emphasis.

Iacopolo glanced quickly at Consiglio. The man shrugged, 
unable to decide between the choices offered to him. "Tell him 
what you want, boy. Say it now for all to hear and you will get 
what you desire. Consiglio will be your master."

Guilio swallowed. "I,... I-I-I want my b-b-balls c-c-cut 
off," he whispered. "I want,... to sing,... in the basilica," he 
added haltingly, as if an explanation was required of him.

Rancini smiled slightly and glanced momentarily at the naked 
boy whose assent had been muffled almost to the point of incoher-
ence. Yet he had heard enough to give the order. "You may gag him 
him now! I do not wish to hear his screams when the deed is done."

He stepped back and turned away as Iacopolo's hand rammed 
into Guilio's face and the Damask cloth was secured tightly behind 
his head. Rancini lifted the quill from the desk and paused above 
the creamy parchment. The words were in Latin, each letter of each 
word meticulously transcribed from the standard text dictated by 
the Doge. He filled in the missing words with careful pensmanship 
and reread the warrant with building pleasure. 

Every time he was thrilled by the gift to Rome, yet this was 
different. This boy would not enter the choir. This boy was des-
tined for Consiglio's bed. This time, his hand shook slightly and 
he breathed quickly with nervous anticipation. Both Consiglio and 
Iacopolo waited anxiously until Rancini sealed the document with 
the elaborate carving on his signet ring. Even before the wax was 
dry, Rancini had taken his seat beside Lucian. The law required 
that as the Doge's representative, he witness the castration, but 
even he could not stand by and watch this beautiful boy's immola-
tion.

"Enough talk. It's time to geld the boy. You have everything 
you need, Consiglio?" Iacopolo demanded.

Consiglio glared at his tormentor. "Only the time to heat the 
irons. The vessels should be properly seared if they are to heal 
properly."

"Have you given him a draft of wine to dull the pain?" Ran-
cini asked.

Iacopolo shook his head. "There's no time for an unnecessary 
thing like that. The dawn is nearly upon us. He'll scream, but 
he'll have to bear the pain. Perhaps losing his manhood will make 
a man of him," he laughed. 

He glanced among the instruments. What interested him was no 
longer than a man's arm, curved like two small jaws joined at 
either end by an unusual hinge that separated two rounded cups 
that were upon closer inspection, not unlike claws. It was of pol-
ished bronze and carefully formed to achieve a function that was 
not immediately obvious.

"What is this for?" he added as he held up the small metal 
contraption.

Consiglio explained. "There are some who prefer the purse to 
be completely removed when a boy's eggs are taken out. However, 
there are others who prefer no loss at all, but want the same 
result. It is a matter of appearance dictating technique. I seldom 
do the former because I have found that the pouch contributes con-
siderably to a boy's feeling, and the later is too painful to jus-
tify the end result. It is barbaric!"

"This is such a tool? What does it do?"

"It crushes the eggs until they are no more than pulp. The 
device you hold was made in China for the Great Emperor Wang. I've 
heard a thousand boys were done with this one alone. The jaws are 
made from the finest bronze and would hold an edge equal to any 
steel I've seen."

"Why do you not use it?"

"I'd not use it on any boy for the reason I've just given. I 
value life more than that, even if you do not Iacopolo."

"Life?"

"The pain is so great that a boy could die."

Iacopolo nodded understanding. "Still, it's my choice what 
method is used, is it not? Is that not a father's right? Tell me 
more," he demanded gleefully. "With it the eggs remain within his 
pouch? There is need for the eggs to be removed? Nothing will be 
taken out? No blood is shed?" Iacopolo asked curiously.

"There is no need. His eggs will be mush, like coils of over-
cooked spagettini and just as useless. Very little will remain 
other than the softness of his skin and the sound of his voice. 
There will be nothing to show he was once a male, and nothing to 
show that how he has lost it."

"It has the making of a neat result, would you not agree, 
Consiglio," Iacopolo remarked with amusement. "Except it does not 
satisfy my desire to see him bleed."

Rancini chuckled. "Perhaps the Jews can benefit us for a 
change. With circumcision he would be bloodied for you. There is 
no need to discharge the warrant on such a splendid boy."

 Guilio twisted suddenly, arching his body away from the bed. 
The blanket slipped away from his face and shoulders. His face was 
reddened and streaked with tears. For a moment he glared hatefully 
at Iacopolo, before the man stepped closer to shield him. Then 
Guilio looked at Consiglio, his eyes pleading. Consiglio half-
closed his eyes and turned away, unable to look at the boy.

Consiglio sighed. "A better method is a simple incision 
along the purse. It's easily closed with a needle and thread and 
the scar can be so well concealed that it is difficult to see. 
This thing might kill him."

"The method is not your choice if I exercise the father's 
right to choose. However, Rancini is right. Perhaps I will have 
you circumcise him first, Consiglio."

"It is an easy thing to do," Consiglio admitted. He glanced 
at Iacopolo hopefully. "It takes a minute or two at most."

Iacopolo picked up a knife with a thin short blade that was 
honed to a razor edge. "You have done it before?" he demanded.

"I've done it often enough."

"Some choirboys have skin that is too tight for the crown to 
push through easily. The smell can be unpleasant so we bring them 
to Consiglio for the Jewish look. As he says, it is a very simple 
task," Rancini answered politely.

Iacopolo grinned cruelly, balancing the razor in across two 
fingers. He glanced at the boy, considering his options. 

"Iacopolo, I beg you to be generous. You son has lost his 
innocence this night. Isn't that enough to satisfy you. Why must 
you "

Iacopolo shrugged. He had never been a generous man. "Finish 
what you have started, Consiglio. You cannot deny that you have 
lusted after the boy. Now that you have taken his virginity  do 
you not want him for your own?"

"I do, Iacopolo. But not like this! You have my vote in the 
Council. You have what you want. Enough of this!" Consiglio 
replied.

"I have one thing left, Consiglio. The law requires that his 
eggs must go before the dawn, and already the sky is glowing red 
in the east," he instructed impatiently. "Do him now, or by God, 
I'll do it myself!"

He backed away and took his place at the foot of the bed. He 
glared at Rancini, realizing that the Councillor had finally rec-
ognized the grim-faced boy on the bed. It was all that Guilio 
could do not to cry. No matter what, he would not show these men 
his pain, especially the man who he thought he loved less than an 
hour earlier. Consiglio said nothing and Iacopolo noted he had 
found another ally in Rancini. The cardinal was a man who knew the 
value of discretion.

Guilio felt the pain inside his bruised bowels. Over the last 
hour it had faded. Now it was nothing more than discomfort, no 
longer the raw agony that had been there earlier. Men's hands 
gripped his arms and legs and pulled them wide apart, securing the 
rope ends to the carved phallic pillars at the head and foot of 
Consiglio's bed. Despite his wishes, he could not stop what was 
happening. The Cardinal looked on, regarding the boy's struggles 
with apparent disinterest while relishing the predicament of the 
stunningly beautiful boy with silent appreciation. The letter of 
Francesco's law had been followed, if not its intent. Justice was 
served. The rumors of ten years were true. Guilio Foscari was 
Iacopolo's bastard son, cuckolded from Francesco's wife. What was 
more, it appeared that the boy had become Consiglio's favorite. 
Surely, it would kill the old man if it did not kill the boy. In 
his opinion, it was well past time for a new Doge. And if the new 
Doge was Iacopolo, his good fortune was assured. It was a pity 
that the boy was not going to serve Rome, destined to be a eunuch 
like many of the boys who sang in San Marco.

"He's ready to be done," a voice said. "Hold him tightly now. 
It will hurt a lot."

The hands gripped the boy harder, squeezing his legs and arms 
and pressing down on his chest. Again Guilio writhed furiously, 
one last attempt to save his manhood. Then gradually the fear 
faded and his eyes were hazy from tears. His mind became blank, no 
longer fighting to preserve what he had never known. From the side 
Iacopolo smirked cruelly, relishing the boy's submission. Guilio 
saw him and his hatred surfaced. He felt vomit rising, tasted 
bile, knew boundless fear. He shrieked, fluid spilling through 
his penis, showering in an amber spurt across his belly, vomit 
flowing over his face and shoulders.

"NO!" Guilio started to shout. Almost as soon as the muffled 
word was out of his mouth, Iacopolo's hand clamped across it, 
smothering the following words into the gag.

"DO IT, NOW!"

Guilio screamed into the gag again, choking on the rushing 
fluids that spouted from his throat.

"I cannot do it," Consiglio groaned. "I love him!"

Iacopolo laughed loudly. "I'm not surprised. He'll be all 
yours once you've handed me his balls, Consiglio. It's no loss for 
him! Go on, Consiglio. Finish him off!"

Rancini chuckled. "Are you sure you want him gelded, 
Iacopolo?"

"Certainly. Why do you ask, Rancini?"

"Usually, a boy of his age is agreeable to it only to save 
his place in the choir. He knows nothing of what he loses in the 
exchange. He's such a pretty boy there's no reason not to ask one 
last time. Once the deed is done his manhood is gone forever."

"The answer is yes! Get it over with, Consiglio!" Iacopolo 
replied haughtily.

"I cannot do this."

"Get out of the way and I'll do it."

"No!"

"Do it, Consiglio, or I'll finish it myself before the dawn," 
Iacopolo shouted. His hand moved quickly to his back. A dagger 
came into his hand. He wielded it before Consiglio, waving for the 
man to get back out of the way. "I want his balls to show 
Francesco there will be no more Foscaris."

"You're mad!"

"Consiglio, stay back!"

"NNNNNNNNNNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"





Chapter 3. Boston, Massachusetts 1999.



"Going once, going twice, to be sold for the sum of $23,000, 
if I have no higher bids,... item number 44, a bed of the fif-
teenth century is sold,... to the gentleman in the third row from 
the back for $23,000. Ladies and gentlemen that concludes the auc-
tion. If any of you have not made arrangements for your purchases, 
please see one of the assistants before you leave. And thank you 
very much. Good afternoon."

The noise in the room, subdued during the bidding suddenly 
became louder as the auctioneer hammered his gavel for the last 
time. I stood up and began to move towards the front of the room, 
my personal check already prepared in order to make a quick exit. 
I was nearly at the front when I was intercepted by a man. He was 
in his early sixties, well dressed, exuding the confidence of a 
lawyer or banker although without the arrogant attitude that is 
typical of financial success.

 "It has an interesting provenance," he said abruptly. "I'm 
Jules Hanover, curator of Gothic Arts at the Vertsell Museum of 
the Decorative Arts by the way. The Museum thanks you for your 
$23,000. You must want the bed very much."

I smiled at him. "I have no interest in it. I plan on giving 
it to someone as a gift."

"Who?" 

I could not help smiling even more. "My ex-wife! It's to cel-
ebrate my divorce. She's so stuck up, she'll have to put it in her 
bedroom, especially when she finds out how much I paid from her 
friend Cynthia. She was sitting in the second row. Every time my 
ex sees it she'll think of me."

"It'll be wasted on a woman, you realize," Hanover smirked 
knowingly. He brushed his forehead. His thick mane of hair was 
salt and pepper gray, although at one time it had been dark and 
curling. He was still a very handsome man.

"Wasted? Oh no, Dela will use it." I shrugged.

 It made very little difference to me whether she used it, 
because when I thought about it, I did not care whether she had 
sex or not. That our sex had been infrequent and uninspiring was 
my fault. That wasn't the point. It was as ugly as hell in my 
opinion! And for a beautiful woman with no taste, Dela was sure to 
have lots of male companionship, and some of them were bound to 
have an aesthetic sense that silently ridiculed her for her selec-
tion of furniture.

 "Don't you know anything about its history?" Hanover asked. 
"I thought you were interested in it for a very different reason."

"Not really. I read the bit in the brochure about it being 
late-fifteenth century work, probably by one the lesser furniture 
makers in the Eastern European region or something like that."

"Oh! Then you don't know," Hanover hinted. "It was Con-
siglio's bed. It's from where we now call Turkey, with some 
details that are Venetian in origin, and quite unique because some 
er,... other details suggest some work that is likely to have been 
done in the Middle East, Persia perhaps, all very unusual you 
know,... For one reason or another the design detracts from its 
monetary value but, you might say adds a lot to its functional-
ity." He smiled, his eyes narrowing slyly. It was clearly another 
hint that I was supposed to understand!

"Hmm! Well, it really doesn't matter much, does it now that 
I've bought it?" I replied. After a moment I continued. "Who was 
Consiglio?"

"Consiglio,... was a,... it's hard to say this without 
laughing,... he was a merchant of Venice, Mr. Kent. He was a very 
important man, and very wealthy too. His ships sailed to every 
port in the Venetian Empire, including Turkey. He had a castle 
there, perched on the cliffs above the bay of Constantinople,... 
Istanbul."

"How do you know my name?"

Hanover smiled slightly. "I make it my business to know names 
like yours," he answered ambiguously.

I shrugged in ignorance and disinterest. Politeness kept me 
talking. "So it had an interesting history then?"

Hanover smiled ambiguously. "I imagine the bed has seen and 
heard more than a few things best left unseen and unspoken. As far 
as I know it was in Italy from just after it was made until it was 
brought to Boston fifty years ago," he answered. "Nonetheless, 
according to what I've researched, it has it's share of tales. 
Some of them may be true, I expect. I'd be surprised if they 
weren't all true."

"Well, that is interesting," I said. My voice sounded sar-
castic and bored but I could not help it. I was not interested in 
anything built before the Bauhaus. "Is this what you museum types 
refer to as provenance, or are we talking about ghosts and 
ghouls?"

Hanover laughed. "I wouldn't know about the latter, but it's 
possible that it also has its share of ghosts. Consiglio was quite 
a colorful character, you know. In his later years he was suppos-
edly involved in some quite unpleasant deeds. And then he died. 
Any records disappeared with him, along with his bed, this bed."

"I've never heard of him."

"He wasn't one of the big names you might hear in a history 
class, however he was quite accomplished in his own way. His pri-
mary claim to fame was kidnapping the son of the Doge, Francesco 
Foscari. If I remember correctly, Foscari was the Doge who ruled 
for more than thirty years I think. He was responsible for adding 
much of the empire. He died in 1459, murdered it is said, or was 
it from the loss of his son, who was taken by Consiglio. We will 
never know."

I nodded and absently glanced at my watch. I had nearly 
thirty minutes until my next appointment and I did not want to be 
late.

"The boy's name was Guilio," Hanover said absently. "A nice 
name, don't you think."

"Who?"

"The boy who was kidnapped. His name was Guilio Foscari. He 
was about ten when he was taken from his father. It must have been 
quite a shock to him, being dragged from the Palace he had grown 
up in Venice in the middle of the night."

I nodded vaguely. "I expect so."

"He would have slept on this bed in Consiglio's palazzo. 
Which makes sense, of course."

"Why does what make sense?"

"That's why the bed was made, I believe..... I imagine, 
despite his cruelty, Consiglio had a desire not only to be in con-
trol, but also to make a boy feel comfortable at night. The 
craftsmanship is superb for the time. Mahogany from the East 
Indies, silver from the mines in Turkey. And the ebony came from 
Africa, of course."

"I didn't notice any silver," I said curtly.

"You wouldn't Mr. Kent. Not unless you knew where to look. 
You wouldn't find it otherwise. I expect the silver work alone is 
worth every penny you paid." Hanover smiled wryly. "There is a 
picture of him, the boy that is, in the Gardener Museum in Boston. 
God only knows how it ended up there. He was an absolutely beauti-
ful child, truly stunning, at least if the artist was true to 
life. I imagine Consiglio had the portrait made, so it probably is 
fairly accurate. A startling child. Beautiful curling hair, blue 
eyes, very Venetian, and with that ochre-colored skin they have in 
southern Europe. Quite the Adonis! I imagine Guilio turned many 
more than a few heads even before he was taken by Consiglio."

"And he was kidnapped by this man Consiglio?"

Hanover smiled. "Well, that's the way the story goes. Con-
siglio took the boy as hostage with the idea of using him to force 
his father's resignation. I expect there's some truth to it, but 
there's much more to the story that hasn't been told."

"Such as," I prompted.

"The boy probably took his fancy at the time. Of course 
whether he was taken against his will we never will know, now will 
we?"

"I don't understand how taking the son would force the Doge 
to step down?" I countered.

 "Far better to ask why not take the son. The Doge hardly 
needed an heir, there was another son, Iacopolo, but he doted on 
the lad. He was old, eighty-seven to be precise, so you see there 
would be no more sons after young Guilio."

Guilio Foscari must have been something, I fancied. It was 
strange thought and it left me almost as soon as it came. It was 
the first time I could remember any thought of boys in a sexual 
context.

"Now, what happened was probably expected right from the get 
go, and entirely natural under the circumstances you might say 
after you've seen the portrait of young Guilio. According to the 
story, Consiglio was attracted to the lad so one thing led to 
another,...."

I smiled. "You're saying that the merchant of Venice was a 
pederast?"

"That's such an inflammatory word nowadays, and not very 
descriptive either although its Latin roots do mean a lover of 
boys. Boy-lover is a far more accurate term I think when a man is 
smitten."

I shrugged, curious about Hanover's odd reference to `smit-
ten'. "Does it really matter what it's called? It still means the 
same thing."

Hanover ignored my display of cynicism. "Boy-love wasn't all 
that unusual back then, just as it's not uncommon now, although 
most people would like it to be, especially here in Boston."

"I'm sure," I ventured. "It is against the law, however."

"But go back more than five hundred years and under certain 
circumstances it was accepted in Venetian society." Hanover's 
eyes flashed. "Consiglio was a rich and powerful man. He could 
have whatever and whoever he wanted. He was a man who made his 
fortune by trading. There are many examples of pederasty through-
out history that society prefers to overlook. What do you think 
cabin boys did on ships? There were no women, and the men were 
away for years at a time. No wonder they turned to boys. There 
were no inconvenient pregnancies and the boys could work on the 
ship. Of course, they usually had light duties I expect," Hanover 
chuckled to himself. "I can't imagine why."

"But in Venice?" I countered. "Why would it be accepted?"

"When this bed was made, young boys from the Venetian aris-
tocracy served to bring the great families together almost as 
often as betrothing a daughter. Anyway, back to the story. Appar-
ently the boy was not averse to Consiglio's attention, if you 
catch my drift. When you see his portrait you'll realize why."

"I'm confused right now."

Hanover winked crudely conveying that his meaning was purely 
sexual. "You'd understand why Consiglio was so enamored with the 
lad once you've seen the portrait."

"If I get time,..." I said impatiently.

"At the same time, it doesn't take a brain surgeon to figure 
out why the boy might have been interested in Consiglio. He has 
the look about him. In fact, there was even a letter I came across 
in the Widener that suggested young Guilio did more than just sub-
mit to Consiglio's affections. And after a time or two, it would 
be more a matter of reciprocating than submitting."

I nodded and swallowed. My throat felt dry and my brow seemed 
heated. Hanover's words created a powerful image in my mind. The 
idea of a boy of ten wanting sex with a man was extraordinary and 
far beyond my range of experience with my adopted ten-year-old 
son. As far as I knew Julian was far more interested in Beanie 
Babies than anything to do with the tiny appendage dangling 
between his legs. A year or two could not make that much differ-
ence, could it? 

"Of course, some boys are like that. I've know more than a 
few of them over the years," Hanover added softly as if he under-
stood my confusion. "Innocent on the surface, but real little 
demons underneath. All they need is opportunity, and a little 
encouragement."

I swallowed again and tried to avert my eyes. Hanover was 
magnetic. I could not look away, nor could I not listen to him. He 
smiled conspiratorially. 

"There's a bit of the devil in every boy, you know. You're a 
father so I'm sure you understand. Some merely have more energy to 
burn off, shall we say. Combine that with curiosity and a need for 
male companionship and,.... with the right man a boy will,... well 
it happens so enough said."

I nodded, not understanding exactly why I was agreeing or 
what I was agreeing to. Julian's occasional pranks were a long way 
short of the sexual theme that Hanover was overtly suggesting. Or 
was it? On the surface, Hanover's words were as innocent as my 
precocious son with his infrequent vague hints of eroticism. 
Again I swallowed, remembering the times when I had found myself 
wondering what was going on inside his tousled dark head. And then 
there were the times he looked strangely at me, curiously hesitant 
to turn away. At such times the shy little boy appeared to be 
openly flirting with me. His pale blue eyes were strangely sensu-
ous, unlike his mother's, and intoxicating in a way that always 
got him what he wanted. Until now, I had not thought of him as 
sexy, but he was sensual and seductive in his own way I concluded 
guiltily. In fact, for some reason I fell victim to his alluring 
charm more often than his mother. When I asked about his father 
and the other half of the boy's lineage, her response was vague. I 
knew no more than he had been conceived during a chance liaison at 
graduate school when she had gone to Italy for a summer program. 
That should have been warning enough. "

What happened?" I muttered. "To Guilio,... and Consiglio?" I 
added curiously. 

Hanover smiled, his blue eyes flashing. "Sadly the lad died! 
Murdered by Consiglio's friend, Iacopolo. "

"Some boy-lover," I said sarcastically.

"Not at all. By then I expect that Consiglio was determined 
to keep the boy for himself. At the time, it was not unusual for a 
man to take a boy as an catamite, though seldom from a noble fam-
ily."

"Catamite?" I asked. "What's that?"

"A word for a boy who is kept by his lover. It is possible 
that Consiglio and Iacopolo were concluding a plot to remove the 
Doge. Although for Consiglio, removing the Doge was merely an 
added benefit you realize. I can show you a copy of the letter. I 
brought one with me in case the buyer was interested. It's been 
translated from the original Latin, but it's still very old. I 
believe it was written by the boy's tutor." He reached into his 
breast pocket and retrieved a photocopy on yellowed paper, care-
fully unfolded it, and presented it to me. The writing was very 
legible and the carefully composed script told an interesting 
story, despite the fact that only a single page was shown to me.



`My Guilio has died and His Spirit is condemned to ever-
lasting torment. Once so treasured in My Companye, the 
Boy haunts me. After what they shared in Consiglio's 
bed, I can no longer love Him. All night, I heard the 
bed. It still squeaks like they are rutting. The sounds 
of pleasure continued from midnight almost to the first 
light of the dawn, until Consiglio was done with Him 
three times, and more. I heard Him shouting His Joy as 
He wont when Consiglio's seed found its mark in his 
bowelle. And now He is gone from me forever! What 
obscene desire brings this child to wake again? What 
obscenity did he not partake while he lay with Con-
siglio? A single night, not even that, and My Guilio was 
taken from me. Is this the Lord's Punishmente for the 
sins of the flesh, or cruel revenge for my selfish deed? 
The wretched boy, His prick no bigger than mine finger, 
hath brought more happiness to Consiglio than any woman 
hath brought to man. He sang without opening his mouth.



His shrieks were of pleasure and they kept me by Con-
siglio's chamber. There He lay in ecstasie. Consiglio 
left Him bloodied and no longer virgin, yet there could 
be no happier boy in all of Venice. A terrible pleasure 
in his bowelle where Consiglio's prick had been. The 
Boy was a satyr till the end. His little prick remained 
stiffe till dawn, even with the taking of his virgin-
ity, shining with the red glow of passion.



Twas Iacopolo who wanted the deed that undid men, and 
when done, My Guilio would be like me. Only a belly 
ripped by sword knows such pain as Guilio would know 
that morn when manhood was taken from his loins. I 
slayed Iacopolo, so great was my hatred of the one who 
fathered him. His deathe is shared with one who hated 
Him, the neck all but severed by My fury. Yet Iacopolo's 
knife found it's mark in Guilio's breast. We watched 
the life drain from Him. Consiglio, who hath loved Him 
in life, wept as the sheet fell upon Him. Such a pretty 
boy he was.



 `But deathe itself would be welcome, for My Guilio 
haunts the bed back to life. Even the bloody spot from 
His bowele cannot be removed. I have tried in vain. 
There is evil in this house now. My precious Guilio has 
become a demon of desire. Each night the Spirit retur-
neth. Great joy is wrought with his sodomie, Guilio 
three times mounted before the deed is done. Then an 
awful pain and the Boy's Spirit returneth to Hell. The 
sound continues each night hence,....'



I glanced at Hanover. "Some of it is pretty obvious, but 
what's this mean about the boy, Guilio?"

I waited as Hanover refolded the paper. "Obvious is one way 
of putting it. Young Guilio sounds like he enjoyed what he got 
while he was alive. He must have been a horny little thing. Con-
siglio was with him only for a matter of a few hours that night 
and they did it three times. He was Consiglio's lover, to taken as 
his pretty young catamite I expect."

"And who wrote this originally?" I prompted.

"As I said, Mr. Kent, the boy's tutor would be the most 
likely conclusion I believe. A man by the name of Lucian. The ref-
erence to manhood being taken suggests the boy had been, or was 
about to emasculated. Such things were not all that uncommon at 
the time. It was frequently done so that boys could sing in the 
choir. The letter implies Lucian was very fond of the boy so it's 
likely that he would have dispatched the culprits swiftly."

"Perhaps. The rest, about the Spirit returning and all 
that?" 

"It's a reference to the curse, of course."

"What do you mean, the curse?"

"My, you are interested now, aren't you?" Hanover mused. 
"The previous owner told me about the story when he brought the 
bed back to Boston. Some people might say there was a curse on it. 
I expect it depends on your perspective. I rather imagine Byron 
thought it was anything but a curse." He laughed at his own pri-
vate joke. 

"I enjoy mysteries, but I was never one for riddles," I said 
cryptically.

Hanover raised an eyebrow. "You see Byron Hastings owned it 
until he died a few years ago. He must have been eighty-five if he 
was a day, but he looked like a man in his late 60's. Byron the 
Boylover, to his close friends that is, and I expect they were 
like minded. No sir, Byron didn't think it was cursed, although a 
few of the boys he bedded on it may have thought otherwise at 
first."

"I have no idea what you're alluding to," I said.

Hanover gave me a bland stare. It was several seconds later 
before he turned away and started to walk towards the bed. "You're 
right, you know Mr. Kent. It's an unappealing thing, very unat-
tractive and certainly not of museum quality, especially given 
its function. That's why it's being sold, that and the fact that 
it's wasted here. It needs a younger man than you." He gestured 
toward the dark polished wood. "Made of mahogany, you know."

I nodded. "What function? It's a bed, isn't it?"

"Yes. It was designed to fit a particular function,... an 
unusual function,... a function that some, no most people would 
deplore."

"Which is?

"Er, it was built to accommodate what you might call the 
unique needs of a boy lover. As I have said, Consiglio was such a 
person. He was very experienced," Hanover said with deliberate 
emphasis. `He knew what he was doing. Just as a boy's anatomy is 
different to the female sex, so are a boy's needs when he's with a 
man. The act is similar but the holes are quite different shall we 
say." 

"You're kidding, aren't you?" I asked.

Hanover pointed to the end of the bed. "On the contrary, Mr. 
Kent. I've never been more serious. Notice the foot, the rounded 
depression there. It's shaped to support a young pelvis. The hump 
lower down, there,... keeps the lad's thighs spread apart. And the 
hollow there in the center, it's shaped like a cup to hold his 
genitals,... and whatever comes out, if there is anything to come 
out, of course."

He glanced at my reddening face. Quickly I looked around. The 
auction room was empty except for the two of us and a few people 
at the far end of the room. They were in the process of concluding 
a transaction. Perhaps Hanover was correct in his interpretation 
of the carved dark wood. To my eyes, the wood seemed to have a 
deeper luster over the depression. Perhaps it had been smoothed 
and polished by the skin of a young boy's thighs and belly as he 
writhed in ecstasy. A young boy's skin would be soft and hairless 
and unblemished. It would be a lot like Julian. I half-closed my 
eyes as the thought came to me. Hanover smirked at my discomfiture 
and continued.

"Now, observe the head of the bed. As I said, it was designed 
for the needs of a boy, and his lover too, only this time in a 
different position. He lies on his back with his head cradled 
between these openings. His feet are placed through those pillars 
and pressed down so that his ankles are between the tapered 
shafts. If necessary, there are rings that can hold his wrists and 
restrict movement."

I swallowed, imagining a boy not unlike Julian in the 
required position. "It can't be very comfortable," I observed 
with pretended lightheartedness. 

"A boy's comfort isn't much of a consideration. Besides, 
Consiglio must have had lots of practice with his boys. I expect 
he knew what was needed to do the job." Hanover smiled. "There's 
much more that makes the bed unusual. Do you want me to continue?"

I nodded, dragging my eyes away from the head of the bed. I 
saw Hanover glance behind us. The other people had departed and we 
were alone. He stepped to the foot of the bed and casually ran his 
fingers over the dark brown post until he reached the top. He ran 
his hand lovingly up and down as he stroked the satiny wood.

"Its phallic qualities used to get a few laughs when it first 
came to the Museum, I'm sure. It's probably the reason why it was 
put in storage. For some reasons young boys tend to find such 
things very funny," Hanover announced. Once pointed out, it was 
impossible to deny. Four posts, four gigantic phalluses, were 
guardians of the corners of the bed. With a slight movement he 
twisted off the rounded polished cap, a removable glans. Under-
neath, a short tapered cylinder of shining black ebony was sur-
mounted by a silver dome that was somewhat smaller than a golf-
ball and without the dimples.

"A dildo, from the 15th Century," he said with mounting glee. 
"And,..." he paused meaningfully, "it's fully adjustable just by 
pulling up on it," he added as he drew it upwards. "It screws back 
down afterwards so it doesn't slide back and forth. It's a master-
piece of engineering in itself. If the boy tries to get it out by 
pulling away, he ends up with even more than he bargained for." 
Hanover chuckled crudely. "You can also pull it all the way out to 
make a very serviceable butt-plug, even if it is a bit unyielding 
compared to today's plastic ones. However, there are certain 
advantages when the lad is a virgin."

"It's a little on the thin side," I commented critically. "

Not for a boy who's only ten or eleven years old. At least 
not at first."

"What happens then?" I asked sarcastically.

"Oh, there are bigger ones in the other three posts."

"And the boy sits on it?" I suggested. Hanover nodded. "It 
doesn't look very comfortable."

Hanover shrugged, again dismissing comfort as unnecessary 
when there was a job to be done. "It can also be removed simply by 
screwing it out of the post. Either way it works very nicely. And 
there's always this." 

He looked away. He bent down, and by turning the post an 
eighth of a revolution released a hidden locking mechanism. In a 
matter of a second or two he had managed to rotate the post from a 
vertical to horizontal position. It reached over the bed, some six 
inches above where the mattress would be. In this position a boy 
would have to lie face down and lift his haunches up in order to 
back onto it. I shuddered. A mental image of Julian drifted 
through my mind, impaled on the silver knob, the glossy black 
shaft extending from his anus. For no reason I thought of him 
jerking with frightening intensity when he orgasmed. And the 
other posts contained even bigger ones.

"Our Venetian boy-lover was very creative," Hanover said 
with amusement. "Push down on the silver part," he instructed 
gleefully.

I complied. Strangely the knob seemed loose until I realized 
that it was set on a spring mechanism. I felt the slipperiness of 
oil oozing out before I released it. "Good God!" I exclaimed. 
"What in hell is it,... it's oil!"

"It's olive oil. Byron only used the finest oil from Sicily 
for his boys. It goes in the shaft when you take it all the way 
out. Creative, isn't it?"

I tried to stifle my amusement without success. "Built in 
lubrication! Creative? I'd certainly say so. Back him up for a 
lube job before you get down to business."

"Or pull it out and use it as a butt-plug so the oil drains 
into the boy when he moves around on the bed. Yes, I'd say it was 
very creative." Hanover smirked as he walked back to the foot of 
the bed to stand beside me. "And that's not all, not by a long 
shot."

"What else?" I demanded hotly. My curiosity was piqued, my 
excitement building like a volcanno.

"I'm sure you'll discover all in due time, and there is 
always the curse if things get dull!" Hanover pressed his fingers 
into the underside of my chin and lifted up. The man's eyes stared 
into mine. "Be careful, Mr. Kent! Any boy who sleeps in this bed 
is sure to stay in it they say. He has three chances, that's all! 
The same as Guilio had. After that, it's too late. Be certain of 
who sleeps in it. There is too much at stake."

"What are you talking about?"

His hand dropped away. His voice was little more than a soft 
whisper. "I was one of Byron's boys. I know what happens all too 
well. Just be careful who sleeps on it. Remember what happened to 
Guilio. Remember what the letter said. And there were more boys 
after him, many more. Oh yes, it has its share of ghosts, Mr. 
Kent. All of them are,... were prepubescent boys, and as we both 
know, boys will be boys." Hanover smiled ambiguously. "There is 
just one thing you must never forget, Mr. Kent. All the boys who 
sleep in Consiglio's bed will always be boys."

He left me standing there, my mouth agape as I began to ask 
him to tell me more. A hundred questions whirled in my head, not 
the least being how I was going to transport the bed to my condo-
minium now that I no longer intended it as a farewell present for 
my ex-wife.



Chapter 4.



I always considered the difference between a nightmare and a 
dream to be whether I sweated or not. I sweated on the bed that 
first night, and every night thereafter. however, I am no longer 
certain that my nightly imaginings were dreams or nightmares. In 
fact, my memory of details was so clear, and the illusion was so 
realistic, that I wondered whether I was hallucinating or actu-
ally there, impossible as that may seem. Guilio Foscari was there 
from the very beginning. Every night he came noiselessly, nude, 
appearing mysteriously from nowhere. He was a very pretty boy, 
some might even say too pretty for a boy. He reminded me of Julian 
with his effeminate features, moody eyes, thin eyebrows, long 
eyelashes, and hair that was much too long to be considered as a 
masculine style. The word `aphrodisiac' springs to mind. He was a 
sexual opiate that so befuddled my mind I could not determine fact 
from fantasy.Was he a ghost? Certainly, I never saw him pass 
through walls, and he was anything but cold to touch. But at no 
time did he speak. There were guttural sounds in the room, echoes 
of a long past time, groans of pleasure so great that it bordered 
on pain, and erratic gasps resonating in the bedroom. There was a 
deathly silence after his protracted orgasm, until I entered the 
blissful peace of sleep. 

At times I awoke, much later in the night, long before the 
secure calm of dawn, and found puddles of thick semen on my bed, 
streaks of fluid with the consistency of the white of an egg and 
as much in quantity if not more. It was certainly not ejected from 
the ghostly child for the physical signs of sexual maturity were 
not present on his body, and his male parts, like those of Julian, 
were far too puny to produce so much, even if he had entered 
puberty. Unlike Julian, he had not been circumcised, a not sur-
prising condition because by European standards at the time 
Guilio Foscari had lived, circumcision was not in vogue. With few 
exceptions in Europe, it almost an entirely Jewish custom, and I 
had no reason to doubt that it would be any different five centu-
ries earlier. 

Julian's circumcision had been botched. Indeed, the extent 
of foreskin removed was so excessive that the boy's skin was 
stretched very taut when he was erect. From the few times I had 
seen him erect, I remembered it had a reddish luster sufficient to 
make his organ appear polished.

Each night he strutted naked around the room as he displayed 
his boyish weapon proudly and without shame. He ignored my pres-
ence, performing his lewd display with obvious enjoyment. Each 
night I resolved to stay awake after having witnessed his solitary 
copulation, occasionally using his fingers for stimulation, or 
more often simulating intercourse with an imaginary partner by 
taking a black and silver imitation penis into his bowels. I rea-
soned that something else must transpire to produce the copious 
fluids that stained my sheets. Each night my own voyeuristic 
thrill continued unabated, yet eventually some time after mid-
night, I drifted off to sleep soundly. I harbored a fantasy of 
satisfying his boyish lust with my own rampart sex impaled between 
his small buttocks, and when I awoke again I often felt completely 
drained. Had something happened while I was asleep? Perhaps I ful-
filled my dream during the night with him for I was only a silent 
spectator while I was awake. 

Guilio enthralled me with his robust lust and apparently 
insatiable appetite for sex. The ease with which he plunged back-
ward onto the bedpost and impaled himself left me in awe. The act 
of penetration seldom took more than a few seconds, and the 
expression on his face was something akin to ecstasy. Surely it 
hurt, yet without personal experience I did not know. I watched, 
wanting nothing more than to replace the wooden member with one of 
living flesh. The silver knob pierced his anus without diffi-
culty, eliciting only a gasp or two until it vanished from my 
sight. As it slid deeper into his rectum he sighed softly, or per-
haps it was my sigh of regret. I often laughed when I thought of 
it, although never aloud. There had to be pleasure in it for a 
boy, I reasoned. That had to be the explanation for the mysterious 
smile that dimpled his cheeks. It would explain why Consiglio had 
refused to hand him over to his father, the Doge. From what I 
observed each night Guilio could have satisfied even the most 
demanding of men and returned for a repeat performance before the 
sun rose. The bed was worth the boy's weight in gold.



After several weeks of restless nights, the thought of stay-
ing awake all night was foremost in my mind, if only to verify the 
source of the man-milk I found every morning in the center of my 
bed. And yet, despite my best efforts to refrain from sleeping, I 
had yet to last beyond midnight. One night I carefully set the 
alarm radio, both hands at twelve, the volume at maximum. I slept 
through the night until I was awaken by the morning sun lighting 
the room. The radio was smashed, unrecognizable pieces of plastic 
and electronic components scattered across the floor as if demol-
ished by a great force exerted in anger. On another night I set a 
brand new video camera on a tripod, directed it towards the bed 
and used a five dollar timer to begin recording at midnight. It 
was an expensive mistake. The solution to my vexing problem and 
growing frustration was remarkably simple, and by comparison, 
inexpensive. No-Doze! The man came at the first stroke of mid-
night. Guilio cringed, burying his face in the tangled sheets, his 
small buttocks still split apart and skewered. A few minutes 
before his small body had been frenzied, thrusting urgently onto 
the unyielding spike, now it was frozen. The air chilled with his 
approach, stealthy movement coming closer until I sensed his 
presence beside me. With my eyes closed and breathing slowly, I 
waited. The man stood before us, lubricating his substantial 
penis with a copious amount of oil, gazing at the boy with unbri-
dled lust. There was no sound in my house, except the clock tick-
ing and the dying echoes of the grandfather clock in the hall. 
When the last tone faded he moved. His weight displaced the bed 
and it creaked. I dared not look. I heard the sound of oil-slicked 
suction as Guilio's body was plucked from the ebony spear lodged 
deep within his bowels. Movement next to me, so close but not 
touching, then nothing as they readied. I resisted my urge to open 
my eyes a fraction and steal a quick look. In the blackness before 
my eyelids I fancied the boy's position. I did not need to look to 
know he was on his back, buttocks lifted high, knees against his 
shoulders, feet and wrists locked in place above his pretty head. 
He was positioned for sex. I peeked.

Consiglio was beside me. The man towered over the boy. 
Expressionless, calmly stroking his monstrous stiffness, making 
it impossibly hard. The knob, the color of a dark purple plum and 
just as large, glistened with silvery excretion. The slit was a 
gaping hole that opened further with each stroke and oozed a bead 
of juice destined for the boy's distended anus. The oiled shiny 
shaft, long and gnarled with bulging veins, seemed to on forever. 
My eyes closed. My heart pounded. My mind reeled in disbelief. His 
cock was surely a foot long and frighteningly thick. The narrow 
pelvis of a young boy would never be able to accommodate it. His 
motions were slow, exaggerated as if each movement was a great 
effort. My incredulity was compounded by the realization that 
this man was deceased. The wound in his neck had surely severed 
the carotid artery. He had come from Hell. The dead did not die 
forever. Wordlessly, he mounted the boy I had come to desire. The 
wandering undead craved coitus with a willing child. This man was 
the wanton servant of unspeakable evil. I waited, my perverted 
desire piqued by the obscenity unfolding before me.

Through half-closed eyes I glimpsed his coupling with the 
boy-apparition, tormenting the small anus with forceful prodding 
until Guilio's beautiful ghost-body opened wide for him. I 
watched in disbelief as the child's pale flesh swelled and the 
narrow opening stretched wide. His buttocks deformed around the 
immense bloated cock-head, swallowed as it surged through the 
darkened orifice and quickly disappeared. The long shaft, hid-
eously long and as thick as my arm, followed without pause. Con-
siglio reared up, thigh muscles straining in a powerful thrust, 
his sinews straining as he rammed in. His hands grasped the boy's 
bony shoulders and pulled him down as he impaled the lad. Then 
out, dragging the slender body along the bed until it tore free of 
his clinging rectum, until the cock-head was barely inside, then 
in again. After several more thrusts the boy's anus was completely 
weakened, his resistance shattered. There was a momentary pause, 
eyes meeting, recognizing mutual hunger, and then it started in 
earnest.

In all my life I had not had such a fiendish dream as the 
incubus plowed a deep and well-oiled furrow. And still the boy 
smiled, his sweet face beaming rapturously while the man stabbed 
deep and hard into the gaping wound between his buttocks. I har-
bored no illusions that had he been able, Guilio would have 
reached out and guided the brute in each thrust. While his words 
were lost amid gasps and breathy groans, there was no doubt he 
received his punishment without complaint. Fecal odor wafted up 
from the bed and the five-hundred-year-old frame rocked and shud-
dered with their building fervor, sweating, pounding, frenzied 
fucking. It was impossible that a frail child could survive such 
an assault. And still the boy smiled. His teeth were white, his 
lips pulled back, hissing encouragement with his eyes squeezed 
shut, his hair in wild disarray. Their motion ceased. They 
strained together, the boy-sheath clamped around the gigantic 
sword. Guilio's eyes rolled back, enigmatic, intensely happy. A 
beatific smile of knowing sublime pleasure left no doubt that his 
tortured bowels were being filled with white-hot man-juice. And 
then Consiglio lowered, pressing further in and shielding 
Guilio's barely conscious body from my sight as the ejaculation 
finished. It was impossible to decipher who was master and who was 
slave. They existed to serve each other. And then the No-Doze wore 
off and I drifted into a fitful sleep that lasted well into the 
next morning.



Chapter 5.



The telephone began to ring shortly after the sun penetrated 
my bedroom window. Ten o'clock, I noted as I sleepily rolled over 
to face away from the strident bell. I needed more sleep, hours 
more to make up for the part of the night I had been awake. Two 
times I witnessed their copulation, the second time longer than 
before. Whoever had described Guilio as a `Demon of Desire' had 
known him well. He was agreeable to the act right up to the moment 
I finally fell slept. When sleep came to me an hour or two before 
dawn he was still smiling. His tongue lolled to the side and drool 
dribbled from his mouth like a crazed person. Sleep brought me 
relief. Guilio's ragged breath settled over me and made me sleep 
like the dead.

The telephone rang persistently every five minutes. Each 
time it ring three times and the caller always hung up before the 
answering machine came on. Being Saturday it was unlikely that 
anyone would be calling me from work. Finally, on the fourth time 
I snatched the receiver up and demanded, "YES?"

"It's me, Dela. How are you, David? Are you playing with 
yourself, Darling?""

"No! Just tired. What do you want Dela?"

"I was talking to Cynthia last week."

"Good for you!" I returned.

"She mentioned that she saw you at an auction. You paid way 
too much."

"Cynthia's a bitch. Good-bye Dela. Say hello to Julian for 
me."

"Now David, there's no reason to be rude. I have a tiny lit-
tle favor to ask."

"You wouldn't call otherwise."

"Now David. You know that simply isn't true."

I laughed and mouthed the magic words, `fuck off bitch'. 
"What is it?"

"I was wondering whether you'd keep Juli for the weekend?"

"His name's Julian, Dela. Not Juli," I answered. "He's not a 
girl, for God's sake!"

"He doesn't mind you calling him Julio."

"I don't treat him like a baby, that's why Dela. He's ten 
years old," I said with distaste and then added, "Why do you want 
me to keep him tonight?"

"I want to have a friend over."

"You're a bit too old for sleep overs, aren't you? I would 
have thought that was more in Julian's line."

"Very funny. He was supposed to stay with one of his little 
friends from school, but he's sick this morning."

"Julian's sick?"

"No, the other boy, his friend from school. Juli's fine. I'll 
drop him off at your place by noon, if that's okay with you? Be 
nice to him. He really does miss you."

"Dela,..." Click. Silence. No chance to answer and refuse. 
"Fuck off bitch!"

I went back to sleep, fantasizing again about the boy whose 
beautiful face I had committed to memory. The portrait in the Gar-
dener was absolutely true to life and even more remarkable because 
of it. The artist had captured the boy's allure, although to a 
viewer without boy-love tendencies, the exquisite face was quite 
unmanly. The physical similarity to Julian had been disconcerting 
the first time I walked across the Common to the Gardener. Again I 
dreamed of sodomy, a familiar reverie after two weeks in the bed. 
This time I took my pleasure from either boy, interchanging faces 
and figures as my lust demanded. Shortly after eleven o'clock Dela 
rang the door bell. She had an uncanny ability for poor timing. By 
then, I was contained within a pulsing tightness, pushing hard and 
pulling back within the confines of my fist. I scrambled out of 
bed, my engorged cock cheated of orgasm and bobbing before me as I 
hurried to the closet for a robe. As soon as I opened the front 
door she raised her hand and directed Julian to enter with the 
same motion that dismissed my hasty attire.

"Sunday at six. Bye Juli." She announced as she turned and 
had reached her BMW before I had a chance to welcome Julian.

"Hi Julian. Where did you come from? I wasn't expecting you 
until next weekend."

"Hah hah, very funny. Remind me to laugh next time."

 "Who's that?" I asked as I observed the shadowy face behind 
the wheel."

"It's her current boyfriend," Julian replied grumpily. "His 
name is Richard Short."

 "Do you like it, sorry, him?"

Slowly he smiled. "He's a pain. He tries to suck up to me."

"Dick Short huh? What a name. I wonder if he has a short 
dick?"

Julian smirked gleefully, leaving me with the impression 
that he had thought of the same thing but never had the chance to 
say it to someone else. "I don't know why Mom likes him."

"Probably his name," I laughed and immediately made a mental 
note to discontinue my critical sarcasm of his mother. "How's life 
treating you, Ju? You look like you've grown two inches since you 
were here last."

I followed him inside and closed the door behind me. Julian 
dropped his overnight bag and glared at me with his big dark eyes. 
I could feel his somber gaze pulling me towards him, absorbing me, 
becoming one. I felt the same way every time I saw him. I felt the 
same way every time I saw Guilio. His spell worked, his silent 
incantation demanding my attention. I existed to serve him, and he 
knew it. He was mute, like the boy who came to my bed every night.

"What's wrong Julio?" I said, continuing the name-game that 
I often played with him.

"Nothing!.... Everything!.... Hell, I don't know..... I miss 
you, that's all."

"I know. I don't get to see you very often. I'm always busy 
at work."

"Do you have to work this weekend?"

I thought of the work I had avoided for the last few weeks. 
Between not enough sleep and my attention being diverted to other 
matters, I had fallen a long way behind. "I need to catch up on a 
few things." 

"You could always pick up the phone and call me!" he said 
guilelessly.

"Julian,... I'm sorry. You could call me as well." 

"Mom doesn't want me bothering you."

"Sorry. I'll try to call more often."

"Why don't you love me?"

"I do love you. Why do you think I don't?" I demanded. "It's 
just that,... well your mom and I don't get on very well, that's 
all."

Julian kicked his `Red Sox' emblazoned bag angrily. "So why 
take it out on me? You could call me when she's not home. When I 
do call you  all I get is your dumb machine. `I'm not here right 
now so please leave a message, blah, blah, blah!' You're never 
here!"

"I'm sorry," I said apologetically. "I don't mean to take it 
out on you, Ju. I guess you're stuck in the middle, aren't you?" 

Julian shrugged. Tears started to form in his eyes and he 
hurriedly wiped them away. "Yes, I am, aren't I. I hate it."

"I'm really sorry."

"Why did you hab to hab me in the first place?" he sniffled. 
"I wish I had never been born." He pulled a handkerchief from his 
pocket and blew his nose, taking advantage of the interruption to 
pick up his overnight bag and begin to walk towards his bedroom. I 
watched him moving away. Losing his physical presence was analo-
gous to the loss of our relationship. "Julio,..." I said to his 
back.

"I'm putting my stuff in my room, okay?" he replied angrily. 
His thin shoulders were hunched dejectedly as he shuffled away. 

"Julian, let's not fight, okay? Let's not spoil the week-
end."

"You probably have work to do. I'll watch tv. I brought some 
movies with me."

"We,... I can work tonight when you're in bed. We can spend 
the rest of the day and all tomorrow together."

"We can?" Julian ascertained as he turned to face me. I nod-
ded quickly and a smile flashed across a previously miserable 
face. "Can we go to one of the museums like we used to?"

I grinned as I remembered the weekends before I moved out of 
the house in Cambridge. I was about to say something when Julian 
glanced through the door to my bedroom.

"Yuck!"

"What's yuck?

"The bed. I thought you only liked modern furniture, Dad. It 
looks,... it looks ugly. Mom said she heard you spent an awful lot 
of money to buy it."

I smiled, holding back a defense as I wondered what he would 
say if he knew it functioned unlike any bed he had ever slept in. 
"It's five hundred years old. It's old enough to have a ghost or 
two," I said obliquely.

"It's gross!"

"Then I won't expect you to sleep in it tonight, will I 
Julian?"

The expression on his beguiling face was curious, between 
surprise that he had been rejected and the possibility that he 
might sleep in it with me. For some reason it seemed as if an 
attempted seduction had been thwarted. It left me apprehensive 
that he knew far more than his ten years would suggest. What was 
far more disturbing was that he dropped the bag beside the open 
door and started back towards me.

"Whatever," he said as he shrugged disinterestedly. "Can we 
go now?"

"Right now?" I asked.

Julian nodded as he came up beside me. I smiled. Up close, 
the likeness to Guilio became stronger as I compared him to the 
face I had memorized. If anything, Julian was even better looking 
if that was possible. He had the same sky-blue eyes and hair and 
unblemished skin that would be much darker if he lived in a south-
ern climate. His red full lips, long lashes, and pencil-thin brows 
were enough distraction to cause a serious accident. "I better put 
some clothes on first, don't you think? You don't want me to be 
arrested for indecent exposure, do you?" I asked. With a noncha-
lant smile, Julian followed me down the corridor and into my bed-
room. 

He sat on the end of the bed next to the polished wood post 
where the smallest dildo was concealed. It was amusing to think 
that he was so close to that instrument of self-induced pleasure 
that he needed only to reach out to possess it, and for it to pos-
sess him. He waited patiently as I showered, and followed me 
closely with his captivating eyes as I returned to dress. I turned 
away from him as I shed my towel, wondering as I did so whether my 
motives were a matter of preserving my dignity or postponing his 
corruption. Still, it seemed to me as I glanced at the mirror, 
that he was watching furtively, surreptitiously avoiding me when-
ever I chanced to see him. 

And then the absurdity of it struck me. I had been seduced by 
the depravity I witnessed on the bed. The specter's obscene ritual 
had so bewitched me that I now saw opportunity even with my son. 
Although Julian was not my issue for Dela had been pregnant when 
we were married, the undeniable fact was that I loved him as my 
own flesh and blood. I turned back to him when my nudity was cov-
ered. He was subdued, quietly caressing the bed post and appar-
ently unaware of its phallic symbolism although from my 
perspective he would had to be blind not to decipher its meaning. 
His hand rubbed the patterned surface of the rippled frenum, his 
delicate fingers exploring the gap under the crown.

"It's smooth, isn't it?" I suggested slyly. "There aren't 
many things as smooth as that. In fact I can only think of a few 
things, and one of them is between your legs."

I could not help smiling as Julian smirked knowingly. 
Clearly, he enjoyed my playful allusion to his sexual organs. He 
continued to stroke the rounded top of the wooden shaft that was 
as long and thick as his own thigh. His hand flowed down the shaft 
and then back up again. He smirked back at me, suddenly leaving no 
doubt in my mind that he knew exactly what he was doing. He was 
masturbating the hand-carved phallus, its surface smoothed to a 
satin luster by the hands of many other boys before him. His fin-
gertips began to toy with the slit that concealed the release for 
the top almost as if he knew what was inside, as if he expected to 
find pre-seminal fluids oozing from it.

"Well, I guess I' m ready," I said as I returned to the bed.

Julian regarded me thoughtfully. Without saying more I 
rested my hand over his. His small hand felt soft and weak, yet I 
felt the life flowing through him. It was a glowing moist heat 
that felt almost passionate. He did not move his hand away. 
Between us, we seemed to hold the secret of Consiglio's bed as an 
unspoken truth that we had to deny in order to retain our sanity.

"I miss you, Daddy. I wish you would come back and live with 
me."

"I miss you too, Julio, but however much you want me home 
again, well it's not going to happen. Your mother and I are 
divorced now. Let's not spoil the weekend worrying about it, okay? 
What museum do you want to go to?"

"Um, I don't know. You pick."



Chapter 6.



We went to the Vertsell Museum of the Decorative Arts. I won-
dered continuously about my motives from the time we walked out 
the door of my bedroom until we climbed the long flight of Vermont 
marble steps of the Museum. Was it to meet Jules Hanover again and 
tell him that I had seen the ghosts of Guilio and his black slave? 
Was it to show Julian off like a prized possession? Another reason 
that was buried deeply in my subconscious? We went through the 
glass doors and into the vast marble-tiled lobby. It was only a 
few minutes past opening time and our footsteps echoed in the 
empty space. A security guard gave us a cursory glance as we 
stopped before a directional map. I wondered which of the three 
floors and four buildings housed the Gothic Arts Collection. The 
problem was that each area was described by an obscure graphical 
system that related colors and symbols to specific collections. 
Only a museum could invent such an arcane method of communicating 
its activities. Frustrated, I walked over to the guard and within 
a few seconds managed to ascertain the Jules Hanover was to be 
found on the third floor of the Adamson Building, room 3002.

Despite my eagerness to see Hanover, we followed an indirect 
route. Julian was interested in everything he saw, so long as it 
was before the sixteenth century and involved some form of agres-
sion. Swords and armor of the Middle Ages were particularly popu-
lar, as were the extensive collections of the Roman era. Warfare 
had become art. By the time we reached the Byzantine exhibits, 
Julian was ready for a late lunch and a time-out, assuming that I 
was interested in disciplining him. We plodded through a collec-
tion of marble busts of cardinals and princes, by-passed the tap-
estries for which the museum was famous, and hurried into the 
`Gothic Era'. There, relics of the late Middle Ages were followed 
by the Germanic and Italian influence in the decorative arts. And 
there, we found Jules Hanover.

As soon as he saw me he hurried over, brushing off the per-
sistent questions of a Boston dowager who was more interested in 
displaying her own knowledge than in learning anything new. 
"Thank god. I despise ignorance," Hanover said, still flustered. 
"For some reason that woman is convinced that the missionaries 
stopped human sacrifice by showing them religious paintings of 
the Cruxifixion. Can you believe anyone is that stupid? Mr. Kent, 
it's good to see you again. And this handsome young man must be 
Julian?"

My mouth dropped open as I stared at Hanover. Had I ever men-
tioned Julian to him? No, I decided after a moment's thought. 
Never! Then how could Hanover possibly know who the beautiful boy 
next to me was, let alone glean that his name was Julian? Hanover 
smiled obscurely.

"This is Mr. Hanover, Julian," I explained. "He's the cura-
tor of this section of the museum. If fact, it was Mr. Hanover who 
was instrumental in my buying the bed you saw in my room." Julian 
shrugged good-humoredly. "Julian doesn't like the bed very much," 
I added with a smile.

"And do you, Mr. Kent? Have you learned its charms?" Hanover 
asked.

Until then I think I still had reservations. Whether because 
of dreams or nightmares, my sleep was constantly interrupted. I 
had not slept through the night since I had moved the bed into my 
condominum. Yet they were unlike any dreams a sane person would 
have. They were far too real to be mere imaginings. Nor were they 
nightmares because I looked forward every night and welcomed the 
pretty boy and his incubus onto the bed I slept in the forlorn 
hope that the child would demand his satisfaction from the living.

"Yes," I answered simply. "Julian, why don't you go explore 
over there. I think I can see some swords."

"Those weapons belonged to one of the Venetian Princes," 
Hanover explained. "One of the pikes even has blood on it. If you 
look closely,...."

Julian headed off on a bee-line to the Plexiglas boxes hous-
ing long-bladed swords and pikes. I watched his pert bottom until 
he was well out of hearing. I could not look away. With dire con-
sequences, I acknowledged to myself that he had cast his net over 
me and I was completely infatuated.

"The similarity is surprising," Hanover continued. "I 
expected some likeness, of course, because that's the way it is, 
but this is remarkable."

"What are you talking about?"

"All of the Consiglio boys are like that. They're a lot alike 
physically. Always no more than an inch different in height and 
never varying a pound or two in weight. None of them are fat and 
none of them are thin. All of them are beautiful. And they're 
alike in other ways,... in matters of taste, shall we say."

"Alike physically? How?" I asked quickly as I again made the 
comparison between the Museum's picture of Guilio and Julian.

Hanover just smiled enigmatically. "He's a beautiful child," 
he said. "And a still a virgin, too, if I'm not mistaken. That's 
good!" My mouth opened. I stared at Hanover. "But not for long I'd 
wager, not for long."

"How? What's that supposed to mean? You mean,... How can you 
tell?" I blurted out.

"The walk, of course. Once he's had a man's cock between his 
buttocks he'll strut like a little peacock. Consiglio's boys are 
all alike in that way too, as much as the color of their hair, 
their eyes or the size of their sex. They're cut from the same 
cloth. They're very proud of it once they've been bedded."

"He's only ten," I interjected. "I hardly think he'll be los-
ing his virginity in the near future, and there's absolutely no 
reason to suspect he'll be gay."

"That rather depends on you,... and how soon he sleeps in 
Consiglio's bed."

"And what did you mean when you said they were alike in mat-
ters of taste?" I demanded.

Hanover gestured towards Julian who was peering through the 
glass at a chaotic collection of clothing. Some of the embroidered 
finery could easily have belonged to a Venetian prince, or an 
English lord. I shuddered involuntarily.

"He can sense the spirit around him, you realize Mr. Kent. 
The desire is in his blood. It's been there since the day he was 
born."

"What's in his blood?"

"Look at him. Can't you tell? Now you've seen Guilio's por-
trait, you must be able to find the answer for yourself? Your 
Julian is very interested. See how he's absorbed by the clothes 
he's looking at. He remembers enough to know what he wants, but 
not enough to know why. What did Karl Jung say about memory, the 
collective unconscious or subconscious or whatever-it-is? It's 
part of his psyche. It's always been within him, from the day he 
was born,... There's Venetian blood in him."

I shrugged. There was truth in his words. Julian was fasci-
nated, frozen in time by an inexplicable attraction to the arti-
facts of a long-past era. He had been subdued after we left the 
bedroom. For a few seconds he had stopped in the doorway as he 
stared at Consiglio's bed. I had the feeling that he was not see-
ing it for the first time, but seeing it again after a long time. 
He had smiled curiously and then glanced at the hand he had rubbed 
over the phallic bed post almost relishing the touch of the bur-
nished wood. I had the unmistakable impression that he had touched 
it before, that he was touching a real penis.

"The desire was born in him," Hanover continued. "It was in 
me too, of course. Perhaps your Julian will last the night."

"For God's sake. I'm really getting tired of the riddles, 
Hanover," I said angrily. "It's true his mother spent time in 
Italy, and yes, I believe it was in Venice. But so what? Why don't 
you just tell me what I need to know and be done with it?"

"By now you must know what happens at the last stroke of mid-
night?" Hanover said calmly. I nodded uncertainly. "When I was a 
boy I always fell asleep by midnight. Byron simply wore me out, I 
expect. Had I stayed awake till the morning I imagine it would 
have been different."

"Different how?"

"He did it, three times, if you remember, Mr. Kent," Hanover 
quoted. "He wrought great joy with his sodomy, Guilio three times 
mounted before the deed was done. Do you remember what happened 
then?"

"And then Guilio died," I agreed. "You said Iacopolo killed 
him."

"Yes. I think it goes something like this. `A terrible plea-
sure in his bowelle where Consiglio's prick had been. The Boy was 
a satyr till the end.'" Hanover smiled.  "His little prick 
remained hard the entire time. Think of if, Mr. Kent. There must 
have been six hours until dawn. Not that it matters a great deal. 
Perhaps you'll find out in due course."

"I think I'm beginning to get the picture. What happens if 
Julian stays awake?"

"That depends. Three times, and more, and more. Assuming 
your boy can last the night, perhaps Guilio's spirit will never 
return, Mr. Kent. Perhaps it will never leave you alone."

"And Julian? What happens to him?" I demanded. "If he stays 
awake?"

"As I said, that depends entirely on what you do if and when 
Consiglio returns, Mr. Kent. Remember, Consiglio really wasn't a 
cruel man. He was a man who loved boys. Look to the father to 
understand what happened that night. No matter that Lucian killed 
him." 

"What do you mean, if and when Consiglio returns,... and the 
rest?"

"Julian is a beautiful boy, Mr. Kent. Ask yourself what price 
you would pay to keep him that way forever."

Hanover turned away and started to walk towards Julian. He 
stopped beside the boy and talked briefly in a low voice. From 
fifty feet away, it was impossible to deny the similarity between 
the man and my son. I had a strange feeling that I was looking at 
Julian fifty years hence and in the fading years of his life.



"Weird, truly weird," Julian said uncertainly as he walked 
up to me. 

"What did he say to you, Ju?"

"He said,... he said there were some clothes in a hidden com-
partment at the bottom of bed that would fit me perfectly."

"He said what exactly?" I queried with a pervading sense that 
I knew the answer already.

Julian looked at me oddly. "He said something about Guilio' 
Fos something, Foscari,... Isn't it odd that I should know that 
name from somewhere. His clothes are still there at the end of the 
bed."

I nodded. I had found the clothes in nearly perfect condition 
despite the passage of five hundred years. Perhaps the wood had 
preserved them. I had found something else as well, although the 
function of the strange shaped handles eluded me.

"Yes, I always thought they would fit you perfectly. It would 
only make sense after all."

"You're weird, Dad. Who's this Guilio Foscari supposed to be 
anyway? Why did Mr. Hanover say I looked exactly like him?"

"He was,... no,... maybe I should say he is a boy about the 
same age as you. He lived in Venice about five hundred years ago. 
Mr. hanover is right. Guilio's an awful lot like you.... In fact 
the two of you look similar enough to be twins."

"Weird! I,..."

"What is it, Julian?"

"I don't know. It's just,... well I always wondered if,..."

"If what?" I pressed.

"I don't know,... if there was someone else like me. It's 
weird. I have this feeling that someone is watching me,... and 
when I turn around,... Sometimes I get a chill,... it's almost 
like someone with cold hands touched me."

"That's very weird." I hesitated, waiting for Julian to go 
on.

"I keep feeling that there's someone I have to meet,... only 
it's someone I've always known,... only I've never met them 
before,... I sound crazy don't I? There's something I have to do 
with him. I know it's going to hurt at first, but I have to do it. 
I don't know what it is. I'm crazy, aren't I?"

"Not really," I answered reassuringly. "It's a long story. 
I'll tell you all about it tonight when you're in bed."

"Can I sleep in your bed?"

"I thought you didn't like it," I replied. I tried to control 
the urgency in my voice. I felt a rush of excitement. Julian felt 
it too. He trembled like a leaf. His eyes flickered uncertainly.

"I didn't say that," he returned in a muted, anxious voice. 
"I said it looked gross. It's so dark and heavy that it's kind of 
ugly, don't you think? But I know,..."

"What do you know?"

"I know,... I know I'm supposed to sleep in it."



The End?





Author's Note: I have had several requests to post the rest 
of the story. Until my interest returns, I am afraid this is it 
for a while. I do have plans for the next installment. Have you 
ever had sex with a ghost?  Until next time, readers.