Locked in Love

novel Cry To Heaven. It is set (due to the laziness of the

author) in a fantasy world somewhat similar to Italy in the

18th century.

Locked in Love

by

Boys-stir-us

Chapter 1.

Stephen strolled among the Cardinal's gardens, hands

clasped behind his back, his brow furrowed. At age 35 he

was celebrated as a war hero, but he had no guiding force in

his life. His wealth and government office were the rewards

for saving his government and country from invasion, but he

was no longer a soldier. What was his life to become? He had

no love of women, and though he had occasionally advantages

of some of his friend Ledio's eunuchs, he found none of them

appealing beyond the beauty of their pale, weak flesh. He

had no hope for love.

In a few moments, he would meet the woman he was to

marry, a woman he had never met. Blossoms budded on the

shrubs the Cardinal's gardeners so carefully maintained. He

paused to stare at a small marble statue of a warrior which

had so often given him a sense of awe. A naked youth

brandished a sword, his lithe limbs straining as though in

the throes of battle. He was indescribably beautiful and

cast in stone forever in his mid-teens. Stephen sighed,

wishing that boys could stay boys. What was the point of

loving a boy when he would grow so quicklly into manhood?

A page wearing a long orange cloak approached from the

stone arch at the entrance to the gardens. Stephen looked

to him sadly. He was being summoned. He swiped at the lace

that tickled his neck and patted his hair. As always, he

eschewed the white wigs so many nobles wore, preferring the

natural luster of his reddish brown shoulder length hair.

It fell in gentle curls to his straight slender shoulders.

He had often been told how strikingly handsome he was,

though it gave him no great pride. After all, what had he

done to earn or deserve his good looks?

The page led him to the drawing room where already an

assemblage awaited. The Count LeFarge and his wife stood

next to their seated daughter, Alexia, the bride-to-be.

Stephen stopped at the threshold and greeted the Cardinal,

kissing his ruby ring during a deep bow.

The introductions, circling around the room beginning

with the remotest of family and working toward the awaiting

Alexia, went tediously on. Stephen endured, smiled at the

right times and paid no attention to anything that was said.

He occasionally glanced at Alexia; however, she was studied

in her appearance, her gaze deferred.

At last he took her hand and complemented her beauty

(and it was not a lie). She smiled shyly and complimented

his great reputation as a general.

"My reputation preceded my office, I fear. And I have

not done one important thing in over a year." He smiled as

he spoke, inflecting none of the self-effacement the words

contained.

"I wasn't told you were modest." She actually

blushed. "Or clever."

"None wants to be the liar on such a crucial occasion,

for one only has a single opportunity to make a first

impression upon one's wife." He paused for a moment.

"Exactly what were you told?" He smiled warily.

She tittered in a very controlled ladylike manner, her

face averted. "Only the most essential secrets."

Her father cleared his throat, clearly as appalled as

his daughter was amused. She laughed musically, with all

the modest self-control any lady must possess. The cleft of

her bosom, pearl white and enticingly ample caught his eye

and he looked away in distress, lest he be caught examining

the goods. She was, of all things, a painter! He could not

imagine her with a brush in hand, her hair in disarray, her

clothing smeared with oil.

A boring dinner, during which they could share no

private words, ensued. A string quartet played softly in one

corner of the great dining hall, and he briefly wished he

were one of the musicians.

Stephen returned to his room at Ledio's palace

exhausted and even more melancholy. This marriage would be

a disaster. He might have made it work if Alexia had lived

up to her billing as an old maid who would refuse any

suitor. A bland and spiritless woman might not see the lack

of passion in him, might bear him several children and leave

him mostly alone. This woman would never be stifled, for

her spirit was graceful and obdurate. He wished he could

love her, but he knew well where his passions lay.

Ledio met him at his chamber door and dismissed the

servant, holding the candlestick himself. "And how do you

like your wife-to-be?" Ledio, himself a general and rather

lusty man of the senate, smiled a little cruelly.

"She is rather too much the woman for me, friend. I

fear I am doomed."

"Quite the opposite, I think. You are blessed."

"What do you mean?"

"I shall not say imprudent things of a royal lady.

You must know me better than that. But the marriage will be

a huge success. Mark my words."

Stephen pushed open the door to his bedchamber. "Oh,

leave a tortured soul in peace."

Ledio caught his wrist, placing the candlestick in his

hand. "I have a surprise inside for you. . ." Stephen

knew it was another eunich--beautiful in flesh, dead in

spirit.

"Not tonight, Ledio. I am exhausted . . . "

"His name is Pablo. He sings opera in Rontind and is

coming to Vendal to try to win the world. He is all the

rave and only 13 years old, so young his voice does not need

the knife to assist it."

"He has not been cut?"

"Of course. Six years ago."

You bed him. Tonight I am not the man for it.

No. This lad is special. You won't find another like

him in your life. He is a gift to my dear friend who fears

that marriage will destroy his passion. Take from him all

the passion you can. He has told me that he is eager to

taste the nectar from a god.

So he thinks me a god? Stephen could not get used to

the adoration heaped upon him by the entire land.

As does every mortal who lives due to your genius.

Is he skilled in the art of love?

I don't know, Stephen. I've not tasted this bud. He

has assured me that in exchange for the honor of a night

with you he will surrender himself to me for the duration of

the opera. A gelded lad with his beauty is sure to have a

wealth of experience. Go in and look upon him. He awaits

you.

Stephen entered and slid the bolt behind him. Three

tapers burned in the room, all on the writing desk which was

littered with his papers. On the giant bed lay a small waif

with shoulder length hair and breeches. He wore no shoes or

shirt and his milky skin glowed in the candle light.

The boy rose quickly but with measured grace as Stephen

entered. Good evening, Excellency.

Call me Stephen, he said rather curtly. He quickly

warmed to the sight of the boy, who possessed a beauty any

woman would be jealous of. His long blond hair hung in

rivulets of curls. Widely-spaced, oversized brown

eyesdominated the face. The reed-thin nose was perfectly

straight and without upturn, the lips pale but voluptuous.

The boy bowed low, and quivered visibly before raising

ever slightly and saying in a golden light voice, Do I

offend thee?

What is it you seek here, Pablo? His tone had become

gentle as the lad's beauty began to work its charm.

The boy blushed. I want nothing more than to lie next

to you, perhaps even to bring you a few moments pleasure.

And why have you removed your shirt? he asked,

setting the taper next to the bed before sitting wearily.

He sighed from fatigue, though every moment in the presence

of this rare youth kindled his small spark of lust to a

greater flame.

The boy looked ready to cry. Master Ledio told me you

might be reluctant to grant me your favor. He said it would

entice you to look upon my bare chest.

Are you completely free of guile to speak so plainly?

Stephen began to think the boy might be emotionally intact,

an unusual quality in a gelded boy. Most were bitter or

angy, or worse, dead inside from the knowledge they were

objects of desire--whether it be desire for the arts or

desires of the flesh--and would never have the life of a

man.

Excellency, I am awed by your presence. . .I can't. .

.couldn't imagine speaking to you without an open heart.

If you have removed your shirt to make me wild with

lust, why have you not removed your breeches?"

The boy looked around the room as if to take flight.

He was locked securely within. I didn't want to offend. I

am perhaps not beautiful enough. And I have been...I am

castrato... so that I may sing longer. . . . But my

body. . . .I am mutilated.

Will you yield to me? Stephen knew he was being

cruel and hated himself for it, but after being so powerless

in the Cardinal's drawing room and at his table he felt his

blood warming. Plus, he reveled in the sincereity, the

particular type of vulnerability that comes from the flux of

pride and submission. He enjoyed seeing this youth as a

youth--not a eunich.

In all ways, my lord.

First, call me Stephen.

Yes, Excellency, the boy said with bowed head.

Do it.

Yes, Stephen. His voice, for the first time sounded

strained instead of musical.

I would like for you to seduce me.

I miss your meaning, the boy muttered in confusion.

First, show your sex to me.

Sir...?

Undress completely.

The boy trembled for a moment, then began unbuttoning

his breeches. He discarded his clothing on the floor and

stood, a small and trembling child, offering himself to the

man's inspection. Above the shriveled empty sac, a penis no

bigger than a 6 year old's drooped lifelessly.

Stephen gazed for a long time, feeling the thrum of his

pulse within his breeches. Before him stood beauty as

surely as in the lifeless statue in the garden. But this

beauty was hot with life. And eager to yield.

The boy stifled a sob and turned away and Stephen was

filled with the beauty of two narrow orbs of exquisite

shape. The thighs were slender, no thicker than the bones

of the knee. Only the feet seemed oversized, having grown

in anticipation of the ascent to manhood which was, of

course, to be mostly thwarted.

Stephen snapped out of his silence, and tenderly said,

Why do you weep?

I am not worthy of you and I cannot bear your

rejection.

It is I who feels unworthy. You are the most

beautiful creature I have ever seen. Only in paintings and

statues have I seen a form to equal yours. Your beauty has

stilled a deep water inside me and released a thousand

snakes of lust upon this room. I am caught between

responding to those two forces.

The boy looked at him and smiled and Stephen felt

amazed that such beauty could emanate from a living thing.

Will you sing for me?

Of course, Excellency.

Petulantly, he asked, Pablo, when I have ravished you,

will you then call me Stephen? Stephen laughed lightly, his

artificial tirade having been as shocking to the boy as he

had hoped.

Pablo gasped. Then I may stay here with you for

awhile?

Tonight and tomorrow and tomorrow. Stephen spread his

arms dramatically.

The boy beamed, took a step tentatively toward the bed.

Pablo, will you seduce me?

Again, I don't take your meaning, Excellency.

Will you sing a love song to me? Your own creation,

one you compose as you sing.

The boy rose to his full height, less than 5 feet,

obviously suffused with joy. His voice was his great gift

to the world. He would happily share it with this man whom

he revered so deeply. With his voice he could display his

own worth.

And the notes began thin and breathy, pitch perfect,

but obviously under duress. Stephen sat on the bed and

watched the song bird begin to enchant. The song grew in

fluidity and pace, though it still stayed slow and

melancholy. He sang of a distant love, of a longing without

hope of fulfillment.

The song changed. He began to sing of a great man, of

a small boy who would be the ring on the man's giant finger.

He wove a perfect melody with trills and impossibly high

notes, a voice suffused with beauty and longing and

sometimes passion, sometimes awe. The notes were always hit

effortlessly. As he sang obscure metaphors to sexual

coupling, his tiny penis twitched and rose. When he

finished his song he was fully erect and the foreskin had

partially retracted from his obviously aroused member. The

lust and beauty in his singing would have aroused any man

no matter how deep his attraction for women.

He stood rooted at the foot of the bed as the last note

died. The boy, ever confident in his great voice, carried

that confidence to the intimacy at hand. He walked straight

to Stephen and began unbuttoning the lace at his throat.

He had bared the man's chest and was exploring its

hairy surface when Stephen reached out and brushed his

fingernail across the boy's nipple. Pablo moaned and then

began convulsing as his dry orgasm shook his very being.

Stephen steadied him as he nearly collapsed, then pulled the

boy onto the bed.

"Thank you, Excellency."

"For what?" he asked softly.

"Letting me sing for you."

Stephen rose and quickly undressed himself. He stood

for a moment over the youth who was fast regaining his

senses. Stephen's balls were drawn tight and they ached

with lust. His cock had never been more firm, pointing

toward heaven. A large silken dollop of pre-cum dangled

three inches below the glans. The foreskin had been

surpassed by the fiery knob. Only the lowest ridge of

corona remained covered.

My lord, is it real?

The boy referred to the immense cock, but Stephen had

asked the same question silently, for all this seemed like a

drunken wet dream. As Stephen climbed onto the bed, the

boy, on his back, drew his knees up, offering himself to be

taken.

His instincts took control and Stephen brought himself

between the legs, brought his sex close to that tiny pink

opening now fully offered. His sanity nearly returned and

Stephen paused.

Take me, Excellency. Please. Put yourself inside me

at once.

There would be time for lovemaking later. He brought

the glans to the heated flesh and again paused. We need

lubrication.

It is already done. Before you arrived, the boy

panted.

Stephen brought himself to bear. With no results. The

opening was unyielding. He felt on the edge of losing

control and ejaculating on the sheets like a teenager. As

he pressed harder he saw the look of longing on the boy's

angelic face transformed to physical pain. He felt no

entrance, just a depression of the sphincter as it held its

chastity, yet was propelled inward. He increased the

pressure, feeling his staff might break in half. The boy

gasped in pain, his eyes wide. Stephen retreated back onto

his heels.

No. NO! Take me, Pablo cried fiercely.

You are too tight.

Break into me, sire. Use whatever force you must. I

am yours. His voice was suffused with a sort of panic.

I am filled with lust that I might obey and hurt you

severely; however, it is not to be. Were I to attempt such

forceable entry, I would orgasm without gaining entrance. I

fear I may orgasm as I sit here in repose looking upon your

splendor.

I promise I won't cry out, no matter what. I don't

care if I die here!

Stephen sat on the edge of the bed. Crawl between my

legs and take my seed into your throat. Confused, the boy

raised on one elbow. For the love of God, please hurry!

The youth scampered into position, plunging his mouth

full onto the wide knob, his teeth striking a knife shaped

pain into Stephen's brain. The boy brought his mouth

deeper, and in wonder and lust, brought a hand to the man's

scrotum, which was drawn tight.

The boy rubbed the churning orbs as he slid his lips

along the phallus. Suddenly he squeezed the orbs together

and Stephen went over the brink, falling into a white hot

abyss of spasms and gasping, his body jolted in spasms

beyond mortal control.

As his climax passed he became aware he was holding the

lad's head in both hands and that the boy was sputtering and

gasping for breath. He swallowed loudly and almost gagged.

Stephen could feel the boy's gorge rising. He didn't

release the head, but pulled it free of his shaft and

brought the face to his face.

He kissed the boy's lips tasting the saliva and slime

of his own seed upon them. The boy, gasping in his face,

was unable to return the kiss.

Ten minutes later, they lay side by side on the bed,

the boy nestled in the crook of his arm, his leg draped

across Stephen's thigh. He stroked the boy's hair. Have

you never been sodomized before?

Yes, sir. But not by a man.

The words sounded strange but Stephen knew his meaning-

-eunuchs.

Still it seems it can't be true.

When I was six all the older boys had me. I was in my

first week at the conservatory when I was taken by 14 boys

in a night. Seven of them claimed me after that and I

served them every night for three weeks. I was bleeding and

exhausted and wanting to die. I finally went to the Maestro

and told him of my trouble. He slapped me, then raped me,

and this truly hurt for his penis was at least 4 inches in

length, a full inch more than any who had taken me before.

As I lay sobbing he said that a eunuch has only two

gifts to give to the world, his mouth--for song and sucking-

-and his anus. He said unless I was a virtuoso, an opera

singer, I must do anything the rich want of me. So I became

the best singer in the academy. So I could choose my

lovers.

And you haven't chosen since?

I have not been taken since I took the stage, two

years ago. It seems my body has forgotten how.

I will teach it if you will let me.

Let you? Did you not hear my pleas?

Stephen reached between the boy's legs and touched his

little pucker. I will stretch it and lubricate it and it

will yield.

And for half an hour, the man's fingers worked on the

tight, seemingly inelastic orifice. The boy bore it well,

never losing his intensity even though he never fully

regained his erection.

When he did finally take the boy, he did it with the

boy facing down. The opening yielded slowly to him and he

worked himself inside with loving patience. Suddenly the

boy cried out, I can feel your hairy orbs! It was clearly

a victory cry. With previous eunuchs he had been able to

protract the sodomy for 20 minutes or more. This boy

crested his passion within minutes.

The second time the boy lay on his back, using his

fingers to pinch at the man's sensitive nipples. His organ

regained its passion during the second coupling. Minutes

after spending, Stephen used his lips and tongue to bring

the boy to his dry spasms.

Stephen, you own my soul. There is nothing I wouldn't

do to please you. The boy kissed his eyelids as he spoke,

his hand caressing the collarbone, the soft flesh of the

neck. Pablo was finally comfortable in the presence of the

man.

You must go to your chamber, Pablo, for dawn already

threatens to find you here.

Will I see you tonight? There is only one more day

till the opera begins.

Are you forgetting your promise to Ledio?

The boy's energy drained as his face paled. He told

you? He will let me break my oath. He must.

Your word must mean something Pablo, or you will never

be regarded in the manner you desire.

Can I stop on the way to his chamber tomorrow and

receive you in my mouth?

Perhaps.

Chapter 2.

At the hour when Pablo left Stephen's chamber, Demian,

a boy 12 years of age rose with his back to the stone wall

of the alley, his hand held to his throbbing lip. He could

feel blood seep onto the back of his hand, staining his

besmirched shirt.

Let me hear you sing, waif, or I shall beat you until

you bleed to death in this alley. Demian looked at the

dark forms in the alleyway, three men, all huge and smelling

of wine. They closed him in their semi-circle. They had

dragged him to this alley after he played minstrel,

serenading with a group of other children. Come now, your

highest note. Ring it pure.

Demian knew he was dead. These men could have no

purpose other than to torture and rape him for their

pleasure. They were obviously little more than street

beggars, large though not strong men. Of course by sheer

weight they could do what they wanted with him. A rope

around his neck, held securely by the man who obviously led

them kept him from bolting past them.

He summoned his breath and sang poorly, a fragile but

very high note.

The leader said to no one in particular. He must be

the one. The voice has not yet changed at all. He

brandished a stiletto and said, Remove your clothing.

Quickly.

Demian complied as quickly as he could, knowing his

only hope was to cooperate fully with the men. He knew he

would take their coarse, filthy organs into his mouth,

swallow their seed if that was their desire. His brother,

who had been doing these deeds for years, had told him all

about it. His brother, Darian, favored child before his

parent's murder, the only person Demian had ever even wanted

sex with, therefore the only who had refused him, saying,

You are a child like me. I like men, hairy powerful men

with cocks the size of your fist. Darian sang on stage in

a little theater company and rarely had time for Demian

since getting the position.

His terror mounted as he was forced onto his back, his

legs brought near his ears to bend his body in two. And the

pawing at his organs, brutish, calloused fingers. And the

trickle of a liquid across the scrotum, feeling cold in the

open night air. Then the pressure and a thin little pain.

Shit. He only has one ballock, the man complained

from the base of Demian's spine. Demian rocked his head in

terror and nausea as he realized what was being done, what

was being taken. He passed out.

He was in a small den, his body wrapped in a blanket

when he awakened. He could hear men talking. Yes, he is

clearly the brother, the one no one will miss, Demian. His

voice lacks nothing. It is straight from God. He was

brought to me this morning by a lout of ill repute. When I

refused to pay him for the castrati, he fled. I can tell

you his name. . . .

Demian was drifting. He remembered bits and pieces.

But that was too much. He wished he remembered less. He

touched himself, then passed out again after he discovered

the flapping sac of skin, his hand wet with his own blood.

A well dressed man ushered another man into the room.

His covers were removed and the elderly frocked man spoke in

disgust. Look at the incision--large and jagged as if from

a dagger. And from the front instead of the rear. The boy

has not only been mutilated, he has been butchered!

The merchant cleared his throat. It is a great

tragedy. But what is done is done. Will you pay me 3

cintar for him?

The man scooped Demian into his strong though old arms.

I'll not pay and therefore become a part of this. I will

take him to the conservatory and summon the police to

investigate. He started out the door.

Surely you don't think I had a part in this? The fear

in the man's voice gave away his guilt and Demian hated him

more than he had ever hated anyone, even the thieves who had

murdered his parents. Again he passed out.

He awakened in a bed with linen. He was bandaged

between his legs, though beneath the bandages his pulse

thrummed in hot pain. He sobbed until no tears could be

produced. He had seen eunuchs in the market, had felt they

were freaks. Now he knew he was a freak also. He would

never become a man. He buried his face into the pillow

wishing he could die.

Ledio cheerfully relinquished his hold on Pablo, and

every night the boy crept into Stephen's chambers. They

tasted and kissed each other everywhere, getting to know all

aspects of one another's bodies. Always Stephen spent in

the boy's bowels. The boy dry orgasmed into Stephen's mouth

or against his hand. Stephen took a box at the opera, and

rapidly became a fan of the music. He enjoyed the company

of composers and instructors and was given a wealth of

knowledge in a short time.

Alexia accompanied him to the opera a week prior to

their marriage, escorted by her mother and sisters. Pablo

invited them backstage and Alexia was delighted to go.

Stephen felt a chillness pervade his spirits. He did not

want to be in the same room with his future wife and his

present boy lover.

Pablo and Alexia hit it off immediately and he felt

awkward standing and listening to them discussing the arts,

music, painting, poetry. They bid farewells and Alexia said

suddenly, We will be wed this Sunday. Could you sing for

us at the wedding party? Oh, please say yes. And you could

spend the night under our roof. I know Stephen really loves

your company.

Pablo blushed his deepest crimson. To Stephen he

asked, Would you like me to perform at your wedding,

Excellency? His voice was low, with an undercurrent of

terror.

What Alexia wants, she shall have. You have the

finest voice in the entire world.

Thank you, Excellency. Perhaps I should continue with

my accommodations at Ledio's. . . .

Nonsense! Alexia exclaimed. You care more for the

company of the young general than the old general, do you

not? I can tell he is enthralled with you. It would be a

privilege to have your beauty and talent under our roof.

Stephen wished for this conversation, attended to by

dozens of interested ears, to end quickly. He was rescued

by a new throng of nobles come to sing the praises of Pablo.

Demian shared a room with three other eunuchs at the

conservatory. By the week's end he still refused to sing

despite being whipped and having his food withheld. In his

groin was a constant pain to remind him of the butchering.

He was called at week's end into the Maestro's office.

"Eunuch, why do you refuse to sing? The man wore

velvet robes and looked a regal 60 years of age, his face

wrinkled, his whiskers making the slightest shadow upon his

face.

I have a name. It is Demian. And I did not chose

this life, sir. He bowed meekly, realizing he should not

hve spoken so openly.

You must put the past behind you and deal with the

life left to you. I will not keep a castrato who refuses to

sing. So you must sing.

I cannot, sir.

But why? The man was clearly impatient. Guido, the

eunuch instructor stood quietly at the door.

I will not let them succeed in their designs for me.

They have already succeeded. You are castrated. You

will never be a man. You are a eunuch!" His fury was no

longer concealed.

I do not wish to be.

If you do not sing then I will send you to the

streets. Where will you go? What will you do? A castrato

is a toy for man's pleasure. It is either pleasing with the

voice or with the flesh. And unless you are a very good

singer, you must provide pleasure in both ways. You simply

have no other choice which is satisfactory.

No choice before me is satisfactory.

Sing for me now.

I am sorry, sir. I cannot.

He turned to Guido. Then this young castrato has no

place here. Expel him at once and give him to the streets.

"Excellency, his voice is so fine. . . ."

"Not if he refuses to use it. Be gone."

Demian wandered the familiar streets of Vendal and

lingered on the edges of canal where gondolas floated by

effortlessly. He then searched for a private place in an

alley which would become his home. Over the next several

days he stole what he needed to eat and kept to himself,

shunning any human contact. And the pain in his groin grew a

little each day. He could scarcely stand the pressure of

clothing against him. He was loath to look at himself;

however, by gently touching, he discovered the pain was not

in the worthless penis they had left but next to it where

the empty scrotum was attached to the hairless flesh

covering his pubic bone.

Chapter 3.

The wedding was a nightmare of formality. Afterward,

in the drawing room of the palace he purchased as their

home, Pablo sang to a small group of family, then retired as

bidden. Soon, separated by glasses of red wine and one

taper, the bride and groom were alone.

Husband, you are afraid.

Yes, he said miserably, knowing it was futile to deny

his fear and misery.

But it is so unnecessary. Have you ever wondered why

I had not married earlier?

No, though I do wonder why you would marry me.

Because of who you are, darling, she laughed.

A war hero does not make a good husband.

I did not refer to your military accomplishments. . .

come with me. She stood and offered her hand. I would

like to show you the bed chamber we will share. It was most

cordial of you to let me design it in private, for I have a

wonderful surprise for you.

The bedroom, lighted by dozens of candles was beautiful

and large as an entertaining room. The bed was huge and

ornate. The room was clearly divided into two domains, with

two writing desks, each occupying its own portion of the

large chamber.

We each have our own doorway to a private chamber.

She led him to a door and pushed it open. This is yours.

I have commissioned a well-known artist to supply the

furnishings. You of course can replace them to suit your

taste, but I wanted this to be your wedding present from me.

He followed her into the room, which contained a bed, a

couple sitting couches and a beautiful jeweled harpsichord.

A statue, two feet high, covered by linen, stood on the

harpsichord. She pulled the covering and said, Do you like

it?

A man sat on a stool. Between his legs was a boy of

about 10 sitting so his head rested on one of the man's

thighs. Both were naked, though the man's sex was hidden

from view by the boy's neck. The man's body was stunningly

similar to Stephen's, though the face was different.

He touched its cool, smooth surface. It is beautiful.

He was embarrassed.

And here, she said, walking to the statue, this one 4

feet high and sitting on the floor next to the bed. She

pulled the cover. Again a nude man seated. A naked boy sat

on his lap, the back of his head resting against the man's

shoulders. The man had one hand upon the boy's neck and the

other on his stomach. The boy's arms were lifted so that his

hands touched the neck of the man who's lap he sat on. The

faces of both were rapture. The boy's sex was angled

ambiguously toward the side. Beneath the boy's legs,

Stephen could see the carefully sculpted testicles of the

man. He walked nearer the statue and was shocked to see the

firm shape of the man's penis as it entered the boy's

slightly raised hips. Sodomy, though mostly concealed, was

clearly detailed!

Do you like it?

It is certainly a surprise.

"Perhaps these peices will serve as inspiration to

those who visit you here. Ledio has told me much about your

tastes. But come. Let me show you my chamber. He

followed wordlessly into the main bedroom and through a door

on her side of the room. Her paintings, voluptuous, hung on

the walls. Each depicted nude women. His cheeks burned as

he realized the women in some paintings were mates in sexual

positions.

I am a lesbian. Didn't you suspect?

No.

Does it bother you?

He laughed. It relieves me greatly.

Now let me explain my desires for our wedding night..

. .

He drank another bottle of wine with her, then

consented to begin. She rang a bell and Pablo, naked and

erect, entered the room. Behind him followed a girl of

about 8 years, equally unclothed. They raised their glasses

in a toast. To our children, she summered. Then the girl

and Pablo began undressing their lovers. Each began to

provide oral pleasure. Stephen was a little drunk and

silently relieved at the unexpected turn of events; he found

his passion rising quickly.

Soon, Alexia, he warned. Alexia quickly fitted a

slender tube into her vagina. Pablo sucked harder,

squeezing the man's testes as the moment approached. He

deftly collected the semen into his mouth and, bringing his

mouth to the tube, spat the semen into the woman.

Alexia bid the girl to bring her the wine as she

remained on her back to let the semen find its way to her

womb. She raised her glass, To a daughter.

Stephen raised his glass and said, To a son. They

both laughed.

Later, in the big bed, he penetrated Pablo, who moaned

as though possessed, while Alexia and the girl looked on.

Pablo kept staring at the naked girl, even as they lay in

repose. You desire her, don't you? Stephen asked.

Yes, the boy said, ashamed. "I have never been around

a naked girl."

Fuck her then, Alexia said, pushing the girl's small

mouth from her vulva.

May I?

The girl lay on her back and spread her legs. Without

hesitation, he plundered her hairless orifice. The boy's

buttocks, seeping Stephen's semen, bounced enticingly as he

stabbed repeatedly. Stephen's staff returned to full

erection during the children's fucking. After coming, Pablo

immediately disengaged himself from the girl and climbed

upon Stephen's lap. He rode the man's pole into his

backside at a full gallop. Stephen was surprised to feel a

lapping at his balls. The girl had climbed between his

legs.

The next day Pablo had to leave with the opera, and

deep melancholy descended upon Stephen. He attended the

opera (which was much less enticing without Pablo on stage),

went to music in drawing rooms, and marveled at his wife's

paintings. He took to wandering streets after dark,

following on the fringe of the traveling minstrels as they

sang beneath the doorways of peasants hoping for a few

coins. Again, he was lost and without purpose.

Stephen, take another boy as your lover, Alexia

prescribed simply.

It isn't so easy. I have to care for them in order to

truly desire them. None of the boys at conservatory

interests me, though I love their singing.

Then find a boy in the streets.

It must be a eunuch."

But why?

It's wrong, what I do to boys. With a eunuch, it's. .

.I don't know. . .less bad. They've already been robbed of

their manhood.

You are so silly. Have you no idea how often men

couple with their own boy children. And with the children

of their brothers and friends? No great harm comes to these

children. They don't lose their 'manhood.' They gain

pleasure and intimate companionship.

It's just the way I feel, Alexia. I don't want you to

rationalize away my conscience.

Then you condemn me for keeping little Marena? She is

no eunuch--I assume she will someday reproduce.

He took her hand. I don't judge you at all, my dear.

I am curious how you came by her, how old she is, what her

past was like...

She is 9 years, I believe. She is not totally

certain. She was orphaned at an early age and lived with an

innkeeper who early on trained her in the art of pleasing

men--first orally, then vaginally, and also anally. I

stayed at the inn and she more or less seduced me. I simply

tipped the innkeeper generously and brought her home with

me. She has been with me for nearly a year.

She is a pretty child.

I don't really love her. She's not a pet or a

servant. More like a relative I've gotten a little too

close to. I also have an adult lover who you shall likely

meet within the week. She is the wife of Meidre.

The Governor? He couldn't hide his shock.

The Governor has a harem of slaves who he forces to

sodomize him often. Have you ever tried that, darling?

Stephen sighed. Not in many years. Once in military

academy I lost a battle to a classmate--a simulation

strategy game. He raped me upon my defeat. It was my last

loss.

"Our land is fortunate your tastes are different from

the Governor's or we'd all be speaking the tongue of the

infidels. She laughed, then excused herself. Later, with

disregard for his safety, Stephen walked the dark streets.

Chapter 4.

Demian looked over his shoulder and turned sharply to

an alley. Earlier he had crept to the theater where his

brother played and tried to look in the door. He knew he

would be arrested if spotted there. The owner had accused

him of theft long ago when Darian first discovered the place

and it discovered him. He had lingered in the alley,

straining his ears, hoping to catch a bit of his brother's

singing.

Then the owner had opened the back entrance and spotted

Demian. He cursed, fearing Demian had come to try to lure

Darian away, and called for his bravos, who came thundering

into the alley. Demian had fled in mortal terror. For

nearly a half hour he had been chased until at last he had

ditched the men. After resting in an alley for a while, he

remained fatigued and weak from hunger. The pain in his

groin was nearly crippling. He searched for a safe place to

sleep. Then the men had spotted him again and the chase had

been on.

They were on his heels as Demian plunged into a another

dark alley. He emerged in the center of a fountained square

with the three bravos closing in. Due to the hour, the brick

plaza appeared deserted.

Demian slipped and fell onto his palms, abrading them.

One of the bravos lifted him by the scruff of the neck. He

received a hard punch to the stomach, and he was surprised

at the intensity of the pain. He groaned but did not cry

out, for his breath had left with a great gust. It seemed

he could not inhale.

The bravo who held him said, When we are finished, you

will remember to stay far away from the theatre. He

casually tossed the boy ten feet through the air. Demian's

shoulder stuck the stones at the base of the fountain and

after a blinding flash of white pain, the shoulder went

numb.

He tried to push himself to his knees, but his right

arm didn't respond. He was kicked on the hip and as he

rolled, a toe caught him in the ribs. The next fell on his

face. And again. He spit blood. Through a veil of blood

and tears he saw the foot again prepare to strike. Suddenly

the foot was gone.

A scuffle ensued between the three men and a strange

defender. One of the bravos went down with a groan. The

defender danced between the other two men, his fists up, his

body crouched and coiled. He was vastly smaller than the

two men, but he moved like lightning. Demian managed to get

to a sitting position. He held his limp right arm with his

left hand and gasped for breath.

The men circled only for a moment, looking for an

opening. Suddenly one of the bravos said, It is He Who Has

Saved Us!

It cannot be. Not at this hour and in this place,

the other said, but both men stepped back. Who are you,

the man said in undisguised terror.

Stephen Montreva. Why do you beat this boy?

The men stepped back further. We do not wish to

quarrel with you, Excellency.

Then answer my question and take your leave.

We work at the Commoners Theater. We were told to

make certain this one does not approach those doors again.

Stephen looked at the bleeding crumpled boy near the

fountain and asked, Do you intend to return to that

theatre?

Not tonight, sire," the boy answered, trying to sound

glib. His voice trebled with his trembling.

For now at least, you have accomplished your mission.

Take your friend with you and quit this place.

The bravos picked up their unconscious associate and

stumbled away.

Who are you, boy?

Demian. He looked at handsome, hawkish man with

some fear. He seemed friendly enough, but Demian knew this

man could have vanquished all three bravos. And more

staggering--this might be He Who Has Saved Us, which was the

street name for the general who had turned back the infidel

invasion when it was certain that the capital city was to

be sacked. Outnumbered 300 to one, he had defeated the

infidel army sufficiently to send it back north. Rumor had

it that he singlehandedly penetrated the enemy camps and

slain all 10 ranking commanders in their beds. All in a

single night! And without awakening the guards. The man was

only a step beneath God and the angels.

Have you no family name?

It matters not. I am orphaned.

I, too, am orphaned, but I carry my family's good

name.

My father was a peasant farmer. Fivacarilli.

Have you shelter?

Demian tried to rise. He ended up sitting on the base

of the fountain. I'm all right. Thank you for helping

me... He couldn't bear to be in the presence of such a

great man, and though he would relish the encounter for his

lifetime, his fear made him anxious for it to come to a

close.

Am I being dismissed? Stephen said with a smile.

Demian's eyes opened wide, soon to be squinted again as

blood dripped into one of them. I meant no disrespect,

Excellency. I only thought...surely you have important

things to...." After a moment, he again found his voice.

"I am unworthy of your attention, Excellency.

Even were that true, how do propose to judge what is

and isn't worthy of my attention? Is not that my choice as

a free citizen?

Again he had overstepped his place with this great man.

Demian felt humiliation and scorn so deep that he began to

sob. He slid to the bricks of the plaza and buried his face

in the crook of his good arm. He stopped sobbing abruptly

when he felt a gentle hand touch his bare arm. The voice

spoken softly into his ear reminded him of his mother as she

had once soothed him.

So, the mighty boy who doesn't cry or even cry out as

he is attacked by three bravos breaks to weeping at a soft

rebuke from a gentle stranger. The hand touched the back

of Demian's neck. It was warm and dry, incredibly light and

smooth. Again I ask, have you shelter?

I have none, Excellency. He had no will to resist

the question.

When did you last sleep in a bed?

Three days ago.

Where is this bed.

It belonged to a man I met along the canals.

Shall I take you to him?

No! I would rather die in the gutter! His passion

held only for a moment, then in a defeated voice, He

attempted to rape me. He remembered the man's caresses,

which he did not mind at first. Then the man crudely clawed

between his legs and touched the sore place. Demian had

been unable to complete the bargain he had struck, and the

man had beaten him in frustration. He would have raped him,

too, but neighbors were knocking on the door to see if

someone needed help.

And before that?

I was a student at the conservatory.

Stephen sat back on his heels. Was this beautiful

child a castrati? He felt his blood quicken, his lust rise.

Then I shall take you there.

I was expelled.

An orphan? expelled? Why?

They had certain rules which I refused to consent to,

the boy answered, meaning that he refused to sing.

Stephen interpreted the answer as indication the boy

had refused to be castrated. He was disappointed. Then he

felt guilty for wishing this beautiful child had been

mutilated. Stephen remembered Alexi encouraging him to take

a lover from the streets. But it was obvious from his story

about the near rape that he didn't want to have sex with

men.

I will take you to my house and have these wounds

attended to. Without waiting for a response, he scooped the

boy into his arms and started home. The boy must have

weighed less that 70 pounds as he was no burden. How old

are you? he asked, expecting a reply of 9 or 10.

Twelve.

He entered the house and awakened his servants, having

one sent out for the physician. Two others he assigned the

task of bathing the boy, who was covered in blood and

smelled as though he had lived in his clothing a week too

long. Stephen went to the bed chamber and found Alexia

sitting on the bed. Marena sat behind her brushing her

hair. Alexia was fully dressed in bedclothes. Marena was

naked, her hairless body looking like that of a boy except

for the lack of the protruding sex bud.

You were certainly out late.

Yes.

Prowling, no doubt. And from your expression and your

solitary entrance, unsuccessfully. Would you like Marena?

Her anus is exquisitely tight.

Marena looked up at Stephen and smiled fetchingly. She

drew her knees up, exposing the wrinkled flesh of her pink

slit.

Actually, I brought a boy home, but he is just a kid

needing help. Not a eunuch."

So sin one night. Not only eunuchs enjoy the pleasure

of a man's company.

This boy has made it clear he is not cut from that

cloth.

"Perhaps he has yet to meet the right tailor."

A servant entered sheepishly.

What is it?

The boy refuses to undress for his bath.

Stephen sighed. He was poorly treated some nights

ago. Probably fears you will do the same to him. I'll come

and talk with him.

But Demian, seated on the edge of the bathing pool,

would not undress, even when Stephen implored him to.

Stephen had the servants wipe his exposed skin with cloths

to remove the blood. The smell could not be extinguished

without full immersion and clean clothing.

The physician came and with a surge of terror, Demian

recognized him. He examined the quivering, stiff, boy, then

came to Stephen's study to consult with him. Demian was at

his heals, looking faint. Stephen sent him to wait across

the room.

The boy needs rest. At least three days in bed. He

is half-starved and low on fluids. The arm is not broken,

though the bruising of the shoulder is massive. In short,

if he takes care of himself he will be fine in a couple of

weeks. The physician, an old military friend scratched his

head. He is a beautiful creature. I can understand your

interest in him as a treasure to look upon, but what good is

a eunuch who refuses to sing and is so proud he will not

disrobe before a possible benefactor?

"Eunuch?" Stephen said, startled.

Of course. I examined this boy at the conservatory

shortly after his operation. He had been butchered by

amateurs. It was clearly against his will. He was expelled

from the Conservatory for refusing to sing. But if he won't

sing, then what is he? A freak. Nothing more. I wouldn't

waste my time with this one.

Thanks for your help, old friend.

He looked across the room at the boy, trying to read

his emotions. Demian lifted his head, but did not make eye

contact, trying to keep his misery beneath the surface.

He came closer and asked, Do you still refuse the

bath?

The boy stiffened, but remained silent.

Come. He said simply and walked to the private

chambers. The boy had followed. You will sleep here.

Please do not leave the room. If you desire anything, food,

drink, company, you can ring the bell on the nightstand. A

servant will enter promptly.

The boy stood, very small, in the center of the room.

Then I am a prisoner here?

Stephen sighed. The kid had a fierce grip on his

dignity, unusual in a castrati. You are a most welcome

guest. I do not wish for you to wander about because this

is my home and I should like to guide you on a tour, which

we can accomplish in the morning.

May I please leave?

Now?

Yes, sir.

It is the middle of the night. You are wounded and

you have no place to go. It is unthinkable that you should

leave a place where you are safe and where there are no

demands placed upon you.

I would like to go.

There was a soft knock at the door leading to their

marriage chamber. Stephen opened the door. Alexia asked,

May I come in?

She strode into the room, dressed in a sheer full

length gown. Her nipples were plainly visible and her hair

brushed to radiance. So this is the little waif that has

stolen your heart.

He wants to leave at once.

She turned to the boy as if stunned. What ever for?

Demian looked at the beautiful woman, so immodestly

dressed and felt a deep terror. She was ever more

frightening than He Who Has Saved Us. I'm sorry.

You want to leave? she repeated.

Yes, please.

Do you know who this man is?

Yes, lady, the greatest man in all of the world. He

was unable to control the trembling in his legs. Even the

hand disabled by the injury to his shoulder trembled. He

gently grasped it with his other hand.

Stephen, will you leave us for a moment.

The boy wants to leave....

You leave--only for a moment. He simply needs an

awareness of what he will be throwing away. Stephen did

not move. Please, dear husband, take your leave.

Stephen looked at the red faced, trembling boy, then

turned and left.

Sit on the bed, child.

Demian more or less stumbled to it.

My husband likes the pleasure of boys. Unfortunately

for him, he is very selective, and though there are many

boys available to him--perhaps hundreds--he has not chosen

one since his last boy left for Rotini. He seems to expect

little from his young lovers. In exchange he treats them to

a life of unsurpassed affection, tenderness, and splendor.

He never did or said a single disrespectful thing to his

last boy. After Pablo departed, Stephen deeply mourned his

loss.

She sat on the bed beside him. Have you ever sexed

with a man?

No.

Then perhaps it is a fear of the unknown. Love

between man and boy is not an equal arrangement. In such a

situation most men degrade their charge, taking oral and

anal satisfaction with no concern for the discomfort of the

child. Not so with Stephen. He worshipped Pablo, and in

every coupling, Stephen said bringing the boy's release was

as important as attaining his own. He caressed the boy's

organ often and skillfully, bringing his orgasms with

regularity and with fierce passion. Of course, even with

Stephen, the relationship will not be an equal one. He will

be the one who decides how and when you join. And though he

enjoys sodomy greatly, he will not offer you the same

favors. One of his greatest pleasure with Pablo was to mount

him and while fucking slowly, rub the boy's erection until

he orgasmed. Does this sound so awful?

`But, lady, I cannot. He knew the pain in his groin

would never allow him to be caressed in such a fashion. Nor

could he let such a great man see his badly butchered

genitals.

Surely it will do you no harm to let him stroke your

little penis, to kiss it's hardness, to spread your legs and

surrender yourself to him. Anal sex is only painful the

first time or so, and with Stephen and his gentleness,

perhaps you will even enjoy the first time.

I cannot. I so wish that I could. Lady, I simply

cannot. I am not what he thinks I am.

He thinks you are a beautiful orphan child who will

gain from being his lover. Is that wrong?

I cannot have sex with him. Please tell him I would

like to but I cannot.

Why will you refuse this?

Demian wanted to say what he believed, to confess he

was a eunuch, incapable of sexual response, cursed to a life

of intense pain in his groin. He couldn't even picture

himself saying the word eunuch. As he struggled to find a

way to express it, she grew impatient, and stood.

Out of respect for a man who attacked three would-be

murderers and saved your life, you must spend the night.

You must truly hate yourself to squander such an

opportunity."

Yes, my lady, he said and buried his head in his

hands.

She left and, though he knew Stephen might enter at any

moment, he sobbed uncontrollably. Stephen opened the door

as if to enter, stopped stiffly, then said, Ring the bell

if you want anything. He withdrew.

The next day Stephen brought him new clothes and showed

him around the grounds of the huge estate. Demian was

amazed by all he saw but had few words to speak. To think

all this could be his to share at least for awhile....if

only he had not had his sex stolen away from him.

At dinner, with Alexia, a girl named Marena, and

Stephen, Demian felt totally alien. He didn't know how to

use the silver or anything else. He did savor the red wine

which tasted delicious and gave him a feeling of floating

slightly. Alexia handed Stephen a letter when the meal was

completed. He opened it and said, It's from Pablo. He says

all is well. The citizens of Rotini have fallen madly for

him and he is forever in demand at parties and dinners. He

has taken with a Cardinal, of all people, who is an avid

sodomite. He also says that his organ has grown, that he

wished he could show it to me in its splendor, knowing how

proud I would be of his virility.

Alexia took the letter from his hand without

permission. He also asks if you have a new lover and if

the boy has a finer arse, a stiffer cock, or a more

beautiful voice. Well Demian, do you have a fine arse, a

stiff cock, and a beautiful voice?

Alexia, Stephen reprimanded.

The boy ran from the table and out into the courtyard,

his cheeks wet with tears.

Stephen followed him. They stood silently in the

twilight beneath a statue of a soldier. Stephen put his arm

around the boy, then pulled him to a bench and set the boy

on his knee. Demian buried his face in the man's ruffled

shirt and cried more.

Alexia didn't mean to be cruel. She is frustrated at

your reluctance to open up to me. You see, she cannot

imagine that anyone could find me unlikable.

Me either.

But you don't like me. It's okay. Truly. I have

had disappointments before. I still want you to stay, and I

expect no affection in return.

I do like you. I am in awe of you. . . .

Then what? Religion? You don't want to commit such a

sin? Let me repeat, you need not sin with me.

No. I have no religion. It is just that. . . .I'm. .

.I'm. . .a....

Stephen stroked the boy's cheek.

I'm a singer, the boy said suddenly, hoping this

would be the clue to let Stephen know.

Stephen wrinkled his brow. Where do you sing? You

said you refused to sing and were expelled from the

conservatory. When the boy didn't answer, he added, Why

did you refuse to sing?

Demian pulled away, stood, his face lighting with a

sudden inspirtion. I have an older brother. He sings at a

theatre near here. The theatre the men told me to stay away

from. Take me there. I would like you to meet my brother,

Darian.

You promised not to go near there.

But if you came with me, they would not mind. Please.

Take me now.

Stephen sighed. You miss your brother?

Yes. I want you to meet him. He looks just like me.

He is 14 years old.

Okay.

The theater owner welcomed Stephen and hardly glanced

at Demian. He was given a bottle and a table, though the

performance was not to start for at least an hour. Stephen

said, Can we see Darian, this boy's brother?

The owner paused. Please, sir. I would be ruined

without his performances.

We will not take your singer, Demian said calmly.

Backstage in his dressing room, Darian stood in

breeches and nothing else, carefully studying his set of

songs, some of which were new. Brother, he said in

surprise. He went over to embrace Demian. Demian lowered

his head to the ear beneath his mouth and whispered,

Please, this is He Who Has Saved Us and though he won't ask

it, he wants to see you naked. Please causally undress and

show yourself as you pretend to get ready.

The embrace broke and Darian bowed as Demian introduced

them. Darian went and bolted the door. Forgive me, I must

get ready for the performance. Please sit. He gestured

to a couple chairs before a mirror. Then he slid his

breeches off and stood naked before them. Now what pants

am I to wear tonight? he said, looking about the room.

Darian had slept with dozens of men and he was a stage

performer. He liked undressing before an appreciative man,

especially a famous, revered and wealthy man.

Stephen was unable to conceal his astonishment. The

boy was beautiful, his body just beginning puberty. His

nearly-adult penis jiggled above a bouncing set of hairless

testicles. With pale skin like Demian, his buttocks looked

like cream. He had a tidy semi-circle of pubic hair.

Do you like my brother? Demian asked.

Demian, why do you do this? He is beautiful. But why

are we here?

Where my brother is perfect, I am incomplete. Darian,

will you go with this man, to live with him, to provide him

with pleasure? I owe him my life.

"Demian, please don't ask that. I cannot leave the

theatre. They would be lost without me. And Vito has

treated me like a son.

More like whore. But, it doesn't matter. I will sing

in your place.

The room became silent. Stephen said, Demian. . . .

But he was interrupted by Darian. You will sing? You

? On this stage?

Gladly. If you will keep your part of the bargain.

And what are you thinking of me? That you can arrange

my companions for me? How could you pretend such arrogance?

Stephen demanded, quite overwhelmed by the whole scene.

Again the boy had tried to do the right thing and it

had failed miserably. Demian burst into tears, his arms

thrown down despite the pain in his shoulder. Alexia said

you liked my form. But I cannot . . . do what you want. I

thought. . . .

Stephen stood. You did not think at all. Stephen

dropped a heavy purse upon the dresser. Darian, there is

more gold when you need it. Just come to my door. Please

convince your brother to return to my house. He is welcome

there for as long as he wishes to stay. He turned and

left. The brothers stared after him.

Darian said, You have rejected and angered the most

loved man in the world.

Demian sat before the mirror, burying his face in his

hands to control his weeping. He wants me to be his lover,

but I cannot!

Darian said, I see your point. He is handsome and

sexy beyond compare, wealthy, intelligent, a patron of the

arts, politically powerful, kind, gentle. . . . Whatever was

I thinking of? Of course, you would dislike him.

You asshole, Demian said, raising his head and

trying to focus his bleary red-rimmed eyes, I love him

absolutely. He sighed and confessed, I am castrati.

What? How?

He told the tale as Darian, still naked, listened

attentively and sympathetically.

That's awful, but why won't you sing? Or make up with

that Stephen guy?

I won't sing because they did this to me so I could

sing like a bird forever. I won't let them succeed.

That's stupid.

And I cannot be his lover because I have too much

pain. I can barely walk and I must sit and rise with care.

He and his wife have made it clear Stephen seeks to please

not only himself but his young lovers. There can be no

pleasing me in this manner.

You mean you don't feel horny?

It's worse torture than that. I dream about him. He

is so perfect. But I can't even think about sex, I grow

cold and afraid and sick. I am in agony all the time. My

sex no longer works and I cannot bear to be a half-woman to

him, cannot bear to be confronted with my loss!

He doesn't know you are castrated?

I can't tell him. I wish I were dead.

Hours later, while aimlessly walking the darkened

streets, a strong hand suddenly closed on Demian's arm. As

he turned in fear, preparing a defense against the attack,

the hand released him. You are Demian?

He turned to flee but the hand grabbed him again to

stop him. When he stopped the arm was released.

Demian, I work for Stephen Mondavi. He has all his

servants searching the city for you. He wants for you to

come to the safety of his house. Will you come with me?

Do I have any choice?

Of course. But bringing you home would win me favor in

His Excellency's eyes.

He sighed. Take me there.

Chapter 5.

Stephen stood in a fourth story window and watched the

boy approach. He touched his hand to his heart, then went

to bed. The next evening, Ledio threw a party for a cousin

of his who was visiting from Rotini. Alexia badgered Demian

until he agreed to attend. He was dressed in such finery as

he had never before imagined. He rode in a carriage ahead

of Stephen and Alexia, along with Marena and three servants.

Demian went almost immediately to a corner when he

entered the huge ballroom in General Ledio's palace.

Overdressed people of all ages milled about as they engaged

in lively conversation. Demian studied Stephen. He loved

to watch the man talk, loved to see the attention afforded

him by all in his comapny. He never bragged or laughed too

loudly or showed any one disrespect. He moved lithely, with

an apparent slowness which was illusory. Stephen had

beautiful blue eyes, and reddish-brown hair that flowed past

his shoulders. A lanky curl hung across his forehead. He

was anglular in frame, slight, but powerful, with large

square shoulders and narrow hips.

Demian made certain to look away before Stephen could

catch him staring. Stephen seemed to look his way often.

The Rotinian cousin had brought a composer and an 16 year

old eunuch with him to entertain the guests. Every one

settled onto the chairs provided by the servants, and the

assemblage became silent. The composer sat before a

harpsichord, his wig a perfect fit, not too full, but

sufficiently covering the head. The castrati was

surprisingly tall, nearly six feet with long gangly arms.

He had the face of an innocent boy; however, one could tell

he had a spoiled brat temperment. Demian looked at the

strange gangly boy and saw what he himself was to become. It

was not a pleasing prospect.

The composition was beautiful, as was the singing.

Demian immediately saw the structure of the piece, caught

its melodic whirlings. It told the tale of a man in love

with a woman, the first movement telling of the formation of

love. The second movement was despair and emptiness,

unrequited love, death. The third movement was an ascenion

to heaven on the wings of love.

The boy sang clearly and he attempted passion; however,

Demian could tell he was bored. Demian knew the boy had

never felt the kind of passion he was attempting to sing

about. Perhaps others could tell also. He also noticed

the composer was struggling to keep the tempo slow during

the first movement, struggling to keep the pace slow during

the second passionate movement, then ironically, struggling

to speed the third and final movement. Not that the music

portrayed this struggle. The struggle was all on the man's

face and in his back and arms. The fingers supplied the

music perfectly.

The applause was thunderous as the boy finished.

Demian felt disappointed and a little terrified to look at

this older boy and get a glimpse of the monster he was to

become. He fled to the gardens.

As he walked among the dark fronds, wallowing in his

self-pity, a voice coldly called to him. Is that a girl or

a very pretty little boy?

He turned to come face to face with a 17 year old he

knew to be Tonio, the son of Ledio. The boy had a look of

menace on his face. In fact, Tonio was bored and looking

for some excitement.

Stop, you piss ant! Demian stopped in his tracks,

his heart hammering in his chest. What is your name?

Demian.

Your family name!

I am an orphan and have none.

Then you sneaked into this party and I have every

right to kill you.

Leave me alone, Demian said, but in his stomach he

knew he would suffer at this young man's hands. He

continued to walk but suddenly the boy lunged against his

shoulder, driving him into a garden wall. His right

shoulder, not yet healed, impacted hard, and Demian fell to

the ground writhing in agony.

He bit his lip to stop groaning.

What a simpering coward, you are, motherless bastard!

He yanked the boy to his feet, an easy task as he outweighed

Demian by nearly 40 pounds. He raised his fist to strike

Demian's face. Demian wasted no time. He kicked Tonie

in the crotch, then kicked him again when the older boy fell

to his knees. The kick to the crotch was especially

satisfying for Demian because he kicked the things that had

been stolen from him. The second kick connected just below

the left eye. Tonio whimpered, Stop. Please stop. Leave

me alone.

As you wish, Demian said. Holding his tingling right

hand in his left hand, he headed for the ballroom. He had

to tell Stephen he was leaving, for he owed the man that,

even though he would never be forgiven for striking General

Ledio's son. Perhaps he would be imprisoned or killed.

Stephen came rushing to him as soon as he entered.

There you are, Demian. Did you like the performance?" He

saw the boy was distraught. "What's wrong? Your shoulder?

It's okay, sir. I merely fell.

You are too graceful for that. Were you in a fight?

Demian could not lie to the man. He was not strong

enough. Sorry, Excellency. Tonio and I had a ... an

incident.

The room suddenly became quiet as Ledio, his son in

tow, made his way directly to them. Is this the boy who

attacked you? Ledio demanded of his son.

Tonio stood in shock. My God. Demian, you are with

Stephen Mondavi?

Yes, he is, Stephen interupted. What sort of

injustice have you wrought?

Now hold on, Ledio warned. But a moment later Tonio

was on the floor at Stephen's feet weeping.

Forgive me, Excellency. I did not know he was in your

care.

Ledio pulled his son to his feet. Stand like a man.

Stephen, it appears my son has harmed your house. Name your

punishment.

No! Demian interjected and stepped between the men.

Courage flooded into him. For days he longed to leave the

house of He Who Has Saved Us. Suddenly he wanted to stay

more than anything. The fight had broken the lid off his

defenses. The self-pity had been consumed by the rage.

Tonio and I had a disagreement and we settled it. The

matter is ended. Tonio and I have made peace.

Tonio flicked a little smile of gratitude, still

apprehensive of the outcome of this ordeal. He knew he

would never pick on a weaker boy again--especially if he did

not know his affiliations.

Demian, I will take you to a physician.

No. This party is only half over, am I correct?

Yes, well, more than half ...

I want to stay.

Demian wandered back to his corner, his arm and

shoulder a ragged ache. He studied the man he worshiped in

every detail. The attraction he felt was not sexual, and he

wasn't surprised for he knew that kind of attraction was

impossible for him now. But even if he had been whole, his

attraction was on a plane that transcended mere genital

pleasure. He wanted to be consumed by the man, heart and

soul.

Then he overheard them nearby--Ledio and Alexia. The

boy refuses to sing and can you believe he has not even

undressed in Stephen's presence? I think Stephen is losing

his mind. He is in a state of constant affliction and every

third word is Demian.

You say this boy is castrati? Ledio asked.

Demian was startled to hear it revealed. Stephen knew

he was castrati?

Without a doubt. The physician confirmed it. And

Stephen refuses to bed any boy who is not castrati. I swear,

I live in terror that Stephen will try to adopt the capon.

Demian edged closer, trying to clear his head. Pablo

was castrati then. It could not be. He had heard the

letter, heard Alexia tell of his fine orgasms. How could

this be when he had nothing to produce seed? How could he

have ignored the great pain?

The Roman castrati is over there trying to seduce

Stephen right now. Demian looked up and saw Stephen stroke

the arrogant boy's hair. They were laughing at some joke.

Alexia continued, Why couldn't Stephen fall for someone

like him, someone worthy of his affections?

Demian could barely contain his rage. I am more

worthy than that monster!

Alexia looked up at him without the slightest show of

surprise. You? You can't even manage to show proper

respect to him. Why don't you run away to the streets and

leave him in peace? His mourning over losing you would be

better than the current hopeless suffering at your hands.

I am unworthy of him, but I am more worthy than that

singer!

In a near whisper, she spat, That singer demonstrates

a willingness to please. Love could spring from a fountain

crafted of that elixer. You show coldness, hostility, even

loathing! Just leave. Go now. Alexia was waving her

hands at him, in a fury. Most people had politely fled the

general vicinity of her somewhat-subdued tirade.

You are his wife, and I am wrong to argue with you.

My apologies. He bowed quickly to her and went straight

toward the harpsichord where the castrati stood fawning over

Stephen.

Excellency, I should like the opportunity to sing for

you.

Stephen looked at him in astonishment. Wonderful! he

exclaimed in obvious joy. I will hire musicians to come over

tomorrow.

I want to sing for you tonight. Right now.

Tonight? Now? That's crazy, Demian. You have not

practiced. And there are many people of influence here.

Alexia came up behind them, a rage still in her voice.

Let the gelding sing.

The words cut into Demian's spirit, but he knew he was

fighting for Stephen's affections and he cared little for

her affections. It didn't matter that everyone else knew he

was castrati--after all, the only person who mattered,

Stephen, knew already. Alexia turned to the singer. Get

your maestro, ask him to play for this boy's singing. Tell

him it is the desire of He Who Has Saved Us.

The composer was there within two minutes. A crowd had

already begun to settle into the chairs in anticipation of

great singing--or great humiliation.

Stephen was frantic, speaking in an urgent, low tone of

voice. Don't do this, Demian. Everyone is here. You will

embarrass yourself and me. When did you last sing?

A month before you met me. He looked away from

Stephen, unwilling to hear more of the man's lack of

confidence, for it eroded his own confidence. To the

composer he said, Will you play the same piece you played

before?

It would be unwise, he said simply. He was in his

late 40's, obviously a castrati himself.

But why? It was a stunning composition.

Thank you. I wrote it only one week ago. This was

the first time it was performed outside the conservatory.

Pick a piece you are familiar with.

The only other songs I know are songs of the

minstrels. But your song soars! I cannot keep its melody

from my head.

You heard it but once.

Do you have a copy of the words?

The composer smiled sadly. Are you castrati? The

man wanted to know if he had the voice worthy of being

castrated. Demian felt his cheeks flush and could not speak

the words. He nodded. I have the score also, so you may

follow the melody.

Servants were alerting the patrons a performance would

begin soon.

I cannot read music, but I can hear the melody.

The Rotinian castrati sneered, I studied and practiced

for three weeks to learn this song. It is over 12 minutes

in length. You will make a total fool of yourself.

Demian turned on him with uncharacteristic confidence.

He loathed the fake boy at that moment, unwilling to

consider himself in the same predicament. No worse than

you did.

The composer and Ledio laughed. Stephen moaned in

anticipation of great humiliation as Alexia took his hand

and led him to the harpsichord. The room was buzzing with

anxious murmurings. Introduce your gelding, darling, or I

will. She smiled venomously.

Why do you harbor such malice to the boy?

He will make you miserable for as long as you two are

in the same world. It's time for you--or rather him--to

move on.

Stephen raised his hand, a small gesture which would

have commanded immediate silence even in the marketplace,

such was the respect citizens paid him. My charge desires

your audience, though by his own confession he had not sung

in a fortnight. Your kindness to him will be a kindness to

me. . . .

The boy stood very straight and spoke with unexpected

forcefullness. I sing only for your audience, Excellency,

for your approval. I would sing for no other human on

earth. He turned to the composer and nodded. The man

began weaving the complicated but slow introduction. Demian

closed his eyes, willed out the distractions of the room and

his own fears. He listened with all his ability to the

emotion within the chords.

And when he sang, he sang early. He sensed the error,

sensed even more keenly that in his head he clearly heard

what he must sing. It was a melody from the third section

of the song, wordless, with perfectly forming notes

climbing, trilling, dropping sharply only to ascend and

trill again. The Rotinian composer gasped, then offered a

bemused smile as he realized that the boy had not begun with

the first lines, that he was fashioning an introduction

which would give a deeper clarity to the score.

Demian looked to the composer at his keyboeard, the

only other present besides the singer who would know a

mistake had been made. The composer's face went from shock

at the opening notes (he nearly faltered in his playing

until he realized the boy was superimposing the third

movement over the melody of the introduction), to

puzzlement, to a wet eyed look of approval. Demian knew that

not every composer would like his work altered--even if it

were an improvement.

Demian hit the first note of the song an octave higher

than it was written. Had he been able to look around, he

would have seen the rapt attention focused on him, the

openness of the expressions of the many influential

strangers who were in the first stages of falling in love

with him. His voice was honey, then it was a bell, striking

high notes with an metalic precision.

During the second movement, when the lonely lover

laments his space in the world, Demian poured his own

anguish into the melody, his loneliness, his sense of being

lost, injured, his total lack of hope in ever again being

happy. His eyes were still closed, though he moved his

hands and head, even stepped a pace or two dramatically as

he lived out the pain of the music.

Stephen could scarcely breathe. Tears stung his

cheeks. He squeezed Alexia's hand and only dimly realized

she wiped at her eyes with a kerchief, moved to tears no

less than he. The tinkling of the keys ceased. Long pauses

marked the close of the second movement, which was

interupted by the lingering melancholic expression of short

lyrical phrases, caesura, another intense burst, as the soul

of the singer was dying, embers upon a windswept hearth.

In the lingering silence prior to the third movement,

all was silent except for a sniffle, even one uncontrolled

sob. Demian heard these things but did not open his eyes.

His concentration was on the next movement, when the singer

was to be reborn in the love of whomoever (presumably a

lover or perhaps even God). The singing was to begin

subdued, even halting, slowly transforming to the wings of a

dove, soaring, flying ever closer to the breath of God,

transforming the singer to an angel. The music pretended to

go from pathos and death, through birth, through to a

transformation to heaven, this time without the curse of

death. With the Rotinian singer it had been clever. With

Demian's voice and passion, the piece would reach every

person's soul.

As he worked into the third movement, Demian opened his

eyes. He avoided looking at the couch front and center

where Stephen sat. He looked at every person present as he

sang, giving them intense scrutiny. He saw the intense

attention he received. He tried to see everyone present, to

make contact with them. They must fall in love with his

performance for it to truly be a fine gift to Stephen.

In rebirth, the singer still was lost from the light of

love. At last his gaze came to Alexia, and he was almost

distracted by her radiance. Her hostility toward him had

vanished completely and in its place was an intensity too

keen to consider. It told Demian that Alexia loved Stephen,

too. The visage of her intense attention gave him cause for

hope. He waited longer, then he looked to the man who

represented his only will to live.

It was early, four measures before the melody began to

take flight. Without breaking in his singing, he quickly

looked away, carrying the image of the man with him as he

turned his back and pressed his face into his palms, an

effect which muted his voice greatly. Demian had seen it!

Love. His words caught in his throat and he sobbed. The

composer carefully repeated a section of the pre-flight

melody, adjusting to the boy's unexpected break.

For Demian, the worst part of the shock was the

realization that the same look, minus the awe, had been

there all along. He wasn't making this man love him by

singing. He was only making him happy in his love.

The time for soaring presented itself again. Demian

glanced at the composer, who bore a look of concern, clearly

he was poised to adjust again. Demian closed his eyes and

turned to face Stephen. He opened his eyes as he hit the

first note with the power of an exploding heart. His voice

was round, high, pure, not a human's voice, but the voice of

an angel.

He sang for the next five minutes at the most torrid

pace, rising and falling lines with trills at every

transition. The melody was the flow of the wind around

lealfy trees, the crackle of a brook over stones, the strike

of trumpets on a still morning. His gaze never left

Stephen. Truly, he sang for no one else.

Stephen stared at him without the concept of time,

without a need to concentration upon the music. The music

was all that existed, therefore one did not think on it.

One moved with it, swelled with it, soared. Yes, soared as

if to the throne of God!

Then it was done. Silence. For 20 seconds. More.

Extending to nearly a minute. No one moved. No one spoke.

Demian could maintain eye contact for only a moment, then he

turned and leaned heavily on the harpsichord, his face

burrowed into the crook of his arms. He was exhausted, and

despite being transformed by the music in a way he had never

imagined, he feared rejection, felt the reality of who he

was and his insignificance in the life of a man so great as

He Who Has Saved Us. The joy he had sung had taken him far

from reality and in the unexpected total silence following

his last note, reality had crashed upon him with devastation

heightened by the giddy vertigo of believing himself

powerful.

Then the thunder began and it frightened him. People's

voices rang with unbridled appreciation as they pounded

their palms together. The ragged pain in his shoulder

returned and his legs buckled. And the never-ending pain in

his groin seemed unbearable. The mutilation could never

leave his thoughts for long because its pain never left. He

fell to his knees and through blurred vision saw Stephen

approach him. Without thinking, Demian scrambled to his

feet and fled from the room. Stephen stood near the

harpsichord, his arms out as though to embrace the phantom

of the child who had fled. He could not decide whether to

follow the boy.

Before Stephen could react, Alexia had seized Demian in

the hallway and was holding the boy by the wrist. She half-

dragged him back to the assemblage. Smile and bow and show

a little class. You just added to the glory of your master

with that heavenly performance. You don't want to ruin that

by humiliating him, do you, dear? She fiercely whispered

into his ear.

Demian rubbed at his eyes and bowed to the audience

that was standing in a state of shock. The applause began

again immediately like thunder and Demian could not believe

that it would continue for so long. Everyone wanted to

touch his sleeve, his cheek, his hair.

People said things that he mostly didn't hear or

translate into thoughts. He could not find Stephen, though

Alexia wouldn't release him, so he was unable to search. The

pain in his groin seemed to grow even more intense.

I must sit, he groaned into Alexia's ear. She

excused them and led him away. An hour later they were in a

coach headed home.

Where is his excellency? The jostling of the coach

drove him mad as jolt after jolt of pain shot into him. He

could not endure the agony much longer. He knew he would die

of it.

Home by now. He had some negotiations to finish

tonight. It almost killed him to leave your side. She

rubbed his hair. You do plan to surrender to him tonight,

I trust.

I'll try to please him. His voice trembled.

Just show him your erection and all will go well.

Lady, you know I am castrati. I have no erection to

show.

Nonsense. You cannot produce a child but you are

sexually normal in every other way.

No. I am not. I have not had an...erection...in the

months since I was cut. I am in too much pain to think

about that kind of pleasure. . .of any kind of pleasure.

Pain?

He brought his hands to his thighs, hunching over a

little. It hurts. All the time. And it gets worse and

worse.

It isn't supposed to hurt. They must have done

something wrong. She pushed past Minos, the old servant who

opened the door for them. Why have you waited so long to

say something? She was angry.

I didn't know...until I learned about Pablo, I

guess...I thought it was supposed to hurt, that all castrati

felt the same...but that most were...braver....

You are such a precious little asshole. She led him

right into the den where Stephen conferred with a statesman.

She had Demian by the shoulder and pushed him forward.

Stephen looked up from the document he perused.

He smiled warmly at the boy, but asked, Can this wait?

Of course. I was just making sure he made it to your

presence. You know how unreliable he is and it's too

miserable a night to have all the servants searching the

alleys for him. She pushed Demian roughly into a chair.

He groaned in pain but did not speak. He has a little

story to tell you to explain his bizarre behavior. It's

nothing you'd have ever imagined. She turned and flounced

out of the room.

Stay there. I'll be finished in ten minutes.

Demian did not answer. He was steeling himself to

overcome his pain, to please Stephen in any way he could.

He had to be strong. He knew Stephen would never touch him

if he knew the touch caused pain. Demian struggled to

invent a story to cover Alexia's little introduction. It

had been a strange day, like something burst within him, and

for the first time since the surgery, he felt desire, not

sexual, but desire nontheless. His singing had been a

success, he knew that. But a greater challenge lay ahead in

the seduction and pleasing of an experienced man. Demian

wished he had said yes to the dozen or so men and boys that

had made offers in the streets. None had been appealing to

him, but he would have gained experience.

And suddenly the visitor was gone and Stephen stood

over his chair. You have a story to tell me?

Demian rose, and cursed inwardly at the flash of pain.

It was growing ever so much worse as the day went on. Why

now? he wondered in despair. I have no great story to tell,

Excellency, but rather a favor to ask.

Ask anything.

May I sleep in your chamber tonight?

Stephen smiled, made no effort to be coy or disguise

his happiness. You may."

The candles were lit in the sleeping chamber, one near

each of the sensual statues, one on the writing desk,

several on the nightstand. The room was golden. Stephen

entered and paced a little nervously, his body filled with

excitement. The boy's singing earlier had been blissful

beyond his experience. Now, he was poised to fulfill the

dream he had harbored since rescuing the lad.

Demian's pulse raced. He trembled from head to foot.

Still he forced extended eye contact with the great man. He

forced a frightened smile. Stephen's smile unfolded like

God's hand. Demian fumbled with his clothing, removed it

without grace, then stood naked before the man.

"I am sorry I have so little to offer you, excellency."

The boy's skin was like an angel's. His fair

complexion and blond hair made him seem ethereal in the

candle light. His body was smooth and the lines graceful.

His beauty surpassed that of his older brother. His eyes,

large, brilliant, and ringed with thick dark lashes, held a

rabbit's fear. His penis was a short worm, his scrotum a

scarred, shriveled sac. "You are an angel. . . I'm afraid to

touch you to find you are only an illusion."

Demian again smiled and slowly turned, showing his

buttocks. As he turned, Stephen saw a curious bulge at the

boy's pubic area. Then he saw the pale, thin globes,

elegant as blown crystal and he forgot about the anomaly.

The boy turned again. "I only want to please you.

What shall I do?"

"Hug me."

The boy stepped awkwardly to the man. They put their

arms around one another, Stephen's clothing scratching on

the boy's tender flesh. Demian's face was at the man's

breast. The man's smell was gentle but full of strength.

He rubbed his cheek against the coarse cloth. He had no

regrets and he longed to hold on to this one moment forever.

Soon the ordeal would begin. But it was worth it,

especially if he could but keep from showing his pain.

And he could feel the pressing bulge, hot and

unmistakable beneath the man's clothing. Stephen's hands

caressed his hair, his neck, his back. He could reach just

to where the curve of the lower back gave way to the

sensuous delicate curve of the buttocks. Then Stephen

lifted him gently and set him on the bed. He pushed the boy

onto his back and let his hands roam across the smooth and

narrow chest. He rubbed the boy's stomach, working lower.

Demian held his breath and bit his lip. He must not cry

out.

But the hand touched him and he flinched. The fingers

found his pathetic useless penis and lightly caressed it.

The heel of Stephen's palm pressed inadvertantly against the

swollen mound on his pubic bone, and the boy jerked his

whole body. He was appalled to hear a groan of pain escape

his lips.

"What is this?" Stephen said, bending to see better.

Demian began to cry, angry and frustrated that his life

should offer such possibilities when there was no means of

actualizing them. The man would soon reject him.

"Demian, you are swollen. Are you in pain?"

"No, sir." Stephen touched him and he flinched.

"You are in pain. How long has it been like this?"

"Since I was castrated, sir."

There was a long pause as Stephen stared at the boy's

groin. Demian could bear it no longer. He sat up, moved to

disengage from the fingers that still held his penis.

Stephen said, "Don't move. I will summon the

physician."

"I am fine, excellency. Please don't bother him at

this hour. I can bring you pleasure if you will allow me. .

. ."

"You are in pain and something is clearly wrong. You

wait on this bed and don't move. Understand?"

"Yes, sir." Demian curled into a fetal position as

Stephen went to the door. He spoke to a servant,

dispatching him to the physician's house, then he returned

to the bed.

The physician arrived a moment later. Alexia had

summoned him. The physician consulted in the next room with

Stephen. He entered and Demian spread his legs for the

inspection. Stephen held Demian's hand.

"It is exactly as you thought, Stephen. I'll need fire

for cauterizing."

"My servants will tend to it."

Stephen sat on the bed, stroking Demian's hair.

"What is it? What's wrong with me?"

"You need a minor incision to ease your pain," the

doctor said. "Other than that, it's too early to say. . .

."

Stephen and a servant held Demian's shoulders. Two

other servants held his knees as the physician did his work.

Demian whimpered, then wailed as he felt the pinch of the

blade and the pressure of probing fingers upon inflamed

flesh.

"It is intact," the physician said. Demian screamed

again as the cut was cauterized. He felt dizzy, gagging

from the smell of his burnt flesh. He lost consciousness.

Chapter 6.

He awakened to find Alexia sitting next to his bed.

"Well, he can open his eyes." Demian sat quickly, then

slumped back down. He felt very weak. "You had better lie

still."

"What happened to me?"

"You are whole--or nearly so."

"What do you mean?"

"Stephen will talk with you when he returns from the

Senate meeting. Would you like tea?" She left him shortly

after, and he felt relieved. Alexia frightened him

terribly. He was left to ponder what had befallen him--the

sudden surgery. Would his pain be relieved? He certainly

felt it still, though perhaps the worst of what he felt was

the cauterizing. He could still smell the trace of burnt

flesh in his nostrils. He did not investigate the situation

beneath his white bandages.

Later he heard Stephen in the hall talking with

servants and he was wild wih anticipation for the man to

visit him. He needed to know what the surgery had

accomplished. Would he be able to be the lover Stephen

wanted him to be? Nothing else seemed important. And if

Stephen wanted him to, he would sing, for anyone. He vowed

he would find courage to confess his love and to offer his

compliance to Stephen's every whim--even study at the

conservatory, though he hoped he could spend his evenings

with Stephen and his days in study....

Stephen was just outside his door talking with a

servant when suddenly a servant who was out of breath rushed

up. "It is a message from Pablo San Minnosa. He will be in

the city within the next 24 hours. He has requested that

his messenger return to him with word from you. Will you

see him?"

Demian sat in bed, listening keenly.

"Of course," Stephen said. "Have him come directly to

my house. He will stay here under my roof."

"Sir. . . .Excellency. . . he also wanted to know if

you had any other eunich under your roof...." The servant

was clearly embarrassed.

"Tell him, no. I eagerly await him."

Demian's heart stopped and a bitter taste came into his

mouth. He stifled a cry of despair and rejection. Then

Stephen gently opened the door and peered within. Demian

looked away so the man would not see the tears stinging his

eyes.

Stephen entered tentatively. "I'm happy to see you

sitting up. How do you feel?"

Demian looked down at his hands and blinked hard. "I'm

okay."

Stephen sat on the side of the bed. "I have some very

good news for you."

"I heard," he said breathlessly, thinking he was going

to tell of the imminent arrival of Pablo.

"You've heard? From Alexia? No matter, isn't it great

news? I'm so happy."

"Yes, Excellency," he said respectfully.

"I'm so glad I didn't force myself upon you. Pablo is

returning--just at the perfect time. That removes any

tempation I might have had to go ahead and ruin things by

seducing you."

Demian, thinking himself more miserable than he had

ever been, began sobbing. Even the pain this caused could

not squelch his sobs. Stephen put an arm about him and

pulled him to his chest. "What is this? This news should

cause you great joy. What's wrong?"

"Nothing, sir. I only want your happiness"

"That is not entirely possible unless I experience your

happiness. Clearly you are distraught, and I am at a total

loss to understand why. You're entire world just opened to

you, yet you weep in despair unlike I've ever seen. . . ."

"I somehow wanted to be a part of your happiness."

"You are," he said in surprise, releasing the boy's

shoulders and peering into his face. "You are at the center

of my universe. . . .When I learned you are not castrati, I

experienced sublime ecstacy and deep regret. The regret is

that I may never experience the intense pleasure of coupling

with you. The joy is from gaining a son."

Demian looked at Stepehen but briefly. "I don't

understand. . . ."

"I am mad with sexual desire for you. You are God's

most beautiful creation. But I love you deeply, Demian, in

a way that makes sex seem trivial. And to learn that you

are not castrati, that closes that door. I could never sex

with any child unless he is castrati...."

"What do you mean not castrati?"

Stephen paused. "But you said Alexia told you...the

castration was botched, only one teste was taken. The other

had retreated in the skin above your pubic bone and had been

held captive there by the crude cauterization. You have one

fully functioning testicle, therefore, you will become a

man."

"A man...." Demian remembered the coarse man saying he

had only one bollock. Of course, he had two. And so one was

missed, probably because it often retracted out of sight

during distress. Its retreat had saved him from being a

eunich. But had lost him a chance to be a lover to the

greatest man alive. "You want Pablo. . . ."

"His beauty compares to yours. . .And his voice is

heavenly."

"I must leave before he arrives."

"No, Demian," Stephen grabbed his arm. He peered into

the boy's face intensely. "You must never leave here."

"I cannot bear to know he is in your arms."

"That's crazy. I am going to adopt you. Do you know

what that means? You will possess great wealth. You will

marry a noble woman. Produce sons. The world is suddenly

open to you."

Demian averted his face, head bowed and eyes closed.

It seemed a small gain for such a great loss. Stephen rose,

feeling a turmoil of emotions. In a soft voice he spoke,

"In the morning it will seem better for you. I will show

you my estate, the estate that will someday be yours."

When Demian did not respond, Stephen withdrew. Alexia

met him in the hallway and Demian heard her say, "He still

causes you anguish? Expel him like the curse he is."

Thus when Stephen awoke the next morning to find Demian

gone, he sought Alexia first.

"Darling, I have no idea where he is. You misjudge me

if you accuse me of foul play."

"I'm sorry, Alexia. I'm just not thinking straight."

"It is that cursed boy. Think of the anguish you have

been through since you saved him from the bravos in the

square. Better you had been too late."

"No. It may be anguish, but it is the divine sort of

anguish only a privileged few ever experience." He turned

abruptly, seizing her hands. "Why, Alexia? Why did he

leave?"

She did not pull away. "You truly don't know, do you?"

"Do you?"

"I think so."

"Then tell me. You must tell me!"

"You really don't know your beloved child that well,

Stephen. In his own way he has told you his feelings many

times. And twice he has been wild with jealousy. Yet you

still don't see it. . . ."

"Jealousy? Of what?"

"First it was that awful eunich at Ledo's party. He had

vowed to never sing, to never affirm the choice that was

forced upon him to be less than a man. For you he sang.

Publicly. Shamelessly he sang out his love for you in a

voice so clear everyone there could hear it. Everyone, that

is, except you. You don't understand what a gift he gave

you. . . ."

"I understood thegift but not its cause...And the

second time?"

"Why did he say he had to leave here?"

"Because Pablo was coming. But when he said that he

didn't understand that he was not castrati, that his life

could mean so much more than being a rich man's sex toy."

Alexia laughed caustically. "He knew you would never

treat him as a lover. It still hasn't occurred to you that

the boy wanted nothing in the world than to make love to

you. With or without his balls. Honestly, Stephen, you are

so blind."

"And I have rejected him." His voice was flat. His

tongue felt like lead in his mouth. "But it was for his

good. I didn't truly reject him. I offered him my

household. My wealth. My name!"

"He's a 12 year old boy madly in love for the first

time. Do you think he is capable of understanding what you

were "sacrificing" for him? Oh, go look for him. Bring him

back. Smother him with kisses and allow him the privilege

of giving you sexual release." She turned and stode from

the room.

Stephen sent out every servant. He himself went to the

theatre where Darian, his brother, worked. Darian welcomed

the man, but swore he had not seen his brother since

Stephen's last visit. "By the way, Darian. It turns out

your brother is not castrated after all. The job was

botched."

"Great," Darian said with the beguiling smile of a

stage performer. Stephen could not tell if his words rang

true.

"If you see him, send him to me. Tell him I will do

anything he wants. Anything."

In despair and seeking comfort, he went to Ledio's

house. Ledio was out but Tonio received him. "What is

wrong Excellency?" Tonio asked upon seeing the man's

confusion.

"Remember the boy--Demian? He is missing."

Tonio gasped. "But my lord. You sent him just this

morning to have his botched castration fixed."

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, no. Excellency, forgive me. He came to me early

this morning saying you had sent him out to have his

castration completed but that he had foolishly lost the

address. I directed him to your physician...."

Stephen ran out of the house without speaking another

word. He ran straight to the physician's office and knocked

at the door of his adjoining house. A female servant

escorted Stephen to the physician's office.

"Have you seen Demian?"

"He's in an antechamber waiting for me. He's been

there for over two hours. I sent for you immediately but

your house was empty of servants. He became impatient and I

was afraid he would leave, so I had him disrobe and took his

clothes. Follow me."

"He told you he wanted to be castrated?"

"He told me you had ordered it. Of course, this I knew

to be false." They stopped in front of a door. "His clothes

are on the table over there."

"Send me your bill for this great service you have

done."

"There will be no bill, Excellency. The boy has much

character. I confess I did not like him at first, but he

truly amazed me. He loves you more than his own life."

"And I've ignored his bid for my love."

"Um...there is one other thing. The boy should have

rest for at least another week to heal properly. Forgive me

for my candor, Excellency, but that would include sexual

activity."

"No offense taken, dear friend." Stephen took the

boy's clothes in his hand and opened the door.

"Excellency," Demian said in surprise.

"Hello, Demian." The boy rose from the wooden chair,

naked and as unashamed as an angel.

Stephen looked. He could not have kept from looking at

the naked beauty before him. Except for his scarred

scrotum, he had not a single blemish on his vibrant skin.

"You here to have yourself gelded?"

"I didn't know what else to do...."

"So you could be a singer?"

"No, Excellency. Unless it pleases you."

"Then why?"

"I know you do not love me as you love Pablo... But

after he leaves, I thought you might find me to be a

tolerable substitute."

"I love you infinitely more, Demian." He swept the boy

into his arms and they stood in the middle of the small

office in a long embrace. Eventually his hand found its way

to the soft, shapely buttocks. The boy moved to provide him

better access.

"Excellency, I would do anything to share your bed,

even for an hour."

Stephen thought about the small nugget within the boy's

scarred scrotum, about the boy's visit to the physician to

have it removed. He knew Demina spoke the truth. He sat,

pulling the naked boy onto his lap. He brought his face

close, caressing the boy's cheeks with his hands.

"How can I be your father and your lover?"

Demian didn't answer for a long time. He could feel the

man's huge erection pressing against his leg. He dropped

his hand to touch its shape. Then he timidly said, "What's

the harm if it is known only to us?"

Stephen's kiss, full on the boy's voluptuous lips,

provided the answer to the boy's question. He knew he should

call off the search being performed by servants and friends.

But being alone with his naked boy for the first time, stole

his common sense.

He sat upon a padded chair and pulled Demian onto his

lap. When Stephen broke their kiss, the boy gasped and

rubbed his hand across the lump in Stephen's breeches. "May

I open your pants?" the boy asked in a modest voice.

"You may do anything you like. I am yours to command."

Demian struggled with the buttons. "But Sire, I am in

need of your instruction."

The small, hot hand seized his seeping erection.

Stephen closed his eyes and moaned to reveal his pleasure.

"It would seem that you do not."

"Does this feel good?" he asked hopefully.

"Heavenly."

"Shall I sit upon it as in the statue in your bedroom?"

"That act will be my greatest joy. But it is too soon.

Not only must you heal from the surgery, you must be

prepared for penetration, lest you suffer great pain and

injury."

"No injury would stay my desire to please you."

"But it would stay my pleasure to cause injury. I

cannot hurt you, my beloved Demian."

Demian, having never masturbated, didn't know what to

do with the huge cock. He lightly rubbed his hand all

around. Stephen looked down and say the boy's cock

beginning to stiffen.

He grabbed the boy's hand. "Oh, what am I thinking?

You must have rest and time to heal before we can do this."

"I have never felt better," the boy boasted.

"And I have never felt more aroused, but we must go

tell my staff to cease in their search for you. Then we

must get you into bed--alone!"

Demian groaned, but didn't resist when Stephen pushed

him to his feet.

"Get dressed, Demian."

Stephen was just tucking Demian into his own bed when

Marena came to the door. "Stephen, Pablo is in the

receiving room."

Stephen blanched. "I forgot about Pablo."

Bravely, Demian said, "Bring him to this room. I'll

move to guest quarters."

"I will have him brought here."

As Stephen turned toward Marena, she bowed, "As you

wish."

"Stephen, I don't think I can bear to meet him. Please

direct me toward my new quarters."

"Nonsense. This is your bed, as well as mine."

"When he sees you he will need no explanation for my

unwillingness to couple with him."

Pablo, a lanky dark-haired boy entered with great

enthusiasm and ran to embrace Stephen. "My lord. It is so

good to see you."

"You look wonderful, as always."

"Who is this?" Pblo asked upon seeing Demian in

Stephen's bed. Demian sat politely with the sheet drawn

across his torso to hide his nakedness.

"And I might also ask," Stephen said, pointing to the 7

year old boy who stood in the doorway. He wore the orange

robe of a Conservatory apprentice. His hands were folded

and hanging politely over his crotch. He had long lashes and

jet hair that extended well past his shoulders. If not for

the robe of a castrati, he might have been mistaken for a

girl.

"I've taken a lover," Pablo said simply.

"As have I," Stephen responded warmly.

Pablo laughed. "Excellency, it relieves me greatly to

hear that. I've vowed to never play the passive role

again."

"Well, you never were a passive one!"

"What is this beautiful boy's name?"

"Demian. Demian, this is Pablo."

"Pleased to meet you, sir."

"Looks like I've come at a bad time. Or does he keep

you naked and in bed at all times?" Pablo laughed wickedly,

making Demian blush deeply.

"I've never had sex with the boy," Stephen said softly.

"Things have certainly changed around here! Why haven't

you broken this young steed?"

"He's healing from a delicate surgical procedure."

"You mean at his age he is only recently cut?"

"No, that's not it. It is a very long story. Let me

order some wine and food. Would you like to bathe?"

"No. But I feel if your boy is naked, then mine should

be, too."

He snapped his fingers without turning and the boy

instantly stepped free of his cloak. He gazed at his

master, awaiting Pablo's next command. As he waited, he

stood with hands at his sides. His scrotum was a small brown

flap of skin. His penis looked shocking to both Demian and

Stephen. Though he had never seen such a penis, he

instantly knew that the boy had been circumcised. What made

it look even more shocking without the thick foreskin he was

accustomed to was that the penis seemed to have no shaft.

It was as though the glans sprang directly from his bald

pubis.

"He had the smallest member in the Conservatory. I

took the skin from it myself. This way he receives

stimulation whenever he moves. He is a very horny child.

And quite beautiful, don't you think?"

"Yes," Stephen said softly. His unreleased passion

from the doctor's waiting room returned to him, making it

difficult to stand tall.

"Would you like to bed him?"

"Of course, I would love to; however, I am pledged to

Demian."

"It's okay, Stephen," Demian said. "If you want

to...."

He swept the boy, his boy, into his arms and kissed the

top of his head. In a whisper he said, "Though your health

is frail, there are still things you may do to bring me

relief. And any affection from you is preferrable to all

affection from anyone else."

Demian looked up and their eyes locked. "You are so

much more than I deserve."

As Pablo politely excused himself from their chamber,

Stephen guided the boy's hand to the center of his passion.

The hand pawed clumsily through his breeches before

triumphantly claiming the shaft.

Almost immediately, Demian winced in pain, and Stephen

quickly grabbed his hand. "What is wrong?"

"It is nothing, sir. Let me continue."

Stephen saw the contours of the sheet at the boy's

loins. "It is with delight and concern I see your present

state of arousal. My heart soars to think your passion

could be summoned by the mere touch of my body. Yet it also

signals the end to our current intimacy. You must let your

body heal."

"Stephen," he called reaching out to stop the man from

rising.

At the doorway, Stephen turned and said, "Sleep. In

the days to come there will be time enough for lovemaking."

Though he sent servants with messages to Demian several

times a day, Stephen did not visit the boy for a week. When

the physician came to him and said Demian's wounds were

adequately healed, Stephen set sail for a small provate

island Ledio made available for him. The island was

surrounded by rocks and sand, and at the base of it's single

rugged peak, a humble stone abode had been erected. He

brought servants aboard his ship and supplies for one week.

After settling himself into the house, he sent the servants

to fetch Demian.

Two days later Demian stood on deck of the ship, and as

requested, handed all of his clothes to a servant. Naked

and unashamed of his arousal, the boy climbed down a rope

and swam the short distance to shore. Up a winding dirt

trail, he saw the stones of his destination. Leaning

against a stone wall, he saw Stephen. They waved, and at

once the boy set out.

Stephen saw his pale and skinny boy swiftly cross the

beach and begin the short climb to the house. Stephen waited

on the small plaza, squinting against the brilliant sun. As

the boy stepped into view, Stephen, standing 20 feet

distant, casually threw off his robe, and stood proudly

naked before his young love.

They stood as if statues suspended from time by the

artist's hand, looking at one another. The sound of the surf

and the brittle cry of scavenging seagulls were the only

sounds. At last Stephen broke the silence between them.

"You present arousal causes no pain?"

"Only the pain of longing...." The boy stepped

tentatively closer.

"You are healed?"

"May I embrace you?"

Parsimoniously, Stephen inclined his head. The boy had

taken five steps before Stephen strode to meet him. Demian's

body crashed into Stephen's like wave on rock, and in

Stephen's crushing embrace, Demian's fragile body unleashed

its passion against the man's hairy thigh. Though no

emission came, as none would for a couple years, Stephen

recognized the boy's spending through the sporadic

contractions of his muscles.

At Stephen released the boy from his embrace, a small

hand claimed his throbbing pillar. He looked down to the

sight of his foreskin, trapped beneath the small fist, and

his purple glans, appearing several times a second from

beneath the folds of skin. His hips matched the boy's

gestures until Stephen stared at the sky through closed lids

as the boy watched in amazement. Stephen's spending seemed

to last an eternity. When he again opened his eyes, he saw

thick sheets of his semen gliding down the pearly, almost

translucent skin of Demian's abdomen.

In Demian's eyes he saw a smile of satisfaction, but

deeper, he saw an unflagging hunger. He kissed the boy's

lips, working against them with softened lips and tongue,

relaxing Demian's lips into a blossoming passion.

Cradling the boy's head in the crook of a powerful arm, he

broke the kiss and said, "You must be in need of

nourishment. Come inside."

As they ate grapes and drank lightly of wine, Stephen

found himself unable to look away from the beauty of the

naked boy for long. His semen had begun to crust on the

boy's skin. Demian's finger-like shaft remained firm.

Beneath it, his scrotum dangled, asymmetrical because of

what had been taken. The small incision still had a scab,

so Stephen knew he must exercise constraint in their future

couplings.

Eventually Demian grew content from the food and drink

and sat back, his legs spread invitingly. "Do you know I

will do anything you wish?"

His long lashes darkened his downcast eyes. The boy's

modesty was as fetching as the sight of his hairless and

girlish body. Stephen said, "Yes, but do you know I will do

anything you wish?"

"But I can only want your happiness."

"And I can only be happy through your happiness."

Throughout the day they shared in the pleasure of the

other's flesh: on the portico, in the scrub forests, along

the beach. As the sun hung low and transformed itself to a

lustrous crimson, they retired to the bed chamber. From

Stephen's early gentle caressing of his slender buttocks,

the boy knew what was to transpire. It was a moment of

great mystery and fear. He knew the experience would not be

completely pleasurable; however, the sacrifice of some

discomfort was a small one for this man who had given him a

fortune, a future, his manhood, and more importantly the

love he needed to find purpose.

Passively he allowed Stephen to turn him to his

stomach. when an oily finger searched his shallow cleft,

Demian spread his legs and lifted his hips, providing the

man unhesitating access to his darkest passage. He jumped

at the first touch on his rosebud, not from pain or ffear,

but from the surprisingly pleasant sensation it produced.

"Trust me and surrender yourself to me, and this will

go smoothly."

"I trust you completely. You already possess my soul,

so what is left to surrender?"

As his finger burrowed into the depths of Demian's

rectum, Stephen leaned close to the boy's ear and said,

"Your virginity."

Demian grunted.

The finger continued to probe and stretch for such a

long time that darkness closed in around them like a heavy

cloak. Demian concentrated on controlling his breathing as

Stephen introduced a second finger into his fundament. After

a moment, the discomfort eased. Stephen worked with gentle,

leisurely movements, preparing the boy's chamber for his

cock.

Demian forced his fingers to uncurl as the man hovered,

then slowly descended onto him. No trace of light remained

in the room, and as the man's strong, hairy flesh covered

his back, Demian had a moment of panic. He raised his head

and nearly spoke, but before he could utter a sound,

Stephen's tongue touched his ear canal, sending a shiver of

pleasure through his body.

The cock pressed into place, slick, hot, insistent.

The boy heard Stephen's breath go still, making him hold his

own. The stasis lasted too long, and the anticipation

became more unbearable than the fear of pain. the boy

raised himself up against the powerful cock.

It pierced through his sphincter, and Demian's head

raised in a breathless and silent cry of pain. What the boy

became aware of even more than the pain in his bottom, was

the explosion of Stephen's held breath in his ear. As they

remained frozen in place, connected by only 3 centimeters of

Stephen's shaft, the man's breath exploded in ragged,

shallow bursts. Demian knew this to be the breathing of a

man experiencing great physical pleasure. He pressed upward

even further, encouraging the man to penetrate him more

fully.

Stephen took his cue and pressed downward. Every

sensation that entered his consciousness emanated from his

penis. The only thing that prevented his immediate spending

was the restraint made possible by the three orgasms that

immediately preceeded this coupling.

He seemed to meet renewed resistant after only 10

centimeters of his penis was sheathed. This sensation was

confirmed by Demian's groan. Stephen began a slow

withdrawal. With slow gentle motions, he created intense

friction and pressure on his cock. Even his best times with

Pablo didn't compare to the passion and sensations that

loomed over them like an impending tidal wave.

When the orgasm started, Stephen lost his self-control.

Wave after wave of energy exploded from his body, and at the

center of their universe, Stephen laid claim and the boy

surrendered. When the last of Stephen's energy had been

summoned and propelled into the boy, he collapsed. It was

several minutes later that he realized his weight must be a

burden to the boy. He grasped the boy's chest tightly and

rolled them both onto their sides without breaking the

connection. As he caressed the boy's sweaty stomach, he

realized his cock was fully inside Demian. He knew he had

totally been carried away with his passion.

"Are you okay?" he asked tenderly. "Do you want me to

remove myself?"

"No. Let's stay like this forever."

The boy eventually drifted off to sleep, but Stephen

could not relinquish his triumph. It wasn't until this day

that he had truly known the fulfillment of love. It was a

day to treasure. As the boy's breathing deepened into

slumber, he felt his cock, still deep inside the boy, begin

to engorge once again.

As he began a slow withdrawal, thinking it best to give

the boy some rest, Demian's small hand dug into the hard

flesh of Stephen's buttocks, stopping him. Stephen

discovered the boy's erection.

And so they spent the rest of the night in

intermittent, dream-like lovemaking, the bond between them

unbroken, their bodies locked in love.

THE END