14.  An Eventful Summer

Some of the Characters Appearing: Mark Henry Foster            The story‑teller Tristan (Tris) Price‑Williams    His well‑proportioned boyfriend Francis Michael [Microbe] Foster  Alias Toad:  just growing and wondering Ivo Richie Carr              Mark's cousin:  chunky and cheeky with it   Adam Benjamin Carr    Ditto, as his twin Francesco Matteoli       Designer and Uncle of Mark and Francis Aldo Leopardi              Companion of Uncle Francesco Ernesto di Cremona     An Italian cousin Guido Faldi                  The hairy 18 year‑old poolboy Pietro Faldi                  Guido’s younger cousin Senora Faldi                Guido's Mum: Uncle Francesco's cook      Charles Fane‑Stuart     The 'Servant of the Chapel' Mirabelle Fane‑Stuart  ‘Mother’

     As soon as Frankie finished school the three of us flew out to Italy.  Aldo was in a

flap.  Uncle Francesco had made a great impression at the Milan fashion show but some

other designer had withdrawn from a big summer show in Rome and he'd been asked to

present a new collection.  The problem was it was short notice and half the costumes weren't

ready.  In fact because of secrecy quite a few were being hand‑crafted at the Villa in a

converted barn by a small army of seamstresses.  These items were the male half of the show

and Tris and I were roped in to try the things on to see if they hung right or whatever.  As the

head seamstress seemed to spend most of her time screeching in rapid Italian we gathered

little of what she said as we twirled and strutted in sometimes quite bizarre outfits.    David

Beckham wasn't in it.  He may have paraded in a sarong with Victoria's knickers on

underneath.  We had to parade in skimpy undies while we were swathed in various very

exotic fabrics while Uncle Francesco and his chief designer made copious sketches for the

clothes to be constructed.  Francis was chuntering at being left out but Ernesto turned up a

couple of days after we arrived and kept him fairly quiet.      

     But Francis was persistent.  At the evening meal he demanded to know why there

weren't fashionable clothes for boys of his age.  He went on about the designer crap he and

his friends had to buy otherwise they were not thought to be with it.  Why didn't Uncle

produce some things for trendy boys like him?

     I thought Unc was going to kiss him then and there.  There were hurried consultations

and next day there were sketch pads full of boardshorts, tops, caps, trainers, knee and elbow

pads which seemed rather bizarre to elderly teens like Tris and me but were pronounced fab

or the equivalent in younger teenage argot of the time by Frankie and his side‑kick.  In fact,

Ernesto did some of the basic sketches which were fallen on by Unc's designer.  Frankie also

said what about trendy clothes for youngsters like him when they had to take 'chicks to the

flicks'?    What a phrase, but it was directed at Aldo who adored American 60's slang.  A new

flurry of activity meant tops, jackets, trousers and so on being planned.  He and Ernesto then

had to model possible combinations but were firmly told that the show models were tightly

controlled so they wouldn't be appearing in Rome but....  I could see the headlines, Foster's

Fashion Inc.!!  Still it kept the two lads occupied and Tris and I could indulge our passions ‑

albeit with closed windows after last year's confessions.  From what we could ascertain the

pair were also occupied nightly as well.

     In between all the trying on of clothes we all managed to get good overall tans and

even Ernesto, who had been a bit hesitant last year, now showed his all on all occasions.  His

all was quite impressive, especially the luxurious hair which the now‑eighteen‑year‑old was

sprouting.  His cock was a very  plump floppy length and I was well aware than both Tris and

I were stared at by this rather desirable hunky lad.  And, of course, we all stared at the pool‑

boy, Signora Faldi's pride and joy.  Guido was even hairier than Ernesto and strutted his stuff

cleaning the pool most assiduously almost every day.  Ernesto told us that Uncle Francesco

was paying his fees to go through medical school as his mother was such a valued member of

the household.  So Guido was assured of a good career.

     Anyway, whether it was the warmth, or the good food, or the tasting of exquisite

wines, or, purely and simply our hormonal states, both Tris and I were completely horny all

the time.  I think we wanked or sucked two or three times a day.  Of course, we had only had

our right hands to assuage our needs for most of the preceding year, so we did everything to

make up for all that lost time.  We always started our lengthy sessions by just caressing each

other and feeling each other's bodies.  Touching with light fingers then exploring with

tongues on those erogenous points we had discovered on each other.  Mine started with my

top lip and just under my chin whereas Tris went bananas when his ear lobes were nibbled

and he was licked on his neck below his ears.

     His greatest joy was, as I held his now more than seven inches of thick boymeat, of

me pulling down his foreskin and just teasing that tight little piece of skin which anchored

the skin to the rear of his rod just below his crown.  Licking my thumb and then playing with

his cock like that caused him to moan softly and hold me tighter as his lovely prick throbbed

and hardened even more.

     In return, he would touch my right nipple with the tip of his tongue and gently ring

the raised skin around it which was guaranteed to send me into the second major stage of

ecstasy.  He would move down leaving a just discernible trail of saliva, flattening the fine

hairs which were now beginning to appear as a black downy coat between  and across my

pecs.  His tongue would then traverse my increasingly hairy stomach until he reached my

navel and he would lap and explore the depth of that most sensitive structure.  Finally, he

would follow that now dense trail which led within an inch or so to my luxuriant black bush.

     This was my signal to take up the position so that our mouths and tongues could take

over the play on our equal massive shafts, licking each other again on that so sensitive area

under the ridge.  Then we would use our tongues to stroke the tight skin of the glans until

simultaneously we would engulf those so, so sensitive swellings.  On numerous occasions

just these actions were sufficient to cause the familiar subterranean pulsations heralding the

release of that monstrously powerful reflex.  Both of us said we had hair‑trigger reactions so

that first, major outpouring of the day, which so often occurred when we woke in the

morning still wrapped in other's arms or spooned up close after the previous night's intense

love‑making, was quickly achieved but was still of immense satisfaction.  Tris said nothing

set him off so much as the scent of my body at those times, which retained the smell of the

sweat and sex of the night before.

     In the evenings our love‑making generally started in the same way and we alternated

with one particular thing we both loved.  This was softly lapping at each other's ball‑sacs and

taking each ball in turn into our mouths and gently sucking on it.  Our tongues would then

explore the slope of hard but responsive flesh just beneath our balls, probing and examining

it with our sensitive tongues as if they were antennae receiving signals.  Then on upwards, as

our prongs would be steel‑hard, or seeming‑so, but both of us had quite pronounced softer

indentations running from the base of our rods up to that so responsive skin below the ridge.

Tonguing into that groove was a dependable summons to our spunk squirting machinery to

prime itself for a maximum explosion into mouths yearning for that taste of the other's self.

That taste to be shared with tongues that smeared the mixture over lips, cheeks and chins, to

then be licked away cleanly once the original had been swallowed and ingested, but the

craving for more still existed.

     Sometimes we lay and slept but often we needed more.  Our tongues would start their

duelling dance again and hands would grasp cocks which may not have softened much after

the first  marvellous release of boycream but which would rapidly harden and yearn for the

incessant rhythm which seemed inbuilt into our systems.  We would keep matching pace,

engrossed in the feelings rising within us, until within strokes of each other we would unload,

unleashing with terrible force, more of our precious semen.  Then, kissing so tenderly, we

would sleep.

     We fucked less often ‑ both of us found the preparation somewhat tiresome ‑ but we

needed that feeling of being filled by the other.  We both loved to be fucked and to fuck. 

Neither of us liked shagging doggy‑style as we felt we could not share our love properly that

way  We loved to fuck watching the other's face and their reactions, and to share kisses and

hugs. We shared the preparation and tried to prolong the action so the one being fucked

underwent the longest possible experience of having the other's prick seeking and

stimulating that internal sensitive area.  As both of us could hardly sustain more than a few

full insertions and movements of our pricks when fucking the other before shooting our load

we knew that, once our pricks were full in, a second discharge would take longer and so

prolong the pleasure of the other.  We joked about our premature ejaculations but that first

feeling of being totally within, and the usual rhythmic clamping and releasing once fully in,

was sufficient for randy boys to come almost without warning.  But randy boys were always

capable of producing that second most satisfactory climactic event.   In between the kisses

and hugs were invariable and helped to maintain a very high level of mutual horniness.

     So we took it, share and share about, perhaps only fucking the other a couple of

nights after the experience of being fucked.  In between, we knew that whatever we did was

with love and a total commitment to each other.  We did joke about what it might be like to

experience Nesto's lithe and wiry body ‑ he was much shorter than either of us and we

wondered what it would be like to have him sandwiched between us ‑ like a nice thick slice

of pastrami between two pieces of succulent toasted brown bread as Tris said.  Our fantasies

about Guido centred on the dimensions of the sausage which was outlined by the rather tight

small pair of bathing trunks he wore while cleaning the pool.  We would wantonly stare as he

dropped his shorts before getting into the pool to free or clean a filter but we were never

rewarded with a complete viewing of his equipment as he just drip‑dried before pulling on

his shorts again.  He would come across to us four lying naked on the upper terrace but never

responded to our invitations to join us.  He was always 'troppo occupato', too busy, though

he did stare quite openly at the boy flesh so honestly displayed.  Was he shy because his

penis was not very big, especially as Tris was almost as big soft as hard, or was he worried in

case we might make advances.  It was no secret that at least two of us sunning ourselves were

as Uncle Francesco and Aldo, finocchio, a somewhat less than polite word for being gay.

     We had informed Ernesto of our relationship because of Frankie's revelations about

last year and he had just nodded and said he understood.  That was insufficient for Toad who

had taught him a few good old English swear words in return for a few gobbets of Italian

invective.  Toad told us the Italian word a couple of days later and got a smack on his bare

arse from Tris while I threatened him with instant castration if he repeated such things in

Aldo or Uncle's hearing.

     Uncle Francesco was in his element with us being so useful and he and Aldo were so

in love, too.  In fact, we all kept early nights, eating usually at eight at night and drifting off

to bed before eleven.  Although Aldo never referred to Tris and I as lovers he gave us

knowing smiles every day when he greeted us.  Unc had to go off to Rome to supervise the

presentation at the fashion show and Aldo went to join him for the final few days to organise

the festivities.  While they were away Ivo and Adam arrived.  Ivo rather pale from city‑life in

France, but Adam was a bronzed Hercules.  He said that lugging bricks and digging holes and

trenches for pipes had been very hard work but it had paid off.  Ivo said he expected Adam

had expended enough youthful energy through the work to confine his solitary wanking to

five times a day, and you could tell it was so often by the rough corns he'd developed on the

palms of his hands.  Ivo ended up in the pool for that quip disturbing Frankie and Nesto who

were swimming leisurely lengths.

     Adam maintained the callouses were the result of good honest labour using his hands

in the pursuit of hard‑earned cash.  He did say he had suffered somewhat from heat rash

around the groin area after wearing a pair of Ivo's cut‑offs on the motor‑bike.  Ivo was now

also a fully competent rider and that little rift in the lute had been mended as he was  now

allowed to share equally the handling of the bike with Adam .  "As long as he pays his share

of the petrol!" was Adam's comment.

     To get something to  relieve the itchiness he'd gone into a chemist's in the town

where the new building was taking place.

     "Thought of you and that bloody mad organ wallah in Under Milk Wood, you know

Organ Morgan, couldn't keep his hands off it just like you!" he laughed.  "It's true, Greg

Murray said that bit was all about excessive masturbation which Dylan Thomas was addicted

to.  At least, Greg was certain he was."

     "What the hell are you rambling on about?"  Ivo asked.  "You get a bit of sun on your

head and it softens your brain even more.  And what has Greg Murray got to do with it?"

     "Shut up, brother dear, or I'll have to get Guido to ram his nice big sausage in your

gob as far as it will go!"   We had been eyeing Guido for the past half‑hour as he

meticulously used the pool vacuum‑cleaner and had been diligently scrubbing the tiles clad

in just a ragged pair of shorts and a broad smile.  The cheeky sod knew we were looking at

him and he bent and stretched to show off his muscled legs and hairy chest.  We'd had sotto

voce bets on the length of his tool which caused only a smallish bulge as he bent back and

my bet of four and a half inches was so far the maximum dimension.  It had to be sotto voce

as Big‑Lugs and Nesto were lolling on sun‑beds about ten feet away.  We noted renewed

attention to the conversation by the pair.  "Greg Murray is reading English and he said....."

     "Oh, get on with it!" said Ivo in mock exasperation, "What did you get for your itch?

Nitric acid, I guess, as you've only got one ball now!"

     This last caused rather a stir ten feet away.

     "I'm telling the tale," said Adam.  "Ignore him.  As I was saying, Marky..."  He

emphasized 'Marky'.  "...I was sorely afflicted and went into this chemist shop and a very

nice young lady was behind the counter..."

     "...And you can guess, can't you?  Please Miss, my balls are sore, have you got

anything to ease my suffering, but first, you must inspect them...." interrupted Ivo, "Anything

to get some unsuspecting girl into his clutches.  Or better still, to get some unsuspecting girl

to clutch his minuscule tackle!"

     "Bollocks!" said Adam and went on quickly before Ivo could make some obvious

observation.  "I just asked for some Savlon and while she was getting it I noticed a

chemist's qualifications on a certificate behind the counter.  Henry P Jones MPS  FRCO.

Jones the Chemist and Jones the Organ!" He laughed.  "There were four Jones's on the site

and they all had nicknames to distinguish them.  Jones the Brick and Jones the Lead, 'cause

he was the plumber, and there were two Dai Jones.  Dai Jones the Chippy and Dai Jones the

Office."

     Ivo was making sneery faces and nodding his head from side to side indicating he

thought his dear brother was a stupid bugger.  "Who the fuck wants to know all the Jones's in

Wales.  Must be millions of them.  You'd be Jones the Stupid with Sore Balls!"

     "And did the medication work?" asked Tris sententiously, "Or did you have to return

for further consultation with Miss Jones the Testicle Tester?"

     "She wasn't Miss Jones, her name was Myfanwy Williams."

     "And how far did you get?  You never told me!"  Ivo's interest was raised.  "First or

second base, or the whole hog?"

     "You are just disgusting," said Adam, now in the ascendant.  "I was able to ascertain

her name quite simply as she had a badge displaying it on her amply filled white coat."

     "Ughh" was Ivo's only comment while Tris and I grinned at each other.

     Of course, underlying all my happiness and enjoyment of the holiday was a little

niggle.  Actually, a big niggle.  I had my A Level results to come and I needed the required

levels to start at St Mark's.  On the fateful August day Mum phoned.  Should she open the

envelope?, she teased.  I guessed she already had.  Would I like to wait until Dad got home to

break the news?  She laughed.  "You've got them," she said with her wonderful laugh, "All

four, tops."

     I turned and hugged Tris who, having heard me answer the phone, had crept up

behind me.  "We'll be together," was all I could say.  Mum was telling me how pleased she

was and was there anything I wanted.  I just said, "I've got Tris."  She laughed and said I was

to tell her brother to spoil me rotten.  I said he already was and, yes, we were all being good

boys.  I didn't add that we didn't need much clean underwear as most of the day we wore

nothing at all.

     Signora Faldi contacted Unc and he ordered her to produce the best meal she could.

She did, and the eight of us were waited on not only by Signora Faldi's usual two ladies but

also by Guido and a young lad of about fourteen, his cousin, Pietro.  Both were in Matteoli

creations for the super‑trendy teenager and flaunted their sensual beauty as only young

Italians can.  They and the dinner were superb!

     At the beginning of the next week Unc and Aldo returned triumphant.  The show had

been a great success and their presentation had sent the fashion critics into raptures,

especially the kept secret appearance of a dozen young adolescents displaying the very latest

in what every young lad should be, and would be, wearing.  Frankie nearly went into his own

rapture when he saw the heap of clothing which was now his.  He and his pals would be so

hip or whatever and no one could diss them for wearing anything more than three weeks old

as this was so fab, brill, phat, wicked..., ....words so outre escaped his lips and were lost to

posterity before they could be recorded.

     We older ones were given the choice of anything left hanging in the workroom.  I

chose a heavily brocaded jacket and very tight dark green beautifully cut trousers, plus a

selection of strange shirts and tops until Tris reminded me of the excess baggage charges

when flying home.  Unc then presented Tris and me with cheques for a thousand pounds each

for acting as models while the clothes were being cut and assembled.  As soon as Tris said he

would put it towards a lap‑top Unc said he shouldn't, he would arrange for both of us to

receive the latest model.  Frankie and Nesto got the same treatment with written contracts

that when eighteen they would receive a percentage of the profits from the sale of the items

designed or suggested by them.  Nesto was immediately signed up for a course in design in

Milan with the promise he would be attending the best college of fashion in London as well

later.  The twins were not left out but also had their pick plus a cheque for themselves as

well.

     Unc was in a really expansive mood.  He arranged for all of us to go to the best

restaurant in the town.  "My reputation will be so enhanced," he said, as we paraded in his

creations before setting out, "Six of the handsomest young men in the Universe and they are

with me and my Aldo."  We pointed out this was partly true as we were certain that Frankie

was a clone of ET.  He sneered and mouthed reprisals later.  What we didn't expect were the

three photographers who were waiting for us as we stepped from the two large limousines in

front of the restaurant.  Those photos appeared in all the local papers and in Rome, Florence

and Milan and a phone call from Mum wanted to know if we realised we were in one of the

Sunday supplements!

     I was sitting next to Aldo in the restaurant when something caught my eye.  I was

thunderstruck and nearly forgot to pop the succulent gobbet of seafood starter into my

salivating mouth.  On the little finger of Aldo's left hand was a signet ring which I was

certain was identical to the one Charles wore!  On looking closer I could see it was a leopard

standing up on its back legs, its face looking outwards and it's front paws held up with claws

exposed.  I didn't say anything as I didn't want to distract him in any way on such a

celebratory evening by asking questions.

     In bed that night Tris and I were so full of food and beautiful wines all we could do

was hold each other.  Of course that holding was fruitful as we flooded each other's bellies

and stomachs with streamers of boycream which, no doubt, was enhanced by the subtle

flavours of the goodies consumed that evening.  As we lay contentedly after, I told Tris what

I had noticed.  He had noticed too as he had seen that ring of Charles's and thought it might

be the crest of Downing College which had 'The Scratching Cat' as their insignia.  Why had

Aldo, or Charles for that matter, any connection with that College?  On the other hand, I said,

perhaps it wasn't just the crest of a Cambridge College but of a family.  Tris said we should

just comment on it when a suitable opportunity arose.

     At lunch next day we were all on the shaded terrace being served by Signora Faldi's

two assistants and young Pietro who kept catching Frankie and Nesto's eyes and smiling.

No, I didn't think the pair had exercised their horny charms on him yet, but the looks hinted

at a certain offer which, if.....

     Tris was also eyeing the lad as well.  Perhaps also seeing the lad's interest.  Pietro had

that dark‑eyed beauty one saw all the time in Renaissance paintings.  "Keep your eyes off

young Pietro," I informed Tris in a quiet whisper, "I'm not bailing you out for seducing a

minor!"

     "He's beautiful, though," said Tris, "He's just like that copy of a Botticelli painting in

the dining room, isn't he?

     I saw Tris also eyeing the signet ring which Aldo, with his expressive gestures, was

displaying for all to see.

     "That's a lovely ring, Aldo," Tris said, "It looks like the crest of one of the

Cambridge Colleges.  I think it's Downing."

     Aldo held up his hand and gazed at the ring then shook his head.  "This was my

father's ring," he said, "It is our family crest.  When my father told me to leave I could only

take a few things and when he died my mother sent me this."

     The happy group became rather sombre.  What did Aldo mean by 'When my father

told me to leave'?  Uncle Francesco was sitting opposite him.

     "You should tell them ‑ it will help ‑ you have kept it to yourself for too long," Unc

said.

     I was sitting next to Uncle and looked at Aldo.  I could see there were tears in his

eyes.

     "I will tell," he said, "You have been lucky, like Francesco,..."  He turned and took

Tris's hand in his and gripped it.   "...Your father understood, his father understood.  My

father was very strict.  He was very Catholic and when he found I was....." He paused.  

"....He said I was not human and I could go and live with my lover...  He said more than that

but the Italian is too gross and insulting to repeat ever...  ..And I could pack and leave and I

was his son no longer."

     "He came and has been with me ever since," Uncle said softly, "He has been my

whole life since that day.  We had met four years before that.  I had almost finished my

studies in architecture and Aldo was just seventeen and in his last year in the collegio ‑ a

boarding school run by very strict priests.  We met at a party and it was just electric.  We

both knew ‑ we loved each other his last holiday before he left school.  I went to America for

five years and worked in a film studio as a designer but we wrote to each other every week.

When I came back Aldo was in London.  He had persuaded his father to let him study fashion

design...."

     "....No, my father thought I was studying Art but I did something I really wanted... ,"

Aldo looked at Uncle Francesco.  "..I came back from London rather hurriedly and it was

then my father found the letters from Francesco.  He didn't find them, his valet did... an evil

man who had tried to seduce me when I was just fourteen and hated me because I resisted.

He had caught me doing what all boys do and threatened to tell my father unless...  I said I

wouldn't and that drew his bluff...  ...But he hated me from that moment on.  He had

searched my room and found my secret hiding place.  When I arrived home my father gave

me twenty‑four hours to leave the house.  I packed and went within an hour.  It nearly broke

my mother's heart.  My father died three years later and my mother died last year.  I was the

last of the Leopaldi's...."  He held up the ring.   ".....I have this, my father's title, his palazzo

in Venice, his money, but not his love..."  He looked across at Francesco.  "...But I have his

love!"

     There was a sudden surge.  Tris was one side and Adam was on the other side and

they both simultaneously put their arms round him.  "You have our love, too," said Tris.

"True," said Adam.  I looked at Frankie and Nesto who were sitting side by side at the end of

the table.  Both were in tears.

     Frankie got up and when round to Aldo.  "I love you, too, I am so sad.  I couldn't bear

it if my father didn't love me.  He loves Marky and Tris and they love each other."

     Uncle Francesco beckoned to Nesto and said something to him in rapid Italian.  Nesto

smiled and wiped his tears away.

     I looked at Tris.  The mention of London and a rapid calculation of his age, less

twenty‑one or so, would fit.  Neither of us said anything.  There had been enough revelations

for today.  There was one question I had to ask Ivo.

     At dinner that evening we heard a little more.  Aldo was more his old self.  He said

his family had been in Venice for centuries and had been very influential in the old Republic

but had never forgiven Napoleon for conquering the city and allowing the Austrians to take it

over on his departure to exile.  The old titles had also disappeared over the years but he could

still be styled Count Leopaldi if he really felt grand.  The old Palazzo Leopaldi was leased to

an American firm of designers and consultants who paid a small rent on the understanding of

keeping the place in good repair.  There were valuable pictures, one or two of which were in

the Villa, but the others were stored, or on loan to galleries.  "The Botticelli boy?" whispered

a stunned Tris.  Aldo smiled.  "That's not a copy."

     After dinner we four older boys were sitting on our upper terrace while Frankie and

Nesto went off to their room to indulge in some nefarious activity or play with Frankie's

Gameboy.  "Both!" said Tris nastily.  "They say teen‑age boys are suffering from Repetitive

Strain Injury to their wrists through playing those computer games.  I would have thought all

boys have always suffered from that through other wrist movements.  Especially you, young

Marky!" he said, much to the amusement of the other two, who, I said, would be in the

Guinness Book of Records for speed of wrist action if it could ever be measured.

     I thought it might be an opportune moment to ask Ivo.  "Ivo, when you said Charles

had found those letters did he say who they were actually addressed to?"

     Ivo grinned.  "I think I know what you're getting at.  That was the other thing he was

agitated about.  He said they all started 'My Dearest Margaret'.  But Mother's name is

Mirabelle, he said."

     "Yes," I said, "Mum saw an article about her and her decorating in a women's mag

and that said her name was Mirabelle."

     "Bet she changed it!" said Adam.  "And the Fane‑Stuart name seems a bit made up.

She's in the London telephone directory, though.  They live in Hornton Street just opposite

Harrods so that's why he's always on about it.  Ivo had to phone him at Christmas as he

hadn't left him with the service rota and he had to arrange the choir practices.  Be easier if

Drew wasn't involved!"

     Ivo laughed.  "I actually spoke to her.  I asked if Charles was there and there was this

shout, 'Charles dear, there's a boy on the phone!'  Sounded just like him when he does one of

his characters.  She wanted to know where I was phoning from and when I said Dorset she

said it was a pity I was so far away as Charles didn't get out enough."

     "Imagine the two dear boys taking tea together in Harrods ‑ another teacake dearest?

‑ and that would be Ivo asking," said Adam with a flutter of eyelashes and an elegant hand

flourish.

     "Bed, sweetie‑pie," said Ivo, getting up and looming over his equally tall but

recumbent  brother, "And if you touch that implement of yours tonight and keep me awake

I'll tie the little bugger in knots!"

     "You'll have a job," said Tris, "What I saw on display this afternoon was no bigger

than that bit of gristle you had on the side of your plate...."

     "Up yours, mate!" said Adam trying to get up without falling over.  He'd had more

wine than the rest of us.  "Your tiny prong couldn't get a winkle out of a pin....   Oh, Gawd,

help me up Marky, my tongue's gone to sleep, I mean my leg has, Oh Gawd!"

     With a bit of a heave we got him into the bedroom where, I am afraid, three evil‑

minded boys removed his clothing with rapidity and were loud in their intentions of raping

him in turn while he was held helpless and protesting strongly across the bed exposing a very

inviting, now browned, butt.  Tris being more perfidious than the more innocent brother and

the even more innocent cousin of the hapless, less than virile young male at the moment

spreadeagled there, was driven by lust or depravity to part his cheeks to expose that secret

part that, truth be told, we had explored fully on a previous occasion.

     We were laughing so hard that I, for one, had real tears of mirth running down my

cheeks.  I mopped up one or two and with a damp finger caressed that crinkled rosebud until

Adam was either squirming with expectant delight, or shivering with dread.  With a

resounding slap from three hands on those lovely cheeks we let go as he was displaying the

makings of a hard‑on in his not inconsiderable weapon pushed down between his legs.

"Over to you," said Tris to Ivo giving him a high five as we departed for our own room and a

continuation of our own almost incessant love‑making.

     "I could fuck the pair of them anytime if I didn't have you," whispered Tris as he

began that awesome trek down my body which held me in his thrall.  "Me, too," I whispered

back.  But we had each other and that was enough.

     Next day I primed the other three and then asked Uncle Francesco after breakfast if

we four could talk privately with him and Aldo.  No, it wasn't anything about our own

relationships but we thought we might have something to impart.  Unc sent Frankie and

Nesto off under the wing of Guido the pool‑boy, together with his cousin, young Pietro, to

take a much wanted boat trip they had been hankering after.  With them gone Uncle

Francesco called for coffee and we repaired to his very beautiful study.

     I was the one to ask questions.  "Aldo, when you were in London did you know..."

Here I took a guess.  "....Margaret Stuart?"

     Aldo's eyes opened wide and he dropped the cup he was holding which shattered on

the marble floor.  Uncle Francesco looked at him and shook his head when he made an

attempt to retrieve the myriad pieces.

     "Yes, ....I did," he breathed at last.

     Now for it.   "I think we know your son."

     The effect was startling.  He jumped up and fell to his knees, clasping his hands

together, his eyes tightly shut in prayer, "Maria!  Maria!  Madre di dio!" he cried out,

"Lasciare e vero!  Mio figlio!  Mio figlio!  Oh Dio!"

     Uncle Francesco knelt down too and held his lover in his arms.  They were both

weeping.  I think we all felt very emotional, too.

     Uncle Francesco looked up at me.  He nodded.  "Let it be true!   You are sure?  He

has a son?  I knew he thought a girl was pregnant, but he was never sure."

     Very quickly I outlined our findings, or theory, whichever way it seemed right.  Ivo

asked if Aldo knew anything about Margaret Stuart's family.  He said he had met an aunt

once whose name was Laura  ‑ he paused for a long time then ‑ "She was from Scotland, yes,

she had a Mac name ‑ yes!  It has hit me, it rhymed, McFane!"  We four looked at each other.

Another piece of the jigsaw.

     I asked, "Did you ever give her any jewellery?"

     He looked up at me and smiled.  "I gave her my ring.  Just like this one my father

had."

     "Aldo," I said, "We are quite sure.  We have found your son.  He is Charles Fane‑

Stuart and he is a student at St Mark's."

     "And his mother?  She will hate me!"

     "His mother is Mirabelle Fane‑Stuart now!" I said.

     Aldo laughed.  "She used that name Mirabelle when she acted."

     It was Ivo who got things organised.  He phoned International Directory Inquiries and

found the Fane‑Stuart telephone number in London.  Ivo got through to the number and spoke

to a very startled Charles.  He told him carefully what we had pieced together and that we

had almost certainly found his father.  Aldo came up and said, "Ask him where a birthmark is

that his mother has."

     We were almost crowded round the receiver and heard Charles shout out, "A

birthmark!  She has a heart‑shaped one on her left wrist.  She says it is her lucky talisman!"

     Aldo heard that and snatched the phone from Ivo.  "Charles, I am your father, I am

sure.  Please come to see me or I will come to you!"

     Uncle Francesco took over.  Aldo handed him the 'phone.  "This is Francesco

Matteoli, I am Mark and Francis's uncle.  Stay by your phone.   I will arrange a seat for you

on the next flight here!"

     At half past nine that evening we four were driven to the airport where a father and

son met for the first time.  Gone were the Clarissa histrionics ‑ they just clutched each other

and wept.  Charles had brought the three letters.  Yes.  They had been written by Aldo.  He

explained that he had got a little drunk at the end of the course party and he and Margaret

had gone to bed together.  His first and only time.  He remembered little about it.  A month

or so later, when he was waiting for the course results, she told him she was pregnant.  He

was shocked.  He wasn't in love ‑ only with Francesco, who would be home soon from

America.  He panicked and left for Italy as soon as possible after depositing all the money he

could lay his hands on ‑ about ten thousand pounds ‑ in a bank account for Margaret.  At his

final goodbye he implored her not to have an abortion and he gave her the ring and, literally,

fled.  The three letters he had written on the last three days he was in England.  Could

Charles ever forgive him?

     It was odd.  We had never made any connection between Charles and Aldo in the way

of their looks but when they stood side by side, Charles a couple of inches taller, there was a

striking likeness in their features.  Father and son!

     A great mystery solved.  Of course, Frankie and Nesto were excited as well when we

returned from the airport.  Frankie had a quizzical look as he confronted Charles again after

having met him that time in Cambridge.  "I suppose if you are Aldo's son and I'm Uncle

Francesco's nephew, then I'm Uncle Aldo's nephew, too, which makes me your cousin."

     "Best of luck to you, Charles, you're welcome to him!" I said, "Throw him a crust

every two days and he's less likely to bite your leg off if you get too near!"

     Charles hugged Frankie.  "I couldn't ask more than to have you and lovely Mark as

my cousins."  He turned and smiled at Ivo and Adam and Nesto.  "And to be part of a

family."

     So, Mother had to be contacted in the States.  She was completely shattered by the

news but confirmed all she knew.  Aldo had been Arnoldo Leppard while at college so all

was now in place.  Did she and Aldo want to meet?  Perhaps.  There was no future for the

pair.  Charles would be their go‑between.  It transpired that the money Aldo had left behind

had been well‑used.  Margaret ‑ or Mirabelle as she became ‑ had great flair and ability and

had spent some of it to set herself up as an interior decorator.  Her first clients were very

influential and she had blossomed and made a great deal of money at the time when oil

money was flooding in.  So Charles had been sent to Public School and discovered his acting

ability there.

     Unc and Aldo were fascinated about his role as Clarissa and a couple of days later we

witnessed the transformation with Clarissa as dressed by the House of Matteoli.  We also

learned that Charles did not consider himself to be gay, perhaps he was bi, he thought, but

just enjoyed fooling people with his act and his mannerisms.  We told him that in no way

should he change and we would all keep his secret.  He flew back to London to break the

news to his Great‑Aunt Laura who was coming to stay until Mother returned from the States

in October.

     Of course, it was almost time for Frankie to leave as school was due to start.  A good

deal of chuntering only silenced when a second minor earthquake was threatened.  Our

Grandmama Matteoli, a very feisty lady, intended to come back to Italy after umpteen years

living with her sister in New York.  She had been a ballet dancer and had taken the fancy of

the elderly Signor Matteoli, who at the age of sixty married her when she was twenty‑two.

Grandpapa Matteoli had lasted until he was ninety‑one and Grandmama had then decided she

wanted to lived in New York because of the opera and ballet and exhibitions and she had

joined her sister who was caring for her own very aged husband, who then conveniently died

and left the pair an immense fortune, shared equally between them.  Most upsetting Dad said

once, as the sister thought it most unfair and the two rowed incessantly

     I had only seen Grandmama once, when I was about eight, and she had come to

London for a week just to see a friend who was supposed to be dying but didn't.  I

remembered someone who looked very elegant, just like Mum but older, who spoke with a

broad American accent and who took me up to Hamley's toyshop and bought  a small

electric train set for me and a medium‑sized Tigger for Francis.  Dad always said that other

than being tighter than Scrooge, she was a human dynamo and sparks generally flew from

such objects.  Mum said it was too true.  She had always been relieved when Mama decided

to move to the States.  Now Uncle Francesco was set the task of finding somewhere for her to

live and have it furnished ready for Monday the fifth of November when she would be

arriving.

     Mum was ordered to drop everything and come out on the next available flight.  She

and Aldo then spent three days looking at possibly suitable properties and decided on a well‑

proportioned second floor flat in a nice part of the city but sufficiently far away from the

Villa.....‑ and not too close to her other sister, Nesto's grandmother ‑ another spiky creature

according to Aldo in an unguarded moment.   Mum then arranged the furnishing and I was

most impressed with her efficiency.  She then bundled a protesting Frankie up and the pair

flew back to England.

     The four big boys as we called ourselves were then left with Nesto as a willing slave

and we could ogle Guido without Frankie there to comment on the frequency of older boys

getting hard‑ons when sunning themselves.

     We were a bit worried if Nesto might think he was being left out of things.  Nothing

was happening anyway between the twins and us but we were always joshing each other and

quite a bit of the conversation could be construed that Tris and I were actively fucking the

twins at every opportunity and it was a wonder they could walk as their holes were ravished

by our incessant demands.  The 'couldn't walk bit' came about because Adam tripped and

slightly twisted his ankle and so came down to breakfast one day with a limp.  Nesto listened

to a ribald recital then of how Tris and I had caused the injury by insisting he should join us

in our bed and be our slave for the night.  Poor Nesto looked from one to the other of us ‑ I

must say his grasp of English was now really superb ‑ but I think a few of the double

entendres passed him by.

     Nesto also seemed to spend more time helping Guido, not only with his pool duties

but in general tidying of the Villa's extensive grounds.  There was an old gardener who came

a couple of mornings a week but there were paths to be swept and pergolas to be kept tidied

and trimmed.

     I think Tris was more sensitive to the nuances of behaviour between the pair and one

afternoon, near the end of our stay, the twins went off into the city to buy presents to take

home and we were left watching Nesto and Guido working closely together clipping and

gathering trailing vines on a pergola.  Tris nudged me.  "Watch the pair, I think something's

up."

     We noted they kept glancing up at us.  They seemed unaware we were also watching

them as we were lying back, sunglasses on, either dozing or reading.  "They're off,"

murmured Tris, "Give them five minutes."

     They had put the tools they were using behind a couple of large plant‑pots and were

strolling ‑ a little too nonchalantly ‑ in the direction of Unc's pride and joy, a rather ornate

rococo‑style grotto with several decorated rooms.

     We gave them five minutes and went the other way round the garden following a

shaded path.  We walked stealthily into the entrance of the grotto, then walked to the third

room, more secluded than the others.  We were in comparative darkness while they were

illuminated by a shaft of sunshine coming through a side window.  We hunkered down and

watched the sex play between two very aroused, naked, late teenagers.  They had used the

padded cushions usually on the seat around the wall as their bed.  They were lip‑locked when

we first arrived but gradually the love‑making got more frenzied as they licked and nipped at

each other's nipples and necks.  In all this Nesto was on his back, with the smaller Guido

lying on top of him, as he caressed the pool‑boy's  muscular torso.  Guido was well prepared

as he had a small bottle which must have contained some kind of lubricant on the floor

nearby.  Nesto began whispering something that sounded like 'favore... favore...' which

Guido took as the signal for the next stage.  He lifted Nesto's longer legs over his broad

shoulders, uncapped the bottle and drizzled some on the exposed wrinkled entrance.  He was

also murmuring and we saw one, then two fingers enter and soon young Nesto was prepared.

     We were correct in our surmise that Guido did not possess a massive penis.  I was the

best guesser at four and half inches.  It was perhaps five but sturdily plump.  They were too

far gone in their joint murmurings to hear us as we both had to shift our positions with a wink

and a grin as we both had massive hard‑ons of our own.  Guido's little ramrod must have

been steel hard as when he sought entry it never wavered.  Nesto grunted as the head pierced

him.  He grunted again as the base of Guido's pelvis hit him on that first full thrust.  Guido

must have had great self‑control as he started a slow but fiercesome fuck, drawing almost out

and thrusting fully in, and keeping that rhythm up to the joint, almost muffled, cries of quiet

delight.  With supreme effort Guido drew Nesto's rear up so he could bend his torso until he

could reach Nesto's lips.  We watched as they tongue‑fucked and fucked together until with a

little cry Guido's whole pelvis jerked massively about four times as he delivered so much

spunk there were droplets running down Nesto's crack even before he had withdrawn

completely.  We had watched the most loving encounter and waited until they had lain quiet

for some time, and as we crept away as silently as possible, noted the spread pool of Nesto's

own boycream among the dark hairs on his own belly.

     That encounter was not just a fuck for fuck's sake.  We had witnessed two young men

who really loved each other.  So, our macho Guido, mother's pride and joy, might get

married some day, but, when we discussed what we had seen, we bet that any encounter he

might have in the future would have to be something in excess of that worship of two bodies

so together in an ornate grotto on a very warm Italian late summer's day.

     That warm night we spent in full accord with each other recreating that blissful scene

we had observed that afternoon.  Tris prepared me and in the first encounter tried and

succeeded in prolonging his fuck until we had both emptied our ready to overflow reservoirs

in almost simultaneous actions.  An hour later I tried to emulate his achievement but, after

the preparation and the initial entry, being inside my beloved partner was so overwhelming, I

couldn't contain my second ejaculation of the night any longer and on a thrust as deep as I

could go I came.....  "Stay in!" he commanded me and within five minutes I started a slow

inexorable climb to that summit of passion again where, some twenty or thirty minutes later,

I felt that unstoppable pattern of deep down surges begin, and, with a moan of sheer

unbounded joy, I unleashed my gift of love and devotion.  As I withdrew and leaned back to

look Tris in the eyes we smiled knowing we had both achieved a oneness with each other.  I

stretched my fingers over his firm stomach and found the warm stickiness of his own

outflowing which had happened while I was experiencing my own apex of bliss.  "I love

you," was all I could say.  He drew me down until our bodies met and were sealed together

by his semen.  We kissed tenderly and he repeated my words as we rolled apart.

     Our holiday more or less ended on that high note.  We had a couple of days to go

before we left for home and I to my new life.  We didn't tell Ivo and Adam what we had

witnessed but watched with a little amusement as over the next three days the boys

disappeared each afternoon in that same direction.  On the last day we showered them with

presents, some for young Pietro as well.  We had found a set of drawing instruments for

Nesto and, to the amusement of all, a stethoscope for Guido.  Young Pietro got a Game‑Boy

of his very own and  was so overwhelmed he was almost dumbstruck.

     Aldo said he hadn't been so happy in his life ‑ much to the amusement of Uncle

Francesco who wanted to know where he figured in the family equation now.  He said he

hoped acquiring a new nephew didn't prove to be so expensive as having real ones and the

other hangers‑on.  Ivo and Adam moved in on either side of him and said the hangers‑on

were here to stay and then kissed him while Aldo took photographs which he said he would

send to Hello! magazine and would expect a large reward not to do so.