NUNC DIMITTIS 8
USUAL DISCLAIMER
"NUNC DIMITTIS" is a gay story, with some parts containing graphic scenes of sex between males. So, if in your land, religion, family, opinion and so on this is not good for you, it will be better not to read this story. But if you really want, or because YOU don't care, or because you think you really want to read it, please be my welcomed guest.
NUNC DIMITTIS
by Andrej Koymasky © 2019
Witten on May 8th 1985
Translated by the Author
English text kindly revised by Antonio
CHAPTER 8
From that day on we made love almost every evening. But I soon noticed that, though he caressed and kissed me in a fabulous way, he never gave me satisfaction with his mouth, nor let me take him. At most, he masturbated me.
I missed these attentions, so I asked him to do them as well, but he refused, though with great tenderness: "I'm not used to doing that, forgive me... I've never done it, even when I was a boy. We Arabs are like that, you must know that..."
I didn't insist and we continued to make love in his way, partly because little by little I was falling in love with him. Being with him felt really good. Sometime he stayed overnight and even for two consecutive days, at weekends.
On these occasions we sometimes made love three or four times in one day. He was untiring, insatiable. But the most he did to give me pleasure was to hold me against him, rub his body against mine or masturbate me while kissing me on the mouth with fiery passion. It was enjoyable, I was in love with him, and so I tried to content myself with that. I was more and more in love with him.
We had been seeing each other for a little more than a month when I confessed to him: "Jussuf, I... I'm in love with you."
"I'm in love with you too. I really love you..."
"I'd like to ask you something..."
"Ask away."
"Would you come and live with me?"
"I'd love to. I didn't dare to ask. Especially because, in just over three years I shall have to go back to my own country, to Qatar, and we shall have to separate."
"I know. But for those three years, why don't you move in here with me?"
"Do you really want me here?"
"So very much!"
"We can give it a try. But first I need to settle something..."
At the beginning of May Jussuf at last came to live at Cadogan Lane. Gradually, several things changed. One was that we could make love at any time of the day and not just in the evenings. And we did it in every part of the house: on the kitchen table or in the lounge armchairs, on the living room carpet or in the bath...
Jussuf loved going around completely naked in the house. I really loved seeing him going around like that and I soon followed suit.
Then one day, he had just reached the peak of pleasure and was resting with his cheek leaning on my chest, and he started to suck my nipple. I shuddered with pleasure. He smiled and intensified his attentions.
His lips glided down and down... I was so surprised I almost shouted: "Ah... yes... like that..."
"Do you like it so very much, love?"
I nodded vigorously. He pressed his lips to my stomach and began to kiss it, to lick it with short strokes, to nibble it. Then he went even lower. I could feel his breath on my skin and was waiting, holding my breath. He hesitated just a moment.
"You like it even better like this, don't you?" he asked in a very low voice.
"Yes, it's... so wonderful..."
His lips, and his tongue, hesitantly reached my member. Then he decided and took it all in his mouth. My whole body was shaking violently with jolts of pleasure. I took care of him in the same way. Jussuf started to work me slightly awkwardly, but with exquisite delicacy. I was so excited that I soon reached orgasm. He tried to pull clear, but didn't have time.
When I looked at him he had a strange expression, his eyes filled with tears.
I was upset to see him like that, shaken by the experience, so I embraced him and, rocking him in my arms, I said: "No, my love, no. I don't want you to feel hurt like this. I'd rather you never did that again..."
He shook his head: "No, you like it so much, and I love you. And you do it to me. I'll learn, I want to learn. I'll get used to it, because I want to make you happy..."
"But not at the expense of your own happiness..."
"Andrew, I'm really in love with you, and I want to do everything in my power to make you happy. I have never loved anybody so much before. I want you to know that."
When he said "everything in my power", he really meant it. In fact, over a period of a few days an incredible change took place. Not only did he learn to give head in a delightful way, but one afternoon he offered himself to me and, with much tenderness and many preliminaries, he was at last mine.
When I reached orgasm I noticed that Jussuf's face was striped with tears.
"But, my love! Why didn't you tell me to stop?"
"Because I love you, you know that. I've been thinking about this for a long time. If you do all this for me, for my pleasure, I too I have to learn to do the same for you. Two men who really love each other, must be on the same level. I know that you love me, and I love you too. So this is fine, there's nothing for you to worry about."
A wonderful period, filled with love, started for us. Jussuf gradually got used to it, and indeed I noticed that, as time went by, he began to enjoy it. We were both extremely happy. Neither he nor I looked for other men, we were sufficient unto each other.
The only exception was when the war ended. The 5th of May 1945 was a day of joy and general madness. The whole city poured out onto the streets and regardless of the fact they were complete strangers, all the soldiers were welcomed warmly like heroes, dear friends, close relatives not seen for a long time,.
We met two young sailors and invited them for a drink in a pub, then bought them a meal, and finally invited them to come up to our apartment for another drink. All of us, except Jussuf, were drinking an excellent whisky, when one of the two young sailors came and sat on my lap and started to caress and kiss me in a very intimate way. At first I accepted, returning his attentions, but then I froze, looking across to Jussuf.
He just smiled at me, drew the other young sailor to him and kissed him. So I relaxed. Very soon we were all four of us naked and entwined in an orgy of pleasure.
The two boys stopped with us for three days and nights and we made love in every imaginable way, always the four of us together.
When they left, exhausted but sated, Jussuf and I started to make love all over again, happy to be alone at last.
He was very tender with me, and affectionate. Some times he invited friends home, often Arabs, and he always introduced me as his "wonderful friend".
We often went to the theatre or concerts together, or to visit exhibitions or museums, and even to do some touristy trips. He really liked Stonehenge and other places typical of Old England.
Jussuf was a devout Muslim, so he never ate pork nor drank alcohol, and he carefully performed his daily prayers and observed the rites like Ramadan. He was surprised that I didn't follow the rules of my faith.
Summer 1945 came. Jussuf wanted to visit France and Paris, so we went there together for our holidays. The signs of the war's destruction were still evident, but Paris was more than ever a living and lively city. Jussuf was captivated by French fashion and wanted to renew his wardrobe, so I followed suit. I always enjoyed watching my boyfriend getting dressed to go out. It was almost a ritual, a creative happening, an artistic event. Still completely naked, he would start by choosing jacket and trousers and putting them on the bed. Then he would choose the shirt and the socks, the tie and the shoes; lastly, he would choose the underwear and the handkerchief. Then he would look it all over, change one item, and choose again until, pleased with the result, he started to dress.
He was ardent, passionate and very hot.
Once, while we were visiting the Louvre Museum, he suddenly stared at me and said, serious: "Let's go back to the hotel, Andrew, tout de suit, please!"
"Something wrong?" I asked, genuinely worried.
"Not yet. But if we don't go immediately, I shall start to make love to you right here, on the spot!" he whispered.
I burst out laughing and everybody turned to look at us.
He insisted, looking straight at me and very serious: "So, here or straight back to the hotel?"
"It would probably be better at the hotel, I don't want to end up in prison!" I answered merrily.
Jussuf broke into a broad smile and dragged me by the hand, running, out of the Museum. We took a taxi back to the hotel and as soon as we were in our room, he undressed at lightning speed, flinging his clothes all around. He feverishly helped me to get rid of my last clothing and we made love with the same feverishness.
But on other occasions he was calm, sweet and slow and before uniting we would spend a long time in the tenderest preliminaries. Sometimes, after hours of caresses and kisses, we would reached a final intense simultaneous orgasm. Other times, instead, we would get through two or three orgasms one after the other with fiery passion. And it would only take one of us to feel desire for the other to be immediately and joyfully aflame.
There was certainly no chance of being bored with him. There was no way you could feel as if you were stuck in a humdrum daily routine. And though at the start of our relationship I'd not found him particularly beautiful (though certainly incredibly attractive) now I found him not only desirable, but really beautiful.
Jussuf had given himself to me without reservation, and I to him, and he was prepared to do anything for me. I had to take care not to express a desire, or to say that I liked something, because he would have moved heaven and earth to give it to me.
When we were at the Sunshine Hut, he was happy. He wanted to plant new trees in the park, to change the garden round. I let him do so and, as the work progressed, I saw he was happy as a child. In the park surrounding the little house he created a small clearing with a beautiful lawn, well hidden by thick bushes, so that from outside the property it was completely impossible to see it. Very often when the weather was fine, we would unite there completely naked in wonderful embraces, in the warm daytime sun, or at night in the moonlight.
Jussuf had a really insatiable sexual appetite and I for my part was more than happy to satisfy his desires because at the same time I satisfied mine too.
July 13th was my thirtieth birthday. Jussuf organized a big party and presented me with a splendid ceremonial Arab dress in velvet embroidered with gold and precious stones.
"That must have cost a fortune!" I protested.
"For you it could never be enough... and I'm not short of money." he said.
1946 was a peculiar year. It was Jussuf's last in England, he would graduate in July and would have to go back to Qatar. So I was feeling our approaching separation. As the months slipped by, I started to feel bad at the idea that everything was about to end. So, in May, I confronted the subject. We were in bed.
"Jussuf, why don't you remain here in London after you graduate? You'll be able to find a really good job and... stay here with me. I... I don't want to lose you!"
With a sad smile, he looked into my eyes and said: "It is not possible, love. I want that too, believe me, I would love it, but really I cannot."
"But why?" I insisted.
"I promised I would go back to my country, I have obligations I cannot break. I cannot betray the word I gave."
We discussed it further, but he was unyielding. He too was sad at our approaching separation and I felt he was sincere.
So I said: "Very well. Then I shall resign from The Times and come with you."
"I'd really like that, but it's not possible either."
"But why, why? Give me one good reason!"
"We wouldn't be allowed to live together in Qatar."
"By whom? And why?"
Jussuf gave a long sigh, then said: "Will you swear... do you swear to keep a secret?"
"What secret?"
"I have never been able tell you about my life... I swore to keep it a secret. I'm not supposed to say anything even to you... but at this point... if you swear you'll keep the secret..."
The gravity of his tone frightened me
So I murmured: "OK, I swear."
So Jussuf started to tell me, and I couldn't believe my ears. He had never told me in depth about his family. I knew that his father was a rich man and looked after some commercial enterprise, but I never asked him anything more.
His real name wasn't Jussuf ibn Mustawfî as I had known it. He had forged documents because he was the eldest son of the Sheik of Qatar's brother. He had to go back to his country to assume the rôle of Economy and Commerce Minister. He was in London incognito for security reasons, at the request of the English Secret Service who were responsible for his safety.
"You... you are a Prince? You never told me!"
"Yes, but I'm still your Jussuf! I can be him, at least for a while yet... if you want..." he pleaded.
"But I... I want you. I love you!"
"I love you too. But my people... my people need me. I need you too, but... when I agreed to come and live with you, we both knew it was to end one day. Unfortunately."
"Yes, that's true... Not everyone can be the Duke of Windsor..."
"What?"
"Nothing. I understand and... and I have to accept, against my will. But I'm not happy about it. No, I'm not a bit happy."
"Nor I, my love. But I gave my oath, I cannot betray that. Let's live these last months to the full... Please, Andrew."
I remained silent for a long while.
Then his voice cracked as he asked: "Do you still... love me?"
I embraced him tightly and, between kisses, told him: "Yes... yes... yes..."
He started to caress my sides, lowering his hands towards my hips. Desire gripped us. Our panting breaths mingled, and I really enjoyed seeing him so excited, so dishevelled. My hands moved frenziedly over his body. We continued in a rising crescendo until we each gave ourselves to the other; at last we lay sated, with not so much as a scrap of energy left in us.
Those last months were really beautiful. We both tried to give each other the best of ourselves and that, for a while, seemed to lessen the grief of our imminent separation.
In July, for his graduation, I organized a big party and invited several of his Arab friends. Now that I knew, he would tell me whenever he went to meet officials from his own country. So, three days after the party, he said he was going to arrange about his return. I waited for him with my heart in my throat, preparing myself for the idea that we probably had just a handful of days left. As soon as he was back I asked him:
"Well then?"
He smiled and said: "I managed to get permission go back for September the first. So we have still a month and half all to ourselves. If you can get leave from the newspaper, I would love to go travelling with you."
We embraced: "I'm sure to get permission. Where shall we go?"
"Wherever you want."
I took the atlas and opened it at the map of the whole world. We started to plan our travel, to choose the places, to adjust the route.
The following week we left. Two specially trained bodyguards were to travel with us, one Arab and one English. Jussuf told me not to bother about them, because they wouldn't cause us any inconvenience.
I objected: "But this way we won't be completely free to..."
He cut me off: "Why not? They know all about you and me, they've always known."
"Always known?" I asked, amazed.
"Yes, from the first time we met there has always been a shadow to protect me. And when I decided to accept your invitation to move in with you, the Secret Service had already made investigations about you before giving me their consent. My family knows perfectly well my sexual preferences. For them there is no problem, as long as I don't compromise myself or our Nation. When I'm back, of course, I shall have to marry and have children. I'll probably have two or three wives. But nobody can stop me having a male lover too. But in my country he can only be an Arab, for he has to live alongside me in an official rôle as my secretary or aide..."
"Do you have a lover already, in Qatar?"
"No, of course not. But the day I want one, I shall have one. As long as I don't cause a scandal."
I remembered everything he had just said to me, and exclaimed: "But then... you know everything about me!"
He laughed like a child caught being naughty: "Yes, Sir Andrew Nike. Almost everything, I presume. And what wasn't in the Secret Service report, you have told me yourself..."
"I don't... I don't really like the idea that strangers have been rummaging in my private life."
"I'm sorry, but, you see..."
"Yes I understand, you couldn't become my lover without being sure... I'm not upset with you. I understand. But the fact remains that I don't like it."
"But I assure you, there is nothing bad written about you, on the contrary..."
"And does it say that I'm a homosexual?"
"Probably now, yes... because of me. Not before, at any rate. You were always good at hiding your sex life. Obviously nothing you've told me has gone into the file. And that file is top secret, it will never end up in the hands of strangers."
"I see."
"I'm sorry you're upset, my love, but..."
"It's alright; I told you, I'm not upset with you."
"Then... prove it!" Jussuf said slyly. I was delighted to satisfy his request at once.
Our trip around the world was wonderful and I soon learned to ignore the two bodyguards, who for their part really were very discreet. But as the days slipped past, a faint air of sadness invaded our life. It manifested in little ways, the most obvious being that we were never apart, even for just a few moments, and that we made love with increasing tenderness and for longer at a time.
At last the day of our separation came. We parted at Cairo airport. I boarded the plane to London, and about an hour later he would leave for Qatar.
From the plane window I saw my beloved waving at me, and the tears, held back for so long, streaked my cheeks. Now I felt all the pain of the parting, and knew that an important part of my life had come to an end. I had spent three years with him, just a tenth of my life. Yet they were three years that had marked me deeply.
During the flight to London I took stock of my life... my relationship with Michel, the one with Benjamin, and the one just ended. It was impossible to choose between them.
Michel helped me discover love, my baptism in loving. He guided my first steps patiently and sweetly, had helped me to grow, to become an adult emotionally, sexually and in terms of affection.
Ben brought me to maturity in love. He showed me the importance of the reciprocal gift, of life as a couple, living with and for one another. He helped me to blossom in life, to feel mature, fully a man, and responsible for another.
My Jussuf brought me to an understanding of the power, the beauty, the impetuosity of a love that doesn't accept plans, that doesn't recognise timetables, that transforms you to the point of overcoming yourself, in order to give yourself totally to your beloved, to become what he needs.
And now all of them were over. Michel and Benjamin lost because of the war, and he now out of reach for reasons of state.
Back in London, I immersed myself once more into my work.
I had no sex for several months.
But then I gradually resumed, looking for adventure from time to time. But once deserted by my occasional partners, I felt empty, lonely, useless... Though at times, drawn by my physical desire, I made do with a brief adventure, I was really looking for something else: the affection and love of a companion; my thoughts were always with Jussuf.
In March 1947 I was summoned by the Foreign Office. I tried to guess what the reason might be. I was received by a senior official who led me to a small, elegant lounge, where he introduced me to the Ambassador of Qatar and two dignitaries. He told me that these latter had come to London especially for me. For a moment I feared bad news. Then one of them unrolled a scroll and started to read. The Sheik of Qatar (Jussuf's uncle) had bestowed a high honour on me. Roughly translated , I was named "Seat Companion" or "Assistant to the Throne" or "Chamberlain" if you prefer.
The other gentleman opened a small casket and put round my neck a heavy gold chain with a star literally covered in small diamonds and emeralds. Then he fastened on my jacket a brooch with the same symbols and put a ring onto my finger, also in gold with diamonds and emeralds, the white and green colours of Qatar.
The first one gave me the scroll with the edict of nomination, then read me the rights to which my new rank entitled me. Amongst others that were purely ceremonial, one thing in particular impressed me: I became an honorary citizen of Qatar and I had the right to be a guest in the officials' wing of the Sheik's Palace any time I visited Qatar.
Lastly, they gave me a sealed letter and exited bowing, leaving me alone. I opened the letter: it was from Jussuf. He declared to me his affection and his gratitude, and told me he would never ever forget me.
I roused myself from the daze I was in and looked at the insignia I had just received. The commercial value alone of all those jewels was enough to make one dizzy; they were worth more than a lifetime's earnings. But their sentimental value, what they represented to me, was far greater than their monetary value. Trembling with emotion, I put the chain, brooch and ring back in the small casket and closed it. Then I sat down, still feeling dizzy. After a short while, I regained my self-possession and opened the door. Another Foreign Office official was waiting for me, and proffered his congratulations. I asked him if he could have me escorted to my bank, because I didn't feel safe going about town with all those valuables in my hands. He immediately phoned Scotland Yard and in a while I was able to leave with my escort. I deposited everything in the vault of my bank, then went home and immediately wrote two letters, a formal one to the Sheik to thank him for the honour bestowed on me, and another personal one to Jussuf.
Thanks to Ben I was a Baronet and thanks to Jussuf I was a Court Official... but I felt so terribly lonely. What was it all for? I felt the need to go and see Lady Martha. I considered her almost like a mother, especially now that my parents were dead, and I needed her now.
She welcomed me with her usual sympathy and courtesy. She heard me out. Then she took my hand affectionately: "You are still so young, Andrew. Be patient. The day will come when you will find the answer you are seeking, if you are able to accept it. You mustn't chase after ideals, nor turn them aside just because you don't feel comfortable with them, or because you think them unattainable, or for fear of future loss. The same goes for love, my dear: you must neither run away from it, nor anxiously seek it out. You must simply keep yourself open to love, so as to be able to recognize it when it comes. Enjoy it for as long as it lasts... and don't feel regret when it is no more. Above all, love must live within us, only thus will we be able to recognize it in others... But forgive me, Andrew, my son, I didn't mean to give you a sermon!"
"On the contrary, thank you very much..."
We chatted a little longer, and when I left her, I felt a little more serene.
In May 1947 it was proposed that I should go to Italy for an extensive series of articles about post-war reconstruction. At first I was hesitant. I had been absent from my country for nineteen years, and would be going there as a foreigner. I felt drawn, but also a little scared. But in the end, I accepted.
Italy had been a republic for a little less than a year. Apart from that, to what extent and in what way had my country changed?
I left on a plane for Rome on 21st May. I landed in the rain, or rather, a downpour. I took a taxi to the Rome International Hotel. I stayed a full month in the Capital, visiting it far and wide, from the slums to the Vatican, from the city centre gutted by bombing to the new areas under construction.
Two factors struck me. The first was that the Provisional President of the Republic, Enrico de Nicola, was... a monarchist senator. A fine example of a sense of civic duty and of political fair-play. A man who had put himself at the service of his nation, transcending his own personal political ideas.
The second was the huge number of beggars, even young people, and the readiness with which both boys and girls were offering themselves for a little money: The juvenile prostitution, hetero- or homosexual, was the combined result of the misery and the presence of the Allied soldiers in the city.
I found the same thing happening in all the big Italian cities, especially, but not only, in the Centre and South. And it only disappeared very slowly, years afterwards. At times it was enough that I looked at a nice boy for a little longer than usual for him to come and offer himself to me, in no uncertain terms, often with crude and explicit expressions. Even if the boy appealed to me, I never accepted, because I have never liked sex for money, sex by the hour.
Once, in particular, I was quite shocked. A young boy, no more than twelve years old, approached me in Bologna and said that I could fuck his ass for fifty lira.
When I refused, he said: "If I don't take the money home, they'll beat me. Please! I could suck your cock for ten lira. I'm very good at it!" implored the small boy.
I gave him a hundred lira and went away shaken.
After the month spent in the Capital, I moved to Naples for another month, then to Palermo. From there, I bought a car and started to go north, passing through Puglia, Abruzzo and Molise, which at the time were a single region, and Marche. Then I stopped for a long time in Bologna.
Here I had a short relationship with a young man, a restaurant waiter called Matteo. I met him during my work. I was collecting a set of interviews with young people about how they saw the new Italy. I felt a liking for Matteo at once, because of his realistic optimism, and his self-confidence. So, with no ulterior motive whatsoever, I invited him to continue our conversation in a bar. Over a few days, we met again several times, because he introduced me to his friends and acquaintances to interview them. One evening when he was off work, he suggested we might go dancing somewhere. He drove me I don't remember where, but the place was closed.
"What shall we do?" I asked.
"Don't know... You could come over to my place, just to finish the evening." Matteo proposed.
I accepted. He lived in a small apartment with his parents, but they weren't home that day because they had gone to visit the family in the country. He put the radio on, offered me a drink, we chatted... until a strange atmosphere developed between us... I started to feel desire for him and he too, but neither of us seemed able to break the ice. We sat looking at each other in a faintly embarrassed silence, until Matteo came over to me, embraced me gently and kissed me softly on the lips.
In just a few moments we were naked, united on his parents' big bed. Even though it was he who took the first step, he was an inhibited little boy, but he gradually relaxed. He had very little experience, but he made love with incredible tenderness and sweetness. He liked both girls and men, though he said he had had more opportunity with girls, just because it was easier and less dangerous to try with them... He loved both to take and to be taken, but with me he preferred just to be taken. I loved his shining eyes and his bright smile while I was pumping into him, showing the intensity of his pleasure as he felt me inside him. We met every day for as long as his parents were away. Then we had to slow down, until I left for Venice.
I spent Christmas in this splendid city. On December 27th the new Constitution of the Italian Republic was signed. In the city there was a kind of spontaneous celebration: everybody was on the streets, excited, happy. I was enjoying the lively confusion when I noticed an American soldier near me who, like me, was watching all the people with an amused air. The young soldier reminded me of James.
At one point, seeing that I was looking at him, the soldier asked, laughing, in English: "But... what's going on?"
So I explained to him. Having found somebody who could speak his language, he began chatting with me. His name was Fred. I felt attracted by him and, uncharacteristically for me, I just told him so. I don't know where I found the courage from.
Fred looked at me as if I had just said the most natural and logical thing in the world and simply answered: "I like you too: I'd like to make love with you."
We saw each other for several weeks. Fred had a peculiar way of making love. By that, I mean that for him making love was something simple and spontaneous, like eating or breathing. Without romanticism or sentimentality, without desperation or passion, but also without any inhibition or hesitation. It was something beautiful to do, gratifying, and that was all. With the same simplicity that he said: I'm hungry, let's go to a restaurant, he would say to me: I've got a hard on, let's go make love.
At first for me it was something really new and quite incomprehensible, but soon I accepted it and found his simplicity really endearing. And just as he might say: this food's tasty, so he would said things like: I love the way you kiss.
There was no affection in our unions, but that didn't spoil anything... I can't explain it any better. He had a very handsome body, lean, virile, slightly muscular. When he undressed there was no modesty in him, but he wasn't shameless or exhibitionistic either.
He worked in an office at Allied Headquarters and he had plenty of free time, so we could meet often. At times he came to my room with a Venetian boy (a different one each time) that I suspected he had picked up somewhere, paying him with tobacco or chocolate, and we made love in threesomes. They were generally boys around seventeen, twenty, rather handsome, never effeminate, though they always assumed a passive role while he, like myself, loved both rôles.
When I asked for explanations, he just answered with a smile: "He's just one of my many Venetian boys. Don't worry, Andrew, let's enjoy it."
When I finished my work in Venice, farewell Fred, I went to Milan, then Turin and finally Genoa. In March 1949 I found myself in Florence, though I didn't yet know that I would decide to remain in that beautiful city forever, that if would become my home.
CONTINUES IN CHAPTER 9
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