In the following story, all of the characters are totally fictive and the setting is real. For whomever it would be illegal, immoral or prohibited for any other reason whatsoever to read a story about love between two young men is kindly requested to refrain from continuing. A free picture album illustrating this story (pdf) is available upon request at maringiustinian@gmail.com. Please remember to help Nifty stay online by sending your contribution. This being said, I hope you enjoy the tale.
TUSCANY, part one out of three
by Marin Giustinian
PIENZA, TUSCANY, 2018
A week after having graduated from an all male, Jesuit boarding school in County Kildare, Ireland, Hugh Gallagher, a fair Irish lad of eighteen, free at last, landed in Peretola Airport, Florence, Italy. He claimed his bags and bicycle and set out for a two week tour, to discover the region of his dreams: Tuscany.
This is the story of what he actually discovered.
Hugh's enthusiasm was seriously dampened when he found himself lost in traffic, looking for the local campground. Finally finding it totally packed, the reception was kind enough to call another campground, near Fiesole. There was space. He was given a little map and he hit traffic again.
The place wasn't too bad. He pitched his little tent beside some German lads his age who spoke English enough to be friendly. He ate some cheese and bread, drank a soda from the vending machine and turned in, exhausted, seriously wondering why he came.
The following morning, things looked better. He was rested, the Germans were calm. He packed his guidebook in his backpack and headed for the museum of the Uffici. He stood in line for an hour and ten minutes before being able to enter. But once inside, he understood why he was there. The paintings, the sculpture, the total overdose of art left him floating, mindless of time. Hunger brought him back to reality and at his age, hunger can be imperious!
Once outside, the crowd of tourists continued to wander hither and yon. There were the long haired girls looking worried, with their maps firmly crumpled in their fists. Then there were the preppy, pimpled overweight guys in groups, licking drippy ice cream cones, sometimes shouting, bumping their way down the narrow sidewalks, simply being obnoxious. Hugh did his best to avoid them, almost feeling ashamed to be absorbed with the thousands of other tourists invading the town.
At any rate, Hugh found a sandwich vendor, stuffed himself, and continued his 'pilgrimage'. He was awestruck by Santa Maria del Fiore, amused at the bridge over the Arno, and in spite of the mass of other visitors, he slowly began to feel the charm he was hoping for. When he returned to his tent, several Swedish girls had taken the place left by the Germans. They obviously were bicycle tourists like him and judging from their tans, had already been on the road a lot. They struck up conversation with Hugh. He told them his impressions of his first day.
"If you want to really feel the country, take the small back roads in the Val d'Orcia. We found that Siena is also less crowded, and certainly the most beautiful city in Tuscany," explained Olga, the less 'girly' of the group. Then she added, halfway joking, "Young and cute as you are, watch out! Guys and girls here can fall for you like a strike of lightning. It's in their genes. You can see it in their art!"
"I've noticed already..." mumbled Hugh, blushing.
Night fell late in mid summer. Hugh was dead tired but couldn't sleep. The works of Bottecelli, of Fra Angelico, the David by Michelangelo... and of all the others kept on dancing in his mind. He thought about what Olga had said too. He knew he was cute -- at any rate, cuter than the other boys with whom he had lived in school, and way better looking than the ones he saw that day. He had experienced people trying to flirt with him... and even if it scared him, it was sometimes fun.
"Tomorrow, I'll hit the road for Siena!" he said out loud to himself as he turned over, encouraging his already plump cock to harden. Visions of nude angels quickened his stroke, bringing him to quick, but much needed relief.
The following morning, he left for San Gimignano, visited the town, and wasn't impressed. He camped overnight and headed on to Siena.
He visited Siena. Tourists were swarming there too. He left the same evening, heading for the country. The tourist office in Siena recommended him to take his time in the Val d'Orcia. He also decided he'd try his luck camping wherever he could pitch his tent. The dry sunny weather invited him outdoors anyway.
Dreaming, napping, getting lost, he spent three days enjoying the extravagant sandwiches he found in the village bakeries, the little chapels and the fantastic scenery. Little by little, Hugh became carefree and finally happy with himself, even if he began to smell a bit foul in his dirty clothes.
In the afternoon of his sixth day in Tuscany, he was vaguely looking for a place to spend the night when nearing Pienza, he hit a pothole in the small, country road. His front wheel glanced off the edge, throwing him on all fours in the ditch. He scrambled up and saw that his tyre was dead, his front wheel, totally warped, and his brake grips damaged. He brushed himself off. He was thankful to have only scratched his knee and elbow. Then he started to panic when he realised he was stranded in the middle of the most opulent rolling, rich, nowhere landscape he had ever seen. He suddenly felt like weeping, just standing there, helpless on this deserted back road, wondering what was going to happen to him then.
Marco Gabrielli was returning from a sumptuous, remote villa in Castiglion del Bosco where he had delivered a recent landscape he had painted. Spotting a young man desperately waving him down, he pulled aside.
Hugh did a little dance when he saw the cargo van slow down and then stop. Marco got out as Hugh ran up to him.
"Grazie! Parla inglese?" inquired Hugh, stuttering the only Italian he knew.
"Yes, I speak English. We all speak some English out here," he stated, flashing a warm, sincere smile, "Looks like you're in trouble... Big bike problems, as I see."
Hugh suddenly felt rescued. He excitedly explained what had happened.
"Calm down. I'll see what we can do. Let's load your stuff and the bike in my van. I know a shop in Montepulciano that sells and repairs bicycles."
"Thank you so much. I hope I'm not a bother!"
"I've got time and you need help, so..." replied Marco.
"My name's Hugh Gallagher. I'm Irish. This is my first time on the continent..."
"Welcome to Tuscany. I'm Marco Gabrielli, originally from Siena. Now I live in Pienza, the small town just over there beyond the hill."
They continued to chat a little. Marco asked if he was injured. Hugh said it was nothing to worry about. Half an hour later they pulled up in front of the shop.
The repairman spoke English. He evaluated the damage, said that the wheel, tyre, along with the brakes had to be changed, as well as the front fork which was bent beyond repair. He said that in the summer he was very busy and would try to have the bike ready in two to three days at the most. That was the best he could do.
Hugh's heart sunk. Marco turned to Hugh saying, "You can stay at my house until the bike's ready. Useless to camp here... You could use a bath and I'm sure you need to do some laundry as well as eat a decent meal. Am I right?"
Hugh was stunned. He didn't know how to thank Marco enough. Then he stuttered, "Good God! Marco, you're my saviour!"
"Don't exaggerate, Hugh! It's a pleasure to help."
"I'm really grateful for your offer and do humbly accept, at least for tonight. I don't want to impose..."
"I live alone, so there's no major problem, and if you become an imposition, I'll simply ask you to leave... How's that?"
"That's perfect!"
"Let's go. Pienza's about twenty minutes from here."
The small renaissance town, was a living example of the urban ideal of that era. Blond stone walls surrounded the homes, chapels, palaces and squares. They parked outside the gates and entered the narrow streets. Hugh followed Marco, his backpack hanging on a shoulder. Marco's home was a former medieval wine shop with living quarters overhead. It was on a corner facing the ramparts beyond which spread a landscape of rolling hills, cypress trees, and distant villages on the further horizon. He had turned the shop into a private art gallery where he exhibited and sold his works.
"Are you the artist of these paintings, Marco?"
"Yes, come on up."
Hugh was impressed! He was a guest of a real live Italian artist!
The house was built on three levels. Marco had remodeled the interior, opening space on each floor for a more relaxed contemporary lifestyle, perfect for a young bachelor.
The ground level was transformed into a long narrow gallery with a toilet and utilities room in the rear.
A small staircase led to the second level. Marco had entirely opened the space with a tiny corner kitchen area on one end, a large table in the centre, and on the other end he had created a kind of lounging area with a low table and piles of cushions cast everywhere facing a small fireplace.
On the third level, the attic was divided into two separate spaces by a low partition in the middle. On one side, he had his bed and a big bathtub, and on the other, his studio for painting, drawing, and small sculptures.
Throughout the house, Marco had a very sophisticated lighting system installed, creating a luminous, airy, and extremely elegant working and living space, a declaration of good taste and bare simplicity.
Hugh was touched, and a bit excited by all the male nudes he saw exposed here and there as he followed Marco up to the third level, carrying his backpack with him.
It dawned on him that he had never really considered how beautiful a nude man could be. Now for him it was evident. The grace he saw was proof enough that it could only be God-given. 'There was something holy in Marco's talent,' mused Hugh to himself.
Entering Marco's bedroom, Hugh couldn't miss noticing the very bold cock in erection drawn directly on the partition over the bedhead. Marco smiled at Hugh's questioning look.
"In traditional Tuscan homes, the believers hang the picture of the Holy Virgin, a Saint, or even Jesus over their beds. That cock is my sacred picture, depicting our wand of light," simply stated Marco.
"Interesting..." commented Hugh, blushing, wondering if it was safe to stay...
"Put your bag over there. Fill the tub and pour some of the bath gel in it. It's scented with sandal and amber. Unpack your dirty clothes. Give them to me. I'll take them down and put in the machine."
"That's so very kind of you, Marco! " stated Hugh opening his bag. He pulled out his dirties and handed them to Marco.
"Strip and give me what you have on too. I'll give you some of my things to wear while yours are drying."
Hugh decided that there was no problem. He was used to showering with his friends on the fencing team... He even felt a bit flattered to join the fellows in the paintings he had admired coming up.
As the tub was filling, the scent of sandal filled the room. Hugh slid into the tub, brimming with bubbles. The heat of the water, as well as his relief to have been rescued, relaxed Hugh. He let himself slide a bit lower, resting his head on the edge of the tub.
He had nearly dozed off, absentmindedly fondling his cock and balls when Marco returned with a pile of towels, a drawstring pair of raw linen pants, and a baggy, off-white, natural tunic.
When Hugh felt Marco's hand on his shoulder, he startled, then looked up, smiling.
"Now that the bubbles have vanished, I must say that you are very beautiful, all nice and pink and clean, nude in the water! I'll wait for you downstairs. I've reserved a table for us to dine in town at Livio's."
Hugh quickly dried off, dressed, and felt very stylish in Marco's causals. He pulled his sandals out of his sack and put them on. It was a funny feeling being naked under the flimsy pants, not having his tight, white cotton undies on. It was a new sensation, hanging free... and in fact, it felt really sexy! He was glad that the tunic fell over his bouncing bulge as he rushed down the stairs.
"I'm going to be the talk of the town, having such a striking companion with me!" exlaimed Marco.
"Wait, let me fetch my money."
"Forget it! You're my guest tonight!"
Hugh blushed, daring not contradict his host, and away they strode side by side. The night was balmy. The streets were nearly empty. Marco nodded at a few of his neighbours as they entered the square.
Livio's small 'trattoria', a typical village restaurant, was packed. He greeted Marco as they walked in.
"Buonasera, Maestro. Ah! Che bello raggazzo!" he exclaimed looking at Hugh from head to toe. He led them to their table. On the way Marco mentioned, in English, "He's from Ireland, Livio."
"Handsome young man! Really! -- So! Gentlemen! Tonight we have either filet mignon, pork or trout on the grill with mixed vegetables. Usual pitcher of your favourite wine, Marco?"
"Please, Livio," replied Marco, then turning to Hugh, "You see! Everybody's looking at us! I'm flattered by your company! Are you having fun?"
A young waiter immediately ran up and put a pitcher of ruby red Nobile wine between them, smiled at Hugh, and hurried away.
"Marco, I hope I'm not in a coma or dead from my bike accident. Ever since you rescued me, I feel like I'm dreaming or that I've gone to Paradise!"
Marco burst out laughing, poured the wine into their glasses, and raised his, saying, "To Hugh -- who is neither dead nor dreaming!"
Hugh stifled a little cough as he took a sip from his glass.
"Excuse me, Marco. I'm not used to wine..."
"Well, it's time for you to get used to it. Our wine is very important to us here! Even if you don't have whiskers yet, I saw a nice little bush above your perfect penis! You're far mature enough to enjoy the best wines in the world! Soon you'll see, it will go down your throat like the little boy Jesus in velvet shorts!"
Hugh laughed so hard in his wine glass that some split on the table. The other guests began laughing too.
"No problem! Enjoy yourself!" exclaimed Marco.
As they dined, Marco admired his young guest devouring everything on his plate as if it were the last meal on earth.
"Looks like you're enjoying the meal. You can even wipe the plate with some bread if you want. Even if it's bad manners, it flatters the cook!"
"That's the best meat I've ever eaten! And I see what you mean by the wine... Thank you again! Everything's just 'tooooo' delicious."
"While we wait to order dessert, I'd like for you to tell me some about yourself, your studies, your family, your motivations to come cycling here..."
"Well, there's not much to tell," replied Hugh as Marco filled their glasses again.
"I'm from Maynooth. It's only a forty minute train ride west of Dublin. I celebrated my eighteenth birthday last month. I had always wanted to visit Italy. I'm crazy about Renaissance art, the sensuality, the richness. I've got a framed reproduction of Botticelli's Spring in my room... you know, the lad, turning his back to the girls, poking a stick or something in the orange trees, the one on the left hand side of the painting, he has become my best mate. Also, the David by Michelangelo really impresses me. He makes me feel so skinny!"
Hugh's eyes gleamed as he spoke.
"I just had to see Tuscany, feel the magic of its landscapes. Marco, they are even more beautiful than I imagined!"
"I hear that Ireland's nice too..."
"Well, yes, but here... I just can't find the right words!... The only problem I've had is the quantity of tourists who couldn't care less about where they are... Florence as well as Siena are horrible for that!"
"That's one of the reasons I moved from Siena down here. Now, if you don't mind me asking, could you fill me in on your family?"
"I don't mind at all... My father's a severe, righteous, no-nonsense Lecturer of Theology in the Pontifical University Saint Patrick's College, Maynooth. We're a very Catholic family. I'm a bit more... how can I say... moderate about religion than my father. My mother's a librarian at the College. I'm closer to her. I guess it's because I'm the youngest of five. Mother gives me all her attention now..."
With a kind of forlorn look in his eyes, Marco uttered, "Lucky boy."
"I guess I am. My brother and three other sisters are all married. I'm already the uncle of four!"
"Were you then sent to Catholic schools growing up?"
"Only Catholic! I even spent the last three years of high school with the Jesuits, surrounded only by other guys, lost in the country. I prefer not talk about that."
"More wine?"
"Why not!"
"So how did you finally make it to Tuscany?"
"The trip is my graduation and birthday present all in one. My parents gave me the permission to leave for a limited tour of Tuscany. They've given me a budget and paid for my plane fare. I told them I wanted to do it alone, with my bicycle, tent and sleeping bag. I loved going on short trips by myself in Ireland so I imagined I had experience enough to do it here... but... Ha!"
"Why alone?"
"I needed time of my own. Living in a crowded boarding school with priests breathing down my neck all the time was a bit too much... and then having parents that are over concerned, if not curious, about what I'm doing, asking questions, wanting explanations for everything... Well, I just yearned for some private freedom to soak in the landscapes, the art works I had only admired in picture books. If another mate tagged along, I wouldn't have been free to browse as I please. So I persuaded my father that this was a study trip, the best preparation possible to begin a Baccalaureate of Theology and Arts, in the autumn. He congratulated my seriousness!"
"That's very interesting! So different from me..."
"Now, can I ask you a question?"
"Sure"
"How is it you speak such good English, even with a funny, almost American accent?"
The waiter brought them dessert, two portions of tiramisu with coffee.
Marco thanked him, picked up his spoon, and very nonchalantly, replied, "In our family, we have always spoken English and French as well as Italian... It's just a question of class... also, my father's husband is American. We always speak English together."
Hugh's mouth dropped open.
"I don't understand..." he uttered.
"Well, it's quite simple. My father and his partner, Douglas Henderson, my other father so to speak, aren't officially married. Gay marriage isn't yet allowed in Italy... but for me and everybody else, they're married all the same. Douglas is a naturalised Italian now... I've always known them together and even if they're a bit extravagant, I love them both dearly."
Hugh tried to say something but only stuttered.
"Let's eat our dessert and then go back to the house. I've got a good bottle of Brunello we can enjoy."
"Sure... I'm sorry, but I'm just a bit... I don't know... But... but, I've got a lot of other questions... What you've just told me is absolutely amazing!"
"I'll be glad to answer all your questions later. Now, let's enjoy our dessert."
Once back in the house, Marco said, "Go on upstairs and make yourself at home. I'll fetch a bottle in the cellar and put your clothes in the dryer. Be right up."
"Thank you, Marco!"
Hugh was still in a state of wonder. The late evening sun cast its glow through the balcony window, filling the large room with a powdery light of gold. Sighing his contentedness, he let himself halfway collapse onto the pile of cushions against the wall behind the low table. Marco came up, uncorked the wine, then joined Hugh with the bottle and two very elegant, balloon wine glasses that rang like mellow bells when they touched as he placed them together on the table.
"Marco, thank you so much for the laundry... and for all the rest! You really spoil me!"
"My pleasure, Hugh. You're good company!" he replied pouring the Brunello in the glasses.
Sitting almost shoulder to shoulder, they smiled at each other, toasted, and let a moment of silence linger. Then Hugh uttered, "You promised to answer more of my questions..."
"That I did! So go ahead and ask. I'm listening."
"Could you please tell me more about growing up with two fathers."
"Of course. My father often said I was his 'adorable accident of youth'. I was born out of wedlock. My father, Count Armando Gabrielli, cherished me. My mother, so they say, 'vanished' to Vienna. My grandmother, Countess Alma Gabrielli, took care of me as an infant. Well, let's say she bossed the nursemaid who really did the job. Douglas, my father's partner, is a total member of the family. I've always known him. All three still occupy our modest palace in the historical centre of Siena. Our family enjoys a substantial revenue from the numerous properties we own in and around Siena. I have a little percentage of the revenue already, that is until I inherit it all... as late as possible!"
"But, Marco, I don't understand. Your father's gay and yet he... you know... I mean he did it with a woman, your biological mother... I thought that gay men couldn't... You know."
"Gay people are not necessarily allergic to women. You can be gay and love women too, just as much as you can be straight and love other guys as well. That doesn't apply to all gays, nor to all straights even less, but when you're young, you want to try everything, don't you? It's a part of nature!
Moralised, brainwashed straight boys seem to be more stuck in their struggle to not indulge in the gay side of life -- or at least not show it. And on the other hand, they really don't seem to enjoy the life they force themselves to live. They do 'men' things together: drink, wrestle, play sports, anything to be able to touch each other, etc. It's amazing how most people neglect some of the best things life and nature have to offer because of some sick rules inspired by a myth or a fairytale..."
"But!"
"But what?"
"Nothing. I was going to say something perhaps a bit stupid..."
"Say it anyway."
Hugh hesitated and then blurted out, "But homosexuality is a sin."
Marco smiled and then asked, "What's a sin? For me, a sin is when you hurt somebody, when you ruin your life or the lives of others. It's a sin to use people. Most big businesses are sinful, most governments are too. Righteousness can be the worst of sins, because it can hurt more people than it 'saves'. I believe that sin is where love is put in a cage, locked up in categories, glorified or despised, according to the rules. Love is like a swallow or an eagle... It has to fly higher than the sky, be free to choose and be chosen, to glow in the God granted light that only true, unshackled love can radiate."
Hugh remained silent, trying to wrap his mind around all that. Then he simply uttered, "I'm still confused."
"Your confusion will go away if you heed your heart as much as you listen to the mess that has been put in your head... We should just love and be loved, letting love suffice to itself. If there's love, there's God. Didn't you ever hear that God is love?"
"1 John 4:8, Whoever does not love does not know God, because God is love."
"Exactly! But Saint John didn't mention with whom, nor how, nor even in what position, and how often..."
"Are you gay, Marco?"
"Yes, can't you see that in my art?"
"Yes... and how did you know you were gay?"
"I've always known it. Not only because my fathers are gay, but because there was no problem about being gay in our home. I'm now twenty-four.
I thought I had found my twin flame. But that turned out to be a disaster. I was hurt, injured... so I decided to wait for my twin flame to find me. All I know is that my twin flame has a cock. That's all!"
"How were you hurt? Emotionally?"
"Physically! But are you sure you want to know?"
"There's a lot of things I need to know, Marco... maybe your experience can help me avoid future mistakes myself."
"If you think so..."
Marco thought an instant, saw a genuine need in Hugh's eyes, and decided to tell his story.
"Okay, Hugh... Here goes! I thought I was madly in love-at-first-sight with this fabulously beautiful, elegant, refined young fellow I met in Rome. I was there visiting the Vatican Museum. I was sixteen at the time. As I was admiring some very explicit scupture, this gorgeous person started talking with me. I was immediately entranced! He was from Milano and worked as a fashion model and was in Rome for a photo shooting. Well, one thing led to another and we wound up in his hotel room. Nothing really special happened. We jacked each other off, kissed some, and then went out for a walk. He wanted to buy me an ice cream! Can you believe it?"
"So? Go on..."
"So neither one of us knew that we had wandered into a dangerous part of town. We were having fun, acting effeminate, you know, girly and such ... and that's when a group of three tall, muscular 'ragazzi di vita' -- that our word for male prostitutes -- ganged up on us. They began hitting us, screaming like crazed hyenas, Fuori! Get out! Dehors, Raus! in all kinds of languages! I was frozen with fear. They cornered me in a doorway, hitting me in the face, kneeing my crotch, kicking my shins... well my gorgeous model vanished, leaving me to fend by myself. I was seriously messed up. The police found me staggering a little further on. My face was bruised. My scalp was bleeding. They didn't do much to help. They just cleaned me up a little and put me in a taxi, sending me to my hostel. The next morning, I was in the train going home. That was my first and last time with a possible twin flame! It's a pity, a shame... It's so sad what drugs and poverty can do that to normally decent guys. Perhaps their dealers or pimps were watching too... It's a sick world!"
"That's terrifying..."
"Yes, it was... If you feel like..." Marco looked for his words, "If you feel like, as my American father says, 'walking on the wild side', be careful. You could get into really bad trouble if you fell in with a pervert, or someone just wanting to use and abuse you."
Hugh said nothing. He was lost in thought as he took another sip of wine. Then slowly he looked up at Marco. His face glowed with a silent smile that spoke far further than the most eloquent of declarations.
"The way you are looking at me, Hugh, is almost intimidating. Did I scare you with my story?" whispered Marco, staring back, deep into Hugh's golden eyes.
"No, not at all. You are fascinating, free, honest... honest with yourself... honest with me. I want to trust you, Marco," replied Hugh with a voice, slightly quivering with emotion.
"But you look upset..."
"I'm not upset, I'm just realising how much I've fled my wild side, my truth, perhaps.
"How's that?"
"Two years ago, I was on the fencing team in school. One day, a close teammate and friend of mine strained his abductor. You know, it's the muscle inside the thigh that goes from the crotch to the knee. In fencing, it can be easily strained when we do an attack keeping one leg behind... Well, that's what happened to him while we were practicing with our foils together. He fell on the mat and grabbed his leg. He asked if I could do something to relieve the pain. I said I could try to massage his thigh. They say that's what has to be done. I helped him limp to the warm-up room and stretch out on a bench. Then I knelt and began kneading his thigh."
"I see..."
"There was nobody there and we had some time. So, to get to the point, as I was rubbing up close to his crotch, he got a boner. It poked out of his shorts and dribbled on my hand. I got a boner too. He moaned some and said that was so good. He said the pain was going down and asked me to continue. I was sweating. My breath was short and I shot off in my underwear. At that very moment, the fencing master came in. I was scared out of my skin. He asked what were we doing there. My friend calmly replied that I was kind enough to massage his strained abductor and it was doing him a lot of good. The master smiled, complimenting me, and went about his business."
"All of that was quite natural, Hugh... That doesn't mean you're gay."
"But I wanted the massage to develop into... I don't know into what, but... I wanted more of him, more of me with him."
"And you couldn't go further. Is that it?"
"I could have. We were left alone. My friend yearned for it as much as I did, but I just couldn't..."
"The problem wasn't about what you both desired. Somewhere deep inside you wanted to create a deeper bond between each other. The problem came from all the prohibitive anguish that had been crammed into your skulls, the so-called wrongness of enjoying nature between each other. That's one of the Catholic scarecrows. We know them quite well, here in Italy! And you also know that even priests abuse boys and young men."
"That I know too. One of the priests in my school openly told me that I needed to suck his cock in order to become a full-fledged man. I was so shocked that I ran off. He was ugly and smelled really foul. Just the idea nearly made me vomit."
"That happens... But tell me, what did you feel for your friend when... you know, when you ejaculated in your underwear?"
"I don't know what I felt... I was scared, that's all I remember."
"You see, that fear damaged you. It hurt your friend too. That's where the sin begins. Sin thrives on fear, creating hurt. The desire you shared with him was natural, even beautiful... because it was generous and genuine. I believe that religious morals are only a form of mental sickness, created by men afflicted with the demon of domination. They must dominate people, cripple their feelings, making them submit to their selfish drive. The major sin is that they twisted the doctrine of freedom and love of Jesus into a machine striving to take control of everybody's will. Don't you see how it worked on you... and perhaps still does?"
"I'm beginning to understand and trust you, and understand a lot of other things too. Perhaps, I'm beginning to understand myself..."
"Hugh, don't you think we've talked a lot already... all that's a bit heavy, don't you think? It's getting late. I'll fetch you some covers for you to sleep on the cushions down here tonight."
Hugh bit his lip, blushed a little, and softly stated, "Marco, I'm not afraid to share your bed with you... if you let me."
Marco looked steadfast into Hugh's eyes.
Hugh didn't lower his.
"Marco, please..."
Marco touched Hugh's cheek, asking, "Are you sure it's not the wine talking?"
Hugh laughed, leaning in on Marco, and replied, "How does the Latin saying go? You know, the one about wine and truth?"
"In vino veritas..."
"Yes, that's it! 'In wine there is truth'... Let's drink to that, Marco!"
End of part one out of three