The Curse of Being Beautiful - 1. The Curse of Being Beautiful

June 1994

 

Morning had broken over the city of Prague a few hours earlier. Although the sun shone brilliantly over the many roofs and the city’s streets, its outlook was not a favorite one. Apart from the tourist attractions, that were in somewhat better shape, most of the buildings and houses looked neglected. Painting had gone years before, wood in window sills was rotting. The streets were dirty and the cars, trucks and busses, that drove through them. looked old-fashioned and derelict. Even the Vltava River, once so beautifully described in music by Smetana, was reduced to a stinking, dirty open sewer.

It could hardly be otherwise, because the city, no: the whole country, was in turmoil. Nobody felt an inclination to care for buildings, streets, cars or rivers. All were fully occupied with finding ways to get food on the table, to keep their jobs or find new ones. Because after forty-four years the Communist dictatorship had collapsed five years before and with it the whole hypocritical facade of full employment in non-profitable companies. Now it was each for his own!

Yes, the new president did his utmost best to keep the country out of even more trouble, he fought to give his people hope for a better future, he had his battles with a bureaucracy, that was still dominated by communist cadres that always had and were still stuffing their own pockets with corruption. But he found out soon enough that the only commonality between the jobs of poet and president was, that the first letter for both words was the same. Despite all his efforts, he was unable to turn the tide. The country was not ruled by a kind and wise man. The grim reality was, that the country was in the iron grip of the robber barons and the neo-capitalist vultures, who circled around in their fancy, black market-bought helicopters, searching for prey. And especially these did not particularly care about maintenance: maintenance doesn’t bring a single crown, it only costs money!

This mood was not typical for Prague. The atmosphere of decay permeated the whole country. It was one big hunting ground for the ruling clan of predators.

On this sunny and at the same time sinister morning the early morning train from Pilsen rolled into its terminus station, Prague Main Station. Among the travelers, that came out of it, was a young boy of striking beauty, who was carrying a backpack. He looked around, clearly searching for the way to the station’s main exit but apparently decided just to follow the other people, who hurried for the platform stairs.

When he left the building, he felt overwhelmed by the amount of traffic and the suffocating exhaust fumes. After he had set the backpack on the ground beside him, he sat down on a bench and let the sun shine on his face, that looked as if it was delicately sculptured by a talented artist, pinching his blue-grey eyes slightly against the sharp light. A sad smile played around his lips, when he muttered:

“And where do we go from here?”

It was a very good question. Only thing left was, that he had to find answers and he had to find them fast!

 

Rafael had a scrap plan when he ran away from home, somewhere in a small village in the Bohemian Forest. The only thing he knew was, that he wanted to Prague. For some reason this big city was some kind of magnet for him, as if life promised to be more bearable and more beautiful than it was in his village.

It was the typical Czech rural village: a church, a formerly state-owned restaurant with mediocre food but at least cheap prices, a medical post and it had an old castle of some kind, that lay on the bank of a large pond, on the rim of the extensive forests. It meant, that there was not much entertainment for a young boy, especially a young boy who didn’t like to play football.

But it wasn’t only the boredom in his native village that drove him to Prague. There were other reasons, more complicated in nature, as well.

First of all, there was his almost perpetually drunk fulltime alcoholic and part time psychopathic and sadistic father, who could be quite quarrelsome when he was drunk, especially when he couldn’t make his mind up which of his three roles he had to play first, and who mostly used his wife as the butt to vent his frustrations. Rafael had heard his mother’s cries of pain and fear so often, when he was in his small bedroom, trying to sleep. Only seldom he was the target, at least in the direct sense.

He was always the final victim in the indirect meaning. Because after every beating up his mother gave air to her grieve, frustration and anger in hysterical outbursts, aimed at her son. Funny enough it was always Rafael who had to endure it, never his sister. It was, as if his mother used her flare-ups to make clear, that her husband had made her hate every male around her, no matter who he was. And since Rafael was the only male at the breakfast table it was him who had to take the burden.

And then there was this other thing, that bugged him. For some years now he started to notice he was different from other boys in the village. When he went to the pond below the castle for a swim in summer, he noticed how other boys stealthily observed girls and made approving and horny remarks about them among one another. Not Rafael, he observed boys, especially beautiful boys and dreamed about them. He was wise enough not to make any remarks about his observations. He knew, he was living in a small village in the Czech countryside, the kind of village where masculinity is still written with a capital “M” and where there is no place for fags and sissies. So, he kept his observations and remarks for himself, making it his big secret.

It made him a loner, especially when the other boys noted, that he refused to react to the not too subtle approaches by Benesa, a beautiful and sweet girl in his class who had taken a great liking in him. Rafael was more captivated by Matej, the always number one in sports, broad-shouldered and large with short raven-black hair, tanned skin and dark, penetrating eyes. But again, his captivation was in absolute silence.

When other boys were playing football, he was walking through the forests, making nature pictures with his cheap East German Praktica-camera, that was surprisingly good for its price. Rafael became quite adept at making nature photos, having the patience to lie hidden in the brush for hours until some fox or deer popped up as the perfect model for his next shot. He could afford to lay for hours: there was no football training waiting for him and he avoided being home as much as possible.

At school he managed. But it was not easy: his shy nature and his supple, almost girl-like way of walking made him the buttstock for mobbing and humiliating remarks by other boys and pretty soon he found himself alone at the school yard, while all other boys were chatting and having fun.

But the day came when he was fed up with his parents, with his solitude, with the mobbing at school and with this village and he decided to go to a place where he could breathe freely and where he could develop his own life in the way he wanted it. He wanted to go to Prague.

He planned it thoroughly, at least that is what he thought. He would break off school, take his small savings from the bank, be sure he had his passport and his health insurance card with him, pack some clothes and his camera, visit his grandmother for the last time and then hop on the bus to Pilsen to take the train to Prague. He was unaware of the fact, that he made a huge mistake.

On that faithful day he did as he had planned. It went not all according to the plan, because he missed the last train to Prague, so he had to spend the night on a bench in the station’s waiting room, together with a drunk guy, who started to vomit all over the floor in the middle of the night. But finally, he arrived where he wanted to be: he was in Prague.

While sitting on that bench in front of the Main Station he realized the enormous mistake in his planning: the plan stopped at exactly this moment! He was at a loss what to do next.

He knew, he had to find a place to stay and that he had to find a job. That last thing would be difficult: he had no diploma or qualifications. The only things he had, were about four thousand crowns, his clothing, his camera and his stunning beauty.

Because that is what he was: he was not large, about 1 meter 70 and had a slim, slightly feminine body, but then the body of a sports woman, not totally devoid of muscles. His face was a delight to look at with its Slavic features, including high cheekbones, perfectly proportioned nose and thin lips, that smiled most of the time, giving him cute dimpled cheeks and showing a perfect row of pearl-white teeth as an added bonus.

His blue-grey eyes were deep as the ocean, always glistening naughtily. His long light blond mane, falling slightly over his shoulders, augmented the feminine impression, especially when they danced around while he was walking in his supple pace or fluttering in a breeze, lightening up so every now and then in the sunlight. And when the sun set down in the west in an orange glow, they appeared to shine with a soft orange hue.

But the bulge in his tight jeans made it very clear there was nothing feminine about him, although his small, rounded buttocks again suggested the contrary.

But his beauty didn’t help him when he felt the despair coming up.

“So this is the promised land?”, he muttered, “Then where did I came from, from hell?”

With a deep sigh he shouldered his backpack and started to walk to the old city center, looking for a place to sleep.

 

September 1994

 

For once luck was with him. First, he found a very cheap boarding house in the old inner city, where he got a small, filthy room with a bed and on it a mattress, that was that worn out, that it might have well been from before the Communist takeover in 1948. But it didn’t matter: he had a place to sleep and there was even a shower at the end of the corridor, where he could wash down the many tiny creatures from his body, that crept out of the mattress each night.

Then the job search started. It was very frustrating: it was no, no and no again. But finally, at the moment that his meagre finances were almost exhausted and the owner of the boarding house would kick him out, he found a job as a kitchen aid in a small restaurant along the banks of the Vltava, with view on the old Prague Castle. The wages were horrible: it was too much to die and too little to live from, but at least it gave him a chance to rent a tiny one room apartment with some furniture on the other river bank above a bar in one of the many alleys under the castle. And he got a meal once a day from the restaurant’s kitchen during his midday break.

It wasn’t ideal, being on the street side, where noise could be heard until deep in the night from drunk fights. But it had a small kitchenette in the one room, a combined toilet/shower and the rent was affordable. For the rest he just had to scrape a living together, but had no idea how.

And that was where he was when he wasn’t working, in his room, still lonely. His only excursions were to the nearby Letenska park for a walk, but for the rest he stayed at home, listening to a tiny transistor radio, either being too tired or too broke to do anything else, but mostly for a combination of those two reasons. Breathing free meant something else for him.

 

During his midday break at the kitchen entrance, he was talking with Karlo, a colleague of about the same age but also a totally different kind of guy than Rafael. As shy as Rafael was, so extrovert was Karlo. And moreover, as secretive as Rafael was about his homosexuality, so openly, almost militantly and provocatively was Karlo, up to his earrings, the way he dressed and the pink strands in his bleached hair. Rafael often wondered how the boy was managing to stay unhurt in a country, where being gay was still shunned by the majority of the population.

Somehow the subject of their talk came on money and the only thing Rafael could do was to paint a bleak picture of his finances.

Karlo shrugged his shoulders with an enigmatical smile and only said:

“How do you think I make ends meet? I would be dead when I only had to live from what I get here”.

“I don’t know”, Rafael said, “Tell me about it”.

Karlo looked at him with cheeky eyes and softly said:

“By doing some escort work as a side job. Pays good, you know. About two thousand crown a night”.

“What is escort work?” Rafael asked, not understanding what was meant.

Karlo looked at him with clear derision in his eyes.

“From what pre-historic village do you come?” he asked, but before Rafael was able to answer he started to explain what escort work was, ending with:

“I can get you in touch with the agency, if you want”.

Rafael thought it over briefly and said doubtfully:

“Isn’t that just playing hooker?”

“Oh”, Karlo answered, “That’s an old-fashioned way of looking at it, more the way it was looked upon during the days of our glorious socialist workers state. Now it’s just a job, that brings money”.

“But it doesn’t sound like my thing”, Rafael said, still considering the proposal, “Besides: I have no sexual experience what so ever”.

“None?” Karlo exclaimed utterly surprised, “Not even jerking?”

Rafael felt himself blush and with a shy smile he answered:

“Yes, I did my share of jerking, but not the real thing. That’s pretty hard as the only gay boy in the village”.

“I’ll be happy to give you some experience, gorgeous, even free of charge”, Karlo said chuckling, “Look at that: so cute, with those blushes and these dimples in your cheeks”.

Rafael just shook his head, shrugging.

“Well, on the other hand”, Karlo continued, “You can always go in the gay porn business. They pay even better, I have heard. But I think I wasn’t photogenic enough, because they didn’t want me. But a boy with your looks…hard to refuse, I guess. I could set you up for a meeting with a model scout I know”.

“Porn industry in Prague?” Rafael asked, being surprised by this unexpected development.

“Yeah”, Karlo said matter-of-factly, “Call it the benefits of capitalism. Since the turnover Prague has become a major production center. Actually, I think, that in the field of gay porn, you can consider it the European capital of the industry”.

“Hm, then it might be a good idea”, Rafael said after thinking it over for a few seconds. Naïve as he was, he thought it to be a favor, not knowing that the model scout was paying Karlo thousand crowns for each prospective porn actor. He was not fully accustomed yet to the new ways of capitalism. He only saw it as an innocent way to get some more money in the pocket.

 

October 1994

 

In Rafael’s innocent and naïve perception Karlo kept his word, although Karlo’s explanation was, that he could use the extra cash he was going to get from the model scout. The meeting was in the backroom of a small bar in old downtown.

Rafael had an immediate dislike for the plump scout, whom he considered to be too much a look-a-like with his image of gangsters, including a flashy suit, purple tie over a light-yellow shirt and a golden bracelet around his wrist. The man spread an incredible odor of expensive after shave and his short black hair glistened with gel.

His opinion of the man didn’t improve when he noticed, how the scout examined him with the same attitude as a farmer in his home village would have, when he was examining a cow he wanted to buy. At least the man nodded approvingly so every now and then, something a farmer would never do, since it would rush the price up.

When the examination was over the man asked bluntly:

“So, you want to make a career in the gay porn business?”

Rafael had no idea he had said something like that and only answered a non-committal “that he was considering it”.

“Well, a boy with your looks can count on a great career”, the man continued mucous, “Do you have objections to a test photo shoot?”

Rafael shook his head. He had to start somewhere and he could understand that no film producer would give him a role without a test shoot.

“OK”, the man said, “Then I’ll set up a photo shoot with a studio and we’ll see where we can give you a contract”.

And that was it. When he and Karlo left the bar, the last one snickered:

“Man, you got yourself a contract. You had him overawed in a split second”.

“Well, thanks for your help, Karlo”, Rafael said.

“No problem. But you really don’t feel like getting some sex experience, gorgeous?”, Karlo asked conspiratorially, “Of course free of charge!”

“No, I’m tired”, Rafael avoided the question, “I’m right off to bed when I get home”.

“Oh well”, Karlo sighed, “Pity, I would love to be in bed with you”.

 

Rafael felt very tense when he went into the building for his test photo shoot. Although he had expected another kind of building, it turned out to be another non-descript office building in one of the business districts of the city. He took a look to the large wall with the company name shields and saw he had to be at the third floor, so he started to take the stairs two or three steps at a time.

When he entered the correct office, a young girl behind a reception desk greeted him with a smile, asking:

“And what can I do for you, young man?”

“Well…eeeuhhh…”, Rafael stammered, “I had an appointment for a test photo shoot today”.

The girl looked at her computer screen, looked at him and said:

“OK, so you must be Rafael?”

He just nodded.

“OK, Rafael, welcome”, she said friendly, “The dressing room is at the end of the corridor, the left one. We have put an assortment of underwear for you in there, but you are free to choose which one or more you want to wear”.

“Dressing room?” Rafael asked not understanding.

The girl just nodded and with an enticing smile she answered:

“We want to see as much as possible of you, so…yes: dressing room”.

Rafael nodded in confusion, but he walked to the required door and went into a small, dimly lit room. On the wall was a large poster of a naked, beautiful boy and on the chair were a number of extremely sexy, but for him equally extremely unaffordable undies: slips, strings, jockstraps, the whole bunch of them. He stroked softly over de texture of a glistening black string, loving the feeling of it. It felt unbelievably soft, as if it were satin.

Opposite the postered wall was a man-high mirror and there was a second door, which he presumed to lead to the actual studio.

Slowly and incredibly nervous he undressed and when he stood naked in the small room, he took another look to the collection of undies. He stuck to his first choice and put the tiny black string on. Then he turned around and looked in the mirror. He shook his head to let his hair fall free, not that it would look as if he had just walked through a hurricane.

“Well, man”, he muttered, “Let’s see what happens”.

He liked the look of the string. Actually, the soft and smooth texture on his skin caused some arousal in his groin, making the front part of the tiny cloth dangerously small to keep it all in.

Someone knocked on the second door and it opened.

“Hi, are you Rafael?” a man asked.

“Yes”, he confirmed, suddenly shy in his very scarce clothing.

The door went full open now and a man in his late thirties smiled at him.

“I’m Juri, the photographer”, he introduced himself, “Come on in, Rafael”.

Meekly Rafael followed the man, who looked around to cast a glance on him.

“Wow”, Juri said with a smile, “I think we’re going to make some real great pictures of you”

Rafael could only produce a shy smile, unintentionally soliciting a remark, that he should do so during the shoot, since his dimples were so cute.

Shy or not, he was also curious. As an avid amateur photographer, he immediately noticed the camera, one he didn’t know.

“What kind of camera is that?” he asked

“It’s a Hasselbladt”, Juri answered, “You know something about cameras and photography?”

“Well, not much”, Rafael said, “I’m no professional. I just like to make photos, especially in nature”.

“Really?” Juri reacted interested, “Which camera do you use?”

“Just a Praktica”, Rafael said a bit ashamed.

“No need to be ashamed of”, Juri laughed, “That’s the same one I started with. Actually, very good camera for its price, I remember”.

Somehow, they started chatting about photography, breaking the ice. And while chatting Juri coached Rafael through the shoot without him actually noticing it. It was just one shot after another, from the front, the backside, close up, etcetera.

After a while Juri said:

“Not only a photographer, but a very good model as well. A true natural talent”.

Rafael smiled somewhat embarrassed at the compliment, prompting Juri to exclaim:

“Hold that smile, Rafael. It’s so marvelously cute!”

The flashlight blinked and the next photo was a fact.

“Turn around!” Juri said.

Rafael did as was told and he heard the camera clicking.

“Wow, cute ass, Rafael”, Juri muttered hard enough to be heard, “Stick it out a bit!”

Rafael saw no objections to that and pushed his buttocks towards the camera. In a way he felt somewhat hazy by all the attention for him and his body, especially since Juri seemed to like what he saw through the photo lens and made no effort to hide his pleasure. In summary: Rafael felt totally relaxed and somewhat intoxicated by the whole atmosphere.

Suddenly Juri said in a low, insinuating, almost seducing voice:

“Take your string slowly down. I’ll make a nice sequence of it”.

“Huh?” was Rafael’s reaction, looking at the man in slight shock.

“Yeah…”, Juri said, as if he was discussing the football games of last weekend, “Just show it all. The boss only decides who gets a contract when he has seen it all”.

“But…”, Rafael objected weakly, “I would be totally naked on the photos!”

“Come on”, Juri smiled re-assuring, “I know how boys look when they are naked. Some dick is longer, the other shorter, one thicker, the other thinner. But in the end, they’re all the same: some small tube between the legs, that becomes a tree so every now and then and two balls, decently packed in a pouch. So, let me see it”.

Rafael was not dumb. He knew he wasn’t applying for a job as photo model for men’s underwear, but for a contract as porn actor. This would no doubt mean he would show his nudity more often than not, for everyone to look at. So, did it matter if he started right away?

He gave in: blushing from shame he let the soft string slowly slide down. The shutter clicked eight or ten times in a rapid sequence. In the end Rafael stood naked.

Now it was all visible: the vaulted chest, the vague contours of a developing sixpack, the trim abdomen and the not yet fully ramrod penis, all combined into the magnificent view of the slim body of a beautiful, young boy.

Funny enough his shame effluxed. He felt excited by the feeling, that he was standing fully naked in front of a camera and of the man behind it. His dick hardened and grew to its full length of twenty centimeters.

“Wow, Rafael”, Juri cried out in admiration, “You’ve got a beautiful big gun between your legs. The boss will love it, when he sees this”.

Not knowing what to say Rafael just giggled a bit.

“Get on the couch on your knees”, Juri ordered.

Rafael did as was told.

“And now stick your cock out, so that it is clearly visible”, came the next order.

Rafael curved his spine, pushing his hips and his dick forward.

“Play with it, beautiful. And look really seductive while doing so”, Juri said.

Rafael started stroking his dick gently, looking shyly in the lens.

“Yeah…”, Juri rewarded him, “That shy look is even better than pure seduction. Go on, strike it!”

“But…”, Rafael muttered, “But…what if I cum?”

Juri just laughed and replied:

“No problem. We’ve got enough tissue paper”.

But Rafael was able to hold it back. After some minutes Juri said:

“OK, now lie on your belly on the couch”.

Rafael did, propping his head up on his hands, while his elbows rested on the soft leather of the couch. The lens came really close now, lining up diagonally over his left shoulder and following the trace of the spine towards the bum.

The shutter clicked, while Rafael’s blue-grey eyes stared dreamily in the lens.

“Beautiful! OK, Rafael”, Juri announced, “That’ll do for this first shoot. So, just get dressed and we’ll get in touch with you after the boss has decided”.

“OK”, Rafael replied, “Thanks for your time and help!”

“No problem”, was the curt reply, “That’s what they pay me for”.

Rafael got back in the dressing room and dressed.

When he left the building, he felt relieved and happy at the same time. Maybe there was a chance to get some extra money!

 

And he was right: only three days later there was a letter in his post box, containing the request to contact the production company to make an appointment with the boss. These were the literary words used, which struck Rafael odd. Apparently “the boss” didn’t have a name or was not very interested in using it, because both Juri and the letter had only referred to him as “the boss”. But did it matter? As long as this boss gave him the money he had earned, it was perfectly OK with him. He could have expected, that the porn industry was somewhat nebulous in nature. He simply strolled to the nearest phone boot to call the company and within three minutes he had his appointment.

Despite being nervous, he grinned when he entered the office building, wondering if he could keep his clothes on this time or that he had to be naked again when appearing before “the boss”.

He was led into the office, where a man in his mid-forties was sitting behind a large desk, reading and initially totally ignoring him. He seemed to be the somewhat older brother of the model scout, having an equally slick appearance. The only things, that were different, were that he wore a t-shirt and faded jeans.

Only after a while the man said:

“So, you are Roberto!”

Rafael looked at him in surprise and shock. Was there some mix-up? Wasn’t he supposed to be here but somebody else? Or was it all a bad joke?

The man looked at him with an amused smile and said quietly:

“Relax, Rafael and sit down. I just used your actor alias we gave you. We have to protect the real identity of our actors and we have to choose names carefully to avoid using names already in use by our competition. So, we decided, that in the movies we call you Roberto Arcangelo, a real hot, young, Italian cutie!”

Rafael sighed with relief, but couldn’t avoid blushing a bit.

“You know what we produce over here, Rafael?” the man asked.

“Yes, sir”, was his curt reply.

“And you have no objections to that?” came the next question.

“No, sir”.

“And you’re gay, I assume?” the man continued his questioning.

Rafael silently nodded.

“Not a gay-for-pay?” the man asked.

“What, sir?” Rafael asked puzzled.

“That’s how we call straight porn stars, who say they are gay so every now and then to get the roles in the gay industry, because they pay better. I really hate them. They can never act in a real convincing way when they have sex with another guy”.

“No, sir”, Rafael hurriedly said, “I’m real gay. I only like boys!”

“Fine”, the man continued, “We’ll pay you three thousand crowns for each shooting you are taking part in, of course cash. When it looks like your movies are becoming bestsellers we will re-discuss it, but for starters is seems OK to me. Before I forget: how old are you, Rafael?”.

Rafael decided to stay on the safe side, so he lied a year. It was no use to be honest and lose the opportunity to all that money:

“Eighteen, sir!”

He couldn’t believe his ears, three thousand crowns for a shoot! It giddied him, that was a whole lot of money for him.

The man shoved a piece of paper towards him and simply said:

“Then you read this and when you agree, you just sign down under at the right”.

Rafael read it, hardly understanding what it all said, took the pen and signed it.

“Fine”, the man said, pushing two large envelopes over the table, “These are your prints of the test photo shoot, what we call your portfolio. I guess you wanted them as well. And the other envelop is your first film script. We make the shootings next Tuesday. So be here at eight in the morning. And, welcome in our stable!”

There were no hands shaken, no eye contact made. Just some questions, signing the contract and that was it.

But Rafael was overjoyed, when he ran out of the building. At least he could afford a decent meal now. And maybe a roll of film for his camera so every now and then.

 

On the beautiful autumn afternoon, the day after Rafael’s visit to “the boss”, he and Karlo were having their midday lunch at the kitchen entrance, sitting in a still strong-radiating sun. Both were aware, that it might be one of the last days they could have their break outdoor before the winter would set in, so they really enjoyed it.

Between two bites Rafael said:

“By the way, I have to thank you!”

“What for?” Karlo asked, hardly understandable, because he had his mouth full of spaghetti.

“For bringing me in touch with that model scout. I have the contract!” Rafael answered with a beaming smile.

“What contract?” Karlo wondered, clearly having forgotten all about it.

“With the film company, you fool! Did you forget that?”

Karlo looked at him with unbelieving but nevertheless happy eyes and cried out:

“That’s great, man! What do they pay you?”

“Three thousand per shooting”, Rafael answered.

“Wow,” Karlo muttered in admiration, “That’s big money! You’re going to be rich and famous”.

Rafael rose, took his empty plate and asked:

“You’re done with eating?”

Karlo nodded, not understanding what this had to do with the contract.

“Then I’ll take the plates in”, Rafael said cheerful, “I have a surprise for you. I just have to fetch it”.

He went into the kitchen, put the plates on the counter and took a large envelop out of his personnel locker.

Walking out again, he sat beside Karlo and gave him the envelop.

“What’s that?” Karlo asked.

“The pictures of the test shoot”, Rafael snickered a bit shy.

Karlo took the pictures out and started browsing through them. After a few pictures he started licking his lips, then he started to moan and groan.

“Oh man, you’ve got the most perfect body I’ve ever seen!”

A few pictures later he said:

“Ooohhh…that cock is really gorgeous. I’ve got the water running in my mouth at the idea I could suck it”

Then again, a little later:

“I’ve got a hard-on now!”

And then came the last shot, the shot with the dreamy eyes.

“It’s not fair!” Karlo exclaimed, “Why didn’t you ever look at me with these kind of eyes? I would surely melt in a second!”

Rafael giggled but decided to give the boy a soft kiss on his cheeks, whispering:

“Thank you again!”

“You’re welcome”, Karlo chuckled, “At least I can say now I was kissed by a famous twink porn star even before he was on the screens. And I’ll be the first one to buy all your films. Man, I will even use them to make all my one night lovers even hornier than they already were”, he added with a hot grin.

 

The Tuesday of the shooting Rafael was, where he was supposed to be at exactly the right time. He was given a dressing room and started to undress. The script said, he was only to wear a red towel around his waist and indeed, there was a large red towel on the stool waiting for him.

He had studied the script thoroughly, but found that there was not that much to study. Neither of the two actors had one word of text, it was a summary of what was about to happen. Anyway, the whole film was situated in a massage parlor, the title made that immediately clear to him. And with him in the red towel it looked as if he was the one to be massaged.

“There could be a worse start than that”, he thought with a grin.

Suddenly someone opened the door between the dressing room and the studio and yelled:

“Come on, we can’t wait for you the whole damned day!”

Meekly and very tense he followed the man and looked around. The small studio seemed overcrowded with people. There were at least fifteen of them and Rafael had no idea what all of them had to do. He recognized Juri, the photographer, who ignored him as if he had never seen him before. It hurt a bit, to be ignored by the only one he knew in this group.

A thick-set man in the middle looked at him and said in a condescending tone:

“Well well, the newbie. Get at the table, boy, so we can start shooting this thing”.

His air of authority made it perfectly clear to Rafael, that this was the producer.

He walked to a massage bench of white leather, where a man in his thirties, only dressed in a white short, was waiting for him.

“Let’s get started. Silence”, the producer cried out, “And action!”

“Massage Parlor, take 1”, Rafael heard.

The man in the white short made an inviting gesture to the massage bench and Rafael laid down on it.

“Cut!” the producer roared.

“We haven’t even started yet”, the elderly men muttered irritated.

The producer jumped up, walked towards Rafael and said:

“Did you ever get a massage with your towel on?”

“I…I…I’ve never had a massage, sir”, Rafael stammered, blushing with shame.

“If he invites you on the bench, drop your towel! Got it?” the producer snarled, rolling his eyes in clear irritation.

“Yes, sir”, Rafael said submissively.

The man got back to his chair and roared for a second time:

“Silence! Action!””, Rafael heard another one call out.

The massagist made another inviting movement. Rafael hesitated a second. Did he really have to drop that red towel in front of fifteen other people? But he did it!

He crawled on the massage bench and lay down on his belly. The massagist started to stroke him and pretty soon Rafael felt himself gliding away in some dream world he had never experienced before, despite the spotlights and the people around him, some of them very close.

After a few minutes the massagist whispered very softly:

“Turn around!”

Rafael did as was told and turned on his back. In a way it excited him, to lay there naked on that bench, in front of all these people and in the knowledge that a movie was made of it, which could be viewed by whoever, who felt like it.

After a short massage of his shoulders, legs and belly muscles the massagist started to massage his cock. It made the thing simply jump up!

Rafael closed his eyes, just undergoing it, feeling how his breathing became heavier. It felt like heaven.

The man had magic fingers, who danced around the shaft. And the thumb over his pee slit caused shivers of lust along his spine. He moaned and groaned, licked his lips and he simply had a great time enjoying it. It was in one word delicious!

“Oh yes…go on!! It feels so good!!” he murmured.

“Cut!” he heard the producer yell.

The fingers were immediately gone from his cock.

“Goddamned”, the producer railed, “Shut up! No spoken words, the script says. What good does it do to a guy in Japan or America, when you murmur something in Czechian? You can moan, groan, squeal, pant and whatever you want, but not one spoken word. Is that clear?”

“I’m sorry, sir”, Rafael uttered timid.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re sorry. I know! Silence! Action!”

Before the production assistant called out, the massagist whispered to Rafael with a smile:

“Never mind him! He’s not that bad but he has his moody days”.

The fingers went working again, almost causing Rafael to murmur something for a second time from pure delight, but he suppressed it, only moving his lips in silence and licking them.

But despite the wonderful experience of a cock massage the fight in Rafael’s body had started. He knew by now silence was required, so he managed to stifle outcries by literally biting his under lip, but his moaning and panting became pretty intense. He felt the pressure in his groin and balls rise, no, not only there but in his whole body. He was near cumming!

Soundless his lips moved a “I’m cumming! I’m cumming!”

The massagist stopped immediately and looked to the producer.

“Cut!” the man thundered, “What is it now?”

“If I go on, this boy is spewing it all out within the next three seconds”, the massagist said grinning.

“OK, OK”, the producer gave in, “Let’s take a break so that he can cool down!”

The massagist patted Rafael on the upper leg and whispered:

“Just cool down. You’re doing great!”

The producer rose and walked to the massage bench. When he stood beside Rafael, he said, calmer than he had been before:

“OK boy, I know you’re new so you’ll have to learn. I’m trying to make a movie of at least fifteen minutes, so I can’t use a boy who starts squirting within three or four minutes. You’ll just have to hold it back until I say so. And then…just make a good show out of it. Got it? And for the future, learn some tricks to hold back your juices”.

Rafael only nodded. He didn’t feel like saying “sorry” again. But he felt the pressure in his body disappearing and after about ten minutes the producer asked:

“Can we go on?”

Rafael nodded.

“Where’s the fluffer?” the producer cried out.

“Over here”, someone answered.

“Get his cock up again”, the producer said.

Some slight sucking by someone unknown to Rafael did the trick and the ubiquitous “Silence! Action!” followed. The production assistant announced:

“Massage Parlor! Take 4!”

The fingers started their sweet torture again. In the end the shooting of fifteen minutes of film took five hours and another fifteen breaks, all caused because Rafael needed a “cool down” and causing irritation, even with the massagist, who muttered:

“Damn, I hoped to be home before lunch, but it looks like I can forget that!”

The sweet suffering became almost real agony after that fifteenth break. Rafael was fighting hard to avoid cumming. The pressure in his body was unbearable, bordering to actual physical pain. He clawed with his fingers in the sides of the massage bench, his face contorted in despair and he bit his underlip almost continuously or clenched his teeth to keep it all back. He sighed, moaned, panted. He spasmodically pulled up and put down his legs, spread them, only to close them again. He rolled his head left and right, tears of exertion streaming over his cheeks from tightly pinched eyes. The sweat shimmered on his skin. But in the long run he just had to give in: he couldn’t manage it any longer. With a loud howl and shuddering in release over his whole body he let it come, with such force and pressure, that wad after wad splashed in the massagist’s face.

“Cut!” the producer cried out in triumph.

Panting vigorously and hardly able to speak Rafael said:

“I’m sorry. You didn’t give me permission yet”.

“I did that on purpose, my boy”. the man smiled, “And it was simply great how you did it, this beautiful fight to hold it back. Looks great on the screen, I guess, this clawing in the bench, the sounds you made, the way your face grimaced, the tears, the movement of your legs. Really the pain of extreme lust! And then that howl when you finally came, it sounded like a desperate young wolf! Wow...in one word fantastic! You are a natural talent!”

For a few seconds Rafael looked at him in disbelief, but then managed to murmur a relieved but tired:

“Thank you, sir!”

“OK, guys”, the producer commandeered, “Let’s wrap this up. And you two can go for a shower, boys”.

Rafael rose but for a while he needed to sit on the bench, still feeling somewhat shaky. With a slight smile he looked at his already limping cock, that nevertheless still showed visible signs of aftershocks.

“You’re OK?” the massagist asked.

Rafael could only nod.

After he regained his breath sufficiently, he stood and shambled to the shower. The massagist walked with him and with a wide grin on his face said:

“Well, for the way you cum, I would gladly sacrifice another lunch, boy!”

Rafael giggled, got under the shower and turned on the warm tap. It felt great, the warm water on his skin, flushing away all the sweat. But what puzzled him while enjoying it, was the question:

“Man, do you always get that tired from sex?”

 

He left the office building, freshly showered, proud and feeling very, very happy with the envelop with three thousand crowns in his pocket. And even better: he was already scheduled for the next production, two weeks later.

He slept like a baby that night, but the next morning he just went to his meagre job as a kitchen aid in the restaurant, where Karlo was waiting for him impatiently.

“How did it go?” the boy asked curiously.

Rafael giggled a bit and replied:

“Pretty well, I guess. The producer called me a natural talent afterwards”

“Wow, man…”, Karlo cried out, “I told you: you will be famous. What did you have to do?”

Rafael described how the sequence of the shooting went.

“Man, three thousand for fifteen minutes, incredible!”, Karlo muttered.

“Hey, the movie is to become about fifteen minutes. It took five hours of hard work. And I was really exhausted at the end, I can tell you”, Rafael objected.

Karlo nodded and chuckled:

“Yeah, I know the feeling after a long night with a hot and insatiable lover. When I get home after that, I just crash! When is the release?”

“I don’t know”, Rafael answered shrugging, “They have to cut, edit and finish it, I’ve been told. So, don’t ask me when the release is. Anyway, I’m in a new production in two weeks”.

“Wow, they discovered you, cutie”, Karlo said in admiration, adding seductively:

“Two weeks should do to fill up your balls again. You might even have some juice to spare for me”.

“Oh well,” Rafael said, trying to put things in perspective and ignoring Karlo’s new insinuation about having sex with him, “We’ll just have to see, don’t we?”

 

While not in the studio or in the restaurant kitchen, washing dishes, Rafael started working on his very limited acting capabilities. Everything he had done during his first performance was pure guts feeling, hoping it would turn out all right.

One evening he lay on bed, slumbering a bit, when a question popped up in his mind:

“What did Karlo say about my eyes?”

He thought it over, mumbling:

“Something that he would melt right away”.

He rose from the bed, walked to his only closet and took the envelop with the test shoot photographs from it. He searched through them until he found the picture of the boy with the dreamy eyes and studied it. Only after a while he understood, what Karlo had meant.

“I hope, I don’t look always that way”, he giggled.

Picture in hand he walked to his small bathroom and looked in the mirror, comparing his eyes at the present with the ones on the picture. Then it dawned on him:

“Of course! People can use their eyes to express something: anger, sadness, happiness, delight, dreaming, warmth, hate and so on. So I guess the eyes can also express desire, wanting, craving…lust”.

He tried some things, but laughed at the results. There was no sign of craving in his eyes, more something totally and laughably dumb.

He had to find a way to find out how he could act it, this glance of lust and desire, and he had to develop it in a way that it was there “on demand”, in any situation he was having the carefully directed fake copy of sex with one of his colleagues. No matter how long he was in this line of work now, he already found that out: it was all fake and illusion. But it paid good!

He spent three evenings on developing the glance he wanted and on the third evening he was perfectly satisfied with the result. It was the most penetrating and irresistible look possible, almost literally demanding semen. It was all in the trick of getting his long blond hair just over his eyes, then peer from down under it with a certain short, but very intense peep.

The next three evenings he tried out if he could get it on demand and once this worked out just fine as well, he decided to use it the next shooting he was in.

 

November 1994

 

Was he lucky! The next shooting was a full sex sequence, including licking, blowjob, 69 and fucking at the end with Kaz, his most favorite colleague.

Kaz was a somewhat withdrawn, but very nice and gentle boy. He was somewhat bigger than Rafael, had a slightly more muscled body with light-tanned skin, short black hair and a sensual small mouth. But his trademark were his deep dark-brown eyes.

No, he had not fallen in love with the boy, but it was one of the boys with whom he experienced by far the biggest chemistry. When they started working it was not a lengthy, tiresome and frustrating process with hundreds of cuts. It looked natural, as if they had been lovers before both ended up in the porn industry and as a result finely tuned to one another. It was, as if each had developed a sixth sense for what the other wanted, of course as far as the script allowed it. It was not the usual instant rough-and-ready fucking, in which Rafael would seductively wiggle his ass and the other guy would just plunge in and start thrusting. When he and Kaz were working together, they made the long and sleezy sequences in a fully plausible and almost tender way and they made them in record time with both having real fun and showing total devotion to what they were doing, in a way as if the two of them were indeed alone in their bedroom, without a full film crew around them. But Kaz had no idea that Rafael had a nice surprise for him.

After an introductory still-dressed outdoor scene in a Prague park under a moonlit night sky, representing the meeting between the two boys, and after all was checked, double-checked and re-checked again the shooting started. Kaz lay under a white satin sheet, on the bed in dim light, imitating the moon shining through a window, acting he was asleep. Rafael came in, fully dressed, and simply jumped on him, starting some vigorous and passionate kissing. Then Rafael let his hoodie slit off his shoulders, showing his perfect boy-like torso in the dim light and dropped his trousers and undies.

When both were naked, they started a magnificent representation of making love. With the camera running Rafael let his tongue slide over Kaz’s shaft, from the balls up and just under his hair one eye casted that seducing, craving glance. Kaz didn’t notice it, enjoying the soft tongue on his cock with closed eyes. But the producer had seen it and yelled:

“Cut!”

Both boys startled. They had no idea what they had done wrong.

“Shit, man”, Rafael muttered with a smile, “it just started to taste good!”

It was a remark, that solicited a broad grin from Kaz.

“Cameraman”, the producer cried out, “I want a close up, just over Kaz’s dick, on Rafael’s face. And I mean real close up!”

The cameraman changed his position and zoomed in. The producer stared in his monitor and gave an OK. Then he said:

“Rafael, do that again, just the way you did it before. Silence…action!”

Rafael did as was told. Again, his tongue slid over Kaz’s shaft, from the balls up, approaching the tip in a tantalizingly slow way. He looked from under his long blond hair, this time coincidentally with two eyes, both casting that penetrating and beseeching glance in an unspoken outcry for the warm, white gold. This time Kaz noticed it and gave a soft, admiring moan.

The tip of Rafael’s tongue reached Kaz’s pee slit, causing a soft, delighted groaning when the producer called out another:

“Cut!”

“Damned”, Rafael giggled softly in Kaz’s ear, “In this way I’ll never get the taste of it”.

They both looked at the producer, who was looking in the monitor and cried out excitedly:

“So incredibly beautiful! Look at it, look at these eyes!”

Now it was Kaz’s turn to whisper in Rafael’s ear:

“He’s right, you know. That was an indescribably inviting and gorgeous glance you gave me”.

The producer just kept exclaiming in excitement:

“This thing is going to be a real hit, guys. Every gay guy who views this movie and looks in these eyes, will drop on his knees in devotion, get his pecker out and start doing some very serious jerking! Great, Rafael, absolutely great!”

When the man finally calmed down and had regained his attitude of authority, he called out:

“OK, boys, go from the lick over the pee slit. Silence…action”.

“Moonlit love, take 3”, the production assistant dutifully called out.

The rest of the shooting went without a glitch. Of course, there were some small cuts, to re-apply damaged make up or to re-align the lights and that kind of things or change in scene, when the boys got additional directions. But not one of the cuts was caused by the two young actors.

These just went on with their lovemaking, so incredibly tender, that it might cause tears in the eyes of the viewer, apart from other emotions and sudden urges.

As everybody has experienced during working hours, thoughts tend to drift off to more private subjects so every now and then. Rafael was no exception to that. He marveled at the sensual way Kaz’s lips touched his, or his nipples, the smooth skin of his abdomen or his slightly hairy thighs. He didn’t even mention the almost reverend touch of the boy’s lips on the tip of his cock. And when Kaz slid in him, he was rocketed to heaven right away, reacting with a low, purring moan of delight. Somehow, he started to wonder if Kaz was just a very gifted and professional actor or that there were other, more emotional, reasons underlying his performance. And, in all honesty, he started to doubt his own deeper motives for this splendid act of loving gay sex in front of a number of cameras. Again, he mentally ticked off a line in the script and he managed to keep concentrated on his performance, but kept thinking about Kaz at the same time. Did it really matter? The producer and the boss would be perfectly happy with the result and it was written nowhere, that a gay porn actor had to be professional always. He also had a right on his own private life and his own private love, didn’t he? The sex in front of the camera was admittedly a somewhat eccentric kind of job, but nevertheless only a job. It would sure help against the loneliness he was still enduring outside working hours.

After a remarkably low number of hours, it was time for the last scene. As preordained by the script Rafael shot his juices in Kaz’s mouth first, who eagerly accepted the whole shot and swallowed it with a smile of delight on his face. Then Kaz would return the favor, wanking until his white gold ended up in Rafael’s mouth, but Rafael only took the whole load in with the same dreamy eyes as on the test photoshoot picture. He didn’t swallow it, but spontaneously made an unplanned change to what the script said, only because he simply felt like it. He kissed Kaz with closed lips, then rose his head to about four inches above Kaz’s and opened his mouth, letting purposefully let Kaz’s sperm drool out of it. Kaz got the message, opened his mouth and took it all in with a deep sigh of gratification. The finishing touch was a sensual, fiery tongue kiss.

As if he was afraid to break the magic spell of the moment the producer didn’t call a cut, he let the cameras continue their shooting with lenses, that were zoomed in on that, what really mattered at this moment. Only after a last kiss he called out:

“Cut!”

The two boys smiled at one another and the producer just stood, shaking his head.

Only after a few seconds he was able to speak and full of admiration he exclaimed:

“The two of you are really special. This is the most beautiful sequence I’ve ever seen. Man, I only want to make films with the two of you. Well guys, let’s finish this thing. And you two…get yourselves a shower”.

They walked to the shower, a bit stunned by all this unexpected praise.

“Hey”, Kaz said, “We were only doing our job, weren’t we?”

But when Rafael looked in his eyes, he thought he saw something else in these dark-brown soul mirrors. Giggling they continued their way with gleaming eyes. It was a giggle, that could be explained in more than one way.

 

March 1995

 

Of course, the technical processing of “Moonlit Love”, starring Roberto Arcangelo and Kaz Lumens, took some time, but immediately after the release it became a real hit, an absolute best seller.

It had a lot of consequences for both boys. First of all, their status in the company rose with the speed of light to one of superstar. Secondly, all producers were fighting to make films with exactly this duo. But the most important was, that “the boss” told him, that his initial wages of three thousand crowns per production were doubled. That was a lot of money for him, especially because it looked like he would have lots of work coming after this success.

Having plenty of cash he decided to quit his dishwasher job at the restaurant, since he no longer needed the starvation wages that it yielded and because he feared he had no time for it any longer. He fully concentrated his efforts on the porn industry.

He had no idea at all, how Kaz took all this, because the boy remained closed as an oyster about his thoughts and feelings. But for himself he knew the whole success stunned him a bit. And he also found out, that his fame had negative sides as well.

In the 1990s Prague was still devoid of a regular gay scene, but there was a little bar in old downtown, that was mostly frequented by gay guys. So every now and then he went there, to drink a coke and to find the opportunity to chat a bit, to get to know new people outside the industry. But it turned out a disappointment each time he came there.

As soon as he came in, people started to howl and yell:

“Wow! Hey, guys, look who’s there…Roberto Arcangelo!”

Mostly it got down to the questionable intellectual level, that someone found it necessary to say something like:

“You are such a sweet cutie, boy, especially without clothes. I would love to spend a night with you!”

It seemed impossible to explain to people, that Roberto Arcangelo was nonexistent and was only a fake person, that happened to be created and brought to life by him. But his explanations and objections were like pearls casted before the swine: everybody was mightily fascinated by the fake Roberto Arcangelo, but nobody was interested in the real Rafael.

To avoid it, he simply stopped going to the bar. It made him feel lonely and increasingly depressed.

 

At the studios the trees seemed to grow into heaven. Although he preferred to work with Kaz, this was not always possible, so he worked with others as well, including a couple of green gorgeous newbies, who were just contracted. In average he participated in five productions a week, bringing thirty thousand a week home with him. It meant, that life was spent in luxury, loneliness and ever stronger feelings of depression.

These depressed feelings were alleviated, when he and Kaz were challenged artistically. “The boss” had decided to start an ambitious project, a porn movie of over a full hour, meant as a gay wink at the film classic “Last Tango in Paris”, but bearing the title “Gay Tango in Prague”. The “boss” only wanted the best producer available and his best actors and, apart from some support roles, it became very fast extremely clear who these two actors would be. So Kaz and Rafael became a team again.

In the mean time they were considered that experienced, that they were invited in the producer meetings and actually asked to give their input and ideas.

On one of the meetings Kaz suggested:

“Guys, we call it after a dance, but there is no dance in the script. That seems illogical to me!”

The production team grumbled a bit, but after checking the provisional script they had to agree: there was no dance in it!

“What do you suggest?” the “boss” asked.

“Don’t ask me at what point in the film, we’ll have to decide on that. But Rafael and me could dance a tango fully naked”, Kaz said, dead serious.

Rafael looked at him in horror and cried out:

“Hey Kaz, I don’t know how to dance a tango. Actually, I can’t dance at all!”

Amused Kaz looked at him with his beaming smile and only replied:

“Neither can I, Raf. But we can learn, can’t we?”

“How?” the “boss” asked with twinkling eyes of pleasure.

“Well, sir, by going to a dance teacher for an intensive course of tango, I guess”, Kaz replied matter-of-factly.

“OK”, was the only reaction, followed by the order to the executive producer:

“Set it up! Arrange a private dance teacher who knows how to teach the tango in the shortest possible time. On account of the company of course! Oh boys, I’ll pay you for the time you have dancing lessons. You can’t have fun at the dancing floor and work here at the same time, so it’s only fair if I take the time involved for my account”.

And since it was a habit in this company to do as “the boss” ordered, Rafael and Kaz started their intensive tango course. It costed many bruised toes and cramped legs, but after about three weeks the teacher was satisfied, because they managed to dance it pretty good.

As the next step in the preparations “the boss” sent them to an English course. In a film so extensive there had to be text as well and preferably in an international language, that most people were able to understand, meaning practically: not Czechian. So the two of them had to perfect the pronunciation of the English text in the script, which took another two weeks.

But finally, it was time for the actual shooting. And it went like clockwork. Five quarters of film was recorded in just under twelve hours.

Rafael and Kaz were at their best. Their love was so subtle and delicate, that it even inspired the film crew. Cameramen were taking chances to get the best angles and the most perfect shots of every facial detail of the two of them while making love. Oh yes, Rafael used his trick with the eyes, no doubt about that. But there was more to be seen in his eyes than only actor tricks, there was warmth in them, real warmth. Soundmen picked up every slightest moan and whispered word during an unbelievably tender and sensual 69 game.

Simply said: in this new production gay lovemaking left the realm of simple gay porn. It became a new and real art on the screen. It was exactly what “the boss” wanted to do and he was not disappointed while looking on at a discrete distance, making sure he wouldn’t hinder anyone in his work.

When Kaz penetrated him from behind almost at the end of the movie, Rafael floated away on a blissful haze and almost wished that something would go wrong, making sixteen cuts necessary, giving him the chance to re-live the moment over and over. But Kaz did it perfectly, actually abandoning the script, when he took Rafael’s aquamarine necklace between his lips, gently pulling the head up by it. Rafael’s reaction was as was wished, uttering “Ohhhh….yessssss!” in a slightly howling way. It was not some cheap copy of the howl in his very first production. It was another, more intimate sound, that he made because he felt the need to make it.

Kaz let the necklace slip from his lips and they turned over with Rafael landing on his back and Kaz on top of him. Rafael laid his legs akimbo over Kaz, pushing the boy deeper in him. There was another soft and low wanting howl:

“Do it, my love! Just do it!”

And Kaz did it! He did it in a way that could only command respect and admiration and would leave the homophobes in ashamed silence, because, no matter if it was between two boys, this seemed to be true love in the physical meaning of the word.

After this was done Kaz kept to the script. With a camera zoomed in and a microphone almost on his head, he laid his lips against Rafael’s ear and whispered:

“Will you dance with me, my sweetheart?”

“Cut!” the producer cried out.

It was not a cut, caused by actor’s error. It was a necessary cut to change the set. The bed had to be moved from the set, the lights re-adjusted to a dim shade and the projection of the illuminated Charles Bridge and Prague Castle behind it put on a screen behind the set. But then, at the tones of Piazolla, both boys started their naked tango; Kaz leading, Rafael following.

In sparsely illuminated silhouettes they danced, turning around each other, going back and forth. At moments Rafael hung back in Kaz’s arms, his head low, his long hair fluttering freely in the artificial breeze of a wind machine.

Cameramen were lying on the floor to take the best shots. Others kept a lens on the dancing silhouettes and one took close ups of gleaming blue-grey and dark brown eyes.

When the music died down, Rafael lay in Kaz’s arms, his back curved rearward, his head low, his hair falling down free. Kaz bent over and both boys tongued intensely, two cameras in close up on their faces. Then the light dimmed.

After the producer had called out his final “cut!” the whole film crew broke in spontaneous applause and cheering. All felt, that a work of gay film art had been born, that left the doubtful area of gay porn by a wide margin!

Both boys just stood, a bit dazed and catching their breath. Rafael couldn’t suppress the urge to kiss Kaz again, so he simply did it. He looked in the dark brown eyes and was surprised to see tears in them.

“What’s wrong, Kaz?” he asked softly.

The boy just shook his head and muttered:

“Nothing! Just forget you saw it!”

Rafael bent over and whispered in Kaz’s ear:

“I don’t know how you feel, but I’m broken. But, my God, what a fuck you gave me!”

Kaz smiled shyly and only said:

“I gave the best I could. Shall we go showering?”

Rafael giggled and replied:

“You mean, together…the two of us?”

Kaz laughed a bit tense and shook his head again. Then he said:

“No, we better not!”

Kaz walked off the set on his way to the shower, leaving Rafael where he stood. Rafael stood in doubt and incomprehension. Kaz was the guy, who had fucked him over a hundred times in God knows how many scenes and who just gave him the most perfect fuck he ever had, a fuck that had told more than only professionalism. But now, with the lights extinguished and the cameras switched off, he just crawled back in his shell of shyness.

“How can the real person be so different from the character he plays?” he asked softly, somewhat disappointed. He decided to invite Kaz for a drink after their next scene together and maybe try to talk it over. He couldn’t have known, that he would never get that chance, because when Kaz turned around the corner, it was the last time Rafael saw him. And it didn’t occur to him, that his question was not only applicable to Kaz.

 

June 1995

 

When “Gay Tango in Prague”, again starring Roberto Arcangelo and Kaz Lumens, was released, it even surpassed the results of “Moonlit Love” and the original commercial expectations, despite its length and somewhat more elaborate plot. The biggest irritation the “boss” was suffering from was, that the plant, that produced the actual videos, was unable to cope with demand and backlog orders increased by the day.

Rafael got another handsome increase in wages, doubling them again to twelve thousand per production. He just worked on, being fucked by one guy in a short rough-and-ready movie, fuck some young guy in another, somewhat longer film and discussing and planning further projects in the producer’s meeting, having attained the level of associate producer.

Initially he had his hands full with work, so he didn’t notice it. But after a while it dawned on him, that he hadn’t seen Kaz anymore, let alone that he had another production with the boy. In the beginning it bothered him, but the longer Kaz remained invisible, the more he started to really worry about him. But on the other hand: maybe the boy just got himself a better contract with another company. This seemed unlikely however: Kaz would have told him and maybe even invited him to go with him, because as a couple they were invincible on the screen and both knew that.

So every now and then he tried to find out if any of the other guys on the set had heard something about Kaz, but the only answers he got were shrugs, headshakes or a muttered “No idea, man!”

On a beautiful sunny June morning he walked through the corridor for a new scene to be recorded, when he saw the “boss” walking in front of him.

“If anyone knows, what happened to Kaz, it should be him!” he reasoned, so he called out:

“Sorry, sir, may I ask you something?”

The man turned around with a somewhat annoyed look in his eyes but answered:

“Yeah, sure. What is it, boy?”

“Well sir,”, Rafael started, “I didn’t see Kaz for a while and I wondered what happened to him. I hope you could tell me”.

The man looked at him with a slightly condescending smile and said:

“You mean Kaz Lumens?”

“Yes sir, that’s the one!” Rafael said, feeling some hope he might get an answer.

“He’s dead!” the “boss” answered as casual as if he had been asking if there was still some coffee left.

Rafael looked at him in shock, only able to react with a

“Huh?”

“He’s dead”, the man repeated, that indifferent, that it almost became criminal.

“But how?” Rafael cried out in horror.

The “boss” just shrugged and said:

“He jumped off the Vltava Bridge shortly after we recorded “Gay Tango in Prague”.

It was all said, as if the man was reading out loud from the newspaper, devoid of any human emotion.

“Why did he do that?” Rafael stammered petrified, feeling as if the whole earth slid from under his feet.

The “boss” looked at him with a wry, cynical smile and replied:

“I don’t know. You’ll have to ask him. But I doubt if he will give you any answers in the state he is in now”.

Then the man turned around and walked on to his office.

Rafael looked at his receding back, feeling the vomit burning in his throat. He was genuinely shocked about how the man talked about the death of a wonderful, sweet young boy as if it was a written-off production asset, akin to:

“Yeah, the machine permanently broke down so we sold it to the scrapyard”.

His whole world collapsed. He saw his “boss” no longer as a somewhat eccentric but nevertheless benevolent man but as what he was: a money-grabbing predator, who was willing to take the unavoidable deaths as part of the bargain. He understood, that the only thing his “boss” cared for, that it didn’t damage business. He saw the whole porn industry no longer as his vocation but as a total fake, exploiting young boys for the sake of the owners.

His whole world image faltered, as did the image he had of himself.

After a few steps the “boss” turned around and said:

“Oh, that reminds me: I’ve got some letter for you in my office. Fan mail, I guess. Maybe some fool who makes you a marriage proposal. Pick it up later, will you?”

Clearly pleased with his own joke the man walked on, still audibly laughing.

Rafael walked on in a kind of nightmare-like state of mind to his dressing room and thoughtlessly prepared for the next shoot. It was no use he did, because the shoot was a real disaster.

He was that distracted and grieved by the news, not only the news by itself but also the way it was brought to him, that he could not concentrate on whatever he had to do. He couldn’t get his dick up and hardly had any control over his normally delicate movements. The producer was puzzled and resorted to swearing and ranting, but to no avail.

All of a sudden Rafael couldn’t take the scolding any longer. He jumped up from the bed and screamed:

“Fuck you all, damned! I’m not a machine, you know! I’m of flesh and blood and I’ve got feelings as well!”

Then he angrily walked off the set to his dressing room, put his clothes on, picked up the letter at his “boss”’s office and simply went home.

The cameraman, who knew Rafael as an always kind and gentle boy, looked at the producer in astonishment and asked:

“What has gotten into him?”

The producer shrugged and replied:

“Seems a bit touchy to me today. Must be the summer weather. Well, let’s find another bottom to finish this thing”.

 

After arriving home Rafael slumped on his couch and stared in front of him, fighting back tears. The envelop lay in front of him on the table, still unopened. Normally someone, who gets a letter, tears open the envelop to find out what is inside. But Rafael failed the courage to do so.

While walking home he had felt the paper burning in his pocket and once he had laid it on the table, the skin of his fingertips told him there was something terrible inside. So, he postponed the moment of opening until some undetermined time in the future.

In a way he felt surprised, that he was that devastated and confused by the death of a colleague. That is…was Kaz really only a colleague? Or had he been more? He had had that feeling before, while they were doing their lovemaking under the studio lights and in full view of the cameras. Yes, it looked like they were working but were they really? Or did they use the only way available to express their true feelings for each other?

This train of thought brought him to another frightening thought: had he been responsible for Kaz’s suicide one way or another? Had he been too closed to let Kaz enter his world and had that made the boy so desperate, that the jump from that bridge was his only way out?

It was an absurd thought, but Rafael was used to be the scapegoat for all that went wrong from toddler on. So why should he have nothing to do with this?

“Please, Kaz, tell me I wasn’t the cause!” he sniffed, new tears in his eyes.

Again his fingers stroke over the envelop.

“I have to open it!”, he whispered, filled with fear for that, what he might find.

With trembling fingers he tore the envelop open. There was one sheet of paper in it, described densely in a handwriting, that might be of a primary school child. He took the sheet out and forced himself to start reading it:

“My dearest Rafael,

 

Yes, you read it well: I called you my dearest Rafael. Because that is what you are. You’re the only one I write, because, after all you meant to me, I felt obliged to give you an explanation of what I am about to do.

 

Let me begin where I should begin. Of course, my name is not Kaz Lumens. That’s just a phony alias the “boss” gave me, the same way he has dubbed you Roberto Arcangelo. My real name is Mikhail. In reality I’m Ukrainian and I’m in Czechia as an illegal. The boss knew this, as did he knew I was underage and covered it all up. It is exactly how this vulture recruits his models. He picks them from boys who are illegal or boys who have ran away from home, as I suspect you have. It doesn’t matter much: the main things for him are, that they are struggling in vain to stay alive and that they are extremely beautiful. Ugly boys, that struggle to stay alive, do not have a chance in the world with him. It makes me wonder if being beautiful is a blessing indeed. Or that it might become a curse, as it has become for me!

 

But more important: what was going on between you and me? Of course, I can only give you my side of the story. In the beginning you were just another guy I had to work with. But over the weeks I started to like you, no…that’s not true…I started to have feelings for you. The first time I looked into your gorgeous, enchanting eyes they hit me like a thunderbolt. Your eyes are not just eyes. They are a whole beautiful universe of feelings, emotions, dreams and desires, all focused into one of your magic glances.

And while doing what we officially called working, I noticed you responded to it. I felt it by the way you let me in time after time. It made my heart burn for you, yearning for you, screaming it out for you. But that same heart was too weak and too cowardly to take you in my arms as Mikhail, look in your heavenly eyes another time and confess my true feelings for you. Because, my love, I was unable to bridge the gap between the nobody Mikhail and the fake character Kaz Lumens. Compared to you the nobody Mikhail is really a nobody. In my experience I wasn’t even worthy to stand in your shadow. So, I guess I was afraid of making myself ridiculous and was terrified at the thought, that you might reject me. But the truth is: I love you! I love you with all my heart!

I don’t blame you for the fact, that you didn’t respond to it. That was totally my fault. I was the one who was only able to express his feelings while the cameras were running and I was the one who crawled back in his shell once the lights were out.

This is hard to explain and I’ve thought about it much and long. The real Mikhail is a dreamer, a sensitive boy who dreamed of becoming an artist once and on top of that he discovered he was gay, a somewhat dangerous thing where I come from. He felt threatened by the real world and tried to get some protection against that. The fake Kaz Lumens gave that: the only demands, the world had on him, were, that he was eternally horny and beautiful. Kaz became my impenetrable fortress, warding off all outside dangers. But also, that strongly built, that it blocked everything inside from going out. In a way Kaz Lumens took over my own personality, erasing it almost totally. And when the real Mikhail found that out, it was too late! He got stuck in this empty shell, was dependent on the cash it provided to stay alive and was no longer able to express his personality and his own feelings. You know, in the beginning I liked Kaz, now I hate the guts out of him.

Because, my love, I had totally identified with this phony guy, empty-headed but with always full, big balls and I forgot who I really was. That made me feel insecure and uncertain, even scared to death.

But I want you to know, that I felt really happy and really wanted, when I was under the spotlights with you. These were the only moments when I re-found the ability to let my inner feelings join with the outer world. And then only for this short period of time and because Kaz Lumens protected me while doing so.

 

My love, my darling, I beg you not to blame yourself for what I am about to do. It is totally my decision and my responsibility. But I’m no longer capable to juggle between myself and some fake character. It simply eats me up from the inside. You have nothing to do with this. That is: I’m afraid I will cause you lots of pain and grieve. Unfortunately, I see no other alternative.

The only thing I truly hope is, that you start thinking it over, your own relationship between Rafael and that fake Roberto Arcangelo. So that you will avoid the point where I have come to.

 

My dearest love, my gorgeous angel, to keep it in our professional speech: it’s time for the last scene. Forgive me for doing this. I see no other way.

 

I love you!!! And I will think of you and of your magic eyes during that last scene.

 

Stay strong and fight for yourself, love of my life. You are too beautiful to succumb.

 

For what it is worth to you: with all my love

Mihkail”

 

It was one of the very few occasions, that it became clear, that in reality Rafael was a boy who had quitted school. His mind didn’t really grasp what he read. But his heart raced ahead of his mind and instinctively sensed the meaning and intention of each and every word.

With empty eyes he stared at the sheet, holding it in his shaking hands. Only now he noticed some smears through the ink, as if tears had fallen on it and that Mikhail had tried to blot them away.

No matter the blots, the letter devastated him. He simply started to fall to pieces. He crawled up on the small couch, laid his head on his arms and his shoulders started to shock from a deep-felt sorrow:

“What a fool I am, that I blew all this! I would love to be with you, my dear, not only during the shootings but during my whole life! But I blew it! I goddamn blew it!!”

When he finally calmed down, he stared at the letter again. He saw more smears on it, but he couldn’t determine which tears were Mikhail’s and which were his. He re-read it, trying to get its meaning intellectually as well, but stopped when a fresh flow of tears started rolling over his cheeks again. Maybe it meant, that his mind got the message as well, only a little later.

 

That night Rafael lay in his bed and tried to sleep. But sleep was an elusive and unruly commodity that night. No matter how he tossed and turned, the images kept flashing through his mind: images of Kaz’s lovely dark-brown eyes, his beautiful face and his sensual, small mouth with the pearl-white teeth. There were memories of their scenes together fading in an out, as if some diabolic and sadistic editor had made a new movie out of it. Tears popped up in his eyes at regular intervals. He swept them away and made another brave attempt to get peace of mind and fall asleep. It was no use: the pain remained and the images kept coming back.

He was so desperate to find sleep, that he started to consider how he could attain that blissful state of oblivion, so that his pain would subside, at least until next morning.

A tiny, forgotten and very dangerous detail in his memory gave the tip he was searching for. He remembered, how his father always fell asleep when he was drunk. The more the man had drunk, the sooner he fell in some kind of coma-like sleep, saving a lot of pain and hurt for his wife and son.

“Maybe if I drink a beer…?” he mused.

The thought disgusted him. He had seen enough of alcohol and its effects, but on the other hand…just this once? Just to be able to fall to sleep? Why not? He knew what could happen. And he knew he could control it!

He looked at his alarm. It read 00.20. The bar downstairs would still be open.

He made up his mind, rose and dressed. Then he went downstairs and walked into the small bar below his apartment.

The owner of the bar was not surprised to see him coming in. The man knew the boy lived upstairs in one of the two small apartments and Rafael had been in the bar before to drink a coffee or a coke. But the man was surprised when Rafael ordered a beer.

“Are you sure, son?” he asked.

Rafael just nodded, got his beer and went to a quiet corner where he could sit in peace.

He looked pensively at the yellowish, transparent fluid with the collar of white foam with some aversion, thinking:

“So, this is the stuff that ruined my childhood!”

But despite that thought he took his first sip, almost gagging and he immediately detested the bitter and sour taste. However, after a few sips he got used to the taste and his first glass was drained pretty soon, so he ordered a second one.

This second one was a lot easier to drink. Rafael felt himself getting a bit drowsy. With a smile he concluded, that it worked. He would soon be able to get to sleep from this stuff. Maybe just one more beer and he would finally be in dreamland.

He ordered a third. Alas, his hate for alcohol was a bad preparation for actually drinking it. He had zero tolerance for the drug and his condition went from just being drowsy to being dead drunk. When he ordered the fourth beer, the bar owner looked at him with sorry eyes and just said:

“No, son, I think you had enough! Now, be a good boy, get upstairs and get yourself some sleep. OK?”

Unable to think or to react coherently Rafael just nodded automatically. He staggered upstairs, had great difficulty to find the keyhole and after that was barely able to locate his bed, but finally he slumped down on it.

He just lay there, full of fear, because he had no idea what was happening around him. For some reason it seemed, that the bed didn’t stand still. It turned around him. No, not only the bed, but the whole room…even worse: the whole world was swirling and tumbling around his head as if his brains were the only fixed point left in the universe. It panicked him but he got what he wanted: after a few minutes he slid in a deep sleep, not a healthy one but one induced by the drug called alcohol. But despite that, the last lisped whisper on his lips was:

“Kaz!!!”

 

October 1995

 

Life went on for Rafael, but the easy days were a thing of the past. Maybe it is better to say, that life simply dragged on, day after day, hour after hour, often even minute after minute, each tick of the clock accompanied by pain, grieve and gloom.

Initially it looked, as if the memory of Kaz, or Mikhail, receded. It made life a bit more bearable. But when the memories returned with a vengeance, Rafael plunged in free fall. He started skipping meals and if he ate something it was mostly junk food. Sleep became a huge problem. Even the help of alcohol had less and less effect. When three beers didn’t do the trick, he simply started to drink five of them, then ten. And when he noticed that beer was a too soft sleep inducer he changed to gin, then to wodka. He just followed in the footsteps of his father, but didn’t realize it. For him it was just a temporary means until his normal sleep pattern was restored. At least, that was his reasoning.

And when he slept, he was haunted by nightmares. The sardonic editor in his mind had managed to make a slow-motion movie of Kaz’s death. During most nights the nightmare came back: Rafael could almost literally see frame by frame, how Kaz stepped over the bridge railing and how he tumbled into the waters of the Vltava River. Then he woke up, soaked with sweat, panicky eyes staring in the darkness, only to start another fight to get back to sleep.

Most of the evenings he sat at home alone, feeling the unbearable loneliness. Oh yes, he was aware that he could have broken this cold vise of solitude. He had had the chance for that literally in his fingers and touching his skin, even at the most intimate places. But since the two of them seemed to be unable to exploit this chance, it had left Kaz in his grave and him lonely in his apartment, slowly approaching some kind of madness. No, he felt no longer he was the only one to blame. Both of them were to blame: both of them were only able to express their true feelings via the intermediaries of their fake personalities.

His downturn was not only at home or in his mind. It was also in the studio. Like any city official had a 9-to-5 job at a desk behind a typewriter, Rafael had a 9-to-5 job of fucking and being fucked. But his heart was no longer in it. Actually, he started to hate it. All what he was doing now, was only fake! None of the other guys could give the same chemistry as Kaz had. Which was not strange, he mused, since in retrospect it was not only chemistry between them but love. But hate it or not, the cash sweetened a lot.

The producers noticed the change. His normally gorgeous body turned skinny, his always kind character turned into a dreary, recalcitrant and aggressive mood during shoots. He listlessly just did the things he had to do. He lost his creativity, his delicacy, his subtleness, his magic and his naturalness but somehow, he trusted on his superstar-status. No boss would slaughter the hen, that laid the golden eggs. He didn’t take into account that the “boss” would slaughter exactly that hen, when the ability to lay golden eggs had been lost and that, as a result, his superstar-status would fade into darkness equally fast as it had risen. In other words: the inevitable day came, that the “boss” sacked him. It took him a full two minutes to do it!

 

In a somewhat dazed state of mind, he walked home, not really sure if it had really happened or that it was just some scene from a bad porn movie. When he got home, he sagged on the couch and pulled his knees against his chest, staring thoughtful to the wall opposite him.

With a discouraged smile he felt a feeling that was very familiar to him, the same feeling he had when he came out of the Main Station after arriving with the train, a little over a year ago. It was the feeling:

“So, where do we go from here?”

He had no answers yet. He was only acutely aware he had a number of problems. First of all, there was the matter of money. It was not as urgent as when he arrived in Prague. His pretty high wages in the last time had brought him some savings and he could live on for a while, albeit on a severely reduced level of expenditure.

The fact that he was out of the porn industry didn’t disturb him. Since Kaz died, he had been fed up with it anyway. He just had to find another job, as so many people had to.

But in a way he felt more naked than he had been on the screens. He lost his guardian angel, he lost the one he could hide behind, the fake Roberto Arcangelo. He was thrown back on himself again, on Rafael…and he knew damned well he was not in the best of shapes. He actually was in such bad shape, that he had started drinking.

“So dumb!” he muttered.

For a boy who found out the terrors of alcohol from child on it was indeed dumb. But nevertheless: he had stumbled in the same trap his father had stumbled into.

“All very well, man”, he muttered, “But how do I get off the hook from the booz?”

He knew Roberto Arcangelo would persecute him, although there was no cover to be expected from him any longer. The films would stay in circulation and who ever felt like it could see him with face and his whole body, naked and horny, and, if luck really turned against him, for years to come.

Could he avoid that by going back to his village? He thought it over, but shook his head. That was no option. First of all, he would come back with his tail between his legs, an idea, that did not exactly appeal to him. But even in his rural village people could buy porn films and if one of them had seen “Moonlit Love” or “Gay Tango in Prague”, he would be in a world of hurt. Then the anonymity of the big city seemed a better idea to him.

Maybe the best thing to do was join Kaz in some other world. That would straighten out all problems he was facing. But somehow it seemed a bad idea. It was not because of his parents. The only thing they had given him was life and even that seemed some kind of accident to him. So, he owed them nothing.

But his grandmother, she mattered. That sweet old lady, that was always there for him when things got really rough at home and when he ran to her to seek refuge. She was the always kind woman, that taught him the lessons of life or helped him with his homework with an infinite patience. At least she did her utmost best to try to explain to her grandson, why things at home were as they were. She gave him all that, what he didn’t find at home. And she was the one who taught him during his puberty, that sex is a beautiful thing, when it is linked to love. He had a hard time believing it then, but now he knew it was true. He had experienced it. All the sex at the studios had been empty, just a mechanical exercise and actor’s tricks. With that one and only exception, where it had made him floating above the world in a pink haze.

“Fuck, Kaz”, he murmured, “I miss you so much! It really hurts in me!”

But missing Kaz or not, that was not the issue. The issue was, it would break his grandmother’s heart if he decided to join Kaz in the depths of the Vltava River and that was something he wouldn’t want to do to her! Would she know about his exploits in Prague, she would already been heartbroken. Somehow the thought made him feel ashamed. It certainly wasn’t something, that had crossed his mind when Karlo mentioned the porn business.

Yeah…Karlo…he remembered, he had been shocked when the boy told him he was having some extra incomes by doing escort work, although he had managed to hide it. It repulsed him to have sex for money like Karlo did.

“But hey…”, he smiled weary, “What did you do then? It was another way of doing it but, with the exception of Kaz, it was also sex for money. And, let’s face it, after the sex with Kaz you didn’t say no to the cash, but gladly accepted it as a welcome bonus, didn’t you?”

He genuinely tried to look at the problems from all angles, including searching the blame with himself. Putting the blame on him was easy: nobody else could be held responsible. But finding answers proved to be a lot harder!

Darkness had fallen outside in the meantime. But Rafael felt no need to turn on the lights in his apartment. He felt more like he wanted to reach out, talk to people. Not about his problems, it wasn’t anybody’s concern who he had been and what he did. But just…chat... about simple everyday things. Maybe even a chat could give him new perspectives. Or he could stay at home, in the darkness, pondering on his past and fearing what might happen in the future. He considered it briefly and decided to reach out.

“But…”, he said firmly to himself, “No drinking tonight! You better start right away!”

He took his jacket, went down the stairs and walked in the small bar under his place.

The bar owner saw him coming in and cheerfully asked:

“Hi son, a beer I presume? Or wodka?”

“No, not today”, Rafael smiled back, “Just an orange juice will do”.

When he walked to his usual place he added as an afterthought:

“And a little bit of wodka, just for the bite!”

He took his glass and went to his usual table in the corner. From there he observed the other clients. Some of them he knew from seeing them before, others were perfect strangers to him. He really hoped, that someone started a chat with him, but was unaware of the fact, that he wasn’t very inviting to do so, silent as he sat there with gloomy eyes and bowed head. For once his eyes negated what his natural beauty might have welcomed.

Sip after sip the glass was drained over a long period of time. He liked the taste, the freshness of the oranges, combined with the slight bite from the tinge of wodka. When the glass was empty, he got himself a second one. He sat down again, but still nobody showed any inclination to start a talk with him.

But he felt eyes on him, as if someone was observing him. He looked in the direction where he thought it came from and perceived a young man in his early twenties. He had brown hair and wore glasses, that more or less hid his dark eyes. He looked pleasant enough, but seemed some typical kind of prototype student or nurd. On itself he had a friendly face, but it annoyed Rafael to be the object of his intense gazing. He casted an irritated glance back, but it didn’t impress the man at all, who just kept observing him.

“Oh shit”, he thought, “Someone who recognizes Roberto Arcangelo. Not again, I hope. I don’t think I can handle that now”.

The young man kept looking at him shamelessly.

When his second glass was empty as well and annoyed as he was by being observed, he gave up all hope for a talk and decided to take a walk in the cold evening air.

While doing so, he noticed that the bar owner had used that little wodka in his drinks that he still felt sober and he found the feeling exhilarating in a way. He ambled into Letenska Park.

The park was empty. The only things heard was a soft whistling of the wind and the sole voice of the last blackbird, that sang his evening song.

He found a bench and sat down. He took a deep breath, looked to the sparkling stars and all of a sudden, he felt totally hopeless and lonely. For some reason he no longer saw a way out of the mess, he had caused himself. Something in him just broke.

With forlorn eyes, in which the first tears were welling up, he looked into the dark mass of low bushes opposite him.

“I don’t know how I must go on”, he stammered, “Grandma, tell me what to do! Grandma…please…help me!”

The lines from Kaz’s farewell letter came in his mind:

“It makes me wonder if being beautiful is a blessing indeed. Or that it might become a curse?”

He knew Kaz was right: it simply was a curse! His voice raised to a low, desperate howl when he cried out:

“Kaz!!!...Help me, please!”

He placed his elbows on his knees, folded his hands in front of his eyes and started to cry uninhibited.

 

He had lost all sense of time. He had no idea whatsoever how long he had been crying, sobbing and sniffling.

The only thing he noticed, was that at a certain moment someone laid an arm around his shoulders and that a kind and gentle voice asked softly:

“Hi, beautiful boy…why are you crying so heartbreakingly?”

Rafael vaguely noted how he started to stammer some incoherent and unintelligible words, which he didn’t understand himself, so he could hardly expect that another would get the meaning.

In a way Rafael was able to determine the voice as from a male person, without having any clue to who it was. But the unknown just embraced him, took him in his arms, laid his head on a shoulder and the gentle voice said:

“Just cry it out, whatever it is. And after that we’ll see what can be done about it”.

And he did. He kept weeping, just throwing out all his pain from known and unknown causes, from his early youth to the present day. The faceless stranger said nothing, he only held Rafael in his arms and let the cascades of tears run freely. It felt so good: he was no longer all alone. Someone supported him, someone helped him, someone just took the brunt of all his grieve coming out in one continuous flow.

After a long, long while in some stranger’s embrace Rafael finally calmed down. Only then he looked up, who this silent but benevolent angel had been. Through the haze of the tears he saw glasses, that covered kind, dark eyes and he saw brown hair. It was the young man who had observed him in the bar.

“Who are you?” he asked in a whisper, “I don’t even know you. Did Kaz sent you?”

The unknown young man smiled and shook his head.

“Who are you then?” Rafael insisted.

“They call me Jarl”, the young man said with a soft, very gentle voice, “And…may I know your name, beautiful boy?”

Despite his sad feelings Rafael felt irritation coming up.

“Don’t tell me you don’t know who I am. I saw you staring at me in the bar”, he said sharply.

The man called Jarl ignored the irritation. He only looked up to the night sky with a slight smile when he said:

“Oh yes…I know you’re one of these. Actually, I know you are this big star right over there. But, you know, at this moment they are sparkling beautifully, but tomorrow morning they will all be gone”.

The man called Jarl looked him in the eyes when he said:

“I know you call yourself Roberto Arcangelo. But I’m not interested in that façade. I want to know who is behind it. So, I very kindly ask you again: may I know your real name?”

Rafael was stunned. Since he had been in Prague, nobody had been interested in an admittedly very beautiful but nevertheless not interesting and quite illiterate boy. Everybody had been extremely captivated in the equally beautiful, glamorous and always horny Roberto Arcangelo. And now, exactly on the day he was kicked out of the porn scene, some guy tells him he wants to look behind the façade. Was this coincidence? Or did Kaz have something to do with it? Was he protecting him, guiding him and giving him new chances? He looked back in the pleasant dark eyes, gave in and softly said:

“I’m Rafael”.

“It’s very nice to meet you, Rafael!” Jarl said, the warmth in his voice expressing that the feeling was true.

Without knowing it Rafael fell back in his original shyness, so typical for him, and he smiled his disarming, shy smile.

“You feel better now?” Jarl asked.

Rafael just nodded.

Jarl looked around and then said:

“It’s getting cold here. I live nearby. May I suggest, that we go to my place and talk it over why you got to this point?”

Rafael nodded again in silence. In his heart he knew, he would love that, to share his grieve.

“Come on, then. At least it’s warmer there!”, Jarl laughed.

Together they left the park without saying a word.

 

Rafael was surprised by how large Jarl’s place was and by the luxury of the furniture, even a bit ashamed when he thought about his own tiny dwelling with old chairs and the even older couch and bed. But Jarl put him at ease when he said:

“Hey, I have a nice salary. That’s all. And if my salary is not enough my old man is always happy to give me some more on the condition that I stay away from him”.

“Why that?” Rafael asked.

Jarl shrugged and simply replied:

“Let us say that he doesn’t like boys, who like boys!”.

Rafael got the message. He had his experiences with that as well in the past, but fortunately not with his father. The old drunk would have kicked the shit out of him, if he knew.

Apparently, Jarl decided that matter closed, because he asked casually:

“You want a drink?”

“Orange juice…if you have any”.

A few minutes later they were sitting opposite one another, Rafael on a beautiful old sofa. Jarl kept silent, his eyes clearly inviting Rafael to start talking. But he didn’t…at least not yet. He felt too insecure and too shy. But after a while he asked somewhat suspicious:

“How did you find me?”

Jarl grinned and answered:

“That was purely coincidental. I was just making a walk in the castle area and I wanted a hot cocoa with a sip of wodka, so I happened to walk in that small bar. And when I was enjoying my first sip, you came in. Honestly: I was elated! Here I am, sitting on hot cocoa and guess who walks in: the great Roberto Arcangelo. But…when I studied you…I noticed that it was not a beautiful porn star, that was sitting there, but a very sad, very scared and very desolate boy. And that worried me”.

“Why?” Rafael asked puzzled.

Now it was Jarl’s turn for a shy smile when he evaded a direct answer by saying:

“I have my reasons for that! Anyway, when you went out, I decided to follow you, No, don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t stalking you. But I was really worried. I lost you went you entered Letenska Park so I walked around there, hoping I would find you again. And I did…when this…desperate howl came! It really sent cold shivers over my spine. It was like a scared, lost wolf puppy calling out for his mother. So, I went to the direction where it had come from, and there you were, almost flooded in tears”.

Jarl took a sip of his orange juice, but then asked:

“Will you tell me what went on in your head?”

Rafael was in doubt and considered his options. It would give him a chance to talk with someone, maybe even someone who could give him new input on how to deal with it. But…the man was a total stranger. Yes, he seemed kind and compassionate enough, that was not the issue. But he was an unknown person. But what were his alternatives: empty his glass, walk out of the door and go home, just to toss and tumble to get some sleep, fight the demons in his head on his own in the knowledge he would lose that fight?

So, he started to talk: about his home village, his drunk father, his mad mother, about the bullying at school, his sweet grandmother, his running away…the whole thing, including his own dependency on alcohol, including Kaz and including his today’s all time low. His story was interspersed so every now and then with tears and sobs, but he kept talking, throwing it all out.

Jarl just listened, only asking a short question to clarify something so every now and then. But there were no sermons, no judgements and no well-meant but meaningless advises. The man just sat and listened.

After a long, long time Rafael had poured his heart out and with a tired smile he said:

“That’s it…I think. Maybe I have forgotten something”.

“We’ll find that out soon enough!” Jarl smiled, only to continue with:

“You mentioned Kaz. Did you mean Kaz Lumens?”

“You know him?” Rafael asked, at the same time surprised and embarrassed.

“I don’t know him personally”, Jarl said smiling, “but let us say he was very clearly visible. Come on, Rafael, I’m no saint. So every now and then I watch porns as well. And I’ve seen “Moonlit Love” and “Gay Tango in Prague”. So, what kind of boy was he?”

Rafael sighed deep and responded:

“I wish I would have found that out before…., well, you know what I mean. Kaz was…like an oyster. Somehow, he was only able to break the chains of his fears when we were…working. OK, our line of work, I mean. But when we were together, he was incredibly sweet. However, as soon as the cameras were switched off, he withdrew. I only kind of noticed it gradually, actually doubting it. But this last time, in “Gay Tango in Prague”, I knew it for sure. This was not a coincidental fuck partner or some colleague…this guy loves me and I love him!”

Tears came in his eyes when he added:

“But I was too late!”

“Don’t blame yourself, Rafael”, Jarl said, “It seems to me Kaz didn’t make it exactly easy for you to approach him”.

“I’m still unable to understand why he did it”, Rafael muttered, sweeping the tears from his eyes.

“Have you ever heard of the Club of 27, Rafael?” Jarl asked.

Rafael shook his head. He had never heard of it and he had no idea what kind of club that was supposed to be.

“That was to be expected. It was long before the both of us were born. I only came on them during my studies”.

“What is it then?” Rafael asked, curious despite his dark feelings.

“It was a number of rock musicians in the 60s and 70s that had one thing in common. All of them died at the age of 27. The causes were diverse. Some committed suicide, others took overdoses of drugs, most of them combined with rivers of alcohol. But the reasons were the same. None of them could cope with the stress of being a superstar. It is always assumed, that this was because of the long hours of work at irregular times and the days on end travelling in busses while on tour. But that was not the cause. The real cause was, that they were no longer able to combine the one he or she really was with the one they were expected to be on stage and in the outer world. They became their own superstar, burying their own personality and character under it”.

Jarl took a sip of orange juice, thoughtfully staring ahead and then continued:

“But there’s also a Club of 25, which is seldom mentioned, because these people are lower profiled and not as “interesting” as the big rock icons”.

Rafael said nothing, but his eyes asked what Jarl meant to say.

Jarl sighed and explained:

“The Club of 25 is a group, that nobody wants to know, apart from those people, that are in their bedroom in private, watching videos. They are not as interesting as the rock superstars, they are not newspaper headlines when they die. They are the beautiful young boys that are recruited for the gay porn industry and who tend to reach an age of only 25. For the same reason: they can’t combine their own personalities any longer with their image of being only beautiful, horny and sex-addicted animals. For their audience they are only guys who fuck and nobody cares about what is going on in their minds. But…they suffer. Because, singing rock songs is not an emotional burden, but with sex, the most intimate thing between two people, the emotional impact is tremendous. All these young boys suffer from enormous emotional damage during their criminal exploitation of industrialized sex by the hotshots with the money and most succumb to it. Most of them commit suicide, others are infected with AIDS and die and another group starts using drugs, eventually ending up with the unavoidable overdose. Bluntly said: I’m sure, that is what made Kaz do what he did”.

“You seem to know more about the porn scene than I thought”, Rafael said surprised.

“Oh well”, Jarl smiled, “I studied the subject and I wrote my thesis on it”.

“Studied?” Rafael asked quizzed.

“Yeah, I’m a psychologist at the hospital”. Jarl answered casually.

It caused some suspicion in Rafael. He started to doubt Jarl’s motives.

“So,” he asked slightly annoyed, “You’re kind of treating me? Well, I’ve got news for you: porn stars are not in the health insurance”.

Jarl just smiled and shrugged:

“Yes, in a way I am counseling you, because I use the techniques that I learned during my study. But I am not doing it as a psychologist, but as someone who cares about you”. With a chuckle he added:

“Psychologists don’t work in the middle of the night, you know!”

“But…why do you do it then?” Rafael almost cried out, “I asked you before, but you evaded it”.

Jarl just looked at him. Rafael saw the warmth and kindness in his eyes disappear and replaced by a deep sadness.

“Oh, come on, Jarl”, Rafael insisted, “That is not fair! You have asked me many personal and intimate questions and I answered them all. And now I ask you one personal question and you balk”.

Jarl sighed and just said:

“OK!”

He took another sip of orange juice and started:

“When I was a boy of 16…”

His voice broke and tears rolled over his cheeks. He coughed, swept them away and began anew:

“Sorry about that. When I was a boy of 16, I fell hopelessly in love with the most beautiful, most gorgeous boy I could imagine. He was some kind of angel in flesh and blood. Really, I was total loss in love. And I was so fortunate, that he fell in love with me as well. We had a wonderful time and we were very, very happy for almost two years. Yes…including the physical part, I mean”.

Rafael smiled at the remark and asked:

“Did you split up after two years?”

Jarl just shook his head and responded:

“No…he died!”

Rafael looked at him in shock and cried out:

“What happened?”

“He was doing shopping in the supermarket. Yes, a strange place to die, I know, but that is where he was. He got an acute lung failure, collapsed lungs, so he couldn’t breathe. There was a doctor in the supermarket, who tried to help him. But it went so fast that it didn’t matter. He died in a few minutes. So…I know what you’re going through right now. Your circumstances are totally different, but like me you lost the one you love and then the circumstances are no longer of any importance”.

Jarl took another sip of orange juice as if he wanted to recover in a short break, but then he went on:

“Like you have now, I had a really hard time after that. But, as you will find out, you will have to live on and actually you will live on, although you are feeling yourself hanging on your fingernails so every now and then. Anyway, when I recovered somewhat, I started to look porn”.

He shrugged with an apologetical smile and said:

“You have to do something to get rid of your hormones, don’t you?”

Rafael smiled back in understanding. Jarl went on with the story:

“About a year ago I was searching for some gay porn videos in the sex shop when I stumbled on a cover photo of a gorgeous boy. It hit me like lighting. He was really the spitting image of my love. His eyes, his face, his smile, even the way he wore his blond hair. First, I thought I saw my love but then realized it couldn’t be. But it could well be his younger brother. So, I checked the boy’s name, it was some Roberto Arcangelo”.

Before he continued, he took another sip from his glass:

“I got intrigued by this boy. I started to check for other photos or videos. And in that way, I found “Moonlit Love” initially. It thrilled me! The two of you even had the same kind of lovemaking we had. It had a tenderness, a gentleness and a radiating love, that can only be felt and sensed, but never described. And, to be honest, “Gay Tango in Prague” was even better! That was not sex, that was lovemaking in the real sense of the word!”

He looked as if he thought of something, rose and with a “Wait a minute” he went to another room. He came back with a picture frame, that he gave to Rafael.

“That is him!” he softly said.

Rafael looked at the picture. In a way it shocked him what he saw, but in a positive meaning: it was as if he looked in the mirror!!! Yes, there were some small differences, but if someone had told him that he was looking to a picture of his unknown twin brother, he would have believed it.

Jarl sat and continued the story:

“Like I said: I was elated when I saw Roberto Arcangelo coming in the bar where I was. But I saw, that the real boy was in a world of hurt. Don’t get me wrong: I’m no longer a flapper of 12 or 13 years old, so I hadn’t fallen in love with a porn star. In a way I felt attached to you and it worried me. So yes, I followed you. When I heard that howl, it froze my heart. I know it can’t be, he was no longer able to breathe, so he couldn’t make any sounds. But it felt, as if his ghost was wandering about in that park, making that sound. And…then I found you! Well…that’s my part of the story”.

Rafael looked at the picture again, stunned by the resemblance. Then he smiled warmly and asked in a low whisper:

“Jarl, will you tell me his name?”

Jarl nodded and simply said:

“That is Alois!”

Rafael thought it over. He looked in Jarl’s eyes and softly and slowly said:

“I know, that this is a ridiculous thought. But I guess, that Alois gave you the idea to search for me, while Kaz guided you in to that bench!”

“No, it is not ridiculous. It is a very touching and sweet thought. Pity you’re no longer in that gay porn scene. Was a good idea for a new title!”

Rafael looked at him somewhat shocked, making clear he didn’t understand it.

“Well”, Jarl explained, “Ain’t it a nice title then: “Conspiracy in Heaven”?”.

It made Rafael laugh out loud, It was the first time he had laughed in months. Then he laid his head against the upper rim of the sofa’s backrest and muttered:

“God, I’m so tired! I’m so very tired!”

“Then go to sleep”, Jarl’s simple answer was.

“Here?” Rafael asked, somewhat surprised.

“Unless you want to walk home first, yes”, Jarl replied with a smile.

Rafael didn’t even think it over. He kicked his shoes out, lay down on the sofa and curled up. He was fast asleep within a minute.

Jarl observed it for a while. He did it with mixed feelings. On one hand, he felt happy with having Rafael on his sofa. On the other hand, he felt sad, that it wasn’t his Alois.

He rose and walked to the bedroom. He took the pillow from the bed side, that hadn’t been used for years now. Then he took a spare blanket out of the closet and went back to the living room.

With painstaking care he lifted Rafael’s head, carefully avoiding to wake him, and shoved the pillow under the head. Then he spread the blanket out over the boy and tucked him in. He bent over and kissed Rafael softly and tenderly on the forehead.

“Sleep well…my angel!” he whispered.

Finally, he looked at the picture, that stood on the table. A single tear came from his eye, when he whispered:

“It looks like I found you again, Alois!”

He turned around, switched off the lights and went to bed.

Even if Rafael had wanted to hear it, he was sleeping so soundly, that he didn’t hear the soft sobbing sounds that came from the bedroom.

 

Rafael woke up with a shock, when he sensed that somebody was kissing him very carefully on the cheek. Before he regained his wits he thought:

“There’s nobody who can kiss me. I’m alone!”

He quickly looked around, his eyes ending when they stared in Jarl’s brown eyes. Rafael’s second thought was:
“Wow, he has the same kind of eyes as Kaz had!”

“Goodmorning, sunshine, slept well?” Jarl asked cheerfully.

“Yeah…more or less like a baby”, Rafael yawned.

“OK, good to hear. I’ll make breakfast for us. In the meantime: the shower is at the second door to the left. I already put a towel in for you. You want coffee or tea for breakfast?”

“Coffee, please”, Rafael muttered while rising.

He found the shower and enjoyed the warm water on his skin. Once he was ready, he dressed and went back to the living room, where he found a bowl with yogurt and some funny things in it and a glass of fresh orange juice on the table.

“What’s that?” he asked in wondering.

“Yogurt with müsli”, Jarl answered matter-of-factly, “Very healthy for breakfast. Just try, you’ll like it. The scrambled eggs will be ready any minute now”.

Before he could say anything, Jarl went to the kitchen to take care of the eggs. He took a spoon of yogurt with müsli to try it. The yogurt was just fine, but this… müsli?

“Yuck!” he muttered.

While they had their breakfast, Rafael asked:

“How did you sleep?”

“Hmmm…” Jarl reacted, “Not very well. To be honest: I needed a bit of crying after talking about Alois again. And then I thought it over what you told me last night”.

“Sorry about that”, Rafael muttered, feeling somewhat guilty, “I didn’t want to hurt you by asking that”.

“Doesn’t matter, sunshine!”, Jarl replied light-hearted, “It’s just one of those things that are part of the healing process. But since I’m talking about healing processes…I thought it over. Don’t get me wrong: I’m not forcing you to stay here. You’re free to go. But I think it is the best for you, if you stay here for a while, until you’re back on your feet and have recovered enough, physically, mentally and emotionally. To be perfectly honest: if you want to stay after that, then I’m really very happy. If you want to go, I’ll respect that. But I’m really afraid that if you go right away, that I can come and search you another time somewhere in this damned city, maybe even at some bridge”.

Somewhat taken aback by the directness of Jarl’s remark, Rafael thought it over. The idea appealed to him, but he wasn’t really sure for what reasons. Was he simply afraid to be alone and be confronted with his problems again? Was he searching for support and help in this fight? Or…was there another motive as well? No matter what, he agreed!

“OK, then we drive to your place after breakfast to pick up your clothes and things”, Jarl smiled, “And when you have the feeling, you’re on your feet again, you can decide what you will do! And now: first these scrambled eggs!”

“Man, I already feel stuffed”, Rafael laughed.

“Yeah sure, skinny”, Jarl chuckled, “Sorry, you gotta gain some weight to get you back in your old mold!”

“Why that?” Rafael giggled, “I’m not going back to where I came from!”

 

December 1995

 

The weeks passed and Rafael was still living in Jarl’s apartment. Jarl insisted on three healthy and balanced meals per day and the times of junk food were over. He had stopped drinking again. And they talked incredibly often, which was a great help. He simply felt great, greater than the months before, maybe even greater than ever before in his life, gaining strength by the week, physically, mentally and emotionally, and he knew he had to decide about his future soon. The options were limited: stay with Jarl or leave and try to live on his own with this re-found vigor. The only thing, that was not considered, was a return to the porn business. He had made that error once and he was not making it a second time.

He hadn’t made his mind up yet. In a way he liked the togetherness with Jarl and he had grown really fond of the young psychologist. With a smile he had corrected the thought time after time: the phase of “being fond of” had long passed…he simply loved Jarl! And that would make the option of leaving not very palatable.

One day Jarl had come home from work and gave him a tip, that even ended him up with a new job.

“There’s some photo shop in the city center, near the baroque bell tower, who is looking for an apprentice”, he had said during their dinner, “Maybe you want to check it out. You always told me you love photography”.

Rafael wholeheartedly agreed and had gone to apply the next day, finding himself hired as an apprentice-photographer. The wages were by no means the same he had got in his high tide days in the porn industry, but they were higher than what he got as a dishwasher in some restaurant. Besides: the lower wages were more than compensated by the fact, that the shop owner was going to give him a full professional education to become a real photographer.

What Jarl hadn’t told Rafael was, that it was all set up and pre-arranged. The shop owner happened to be Jarl’s uncle and like Jarl, but unbeknown to the rest of his family, was as gay as gay can be. So, the man could really understand the feelings his nephew had for this young, beautiful boy. Actually, when the man had called Jarl after the interview, he snickered with good-humored envy:

“Goddamn, boy, you did it again. You brought another gorgeous boy home with you!”

No matter what: Rafael was elated with his new job. Initially it was routine work: he served clients in the shop, who came to buy film, accessories and cameras. In the beginning the shop owner kept the selling of the upper segment cameras under his own control, but after some time he considered his apprentice capable enough to sell cameras of which Rafael could only dream. But that dream became reality soon after that, when the shop owner loaned him a top notch camera to develop his own photographic and artistic capabilities. And Rafael had free use of the dark room, whenever he needed it...eeeuhhh…that is “dark room” not in the meaning as used in gay clubs, but as in photography!

But working in this photo shop left Rafael also in a somewhat exposed position, prone to being overhauled by his murkier past times.

One afternoon a man entered the shop. When he looked at Rafael, standing behind the counter sorting some envelops with processed pictures, he stood as in shock and cried out:

“I’ll be damned! Roberto Arcangelo! Who could have thought that?”

Rafael looked at him in horror. His initial reaction was, that he wanted to crawl away behind the counter and from there under a floor tile, making himself as invisible as possible. But then, as by instinct, he just smiled his gorgeous smile and kindly answered:

“Yeah, how about that? You just go to the photo shop around the corner to get yourself a new film and guess who you meet there? The same guy you used to jerk off on when you were watching videos! Nobody will ever believe it, you know. They’ll all think you were just dreaming”.

The client turned red from shame and with a vague, embarrassed smile stammered:

“Sorry, it was not my intention to insult you!”

“You didn’t insult me”, Rafael answered with his ever-beaming smile, “Actually, it’s always nice to get credits for your past work. Now, how can I help you?”

“Just a black-and-white 400 ASA film”, the man muttered, still fighting to regain control over himself.

“Very well, then I think we only have the Ilford. Will that do?”

The man paid for the film and left, still shaking his head in disbelief, leaving Rafael still smiling. Because, he had other 400 ASA black and white as well, but they were only half the price. He might as well make use of the man’s shock. And, he thought:

“That’s a great way to handle future encounters with my former fans”.

But for the rest it was a job and a study in one, He loved doing it. He was bent over study books for whole evenings, struggling to get acquainted with the theory of natural and artificial illumination, focuses, camera characteristics, processing- and printing procedures, chemicals and all those things. It wasn’t easy for a school drop-out! If he found something he couldn’t understand, he just asked Jarl what it meant. And if Jarl couldn’t help him out, because it was a purely photographic concept, he asked his boss for an explanation the next morning. He was determined to make a success out of it, because he wanted to become a professional and competent photographer!

There was only one thing, that bothered Rafael.

The only bed in Jarl’s apartment was the double bed in the bedroom. It meant, that the two of them slept together each and every night, apart from that very first one, when Rafael had sacked out on the sofa. But it was literally what it read: they slept together, nothing more than that.

Each evening they kissed goodnight in a very vestal way and each morning they kissed good morning equally chaste. But nothing more came from it.

It worried Rafael. Did it mean, he had lost his eye-blinding magic sex appeal? Was his glamorous attractiveness no longer there? Was he already turning old at the age of nineteen?

He simply was unable to understand it. Here they were: two young boys, who shared everything, their thoughts, their dreams, their food, their money, even their bed. The only thing they didn’t share were their physical longings. Was Jarl not interested in him in this aspect? Or had the shock of Alois’s death drove him to choose for a voluntary life in celibacy?

Rafael knew he wanted it, no…he desperately needed it. Apart from the empty sex-as-a-job in the last months of his porn career his last meaningful and fulfilling sex was nine months before. He felt, as if he had no longer blood in his veins but only hot-boiling hormones, the blood having evaporated long before.

A few evenings before Christmas he decided to take the plunge. He was no longer able to just lie besides the man he loved and endure another night of frustrating hardship.

They gave each other their usual prudish good night kiss and Jarl’s arm went up to switch off the bed lamp. But suddenly Rafael’s fingers clamped around Jarl’s wrist and he pushed the arm gently back. Then he crawled against Jarl’s body and whispered:

“Jarl…”

“Hm hm?” was the only hummed reaction.

“Would you throw me out if I say, that I love you?”

There was a soft, shy giggle and a short silence. But then the answer came:

“I doubt, I would do that!”

Rafael smiled. It was the ultimate seductive smile, using all the strength of his haunting eyes, but this time unwanted and unplanned. He knew by now that Jarl tended to give evasive half-answers when things got too close, but the words, that he had used, said what Rafael wanted to know.

Teasing and tempting he started to stroke the smooth skin of Jarl’s upper arm. It costed him an enormous amount of restraint to do so. So, when these resources were used, he just plunged into it.

He rolled over, ending on top of Jarl, lay his arms over the boy’s chest, his chin on them and stared seductively and dreamy in Jarl’s brown eyes.

“But…would you throw me out, if I say I want you…that I need you?”

Jarl giggled, a bit uncertain and nervous.

“Well…”, Rafael insisted ravishing, “Would you?”

His eyes remained locked with Jarl’s. They were at maximum burning power now and would have gone through a plate of armor like a torch.

“No…” Jarl giggled tensed, red blushes on his cheeks, “Actually…”

“What actually, sweetheart?” Rafael hissed in a soft, low moan.

“Well…I wanted you for some weeks now”, Jarl answered, dropping his eyes.

The answer brought Rafael out of balance. His head shot up and he cried out:

“Why didn’t you say so?”

Jarl gave him an apologetical smile and answered:

“You know, I wanted you to recover in all possible ways. I didn’t want to take advantage of you and your situation. I figured that…well, I guess I wanted to wait until you gave me a signal you wanted to. You know, I would feel really guilty if I did it before. I would consider it as if I were abusing you”.

He let a deep sigh out and added:

“Man, I can tell you that it was excruciating suffering, each night beside you in bed. I wasted a lot of sperm dreaming of you!”

“How did you think I felt? Oh man…all this delicious semen just wasted!” Rafael sighed pouting, but then he cheered up when he added:

“So, you waited for my sake?”

Jarl just nodded.

“That is so superhumanly sweet. I really love you!”

“I love you too!” Jarl whispered.

Rafael started stroking Jarl’s cheek with one finger, very slowly, very gently and very luring and whispered horny:

“How about if I release you from all this suffering?”

A deep moan was the only answer.

Rafael lifted his head, his lips searching Jarl’s. They kissed…no, not the usual every evening- and every morning very decent kiss, it was their first wanting, ardent, hot and passionate kiss and Rafael enjoyed every single microsecond of it. Their eyes locked again.

After Rafael had kissed the tip of Jarl’s nose the tip of his tongue slid down, over the neck, the shoulders, the breast and abdomen, in a tantalizingly slow tempting move. It finally arrived where it wanted to arrive and started to make sweet torture with Jarl’s shaft, balls and the tip of his phallus. Since old habits never die, Rafael looked up so every now and then, his burning, compelling eyes just peeping up from under his long blond hair strands. He liked what he saw: Jarl’s face looked as if he was arriving at the gates of heaven, sighing, moaning and panting with closed eyes. And he loved what he tasted: the drops of Jarl’s pre-cum, that he licked off the dick tip, letting them roll over his tongue, taking delight in each of them before he swallowed them.

Both lost track of time, so Rafael had no idea how long he had been licking. But after a while he rolled back on his back and whispered:

“Jarl…”

“Hm hm?” came another humming reaction.

“Do you want to…”, Rafael started asking, but somehow, he broke off. There was this word he didn’t like any longer. He felt it to be too condescendingly and filthy and an insult for this wonderful occasion he was experiencing. It was more the kind of word that fitted in the porn scene, but not between him and Jarl.

Jarl looked at him, his eyes saying:

“Well?”

“I can’t find the right word”, Rafael giggled a bit ashamed.

“Because you don’t know it?” Jarl asked in amused disbelief.

“No”, Rafael answered, “Only because I don’t want to use the word I know”.

Jarl nodded in understanding with shining eyes, thought briefly and said:

“How about …if you call it: “May I receive you?” The word “receive” implies you would welcome me. Is that another way of calling it, that can do?”

“I will sure welcome you, sweetheart”, Rafael hissed.

Now Jarl rolled over, ending on top of Rafael. Just when he was about to enter Rafael said:

“Stop…!!, But mind you, I will not receive you as Roberto Arcangelo. If you want to do it to him, then it is a no go! I will only welcome you as the one I really am…as Rafael”.

Jarl looked in his blue-grey eyes, kissed them and his lips tenderly and replied:

“My angel, Roberto Arcangelo is as dead as Alois and Kaz are. Actually, the thought I would do it with him, disgusts me. I only want you as Rafael! And as nobody else!”

Unconsciously Jarl had used the same sweet nickname, that was once reserved for the big love of his memory.

Tears of emotion welled up in Rafael’s eyes and with a hoarse voice he uttered:

“Then it’s OK! Then do it!”

Jarl slid in and was greeted by that desiring, low, slightly howling sound, that resonated in the silent evening. He loved that sound! He had heard it on the videos and had dreamed about how it would be if he heard it in real. Not that he had any hopes of experiencing it at that time. And now, here the boy was, the boy who made this wonderful sound, real and live! And he loved him!

Rafael repeated the slight howl for every inch that Jarl advanced in him. He enjoyed it with closed eyes. There was no need to encourage Kaz any further, he was encouraged enough.

“Shit,” it flashed through his head, “This isn’t Kaz! This is Jarl!”

“Give it to me, please!” the young Bohemian wolf cried out in begging.

Jarl gave it to him, he gave it all! The soft howl sounded again when he ejaculated deep inside. He was just about to start his withdrawal, when Rafael opened his eyes, looked at him with tears of happiness in his eyes, and exclaimed:

“No…stay in me! Let me feel you!”

Jarl was more than happy to comply. But there comes a moment when a man has to leave. He rolled back on his back.

Rafael remained where he was, staring at the ceiling and in a barely audible whisper he muttered:

“I’m sorry, but you were wrong, Kaz. It is not about beauty being a blessing or a curse. It’s just circumstance, a given condition you will have to live with. What it really comes down to, is the decisions you make. Don’t get me wrong: I don’t blame you, I really don’t! I’m the wrong person to blame you since I took the same dumb and foolish decisions you made, almost make me ending up in the same mess and, if nothing had changed, in the same fate. But somebody made it possible to reach calm waters, rethink things and decide different this second time”.

Shocked and feeling a bit caught red handed he looked to Jarl and said fast:

“Sorry, I was thinking out loud. No…I…

Giggling embarrassed he added:

“I eeeuhhh…I was talking to Kaz!”

“Doesn’t matter”, Jarl reacted in understanding, “I did my silent prayer to Alois as well, kind of…asking permission for this new adventure”.

“What did he say, honey?” Rafael respectfully asked.

With a smile Jarl sighed, looked in Rafael’s eyes and whispered:

“He thinks it’s OK and wishes us all the luck in the world!”

Then he pulled Rafael back on his chest, looked in the eyes, only now noticing the tears.

“Why are you crying, my angel?” Jarl asked concerned, “Didn’t you like it?”

“Yes…I loved it, every second of it”, Rafael softly replied, “These are tears of happiness…and a bit of shame!”

“Why shame?” Jarl inquired surprised.

“Since I’ve decided not to have any secrets for you, I just confess”, Rafael spoke in hushed tones, “While I was welcoming you, Kaz popped up in my mind so every now and then. I’m really sorry about that. Is that weird, sweetheart?”

Jarl shook his head in denial and comfortingly said:

“No, it is not weird. I have to admit, that Alois did the same with me when I was in you. I said it before: I guess it’s all part of the healing process. I think it means, that when the two of us make love, we will be making love the four of us for a while. As long as we both accept that from each other, there is not a problem in the world”.

Rafael laid his cheek on Jarl’s chest, enjoying the thumping sound of the heart. It gave him a peaceful and loving feeling. His finger started to stroke the opposite nipple tenderly.

“I love you! It was so beautiful. And you are so sweet!” he breathed.

“I love you too, my angel”, Jarl confirmed in a low whisper, “And yes…It really was!”

They lay for a while, just cuddling, kissing and stroking. All of a sudden Rafael looked up and said:

“Jarl…I know I have no right to ask it, so forgive me for doing it anyway!”

Then he hesitated. Jarl looked in his eyes, marveling at their splendor and said:

“Just ask! You have no secrets for me, then I can’t have secrets for you any longer”.

Encouraged by the reply Rafael asked:

“Is…was this the way you and Alois made love?”

With somewhat damp eyes and a lovely smile of remembrance around his lips Jarl only nodded.

Rafael sank his head back on Jarl’s chest, returning to the tranquillizing thumping of the heartbeat. He sighed blissfully and whispered:

“Then he must have been a very, very happy boy! I hope and pray I can get only half that happiness”.

Jarl smiled, stroke over the blond hair strands and softly said:
“I will do everything possible to make you even happier as Alois must have been!”

Rafael kept caressing Jarl’s soft, warm skin for what seemed an eternity, rejoicing in the reward he got for it from the tender stroking of Jarl’s fingers through his long blond hair.

Without knowing it, he slumbered away, still lying on Jarl’s chest, hearing the soothing heartbeat, enjoying it immensely.

“I’m happy!” was his last conscious thought, “I feel so happy! Finally, I’m totally happy!”