Autor's Introduction
I've just finished pruning and refining the first draft of a new book, a collection of short stories with a tentative title of Sailing Around.
This is the moment in which I definitely need some enlighting feedback from readers, before scoring a new record of false steps along the pipeline of publishing. A type of record in which, by the way, I'm a well established champion, and in different fields of publishing.
Sailing Around is a collection of short romance stories.
Six male characters face at very different ages and conditions the all-time love riddle of physical attraction and emotional fulfillment.
A boy at his first attempts to get in touch with girls, a young man distressed by his job, a mature professional who likes double gaming, somebody facing a troubling transition, an aged entrepreneur looking at life with a shade of detachment, and an old man, still a prisoner of passional memories. Falling the dusk of physical endeavors.
The stories are all strictly ruled by one essential premise: the full mutual freedom of both genres in engaging, and disengaging at their will partners of any sex and social extraction. This is regarded as one of the distinctive achievements of our post-modern occidental society.
But this freedom doesn’t seem to help our heroes in their quest for love, sometimes pushing them to unfathomable affairs or even eerie intrigues.
Without mellow romanticism, sarcastic and at times thrilling, the contemporary romance affairs of this lean collection are a perfect choice for those in search of an entertaining and self-ironical read.
The excerpt that I post here is the first chapter of Sailing Around, and is the story of the boy called Fausto: as said, a coming-of-age story.
Exciting? Dull? Realistic? Moving? Unbelievable?
Please leave your comment!
PS: Interested in beta reading the full book (about 100 pages, 27.000 words)? Message me, or say it in a Comment. I'll make you have the full text.
u and v, The Red and The Beauty
At his thirteenth birthday, Fausto received a glittering new bicycle. Having boomed in height and weight, the bike he used since he was nine had come worthless: he had dreamed for a good while a man bike like that one.
After an endless preach on risks and cautions, his parents allowed him to ride along the roads of the peaceful area where they lived, in the warm afternoons of that sweet spring. They said that if he behaved well for a month, they would let him ride the bike to school in the morning.
Fausto, well aware of his stature and strength above the average, promised with reluctance he’d obey with care their recommendations.
He already was the top scorer in the soccer team of boys aged thirteen and fourteen, managed by the citizen soccer society. This made him feel invulnerable, fearing nobody and nothing.
Although, with one exception: beautiful girls.
Fausto was growing faster than his classmates, and a soft shade of thin hair already adorned his upper lip. The attraction for girls built even faster and stronger than his powerful muscles.
But he hadn’t the faintest idea of what to do or not to do for approaching one. An almost unbearable thrust pushed him towards the loveliest schoolmates, but every time he tried to become friends the result was a hopeless failure.
He felt dumb and powerless in front of that relational challenge.
Up to this point, no surprise: that’s ordinary administration for a boy at that age. But, his distressing, relentless attraction and his awkwardness with girls, coupled with his pride and his physical strength, ended up posing problems of unexpected size and nature.
*
During his afternoon rides on the new bike, Fausto enjoyed heading towards the west side of his neighborhood.
There, the lonely, almost traffic-free streets designed a regular grid, and the buildings, displaying the captivating architecture of the years between the two wars, alternate with more elegant but yet elder two-story mansions, surrounded by well-maintained gardens.
In the backyards of some buildings, groups of boys of about his age used to gather to talk and play simple street games, mostly improvised soccer matches where a garage door was the goal.
He used to stop at the courtyard of a high six-story building close to his house, that he often observed from his bedroom window. He liked the vintage shapes of its eaves and the elegant plaster moldings that adorned the windows, with different styles for every story.
The leaders of that band of boys were two brothers of about his age, who lived on the third floor of the building.
They were both handsome and tall, with a captivating smile, and the senior of the two, Claudio, about two years older than him, sported an athletic body build, comparable to his.
The brothers were both natural leaders, and inspired a genuine sense of admiration and respect on the other boys of the gathering, but accepted him willingly in their troupe, and always treated him as a peer.
Fausto anyway, never spent much time with them.
First, because the school homework, together with the soccer training sessions he attended three times a week, left him small free time for his bike rides in the neighborhood.
But there were other reasons too.
Their well-balanced but firm way to act like bullies with the other boys, in particular with the younger and smaller ones, disturbed him.
He found pointless that display of power over a group of harmless small boys, who were there just to spend their free time all together, not to accomplish any critical mission, which could give a sense to the firm discipline imposed by the two bosses.
Nor he enjoyed in a particular way to show his superior ability in the improvised football matches which often filled the backyard with shouts and acclamations. He was used to the thrilling experience of real soccer and to the incomparable excitement of the championship matches that took place every Sunday in a regular court.
He was, however, interested in having a conversation from time to time with the two brothers, and there was a good reason also in this case.
The two, as most of their friends, went to a different school from Fausto, a much less demanding professional school for accountants, and since they had no regular sports training to attend, they had much more free time than Fausto. Hence, they already displayed a broader experience of real-life facts.
No doubt that the two were a well-assorted couple.
The elder was more assertive. Often indulged in the direct use of physical strength, that he applied with the most natural nonchalance, slapping or kicking in the ass those who weren’t ready enough to execute his orders.
But always with a paternal, mocking attitude.
The younger, Emilio, with a more reflexive and piercing intelligence, often adopted a cunning behavior to analyze the readiness and loyalty of the troupe members seamlessly.
Then, he offered the most disappointing ones to his brother for prompt correction or, in the worst cases, expulsion.
Together, they could successfully manage every unexpected sedition against their supremacy, caused for the most by the new members who wanted to join their large troop: a sort of boy’s club well-known and coveted in the whole neighborhood.
A situation that caused the aversion of other smaller boys’ groups, continuously losing members to their favor; but this is another, entirely different story.
One afternoon, the brothers had organized a competition with darts. They had hung the target on a wall placed in a well-shadowed corner of the backyard and had divided the boys into groups, selecting Fausto as the third in their team.
No need to say, their team started first, and they scored three Bull’s Eyes, an almost incredible chance more than a human achievement.
Excited by their outstanding performance, they were talking together in wait of the next turn, and something pushed them to tell each other of the most attractive and smart girls in their schools.
Fausto learned from them that in his own school there was a smart and cute girl of the last year, who was notorious for allowing lovemaking in the change of some favors.
Their information was, however, uncertain about the precise nature of those favors, that they believed to be ice cream offerings, fancy jewelry trinkets, or even motorbike or sports car rides.
The girl’s name was Esther, and Fausto knew her well, being one of the most lovely and sexy ones of his school: a kind of goddess in his mind, that he never dared to approach.
“Are you fooling me?” he asked Claudio, smiling.
“Why? You must trust me, Fausto!” replied Claudio with an allusive expression on his face. “You only have to wear up your best brazen face, near her at the end of lessons, and offer her something gorgeous! You just have to be kind, and joyful, showing sure of yourself, and she won’t refuse. The thing is notorious: it seems she likes it. Even some incredible jerks of our school got a date with her in this way.”
Fausto was still perplexed.
“So, if it so easy why don’t you try yourself?”
“Nah! I already have someone who doesn’t ask for any gift to enjoy herself together with me.”
Then he suddenly resumed his bullish expression, while his brother Emilio chuckled.
Claudio pointed his finger against Fausto’s breast.
“And don’t get curious about her name, boy! She wants the thing to remain between the two of us. And me too, right?”
“Come on,” Fausto laughed back. “Don’t worry about me, Casanova!”
It was their turn again, but this time Fausto scored a modest five points; he was still distracted, thinking of what had learned about that Esther.
For the first time, Emilio spoke before his brother.
“Hey, Champion, now stop dreaming of pussy and concentrate on what we are doing.”
*
On Thursdays Fausto’s class had a short schedule, only four hours of lessons, while Esther’s class left the school an hour later.
That day Fausto didn’t go straight home but made a long walk in the city center and went back to the school an hour later. He remained outside the school gates, in wait to see Esther appear.
He felt lucky when he spotted her walking fast and alone towards the gates.
He headed straight to her with a broad smile stamped on his face.
“Hi, Esther! I’m Fausto, do you remember me? May I tell you something?”
The girl stared at him perplexed, without stopping to walk. She barely recognized him, only because she recalled having heard once of that big boy of the second year, one who was a kind of promise of the local soccer Spring Team.
Fausto didn’t wait for her reply and continued: “I’d like to invite you for a king-sized ice cream when you are free! A new place has opened near the market square, and their ice creams are delicious. It’s crowded all day!”
“Thank you. But I’m in a hurry now. Let’s talk another time, ok?”
Meanwhile, they were crossing the street in front of the school entrance, and a boy with a powerful motorbike stopped right in front, near the opposite curb.
Esther seemed to recognize him.
“Hi, Lou!” she said with a pleased tone.
The boy, in a flash, put the bike on the easel, removed his helmet and faced Fausto.
He had to be over eighteen years old, and Fausto understood that Esther had a date with him. Apparently, he was her last conquest because he had never noticed him before.
“What are you looking for, ball player of my balls?!” he shouted, raising his index to him. “Lovely girls are not for dumbasses like you! Keep clear of her, or I’ll make you regret!”
Everything happened in a flash, and then there was no remedy again.
Fausto first felt full of shame for how the boy had treated him in front of Esther, then a red curtain of rage fell over his eyes.
He was still about two meters away from the guy.
He jumped and spun in the air, aiming at the head with the right foot, as he would do with a soccer ball flying at eye level in the middle of the small area, with all his force to score the goal.
The boy barely had the time to defend himself, lifting his left forearm before his face, but the blow went in so powerful that it almost dislocated his arm, and the head only received partial protection. Yet, Fausto was lucky that the boy had managed to shelter his head from a direct blow, or he could have killed him.
The next thing Fausto remembered, after jumping on foot again and recollecting himself, was the boy laying on the asphalt weeping for the pain, and Esther hitting him with all the strength of her small fists, shouting at him every kind of insult.
“You, sort of dirty yokel! Go back to your foot games for mentally impaired and never try to get close again!”
Fausto thought he had just set a new outstanding record in his collection of disasters with lovely girls.
In a minute, a bunch of people had gathered around them, someone was helping the boy and asking if he could stand up or if he wanted them to call an ambulance, someone else comforted the girl. Then, a firm grip clutched Fausto’s arm and pulled him out of the turmoil. He found himself face to face with the gym professor, who was also the assistant of his soccer team trainer.
“Fausto, have you lost your mind? What the hell were you trying to do?”
Fausto was still so upset that he couldn’t find an answer.
Then, the professor assumed a more sensible demeanor.
“Listen, I want to help you. I know the boy, and I will try to settle the accident. I will call your father and will ask him too to meet the boy, to avoid that he may sue you for aggression. It is necessary, do you understand? You are risking a serious legal problem.”
Fausto felt like dying, realizing the effects of his action.
“Ok, I understand,” was all that he could babble.
The professor looked at him, still concerned.
“Go, go home! It’s better you get away from here. Let me talk to the boy. You calm down and just go home. Explain what happened to your parents, and I will talk soon with your father. Don’t worry, it’s been just a scuffle between boys. Too harsh anyway… We are not training you to break persons’ heads, do you realize it?”
*
The punishment was tough.
His father seized the new bicycle until a further decision, and the soccer trainer told him he would be out of the players' team for a month, after making him swear he would never commit such an idiot action again, or he would be out forever.
To Fausto it seemed too much and, for the first time, he felt full of bitterness against parents, teachers and every kind of adults' authority. Including youngsters with powerful motorbikes and sports cars to hook girlfriends.
Only his mother had shown a little of sympathy and recognition of his problem, but had sentenced him all the same: “Fausto, I know it’s difficult with beautiful girls at your age. Just put it at the back of your mind: you must wait at least five years before they will appreciate you. Accept the fact they don’t even see you at the moment.”
Besides, just a few hours after the feat, a real storm hit Fausto’s social network accounts.
For the most, it was posts or messages from people sympathizing with him, mainly soccer team’s mates or fans.
The substance of their opinion was: “You gave that asshole what he deserved! You’re great, champion!”
But many other, unknown trolls with fantasy nicknames, were fooling him with stinging irony.
“Catching a nice girl is not the same of kicking a ball in a soccer court, idiot!” - argued a post.
Or, “It is not by breaking heads you’ll earn yourself a fine pussy, kicking asshole!” And so on.
These posts were hurting his self-esteem as burning stigmas.
Even worse were a few definitely worrying posts, that promised him the right punishment for what he had done. Someone also swore he would smash his face when less he expected.
Fausto thought he’d better raise the security level of his social accounts, allowing only his friends to reach his wall or his message inbox.
But before changing the settings, he noticed a message from an unknown sender, different from all the other, that puzzled him overly.
Someone who called himself Fairtrader had said: “At your age, you showed to be already a tough guy! I have a deal to offer you: you’ll have what you’re looking for, and we’ll share some business advantage. PM me if you’re interested.”
Fausto wanted to check which kind of deal this Fairtrader could offer him.
He entered a reply.
“What’s the deal?”
The answer came back in a few minutes: “We should meet in person, and I will explain everything. You won’t regret listening to me!”
*
Since he couldn’t enjoy his thoughtless bike rides in the surroundings, Fausto spent more time with the two brothers’ group near his house.
Claudio couldn’t avoid mocking at him.
“Hey Champion! I told you to offer her some gift, not to break the first competitor’s head. You’ve got guts, but girls don’t like wooden heads causing too much noise around them.”
Fausto had nothing to reply, but from that precise moment, Claudio’s excessive self-confidence, his patriarchal and mocking attitude, approached the limit of his endurance. Actually, he had plunged headlong in that disaster because of Claudio’s allegedly superior real-life experience.
Emilio’s remark was more bearable and not totally pointless.
“Hey Camp, great blow! Just, next time explore better the battleground before launching the charge.”
In those days, a new boy showed up from time to time at the six-story building’s courtyard, trying to become a member of the club. But Claudio seemed hardly to tolerate him.
He was a classmate of Emilio in the professional school that the two brothers where attending.
Fausto called him Red, because of the bright color of his hair.
Red was very thin and seemed weaker than a boy of his age, but he was graceful and had beautiful features. He also showed other extravagant qualities which attracted everybody’s attention in the group.
Likely, Claudio considered him a threat to his leadership.
He looked like a dandy, always wearing elegant clothes, that appeared all brand new and perfectly tailored on his slender body. Wore sports shoes of the best brand, the one that cost three or four times the price of the more popular ones. He also sported trendy sunglasses, an accessory that nobody else in the boys’ group ever seemed to need or care of, and, no need to say it, he always had in hands the last and more expensive model of I-phone.
Red belonged to an affluent family. His father was a well-known and successful tax consultant of the city, and he always behaved with the affected gentleness of a lord. He also showed wit, and Emilio seemed to enjoy his conversation.
All this made him appear like a top-class fashion model that had fallen from the scenes of a Hollywood movie among ordinary boys wearing cheap jeans and t-shirts; altogether he had an enervating effect on Claudio.
Claudio was the opposite of Red in every respect, and couldn’t avoid showing his annoyance whenever he saw him appear. He always welcomed him aloud with the nickname of Princess and never missed an opportunity to make fun of his exaggerated elegance or his overly civilized manners.
Actually, Claudio fed a hard to die prejudice: he considered as a personal fault of Red the fact of being born in a very wealthy family and showing it openly with his manners and his ostentation of elegance.
Emilio seemed more neutral, but he tried nothing to push Claudio to accept Red.
Fausto thought Red hadn’t many chances of becoming an effective member of the boys’ group and that soon Claudio would find the occasion to make him regret the day he had dreamed of joining his troupe. And to make him run away fast and forever.
*
With Fairtrader Fausto had agreed to meet on Saturday after the lessons, in front of the church entrance, near to the school building. The meeting point was in an open, vast square, always crowded with people passing by on foot or by car, which made him feel safe.
He thought he had nothing to fear and accepted to satisfy his curiosity.
Fairtrader turned to be a youngster much like the one he had used as a training ball, days before.
The difference was he had a short uncultivated beard that Fausto found disgusting, and he didn’t arrive on a roaring motorbike as a kind of War’s God but walking as an ordinary mortal.
The two facts altogether neutralized their opposite effects on Fausto, who remained tuned on his general attitude of distrust for all the young men already out of secondary school.
But Fairtrader had a captivating attitude in talking that made him feel at ease, and, after a while, Fausto agreed that he wasn't regretting at all listening to him, as the young man had affirmed.
Fairtrader approached Fausto smiling and held out his hand friendly.
“Hi, Fausto! Seeing you in person, I can figure out how you did it!”—he said with an admiring expression.
Fausto accepted the handshaking.
“You are a boy in the body of a real man, and I fully understand your needs and your problems.”
“I don’t need your concern. How am I supposed to call you, and what’s your proposal?”
“Just call me Fair, for now,” said the young man. Then, without wasting time, he explained.
“You see Fausto, we have objectives in different fields, but they are complementary. Hence, I suggest that if we cooperate, we may reach our different goals in a much easier and satisfactory way than acting alone.”
“It could make sense, go on.”
“Your aim at present, if I’m not wrong, is to get in touch with lovely girls and have fun with them. Well, no wonder and no reason to feel guilty at all! That’s how mother nature works, and you’re doing the right thing in seconding it. Believe me! You only need to find the right way to realize your wishes, let’s say without risking to break somebody’s head and remain with empty hands all the same.”
He made a short pause, to acknowledge Fausto’s expression of most profound interest.
Fausto nodded.
“Ok. On my side, I have a product to sell, and I need somebody who can help me in selling it. With a generous gain for him, that’s clear. Young boys and girls are big consumers, and they prefer to buy it from someone of the same age, someone they can trust and approach easily in their usual places. Therefore, I need a young boy to help me, but not any boy can do it. I need a boy smart and strong enough to clear from customers’ mind the temptation to fool him. Other than this, selling the thing requires none special ability: let’s say it sells by itself if it is of good quality.”
In a flash, everything became clear in Fausto’s mind. He was young, but he wasn’t Alice in Wonderland, and he wanted to cut that conversation immediately.
But Fair, as he called himself, knew how to manage people: what he sold, in fact, was trust in a risky trade agreement, and he was the king of salesmen in that field.
He knew this was the most challenging moment in his negotiation and he had to play now his best cards.
“Don’t be afraid, Fausto! You’re free to refuse, don’t be concerned about that. Just let me finish to explain so you will have the whole picture to make your decision. I will be fast.”
He made an instant pause as if to acknowledge Fausto’s approval, but he didn’t wait for any actual approval: he only pretended to have received it. And resumed.
“Perhaps, you think now I want to pull you in an illegal business for my only advantage. But it isn’t so. My first concern will be of keeping you safe from any risk. It is in my interest. And I know well all and every trick to handle this kind of trade most safely. You are safe with me! Besides, the stuff we are talking about is legal in most of the civilized nations, and they have proved it causes none physical harm to the users. Soon it will be legal everywhere. Okay, exist other specialties not as much inoffensive. But we are not talking about that. The only rule to follow, for now, is that of keeping only a small quantity of stuff with you. I will explain to you the secret places where to hide your supply, and where and how to sell it a bit at a time, in the safest way.”
Fausto was hesitating now.
“But the most important thing to consider is your personal advantage. It isn't only in the gain, which is not peanuts, anyway. I know many lovely girls that will be ready to play with you for some free doses. And you are young and handsome, they will just love to improve their enjoyment with you, and will be grateful to you. You will only give up a small part of your gain. But if you are smart enough, and you avoid consuming the stuff by yourself, your net profit will still be relevant, and will increase with time. You will have plenty of girls! If you start, your only problem in two weeks from now will be that of selecting the ones you prefer, without offending those that aren’t sexy enough for your tastes, yet keeping them as good paying customers to serve.”
The last part of Fair’s talk apparently struck Fausto.
“But the decision is up to you! Forget that I want to make any pressure on you. You are free to walk away now, or at any moment you will want to close our deal. I will disappear, and I will never bother you in no way. You are completely free to decide.”
Now Fausto was reasoning at full speed, but couldn’t yet decide.
Fair, otherwise, knew by heart the last step of the path to gain him.
“May I suggest you to just make a try, and then you will decide if you want to go on? If you agree to try, I will explain to you the details and the tricks, and you can start whenever you want. And also stop whenever you wish.”
They walked towards the near public gardens, and Fair showed to Fausto the places and the hidings he had reserved to him, explained how to keep safely in touch with him to share the gain and renew his supply, and so on. He also told him how to sell near to some schools, but not near to his school, because professors and policemen kept it under too strict control. The places near the schools were the best for the youngest and less self-confident clients who didn’t dare to venture in the gardens, a marketplace open to customers of every age, sex, and ethnicity; something as sailing in the open sea.
Fair assured him he would immediately spread the voice so that clients would come soon looking for him in those places, and ready to buy the stuff with confidence.
In a few minutes, Fausto learned all the odds and the bits he needed to start his hustling career.
Walking home, he felt excited and fully engaged in accomplishing something real, that gave a new meaning and cast new hopeful light in the lately bleak landscape of his life.
His young emotions were so compelling that they didn't allow him any pause of reflection.
He didn’t even question himself about how to match what he had started, with his previous identity of a neat boy engaged in competitive sport, who loved being among the best students at school and riding a bike without a single thought in his mind.
*
Fair had told him that the girls amenable to offer their favors for free doses of stuff, would use a conventional formula. They would ask him to pay in kind, rather than cash.
Fair suggested not to bother them about the service they wanted to offer him or force them to satisfy his fantasies, just accepting what they wanted to do. Otherwise, the voice would quickly spread and he would lose those rare clients.
But after a full week of hustling, although the ordinary sales in cash had gone well, and he already needed a new supply, the relational aspect of the business had disappointed Fausto.
The few women who offered him the particular trade turned out being all nearer to human relics than to attractive girls. He always had refused and then had a hard time negotiating a discount on the stuff, to avoid them going away empty-handed and angry with him.
Those episodes happened at the place in the public gardens, never near the schools. Some of those women also asked him for the stronger and harmful stuff he wasn’t selling. They complained, and walked away, telling him he should widen his assortment.
Fair had been literally fair with him under the money respect and hadn’t asked him to pay in advance the cost of the product. So, Fausto had to meet him to pay him back the first supply, after selling it out.
He took the chance to complain about his promise of many lovely girls who were supposed to pay in kind.
“You’ve just begun, allow them time,” Fair replied with an indulgent smile. “They aren’t as impatient as you. Soon you will have what you’re seeking. Meanwhile, try to be kind with those who are not fulfilling the high level of your expectations.” This time Fair’s smile was mocking.
Fausto didn’t insist and left.
*
The following week several new facts happened in Fausto’s life. Some rewarding, but with disconcerting implications. Other, definitely troubling, risked to jeopardize all his certainties and pushed him to a closer look to his new life plans.
One late afternoon, when the evening dusk was falling, he saw a lovely girl walking fast towards his place half hidden in the bushes. Looking at her, he recognized Esther and felt suddenly breathless.
“What the hell she wants now?”—he mumbled.
He thought better to keep neutral as if nothing had happened that famous day.
Apparently, Esther had decided the same, because she approached him and said in a low voice tone: “Two doses to pay in kind.”
Claudio almost strangled himself trying to swallow the dryness in his mouth. Then, he barely could reply: “Okay, here are the two doses. Where… are we going to do it now?”
“Hey, boy! So, you’re a real newbie yet! Come on, let’s go behind that thick bush, and lower your pants and underwear. Quick, before somebody comes to put the nose!” - and she walked first.
With faltering legs, Fausto followed her.
After lowering his clothes, he bent again to take a condom from his trousers’ pocket and handed it to her.
“Dumbass! What do you want to do with that?”
She kneeled in front of him and made him something with her mouth that Fausto never imagined a young girl could make.
It lasted less than fifteen seconds, then the girl rose on foot, spitting and cursing.
“Give me a paper tissue asshole! You filled my mouth before removing it! Are you mad?!”
Fausto, hovering on cloud nine, handed her a packet of tissues with trembling hands. To not make it worse, he kept the mouth shut.
Esther continued to spit and rinsed her mouth and hands with several towels. After, she turned calm again and chuckled.
“Wow! There’s something down there that deserves a full treatment! I know a place where we could do it. Five doses are okay for that?”
“Yes, sure!”
“Well. But… no, I’d prefer having stronger stuff for that. One dose of it might do it. Do you have it?”
“No, I still don’t sell strong stuff.”
“You still don’t? Well, if you want to ride me, next time I come, you must have it already. And let’s make it two doses of snow, Okay? I will come next week, Monday or Tuesday.”
“Fine,” Fausto said before even thinking, and she was already walking away at her usual fast pace.
Pulling up his trousers, Fausto recalled what Claudio told him of Esther.
“Hm! Ice creams or jewelry trinkets?! Dreamer or dumbass!”
Now he knew which gifts she wanted. Stuff, and the strong one!
He was still buckling his trousers’ belt when he noticed another person trekking fast towards his place. It was a man.
He emerged from the bush and observed him.
Hell! That was the youngster he had beaten!
Perhaps he had been hiding and had spied what happened with Esther…
Fausto took a quick decision. He couldn’t afford the risk of a new fight with him, whichever might be the outcome.
The only solution was to run fast! The young man wouldn’t keep up with his speed and endurance. He didn’t resemble for the least a runner in good shape.
He ran without a word, while the youngster cursed at his back.
Fausto never discovered if the guy wanted to fight, threat or just talk with him.
When he turned back for the third time to check the gap, he saw him stopping and bending with hands on his knees to recover the breath. He had the temptation to run back fast and give him the final balance of what he deserved.
But he recalled he had vowed not to beat people again, and he wanted to keep his promise: beating that asshole had caused already too much trouble.
*
Esther was free from her parents’ oppressive control that week. They had gone for a few days of vacation, leaving her and the house under the loose control of Tala, the Filipina full-time maid. Not without a thousand recommendations and orders to obey in their absence.
After pretending to have finished her homework, Esther told Tala she had to reach a schoolmate for a walk in the city center, then she would be back in time for dinner.
She walked to a central street, in a district that the young people called “Movida” because the most popular bar, restaurants and music halls were all there, within a few blocks.
She headed towards the street door of a well-maintained historical building, looking around to be sure that nobody seemed to give her any attention.
She pressed the button beside the name Alessandro Bertoloni, that was the real name of Fair.
The camera light flashed on, and the imposing wooden door switched open with a loud “clack”.
She entered fast and silent and pushed shut the towering door leaf behind her. Then climbed to the last floor with the lift. On the landing, there was only one door at the right end. As she walked to it, the door opened, and she got in.
“Hi, Alex. How are you?”
“Fine! I was waiting for you. Please come, I have prepared a drink, would you like some?” the man said preceding her.
The apartment, with thick ancient walls, “terracotta” tiles on the floors and precious wooden beamed ceilings, had been carefully renovated. The vast living room was full of light entering from a wall to wall glass door that opened on a luxury terrace garden. And it had elegant furniture.
They sat side by side on a bright white sofa in front of a low coffee table. Two iced glasses filled with an ambry long drink and red glass stirring sticks inside were waiting on a silver tray.
“So, how did it go yesterday?”–asked Alex-Fair after they had the first sip.
“Fine! Your big boy is a real toddler! He filled my mouth before I could even start the real job.”
“Ow! Sorry about that. But don’t you know how to manage toddlers already?”
“Are you talking of the other one? Well, that wasn’t a toddler, let me tell you. And he is still bothering me, following me, calling on the phone. I think you’ve been too harsh with him: he’s getting out of mind.”
“Nah! Leave him alone, or he will make you pregnant, and you’ll regret. Listen to my advice. He’s a loser, he couldn’t sell half of what the boy sold in a week, and was always late in payments. I bet he smoked by himself or together with you a half of his weekly supply of weed and shit balls. He only cared of enjoying himself, fucking and show around with his motorbike. Plus, he was bothering me for a higher gain share! The boy, otherwise, didn’t even blink when I told him his percentage.”
“I understand Alex, but at least you could give the boy the schools’ market and leave Lou the public garden’s place. That’s an adult’s market, you’ll recognize it.”
“Nah! Forget about Lou, accept the suggestion of a friend with some dust on the shoulders. This is my business, and the boy is doing perfectly well also in the gardens. So, what’s the problem with him? Didn’t he give you what you asked? Do you need something more? Hmm, Lou was generous with you, isn’t it?”
Esther didn’t reply, but she seemed somewhat uneasy.
“Well, if you care so much, tell Lou to come and talk with me tomorrow evening. Maybe, I can offer him a new place to start, if he doesn’t break my balls with his pointless requests.”
“Ok, thank you Alex. I think it is the best thing to keep him quiet.”
“To keep him quiet? Don’t worry I need not offer him anything to keep him quiet,” replied Alex-Fair with a sinister grin. “And in case he is bothering you too much, just let me know. I will free you of him forever, you can bet on it.”
He gobbled what remained of his drink and turned to Esther again.
“Now let’s stop wasting time with Lou. What I care to know is if you pushed well the boy. Did you urge him to make better and more?”
“Don’t worry, he’s well under pressure by now. I made him realize he must sell serious stuff. He's now dreaming he will fuck me without the condom for two doses of snow.”
“Fine! You’re the best!”—uttered Alex-Fair with a broad smile showing out his teeth tarnished by smoking.
“Thank you, Alex. And… if you don’t mind, can I have my money now?”
“Sure! And are you available to pressure another pair of my helpers? Because I have more work for you since you’re the best in waking up them!”
Saying so, he took from a pocket of his jeans two notes of one hundred and handed them to Esther.
She took the money but appeared still hesitant.
Alex-Fair stared back at her without talking. He was waiting for her to speak.
“Thank you, Alex. But could you also give me something strong?”
Alex-Fair was ready for that. He knew that the girl lacked the regular supply from Lou.
“Okay,” he replied. “Dust or needle?”
“Needle, and let’s make it now, please.”
“I have something special for you, dear. But it will knock you out. Are you sure you want it now? It will take two hours to recover, or your parents might notice you look dazed.”
“Don't worry. My parents are out of town for some days, and the maid doesn't care to check on me. She’s all-time stuck chatting with her iPhone.”
“Okay, as you like! I will use your ankle’s veins to avoid marks on your arms, okay? Remove your trousers.”
While she undressed, he prepared in a flash the dose in a disposable insulin syringe.
“Lay down now.”
Esther obeyed. She shivered in anticipation of the long-expected pleasure.
“Thank you, Alex. Just tell me, for how long will I have to bother with that idiot big boy? He makes me nervous.”
“Don’t worry, dear. They never last for long. That’s why I must squeeze them well since the beginning.”
He inserted the needle with professional care, pulled in a little blood and pressed the plunger while releasing the strap he had tied under the girl’s knee.
Esther moaned, smiling at him with gratefulness.
Then fainted.
Alex-Fair, with a lousy smirk, removed her panties, opened her legs and then pulled down his trousers and underwear. He was stiff and slipped inside her with force.
She groaned while he continued to mount her fast.
“Don’t worry, little bitch,” he murmured through tightened teeth. He found it exciting to mock and insult his victims while he raped them. “You won’t have to bother yourself with that big boy for long. You’re gonna last less than him with this shit you’re taking. In case you don’t get before pregnant of your Lou or of me.”
These last words excited him more than what he was doing, and he burst into gasps and groans.
*
In the same morning, Fausto had a math check at school.
During the previous weeks, since that cursed fight and his meeting with Fair, he hadn’t studied for a single hour.
He had been too angry in the early days, then so busy hustling that he also deserted the soccer training.
Although he had always been one of the best math students in his class, that day he felt as facing a series of unsolvable enigmas.
He tried to solve the first problem, but he lacked whole chapters of theory he had totally neglected to study at home, so he yielded to deliver a blank test sheet.
He would score his lowest grade ever, and it would be hard to put right such a failure.
From that day the whole situation got worse at light speed.
But not all evil leads to harm.
Fausto left the school, angry and concerned at the same time.
He walked towards home, wondering how long would it take before his parents learned about his failure.
The risk was of not having a chance to meet Esther next week, being confined in his room after school.
Slowing his pace, he thought of what he was doing of himself. He longed to meet a girl to whom he was ready to deliver a deadly drug, to satisfy his desire to have sex with her. Not exactly a noble undertaking.
Selling real drug was a crime, it wasn't something of supposedly harmless like the stuff he had sold so far. And if Esther had died because of that addiction? Would he bear the fault of killing her?
Then he realized that, since she had resolved to sell herself for it, she would get it all the same from someone else. That somebody, maybe that Lou, was already serving her.
So, what should be the conclusion?
By chance, he was very near to the truth, but he didn’t know.
He was still struggling with his contradictions about desire and moral responsibility he hadn’t a clue how to solve, when he saw a group of the courtyard boys that had gathered near a bar.
There was Claudio and also Red, and they were surrounding him. Strange thing, Emilio wasn’t there.
To look at them was like a memory emerging from a far past, a lost time of innocence.
But what were they doing? He neared them, hesitating, without calling them. They were too busy around Red and didn’t notice him.
Claudio was playing one of his well-known bullyish psycho tricks.
He was pretending Red had offended him, and that he had to undergo what he put as a mocking punishment to amend the fault.
Red was trying to escape, saying no, no, with an imploring voice, but Claudio and the other boys had already caught him. Two of them held him from the arms and Claudio with another one from the legs, maintaining his thin body in a horizontal position.
Then, they carried him towards the metal pole of a street signal at a corner, while he implored them to leave him free, twisting his body, helpless, and Claudio continued to make fun of him with his menacing, fatherly tone.
Fausto realized what they wanted to do. It was a painful punishment that the bands of boys used for humiliating someone they despised.
He felt his rage mounting against Claudio and all his bullying fixations. He clenched his fists ready to jump in the middle of the gathering and beat them up to make dead meat of them all.
But he recalled he had decided to never beat somebody again. He turned and walked away.
After three steps, he heard Red shouting for the pain.
He turned towards them again.
Claudio and the other boy held Red's legs with the pole in the middle and were pulling, crushing his groin, while the other two kept him hanged by the arms.
“No, stop motherfuckers! You’re a bunch of assholes!” shouted Red, then he cried like a baby.
That scene of humiliation was too much for Fausto.
He found himself among them, and slapped Claudio’s shoulders with his open hand from the back, controlling the strength of the blow. It was just a warning to make him stop that nonsense.
“Stop, idiots! Stop it!”—he shouted, out of himself. “Leave him!”
Then jumped around, hitting each of the four as a madman. They released their grip on Red who fell on the ground. Three of them withdrew and joined the rest of the group which now formed a circle.
In the middle was Red, sitting on the ground still weeping and murmuring insults, Fausto and Claudio.
Claudio faced him.
“What the fuck do you want?”
“Claudio, you’ve got to stop behaving like a raging godfather, who can dispose at his will of his baby adepts. This is just an idiot, pointless behavior!”
“So, if you want to give me orders, come and fight,” Claudio replied, standing with the fists in front of his face like a boxer.
The circle of the troupe boys murmured inciting Claudio to beat Fausto. Many of them were ready to film the event with their iPhone.
Fausto lifted his fists.
“This time we finish to the hospital, I promise you, Claudio!”
The first blow came before Fausto could see it. He had an instant blackout and found himself on the ground. ...
. . .
