with-open-arms

Asian

Subject: With Open Arms, my latest story In the following story, all of the characters are totally fictive and the setting is real. For whomever it would be illegal, immoral or prohibited for any other reason whatsoever to read a story about love between two young men is kindly requested to refrain from continuing. A free picture album illustrating this story (pdf) is available upon request at . Please remember to help Nifty stay online by sending your contributions. This being said, I hope you enjoy the tale. ———- WITH OPEN ARMS by Marin Giustinian ———- Scotland, 2017 ———- The audience’s applause went on and on. Simon McKenzie’s concert was, as usual, a triumph. This was his last date in Brittany, May 20, 2017, to be exact. Simon’s art as a singer and a harpist was appreciated throughout all of Celtic Europe and beyond. Simon was a rather unique artist. He graduated with honours from the Royal Conservatoire in Glasgow, mastering both the techniques of baritone song and the traditional Celtic harp. But beyond skill, there was something deeper, almost spellbinding in Simon’s voice, in the way nature, lust, and love came alive in all of the songs he composed. Music journalists had problems defining the depth and forms of Simon’s art. One came close by referring to it as ‘a unique musical experience, a voyage into time and soul’. On stage, Simon’s sincere presence was captivating. He was simple and open, warm and welcoming. It was obvious that he was genuinely happy to be there and therefore, so was the audience. The way he made his harp, strapped on his shoulder, come alive. The warmth of his voice, his smile, the magic of his melodies, always rich and caressing in the lower notes, soaring on seabirds’ wings in the higher were simply exceptional. A concert usually lasted close to two hours, starting with gay, dancing, springtime songs, passing through lusty summer into cuddly autumn, to conclude in the mystical purity of winter. Each concert was an exhilarating yet exhausting experience for Simon. He spared nothing, feeling like he could go on forever, but once back in his dressing room, he was totally emptied. The receptions and dinners after the concert were real ordeals for him. When he was finally back in his hotel room, alone by choice, he sometimes broke down and wept, never really knowing why. The following morning, he was again happy to be alive and ready to give all he could in the next performance. His concert season went roughly from August to May. June and July were his personal months dedicated to the bare essentials such as splitting wood for his winter fire, going for hikes in the hills, buying and canning vegetables, spoiling himself in some remote luxury seaside inn. He enjoyed cooking for himself, but it was also an immense pleasure to let a first class chef do it for him too. Summer was Simon’s season of resourcing. Like all healthy young males, Simon had experienced the adolescent need of sex, and from the age of nineteen to twenty-six, he had already been through several torrid love affairs with both females and a male, each finishing in total disaster. He wound up deciding that his love life would be his harp and song. No other human would be in his bed, no drama, no scenes of jealousy, no ties to deal with, just he and his harp, in an island of light. That would be the rule! At the age of twenty-eight, his decision proved to be the good one… at least for the time being. Simon’s agent, Charlie Sutters, had reserved for Simon a suite in a perfect little seaside inn on Sgarasta Mhòr Beach from 31 May 31 to June 11. Located at the extreme southwestern tip of the Isle of Harris in the Outer Hebrides, it was a small, discreet family run hotel — not puffy posh, just simple elegance, with sound proof rooms, an excellent cook and a stunning choice of wines. Of course it was expensive, but money was the least of worries for Simon. In other words, a perfect choice. On Monday 30 May, Simon packed and loaded his bag and harp in his Mercedes Vito. He locked up his small house near Balmaha, on Loch Lomond, and left. Rarely had there been a more splendid day! Simon drove light-hearted, through the Western Highlands, taking his time. He crossed the bridge over to Skye and arrived in Uig. There, he had a room reserved in a bed and breakfast for the night before taking the early morning ferry over to Tarbert the following day. ———- Sean Cameron’s mind was made. He had to leave school. There was no way he could bare being bullied any more. He was a sensitive, fair skinned, angelical teen, intelligent and gifted, but a total misfit. The past school year had been living hell for him. In Scotland, if a pupil turns sixteen between March 1 and September 30 they can leave school after 31 May of that year. Sean turned sixteen on April 21, 2017. Returning home in the school bus on Thursday, May 11, Sean swore to himself that on the 31st he would return to Sir E. Scott School in Tarbert, to tell the management team that he was leaving for good. Some details about Sean: His father had worked on an offshore oil rig. Sean didn’t know him very well, but it was the only father he had and needed, but when he was twelve, his father was killed in a freak accident working. For Sean it was a disaster. Two years later, his mother, Nancy, remarried a New Zealander working in the gin distillery in Tarbert. Nancy liked her men rugged, rough and tough. Her new husband, Sean’s stepfather, was just that and he had his mind set on making a man out his new stepson. Sean did not agree at all! He became a cold, methodical, unbearable pest. No punishment seemed to have an effect, and when his mother told him that they were all going to live in New Zealand, Sean violently refused, stole his stepfather’s car keys, and locked himself in his room, refusing to eat. Nancy, called her sister Nelly, living down in Leverburgh, and asked her if she could take care of Sean until he decided to come and join them in New Zealand. Nelly immediately said yes. Nelly adored Sean and Sean loved Nelly. Nancy promised to send her sister £300 per month to cover Sean’s expenses and all worked quite well. Everybody was relieved. Aunt Nelly was single. She ran her own beauty salon in the small coastal village of Leverburgh on the South shore of Harris. She had a deep voice because of her smokes and she enjoyed her whisky like a man. Also, she owned a three bedroom home of her own where she enjoyed entertaining her ladyfriends. Her darling young nephew was given a big bedroom with en suite and view on the islands upstairs. Sean and Nelly got along extremely well. Being rather effeminate himself, Sean was happy to live in a female, if not openly sapphic environment. Sean rode the school bus an hour in the morning and then an hour again in the afternoon. He was teased by the other lads because of his sweet looks and gracious ways. They scoffed him, calling him ‘fairy queen’ or ‘angel face’ when it wasn’t ‘fag’ or ‘sissy pussy’. Sean ignored them. He sat with the girls and considered himself way above those poor, squeaky, pimple-faced bumpkins. He couldn’t care less about what they said as long as they didn’t physically threaten him. Sean sang in the school choir. He was proud and happy to be recognised as a talented chanter. In the choir he was never bullied. Bullies don’t sing. Mrs. McLeod, Sean’s music teacher and choir leader, noticed his talent and paid special attention to him, encouraging him, giving him side information on how to keep his treble voice along with his new deeper voice as puberty set in. Above all, her encouragements forged his determination to become a singer. Each year for Easter, the music department of the high school gave a recital. For Easter of 2017, Sean was given the honour to sing Handel’s birthday ode for the Queen Anne, ‘Eternal Source of Light Divine’ in a duo with the trumpet teacher. It was a smashing success and Sean was publicly congratulated in front of all the school. After that, the bullies were even more vicious with him. Thursday, May 11, after sports, Clyde, the bully in chief, and his halfwit thug cornered Sean in the locker room. Clyde, pulled out his stinking, cum-crusted cock and threatened to smash Sean’s pretty little face if he didn’t blow him. Snickering, Clyde put his hand on Sean’s head and forced him to kneel, saying, “Sweet lips, make my ‘gogan’ (cock in Gaelic) sing in your magic throat!” The stench of the Clyde’s stale crotch made Sean retch. He began to heave as the Clyde’s accomplice forced Sean’s mouth to open. At that point, the coach barged in just as Sean puked on Clyde’s pubes and cock. The bullies fled. The coach said nothing and disappeared in his office. Sean drug himself to his feet, washed out his mouth and left. He was determined to inform the management team of the school on May 31, on how he had been treated throughout the year and especially about the locker room incident… in detail, with names, the coach included. Then he would legally walk out of school for good. During the days that followed the locker room incident, Nelly felt that Sean was quite upset, that something serious had happened. He spent most of his time singing to himself alone in his room. She also saw that he no longer studied… Nelly knew that when he was ready, he would come and confide to her. She was right. Nelly always brewed a pot of tea when she returned from work. Tuesday 30 May, Sean was waiting for her in the kitchen. “Aunt Nelly, I need to talk.” “I’m listening, darling…” “Tomorrow, I’m going to inform the management team of the school that I’ll never come back.” “Very well… Do you want to tell me why?” “I’ve been bullied and humiliated by the other fellows in school because of my looks, my music, and my ways. I don’t know how to defend myself and I don’t want to even try. I simply prefer leaving.” “I’ve noticed that the past week or two, you weren’t the same. What happened?” “Do you really want to know?” “Yes” “You know that I prefer boys. Even if I’ve never done anything with a mate. You know that deep down inside I’m gay,” stated Sean, looking straight in Nelly’s eyes. “Of course, I know, darling.” “Thursday, two weeks ago, the bully in chief, and his underdog grabbed me in the locker room. I was forced to kneel. Then the chief put his stinking ‘gogan’ under my nose.” Sean continued to tell Nelly, in detail what had happened, concluding with, “I just stood there, devastated. I washed the vomit out of my mouth and left.” “You didn’t turn them in? You should. You have a witness with the coach.” “The chief bully is the coach’s pet.” “I see…” “Tomorrow, I’m going to tell everything to the head of the school: names, dates, places… everything. Then I’ll tell them that I’m leaving school for good because they don’t do their job the way it should be done. I know they’ll plead that they do the best they can, that they have their reasons, but I’ll remind them that they have NO excuse! I’ll tell them that their management team has to simply do a better job… Once I’ve said all that, I’ll go thank Mrs. McLeod for all she’s done for me and for my music, and then I’ll come back here. Distance is the only decent answer to people who are incapable of decency. I don’t need to argue. I’ll simply withdraw. Probably I’ll weep for a day or two. But I don’t care. If I stayed I’d weep even more!” “I understand, love. I’m standing by you.” They shared a heart felt hug. After a moment, Nelly whispered, “It’s none of my business but what do you plan to do to get over all that, sweetheart?” “It IS your business, Nelly!” exclaimed Sean. Nelly released him. “Listen, for the time being, I’m going to sing! I’m going to go busking in St. Clement’s Church. I love that empty monument, full of spirits. My voice echoes well there. I’ll sing for myself… and for the tourists. I’ll leave my small tin toy bucket for tips. All the tourist busses stop there as well as a lot of other people to visit the place…” “Like a real singer!” “I’m already a real singer, Aunt Nelly. The world out there is simply waiting to discover me!” ———- Wednesday, May 31, Simon rose early and took the ferry. By ten to one, he was claiming his reservations in the little dream hotel Charlie had found for him. It would be his home for twelve delicious days. Simon’s en suite was perfect. There was a big tub to soak in, a big bed to wallow in, a big ocean view to dream in, and time, lots of time, loads of no-deadline-time. The tension of the drive, the week, the year began to dissolve and he was hungry… famished. The dining room hostess greeted Simon with a warm welcome as he entered. His separate table was waiting for him by the window. A buffet was spread on a central table and in spite of the late hour, it looked as if it had been laid only for him. He even indulged in a glass of white wine as he enjoyed the prawns and lobster piled in his plate. A delightful gooey dessert topped off his first meal in the hotel. Satiated, he went back to his room, took off his shoes and threw himself on the bed stretching, mumbling in a yawn, “Everything’s going to be absolutely all right…” Two hours later, groggy and surprised, Simon sat up on the bed and rubbed his eyes, feeling almost ashamed to have napped so long. A stiff sea breeze was blowing in from the Northwest; hazy whitecaps danced in the slanting sunlight. “Time for a brisk walk! I’ll unpack later!” asserted Simon on the verge of giggling like a school boy. (He often spoke to himself like some people do when they live alone.) ———- Sean was proud of his aplomb. He had pled his cause with the management team. His accusations were well stated. He made his point, collected his records, and went to see Mrs. McLeod. When he told her that he was leaving, she hugged him just when his tormenters were hurrying down in the hallway. “Sean, it’s been a pleasure being by your side while you discovered your talent. Please let me know how you’re doing from time to time.” “I certainly shall, Mrs. McLeod…” “Oh dear! Hold on a second, Sean. I’m going to give you my card. You can call, even late, I’m never asleep before midnight. Promise?” “I promise, Mrs. McLeod…” stuttered Simon. When she came back, she insisted, “Call me Maggy, sweetheart, and never stop singing! Remember to call in from time to time! Now scat on before I get all teary-eyed.” “Good-bye, Maggy, and thank you again.” Sean too was a bit teary himself as he ran out of the building into the wind. He decided to not take the bus back to Leverburgh. That was over. He wanted to hitchhike back, taking the ocean-side road. He always enjoyed the view along the Sgarasta Mhòr Beach, especially when the sea was a bit rough. He loved the solitary island at the end of the strand, pulling on its sandbar, striving to break away. ———- Simon unpacked, took a long bubbly bath, decided not to shave, and dressed for happy hour. In the bar, an elderly gentleman among the other guest of the hotel, recognised him, congratulated him on his exceptional talent, and had the elegance to not ask if he would perform during his stay. Simon sipped his Guiness as he studied the evening menu. He smiled to himself realising that choosing his dinner was the only important decision he had to make for the next ten days! Such leisure can free the brain, unlock the doors of memory, and in sweet idleness, forgotten or ignored images, scents, and moments reappear. This happened to Simon ataşehir escort as he unfolded the napkin, laid it on his knees, and stared out the window, waiting to be served. He recalled the laughing moments when, with his father, he drank his first taste of champagne in the family garden after singing his first harp and song solo at the recital of the Royal Conservatoire. He was just fifteen and it took him only two cups to be seriously tight. Simon could still feel his father’s arms around him as he helped him back into the house, both laughing like mad under the smile and scolding eyes of his mother. “Those were happy times — and they still are…” mused Simon to himself. His parents, brother and sister-in-law, as well as his nieces were always present each time he performed in Glasgow. They never questioned him on his private life. He was lucky. Lucky yes, happy? He never wondered if he was happy or not. Sometimes a bit lonely, but being a professional soloist is a solitary job. Why wonder? Why bother? The young waiter served Simon’s plate. “That looks absolutely delicious!” complimented Simon. “The chef hopes you’ll enjoy, Sir.” As he began savouring his dinner, Simon mused to himself, “Yes, I am quite lucky, and not unhappy — at least, for the time being!” ———- Sean returned home just in time for dinner. He told Nelly how everything went… how relieved he felt. They ate, chatting about everything and nothing. At the end of the meal, Nelly asked, “Do you write to your Mum to inform her of all this… or do you want me to do it?” “Please do it, Nelly…” “I knew you’d say that, adorable little rascal!” Sean cleared the table and did the dishes, then he retired to his room. He sang at the top of his voice under the shower. Nelly smiled as she typed the email to her sister. Sean’s hand spent some extra time washing his needy erection. His humming hesitated an instant as his knees buckled and his perfect, uncut cock shot surges of sweet teen semen down the drain. He crawled in bed nude, as usual, turned off the bedside lamp, and stared at the moonlight streaming through his window. He fell asleep smiling. ———- During the following ten days, in spite of the recurring overcast sky, both Simon and Sean went about their various pastimes. Simon took long walks along the strand, slept hours, ate sumptuous meals, and began working on a new series of Galician ‘cantigas’ for his next concert programmed August 30 in Santiago de Compostela, Spain. The weather was moderately warm. When the clouds split from time to time, the sun was stunningly bright. “Hebridean light is incredible,” mused Simon to himself. Before his stay was over, Simon decided to take his van and drive the shoreline road around the island. He had to buy a few items in Tarbert anyway and that was a good excuse to move around some. He was impressed by the austere beauty of the landscape as he drove up the western road. He stopped for his purchases in Tarbert and found the village totally uninteresting. Then he drove down the eastern road. He wanted to visit the only historical monument on the island, Saint Clement’s church, a XV century church built by the Chiefs of the McLeods of Harris, now under the custody of Historic Scotland. It was no longer a place of worship, just a monument freely open to the public. When he arrived, there was no place to park, unless he left his van at the harbour down the hill. Discouraged, and feeling a bit lazy, he said to himself “I’ll try my luck later… and bring my harp. Judging from the outside, the acoustics inside should be astounding.” ———- Sean’s plan to busk in St. Clement’s worked better than he had hoped. He would take a sandwich for lunch and hop on the 9:30 AM bus, arriving at the church seven minutes later. He took with him his cute little tin bucket with a little sign saying: Tapadh leat, Thank you, Merci, Danke, Grazie and put a few coins and a five pound banknote in it for bait. He made himself at home in the space, singing in different parts of the nave and the transept. When he was tired, he’d go stroll some in the churchyard and soak in the sun when it was available. The tourist season was just getting started. Each day there were more and more visitors. When a bus stopped, the guide would let Sean sing before beginning his or her speech and at the end, Sean would take the cue to sing again. He often sang the ‘Ode to Queen Anne’. That always lifted his soul and also stunned the passing audiences, making the coins drop in the bucket. At the end of the afternoon, he would hail the 4:30 bus and go back home, proud of his day. He was simply glad to be alive. Nelly too was happy having never seen her adorable nephew so elated. She swore he ate twice as much as before, and even if his complexion was still quite pale, there was a touch of pink glowing in his cheeks. Nancy replied to Nelly’s mail saying that since he had reached the age of legal capacity, let him do what he wants. At the same time, she must have felt a bit guilty and promised to keep on sending her £300 a month until he was eighteen. In other words, Sean was emancipated and free as a lark. ———- Time flew by. Simon only had two more days left until he had to board the ferry. After lunch, he decided to return to St. Clement’s. He took his harp, hopped in the van, and drove away. Fifteen minutes later, he found the parking space empty. He climbed the hill, took a look at the imposing tower at one end and then entered through the door on the North side of the nave. At first he thought he was hallucinating. He definitely heard, as if in a distance, the air of the Birthday Ode to Queen Anne, ‘Eternal Source of Light Divine’. There was something angelical, ethereal flowing from the transept. Hypnotised by the beauty of the moment, Simon slowly made his way along the wall of the nave to the angle of the transept. The voice was creating a cloud of pure emotion floating in space. Simon glanced around the corner into the North transept and there he saw a teenage youth, just a lad, sixteen at the most, singing in a corner, his eyes closed. When the lad began the air again, Simon smiled imagining the surprise. He remembered that the ode was a duet with a trumpet. He was sure he could sing the trumpet’s score… at least improvise it. He took his breath, licked his lips, and let the first notes soar from his throat. It took the lad a measure or two to realise what was happening. Suddenly he held his breath. Simon sang on, slowly walking into the light. That was when Simon discovered Sean’s face. He gasped and stopped singing himself, awestruck by the beauty of the youth. Both just stood there, wide-eyed, looking at each other as the echo of their melded voices faded into silence. Smiling, Simon came closer, and in the warmest way, said, “That was absolutely beautiful! You’re quite talented, you know?” Relieved, Sean uttered with a nervous laugh, “Thank you, Sir, and so are you. I almost fainted when I heard the second voice. I wondered if it was a ghost singing with me… Mind blowing!” “The surprise was too tempting.” “I’m so used to singing alone that… that I…” stuttered Sean, spellbound by the warm glow of Simon’s admiring eyes. “I know what you mean. I rarely sing with others myself. My name’s Simon, and you?” “Sean” “Are you from around here?” “I live with my aunt in Leverburgh but I’m originally from Tarbert.” “A true Hebridean” “Yes, Sir, born and raised and stuck here!” replied Sean, feeling a sudden confidence in Simon. It was clear that they were mutually drawn to each other. Simon complimented Sean on the lightness of his voice and vibrato, not too imposing, not too faint either. Sean said he was impressed by the way Simon’s voice seemed to carry him. “What other songs do you know?” inquired Simon, “I know a lot. Would you like us to try a duet or two.” “YES, SIR!” Sean’s anthology of song was very popular, mostly hymns, Gaelic laments, and a few present-day ballads. They sang together, Sean the soprano lead, Simon the lower second voice. It was fantastic! “Listen, Sean, I’ve got my harp in the van. I was going to play it some here… you know… the acoustics. I’ll fetch it and we can improvise some, vocalising together if you want.” “A harp! You play the harp too!” “Yes” “What’s ‘vocalising’?” “Vocalising means you just let your voice fly free, singing what comes to you, improvising without words… humming, singing ‘ah’ or ‘oh’, whatever… I’ll improvise a theme on the harp and then we just take it from there. You’ll see, it’s fun. Don’t you ever do that, like in the shower, or walking by yourself?” “All the time!” laughed Sean. “I’m going to get my harp. Be right back!” Sean paced up and down in the transept, mumbling to himself, “I must be dreaming! This is all too awesome… I’ve always dreamt of meeting someone like Simon — and now he’s here. I hope I don’t wake up!” Simon reappeared in the church with his harp strapped over his shoulder, playing a soft lilting melody like a bard of old. Sean gazed at the ill shaven angel in tight jeans, wearing an unzipped sweatshirt, smiling as his fingers plucked the strings. Then Simon strummed an arpeggio and began humming. Sean was immediately caught. Their improvisation took form and then concluded like magic. “You see, Sean… That’s vocalising.” “That’s great! More than great! That’s… I don’t know how to say it. Tell me, Simon, was I good?” “For you, were you good?” “For me, I was was good, and it was good FOR me too!” “Therefore, it was beautiful! See what I mean?” Sean nodded, beaming. “Listen, Sean, whistle me a little theme, just eight or twelve notes, something you feel right here, now.” “I don’t know if…” “Stop thinking and whistle!” Sean sort of danced as he whistled; several clear notes echoed in the nave. Simon caught them with his harp. Then he let his voice flow. Sean followed and instinctively entwined his theme into Simon’s variation. Then Simon stopped singing and told Sean to carry on. His little solo was charming. Simon joined in with him again and they came to a conclusion together. It was magic. “You see, it’s not that difficult…” “I was afraid to make a fool of myself… but you fooled me into making me BE MYSELF! That’s crazy! It felt so good, made me feel really free!” “You are free. Don’t be complicated. Complication is useless!” “I guess you’re right,” replied Sean, laughing. Simon began to play a slower, more meditative theme, a mysterious melody that seemed to cling to the walls of the ancient church. He then let his voice soar, nodding at Sean, inviting him to join. They instinctively harmonised their two voices. It was pure. As they sang, they walked together into the space. Their notes soared, echoed, and melded, filling the nave with a very spiritual, yet sensual, sound. When they concluded, a small group of tourists applauded, surprising both Sean and Simon. They looked at each other and then took a little bow. The guide thanked them and began her pitch. Sean whispered in Simon’s ear, “I need to take a moment by myself outside, if you don’t mind. I need to let what we’ve done soak in. I’m all shaky… happy, but shaky.” “Feel free. I’m going to listen to what the guide has to say about this place. I’ll join you outside. You’re not going to leave, are you?” “Oh Noooo, I’m not leaving. I’ve been waiting for you all my life. Now that you’re here, I’ll hold on to you as long as I can!” Simon was touched, almost upset by what Sean just said, by his words — also by the light shining in his eyes. When the guide led her group out of the church, Simon followed at a distance. He noticed that nearly everyone had left money in the little bucket. Once he was alone, he took a look. The bucket was brimming with cash. He left it there and went outside. Spotting Sean sitting on a tombstone he inquired, “Everything okay, Sean?” “Couldn’t be better… I’m impatient to make more music together. Can we?” “As much as you like! But first I think you should empty your bucket. It’s overflowing.” “What!” Sean ran up to the church. When Simon joined him, he found Sean giggling as he sorted the money. “Look, there are even £10 banknotes!”. “I guess we were good…” “YOU were good, Simon!” asserted Sean, handing him a fist full of banknotes. “I said WE were good, Sean. You and I were good together. Keep the money, this is your busking spot. I’ve got my own spots elsewhere…” “If you insist…” “I insist. I repeat, we were good, but we could be better, don’t you think?” “Absolutely!” They played on for a little more than an hour, laughing, smiling, thoroughly enjoying themselves. At one point, Sean looked at his phone and exclaimed, “Bollocks! I’ve missed my bus. I’ve to call Aunt Nelly or else she’s going to worry.” “I can drop you off now. Leverburgh’s on my way, no problem.” “Thanks! I accept with pleasure,” replied Sean, adding, “Can we see each other tomorrow? Please!” “When do you want me to pick you up?” “Wow! That’s great! That’s really nice of you. Is ten o’clock too early? I’ll bring sandwiches for the both of us!” “You’ve got a deal.” They walked down to the van, chatting like old friends. Climbing into the van, Sean commented on the luxury of his little Mercedes. Simon said, “I like it a lot. In a pinch, I can even sleep inside.” “With your harp? Ha!” “With my harp!” Five minutes later, Sean exclaimed, “I live just after the schoolhouse up there.” Simon pulled to a stop. Sean hopped out, saying, “It’s been fabulous meeting you, Simon! Thank you so much! See you tomorrow!” “Same for me, mate! See you here at ten, tomorrow.” ———- Nelly had finished her day’s work and was in the kitchen. Sean ran in shouting, “Aunt Nelly! Aunt Nelly! I’ve got something great to tell you! I mean really, really great!” Sean told Nelly about his encounter, their music, and their plans for Sunday. “You say his name is Simon…” “I don’t know his last name. In fact, I don’t know who he is. He says he lives on Loch Lomond and works in music. That’s all I know — and for the rest I don’t care. He’s nice, he’s fun, he’s got class, but not too much, and he makes me feel like I’m somebody. We’re going to see each other again tomorrow.” “I’m glad for you, darling! If you’re happy, that’s the most important! Hungry?” “Starved!” ———- All the way back to the hotel, Simon had Sean on his mind. Again talking to himself, he said, “That young fellow’s a treasure… It would be a shame for him to go unknown… but I can’t… Oh, damnit, I don’t know…” Destiny knew. ———- Sunday, June 11, Sean was standing by the road with the lunch sack in his hand as Simon drove up. Sean climbed in and chirped, “Good morning, Simon!” “Good morning to you, too, Sean!” Lifting the sack, Sean declared, “Cheese and ham plus a thermos of hot sugared tea. Will that do?” “Perfect…” They commented the fact that the weather was still fine. Several minutes later they were climbing the hill to the church. “How’s your voice this morning?” inquired Simon as Sean opened the door. “Fine, and yours?” “Excellent…” Simon sat, unzipped the harp case, and began to tune it under Sean’s careful observation. “Do you have to retune it often?” “Depends on a lot of things: humidity, temperature…” “I see…” As he was taking care of his harp, Simon said, “Sean, I thought a lot about you last night…” Sean echoed, “I thought avcılar escort about you too!” Simon smiled and then continued, “I’d like to ask you a few questions about yourself. Do you mind?” “Not at all” “Where do you go to school?” “Nowhere now!” “What?” Sean told Simon how he had been bullied in school and that he had dropped out, but didn’t know what the future held in store for him. “And you say you live with your aunt… what about your parents?” “My Mum’s in New Zealand with her new husband. I lost my Dad when I was twelve. He got killed on the job, an accident. He worked on an offshore oil rig. After that, Mum hooked up with this new man two years ago. I don’t like him. Whatever. They decided to move to New Zealand and I refused to follow. Mum’s sister, Nelly, took me in. She’s a love!” “So if I understand, you’re sixteen and free. How did you begin singing? Did you take lessons?” “I’ve always loved to sing. My Mum’s a believer and she took me to church with her. I loved singing the hymns. Then in school, I joined the choir. Maggy McLeod was my music teacher in school. She led the choir too. She paid a lot of attention to me, helped me when my voice changed. She’s a great woman! I owe her a lot!” “The world owes her a lot…” softly replied Simon, withdrawn a bit in his thoughts. “Excuse me. What did you say?” “Nothing… Thank you for telling me all that…” “No problem! And you, Simon? I don’t even know your last name.” “I don’t know yours either. Ha!” “Sorry. Cameron’s my last name,” proudly announced Sean. “And I’m Simon McKenzie. What do you want to know?” “I don’t know… Let’s see… How old are you, where did you study music, what kind of a family did you grow up in… You know, normal stuff…” Simon methodically explained that he grew up in a loving family in Glasgow. His father, Angus McKenzie, was a successful architect, famous for his avant-garde, contemporary prefabs. “The ‘cabin’ I live in was given to me by my father when I finished my studies at the Royal Conservatoire in Glasgow. That’s where I studied voice and harp. Now I perform for a living.” “You make me dream, Simon! I’d love to learn from you.” “I think you’ve already started, haven’t you?” “You’re right! And I’ve got more to learn, don’t I?” “We have more to learn from each other!” exclaimed Simon, strumming a resounding arpeggio on his harp. They sang all morning long. Simon helped Sean stretch the range of his voice in the low tenor to a countertenor soprano. Then he coached Sean on vocalising alone. Close to noon, while they were improvising intricate vocalisations together accompanied by the harp, a group of tourist came in. Sean and Simon gave them a brief but intense performance. When their small audience exploded in applause, Sean hugged Simon with his harp. Simon blushed. Then holding hands, they bowed. The tourist guide said something in French, indicating the bucket and began her visit. Sean and Simon slipped outside. Taking the sandwiches and thermos out of he bag, Sean profusely thanked Simon for being there with him, for his kindness, and his music. Simon complimented Sean on his progress. As they ate, from time to time, they’d just look at each other and smile, saying nothing. After finishing the tea, Simon cleared his throat and took a deep breath. “Sean, I’d like to talk to you about an idea I have concerning you.” “Concerning ME?” “Yes, mate, concerning YOU!” “Listen, I have a concert programmed in Santiago de Compostela August 30.” “Where’s that?” “In Galicia, the Celtic part of Spain.” “Spain?” “Yes, Spain” “As I was saying, if you could come and work with me some in my home, before that date, I’d like for you to come with me and sing some of the songs in duet. I can have you to fly down to Glasgow, let’s say around July 25. You stay with me until we’re back from the concert. Is that possible?” “Yes!” “You’ll have all your expenses paid. I’ll find a way for my agent to pay you in cash. Think about it…” “I don’t have to think about it. It’s a waste of time. I’m your man, Simon! But don’t you think that the more we work together, the better we are? Why don’t I leave with you when you go back home? But I’m leaving tomorrow. “Well, I’ll go with you tomorrow.” “That’s very mindful of you, but I’ve got to do my summer chores, split and cut firewood, sweep the chimney, can fresh vegetables, give the house a thorough cleaning, etc.” “I’m good at house work. I can help you do all that. I can take care of you. I’m really good at ironing; I cook; I can do whatever you need. Please…” “Don’t you need time to talk with your Aunt Nelly?” “She’s having lunch with her girlfriends. She’ll be back for sure at four, four thirty at the most. We can talk with her then.” “So you’re ready to leave like that on the spur of the moment?” Exasperated, Sean quipped back, “I suggested it, didn’t I?” “Okay, okay…” “What is it we’re singing?” “Cantigas” “Cantigas? What’s that?” “Let’s go in.” ———- They drove to Leverburgh to speak with Nelly. Nelly was flabbergasted seeing Simon McKenzie. She had a CD with Simon’s picture on the box. Sean slightly gasped, surprised, almost feeling fooled. Then he realised the honour… Simon explained that he wanted Sean to sing with him in Spain, etc. Nelly exclaimed it was the chance of a lifetime! “When do you plan to leave?” “Tomorrow at eleven.” “Sean, get up and go pack!” He ran upstairs. Once he was gone, Nelly said, “Let’s talk Simon… Sean loves you. I’m warning you, don’t hurt him. He’s a gem.” “That I know, Nelly. If I’m inviting him, it’s because he’s really a rare diamond that needs polishing and set in the right jewel.” “Well said — But what if you two don’t get along? He’s got his temper!” “If our deal doesn’t work, either for him or for me, he knows that I’ll always pay his air fare back.” “Will he need money?” “Nelly, I can afford to take care of him and even pay him in cash for the performance. When our deal is over, I’ll drive him back, and turn him back to you. You have my word.” “That we’ll see. God knows what he’ll want to do after that!” “Do we have anything else to say?” “Yes, in case of an emergency, you never know what can happen these days, I’ll print out a copy of his National Health Service card and put it in his pocket for him to give it to you tomorrow.” “Good thinking, Nelly.” “Simon McKenzie, are you an angel or what?” “Not that I know of. All I know is that I think I’m crazy to do this — but life is crazy, isn’t it?” “For the luckiest of us, it is!” replied Nelly, then she added, “By the way, Simon, Sean’s gay. Any problems?” “Not for me.” “I trust you, Simon.” With that, Sean busted back in. “Nelly! Simon! I’m at a loss on deciding what I need to pack.” “Take the essential,” quipped back Simon. “What’s the essential?” With that Nelly broke out laughing. Sean looked bewildered. “You answer that one, Simon!” stated Nelly, still laughing. “Sean, The Essential is a very vast subject. For our purposes, concerning your packing, I’ll give you my advice. But first, what kind of luggage are you using?” “I have a duffle bag and a back pack.” “Which one do you like best?” “The duffle bag.” “Perfect. So go back upstairs, spread out everything you own and when you have all your own personal belongings is sight: clothes, keepsakes, books, phone, charger, etc. you strip naked…” Sean interrupted, “Why naked?” “What you have on your back is yours, I presume!” “Okay…” “And then you begin packing. If you fill the bag and there’s something left, you empty it and start all over again. Once your bag is packed a second time, put the items that you can’t pack back in their usual place…” “Can’t I get another bag?” “No” “Okay, if I understand, I have to make choices.” “Exactly!” “So the essential is just a question of choice.” “In this case, yes.” “And in every case, Sean!” added Nelly holding two glasses of whisky in her hands. Sean ran back upstairs. Nelly gave a glass to Simon, and lifted hers in a toast, “To the essential, Simon McKenzie! I don’t know who chose to put you two together, but I’m sure he chose the Essential!” “You are unbelievable, Nelly… by the way, what’s you last name!” “Morrison, Nelly Morrison, to serve you…” “Miss Morrison, can I invite you and Sean to dine with me at my hotel this evening?” “What’s your hotel?” “Scarista House” “Oh my God, yes! What time?” “Half past seven, will that do?” “Perfect” ———- Sean and Nelly arrived right on time, dressed in their Sunday best. They dined, laughing, joking, talking about the life of a professional singer and Simon’s choice to live in the woods, away from the city. Nelly talked a bit about herself too. Like Simon, she had chosen to not marry, preferring female company to a husband. Maybe one day she’d marry another woman… but for the time being, there wan’t a bride on the horizon. Sean smiled and listened, hearing things he had never imagined hearing before. After dessert, Simon said, “I’ve prepared a little surprise, that is, if Sean agrees.” “A surprise, Simon?” quipped back Sean slightly worried. “We’ll retire to the parlour and sing ‘Eternal Source’ for Nelly, and finish with some vocalising. Okay?” Sean nearly shouted, “Okay!” While Simon went to fetch his harp, Nelly retired a moment to the lady’s room. Sean walked into the parlour, soaked in the elegant atmosphere, nodding at the few guests seated there, chatting as they sipped their cordials. When Simon returned with his harp, the guests smiled. He sat down next to Sean on the settee by the fire. Nelly came in, all ladylike, and took her place in the armchair facing her menfolk. Simon, then addressing the whole room, said, “If you don’t mind, my young partner and I are going to sing a song or two for Miss Morrison… and for all of you, too, of course.” There was a polite applause. As Simon played the introduction of ‘Eternal Source’ on his harp, an atmosphere of reverence filled the parlour. Several members of the staff, appeared in the door. Sean took a deep breath and stood, and when the first notes of the song soared, tears swelled in Nelly’s eyes. She wasn’t the only one to feel the deep emotion Sean’s voice inspired. When Simon joined in with the second voice, time stopped. Never had two voices blended like theirs. Never had such simple music enthralled its listeners like theirs did. A gentleman discreetly took out his handkerchief; a young lady sighed, her lips half open, ravished. Instead of finishing the ode, Sean continued improvising on Handel’s theme. Simon improvised with him. The sound of the harp swelled as the voices melded in a sumptuous chord softly fainting into silence. Overwhelmed with emotion, no one moved. Suddenly, Nelly stood and exclaimed, “Glory be on you two darlings! I don’t believe what I’ve just heard!” The others broke into applause. Simon and Sean shared a tender embrace as the audience even shouted their bravos. They were covered with compliments, giving special attention to the stunningly beautiful Sean. It was a magical summer evening. The setting sun glowed its golden hue through the windows of the parlour. The hotel manager made a spectacular entrance, bearing a silver platter covered with tinkling crystal champagne cups and a bottle of Mums. He shouted, “Let’s celebrate this fantastic moment! Scarista House thanks you both beyond words!” The cork popped; the cups were filled; the group relaxed. Simon saw Sean sipping the champagne with a broad smile illuminating his face. He recalled his first sip of champagne with his father, celebrating as well his first concert. He also recalled Nelly’s words only a few hours ago when she declared, “I don’t know who chose to put you two together, but I’m sure he chose the essential!” A bit overwhelmed by all those strong emotions, Simon slipped out onto the terrace, leaving behind the voluble happy few chatting, expressing their awe, congratulating Sean, and his aunt. In the fresh evening breeze, facing the sun gilded sea, Simon took a deep breath, sighed, and wondered to himself, “What have I gotten myself into?” “Ah, there you are!” exclaimed Sean, running up to Simon. “I just needed to let it soak in, mate. You know the feeling!” Sean giggled, nodding. Nelly came out to join them and profusely thanked Simon. “This was an evening to live for, Simon, but we must go. I’ve got a full day tomorrow, and so does Sean — not to mention you!” “It’s been a very eventful day for me too. I’ll be glad to get some sleep,” then turning to Sean, “See you at eleven, mate.” Nelly said she was working at eleven, so she kissed Simon farewell and took her leave. Sean stated, “I’ll be waiting for you, Simon,” then hesitating to leave, he added, “I like you a lot, a great big lot!” “Me too, Sean, I like you a lot as well.” “We make a smashing pair don’t we? Bye!” Watching Sean dart off, Simon thought to himself, “Yes we do make a smashing pair indeed… but where in the hell is all this going?” ———- The following morning, Simon packed, checked out, and drove to Leverburgh. Sean was standing by the road with his duffle bag at this feet. When Simon saw him, he felt a surge of warmth deep inside. Sean was beaming. Simon pulled over, Simon got in, tossed his bag in the back, and buckled up. Suddenly it seemed that there was no need to talk. They glanced at each other from time to time smiling. Arriving at the ferry terminal, Simon showed his ticket. The agent said nothing about the extra passenger. They parked in the boarding lane and got out. “We’ve got two hours to find a good place to eat.” “They say the Pierhouse is really nice.” “Let’s check it out.” The meal was correct. Afterwards, they went for a leisurely, shoulder to shoulder walk on the jetty. “I haven’t been down here on the harbour for ages,” remarked Sean, “I’ve always wondered what it would be like to take the ferry.” “Is this the first time?” “I’ve never left Harris. With you Simon, everything’s a first time!” exclaimed Sean laughing. They boarded and went topside. The ferry cast off leaving the island behind. Sean looked back. He was terribly silent. Then he edged up to Simon. “Are you okay?” “I don’t know… I feel funny leaving everything. I’m happy to be here with you and at the same time it’s strange, you know, finally being free. I often dreamt of leaving but never really believed it was possible. But now… Wow! Simon, am I dreaming?” “Do you want me to pinch you?” “No — Just hug me, please.” “With pleasure!” Sean melted in Simon’s arms. They remained like that for at least a brief minute or so. A lady, standing at the rail next to them, smiled nodding at Simon. He nodded back and rubbed Sean’s back. Suddenly, Sean perked up and said, “I’m going to take a look around. Are you staying here or going inside?” “I’ll probably go inside.” “Wherever, I’ll find you anyhow!” chimed Sean as he danced away. The lady commented, “Charming young man. Family?” “Not really, Madam, more than family. Good afternoon,” replied Simon, going inside, leaving the lady there, puzzled. A certain while later, Sean found Simon and asked, “What’s next?” “When we drive off the ferry, we’ll go to the Stones B Simon swallowed; both fucked, clawed, coming up for air and plunging again to pursue their feasting. Sean began to whimper little urgent sounds. Trembling, he froze, immobile, then screaming a long, sharp shrill he spewed streams avrupa yakası escort of creamy young semen straight into Simon’s willing throat. Sean caught his breath, seized Simon’s cock once more and pulled it back into his eager mouth. Simon immediately climaxed. He filled Sean’s mouth. Sean swallowed and sucked for more. Then gently taking Sean’s head in his hands, Simon pulled him into a long, loving, slippery kiss. Like the sudden still after a summer storm, breathless, dripping with sweat, they both laid back side by side, slowly descending from their orgasmic bliss. Sean’s slim hand found Simon’s. He squeezed it signalling that he was still alive. Simon squeezed back. Then both began to giggle. Turning their heads facing each other, Sean nudged the tip of Simon’s nose with his, trying to stifle a yawn. They laughed. “Sleepy?” inquired Simon. “A little, but I’d like to do that again.” “At dawn?” “Okay, promise?” “Promise” Both discovered that night the unique delight of a promised dawn, slumbering in the warmth of a beloved embrace. ———- Sex itself is not sacred. It’s simply biological. What’s sacred is the energy that shakes us when our semen surges, a flowing offering for our beloved. That energy is sacred. It’s an epiphany in the flesh of love’s mysterious alchemy. Love is essential. The essential is a choice. Choice is creation and creative love can change the world. That’s why the improbable encounter of Sean and Simon happened. That’s how they were chosen to be who they become, together. ———- The morning song of woodland birds and the milky light of a cloudy sky found them still lazily entwined. Simon slipped out of bed to go to the loo. When he came back Sean had tossed the covers off and was stretching in all of his glory on the bed. “What time is it, Simon?” “Nearly 6:00 AM…” Opening his arms, Sean chirped, “Promise?” “Promise!” replied Simon, falling on him. A little less than an hour later, satiated, the sun was streaming in on their gleaming bodies. Kisses replaced useless words. After a wake-up shower and a hearty Scottish breakfast, Simon checked out, Sean put their luggage in the van, and away they drove. The miles slipped by. Sean was enthralled by the majesty of the Highland landscapes: lochs, mountains, rivers and heather covered horizons. Out of the blue, Sean asked, “Have you ever fucked or been fucked, Simon?” Simon didn’t blink as he drove. He replied as simply as possible, looking at the road. “Both… I’ve fucked a few girls for fun. Also my best mate and I fucked some too, he in me, me in him.” “Did you love the people with whom you’ve fucked?” “Not really. I’ve never fucked in love.” “Do you love me?” Simon stalled, then smiled. “I’m afraid so…” “Why afraid, Simon?” “The people I just told you about said they loved me, but they just wanted to possess me, make me belong to them. They were the very ones who hurt me the most. I think we hurt each other because we mistook love for belonging. I’m afraid of being possessed. I’m not afraid of love, love with open arms, whatever that is.” “I don’t belong to you Simon… I could never think of you as belonging to me neither. But I love you and need you to love me too. Do you understand?” Simon replied, his eyes, fixed on the road ahead,”I’m trying…” After was a mile or two of silence, Simon spoke up, “Yes, in fact, I do love you, Sean. I love you, like I said, with open arms.” As tears of joy brimmed in Sean’s eyes, Simon, deeply moved, exclaimed, “Good God, that felt so good saying that!” “Say it again then!” stated Sean, laughing. “I love you with open arms, Sean Cameron!” Looking straight ahead, Sean echoed, “I love you, Simon McKenzie, with open arms as well. I love you, love you, love you… love you a lot!” Simon smiled. As the miles sped along, nothing more was said. A little later on, they stopped for soup and sandwiches in a little roadside café. When they climbed back into the van, Sean asked, “When we get to your home, will you fuck me so I can feel how you’d like me to fuck you too?” Simon winked at Sean and simply said, “Yes I will, tonight.” “Promise?” “Not again! YES, I promise!” Giggling, Sean readjusted his sudden erection, leaned and kissed Simon on the cheek, then sat back, beaming, admiring the fleeting landscape. At 4:25 PM, they pulled into the clearing of Simon’s home in the woods. ———- Simon’s father, Angus, knew his son’s love of nature and light, as well as his aversion to clutter and useless possessions. When the time came for him to leave the family home in Glasgow, Angus designed and had built for him a minimalist prefab ‘shelter’. The McKenzie family owned a plot of wooded land near Balmaha, a small village on the eastern shore of Loch Lomond. That’s where Simon chose to have his cabin placed. The cabin’s facade was totally glassed in. The trees, rocks, and bushes surrounding it were an inherent part of Simon’s living space. The passing pageant of the seasons was for Simon a permanent source of joy. He never felt lonely, living alone in nature. The house hovered over the sloping ground, sitting on thin metallic pilings. It was a small, rectangular box-shaped, object made of steel and glass, totally immersed in the wooded clearing. Simon had it connected to the national electric grid, but for the rest, he was self sufficient. He pumped his water from a spring under the cabin and heated with the wood he bought from his farmer neighbours. He used organic soaps. His wastewater was naturally purified as it flowed into a nearby pond. His loo was equipped with a dry toilet. Simplicity above all things was his creed. The layout of the cabin was like the rest, simple: six hundred square feet with a central iron fireplace. The kitchen and dining area were on one side of the fire and the living area as well as the bathroom, on the other. A mobile ladder led to the mezzanine bed loft overhead. A roof window over the bed revealed the trees and open sky above. When Sean saw the cabin for the first time, he hardly believed his eyes. “This is where you live?” “Yes, it’s my home.” “It looks like something out of a science fiction comic,” commented Sean. “My father and myself say that the past belongs to the past. The future is ours to create. I’m sure you’ll love the place once you’re inside.” Sean meditated what Simon had said about the future as they entered. Indeed, Sean immediately fell under the charm of how the nature and the cabin create a same space. Simon invited him to look around, while he lit a fire to break the chill inside. They then went back up to the van to bring down the harp and luggage. Simon showed Sean how to use the bath space with its rain shower and dry toilet. They climbed the ladder to the mezzanine loft bed. Sean was awestruck by the roof window. He hugged Simon exclaiming, “We’re going to be in heaven under heaven up here. This is all so exciting and new!” It was of course out of question that Sean sleep on the sofa! The fire did its job chasing the chill. Simon rearranged a closet for Sean’s belongings. “While you unpack, I’ll check the pantry. We’ll have to go grocery shopping if we want to eat this evening. Are there things you don’t like?” “Liver, Brussel sprouts, and haggis… That’s all I think.” “Same for me, mate!” ———- Simon cooked a big pot of spaghetti smothered in an unctuous carbonara sauce. He sliced a fresh pineapple for dessert. Sean sat on the kitchen stool staring, almost drooling as Simon whipped together the meal. Sean volunteered to set the table. He asked Simon where the plates, glasses, and silverware were. Simon replied, “They are where you’d put them… and that’s true for anything else you need here.” Sean studied the situation for a second or two and discovered that Simon was absolutely right! He even found two placemats and candles to adorn the table. “Tonight we celebrate! Work is for tomorrow!” declared Simon as he popped the cork of the Chianti bottle. Sean ate like an ogre. With the wine, his purple smile beamed when Simon put the pineapple, topped with chantilly, on the table. Sean washed the dishes. As he was finishing, he candidly inquired, “Do we do like last night, Simon, shower together and then fuck in bed?” “We can start like that… You know, we must go easy on fucking for the first time. It hurts the first time and for me, it’s been a long, long time. Have you seen gay porn?” “No” “Okay. Listen, I have some nice wanking oil we’ll use to make things easier…” “I’m impatient, Simon! Aren’t you?” The tender look in Sean’s eyes moved Simon more that he had ever imagined possible. He wasn’t impatient to fuck. He was simply overflowing with an urgent need to make love to Sean and be loved by him as much and as long as possible. “Yes, I’m impatient to make love with you, Sean.” They already knew that they were both clean of any illness. Each spent the needed moment in the loo. Then under the shower, they kissed, sucked, and gently opened each other with their fingertips. Sean hummed as Simon massaged his hazelnut prostate. His precum drooled, mixed in the foam of the shower gel. Sean’s slender index penetrated Simon and delighted him also with a tender massage inside. After towelling off, they climbed the ladder to heaven. A gentle heat rose from fire beneath. Fresh scented sheets under the fading twilight welcomed them. Simon put the vial of oil by the bed and invited Sean to lay face down and spread his thighs. Then with infinite delicateness he rimmed Sean’s anal ring. A surge of lust rose in both. Simon had never plunged his face and tongue in the intimacy of a young, smooth arse. He licked, lapped, and caressed the ring as it opened like a blossoming rose. He inserted two, then three fingers. Sean sighed, whimpered, then moaned his delight, his quivering anal muscles relaxed. The youth began to slowly roll his rump, pushing back on Simon’s penetrating fingers. Simon felt Sean’s expectation. Anticipating Simon’s cock inside him he rose on his knees and elbows. Simon anointed his cock with oil and placed the dripping tip on the rim of Sean’s quivering hole. Sean pushed back. Simon met him. Sean’s free hand reached around and grasped Simon’s buttocks. He pulled. Simon’s glans popped in. Sean gasped. Simon froze. After a moment like that, Sean began to hum, writhing, absorbing Simon’s shaft. His inside muscles squeezed and then released Simon’s cock as it made it’s own easy way up into Sean. Once Sean felt him completely inside, he slowly laid back down. Simon covered him, holding him by the shoulders, burying his lips in the nape of Sean’s neck. Both bodies melded. Simon’s cock throbbed by itself, his testicles tightened. Little by little, instinct took over. Simon began to move inside Sean. He fucked ever so gently as Sean moaned, twisted, uttering, “My God, my God, Simon I love you! Fuck me deeper! More!” Simon progressively lost control. He fucked, panting, drooling in Sean’s hair. Sean writhed squealing his bliss. Then like lightning striking Simon’s semen gushed by powerful jets into Sean’s glowing flesh. He convulsed as the seemingly endless flow overflowed. He clawed Sean’s shoulder, clinging for dear life. Sean’s lips sought Simon’s. They gasped, kissing, striving to stay afloat in a tempest of bliss. Waves of ecstasy shook them in the violence of their abandon. Simon collapsed. His cock softened, slipping out of Sean. He sluggishly rolled over. Sean climbed on top of him, covering his face, his neck, his chest with kisses. Simon hugged him, caressing his back. All was still. Nothing was said, all was understood. Sean’s sudden anal orgasm still shook him a bit. Simon fondled Sean’s limp cock. As it began to swell, Sean whispered, nibbling Simon’s ear, “I’ll fuck you in a moment…” “We have all night, Sean — and even more.” ———- The glory of dawn glowed on the lovers’ moist skin. Sean had shot his semen twice into Simon. The first time he inserted his virginal cock into Simon’s prepared anus, he immediately ejaculated. Simon grabbed Sean’s buttocks and held him inside, gently rocking to keep him hard. Youth’s ardour can be amazing. Sean slowly began to fuck, slowly at first, then deeper, faster. It lasted on and on as he recharged, laughing, drooling, kissing Simon with innocent frenzy, surfing on the tidal wave of unknown sexual delight. His cock jubilated as he kissed Simon’s lips, chest, sweating pits.The way Sean was fucking him, Simon began to quake, his own cock jerked and then spewed long shots of thick creamy cum high in the air, landing both on Sean’s face and his own neck and chest. Sean’s cock strained. A massive orgasm hit him by surprise. His sweet semen streamed as he screamed, pushing, then collapsing, on the verge of passing out, his cock still imbedded, throbbing. Still entwined, exhausted, they fell deeply asleep, an angelic smile glowing on their radiant faces. ———- Sean’s life changed during that phosphorescent night. So did Simon’s. Both overwhelmed by the ineffable powers of pure love’s energy. In the dawning light, they made love again, feeding their souls, kindling their creativity, sanctifying their bonds. Their music together became sacred. The simple acts of everyday life became more meaningful. Simon presented Sean to his family. They immediately fell in love with Sean. When the cantigas they chose to sing together were perfected, Simon gave Charlie a morning call, telling him he had a surprise for him. Charlie hated surprises, so he was there immediately. Simon and Sean sang for him. He was dumbfounded. He interviewed Sean, taking note of all the necessary information to sign him on. That evening, Sean phoned Nelly to tell her what was happening and for her to expect a call from his agent for further details concerning him. Nelly shouted, “Your AGENT?” “That’s right, Aunt Nelly. Simon and I are now a duo, with an agent… and we’re even more…” After the call, Sean told Simon what they had talked about. “I told her that we make love to each other every night and sometimes in the morning and that it’s fabulous!” “You told her that? What did she say?” “Congratualtions!” “Is that all she said?” “No! When she asked if she should tell Nancy, I said to her to only tell her is that I found a good job singing down on Loch Lomond.” “What else?” “She told me kiss you for her. Come here!” ———- With time they became accomplished lovers. Their frolics were works of erotic art, versatile, robust, and always elegant. The concert in Santiago was a triumph. When they returned to Harris, they sang in St. Clement’s church, paid a visit to Maggy McLeod, and took Nelly out to eat at the Scarista House. As the seasons passed, Sean matured, never losing his ambiguous charm. Simon taught him how to shave, to groom, and to dress. Their concert tours as well as their records were successful, never changing their lifestyle. Of course they had their ups and downs like everybody but that’s of no interest… at least for them. Above all, they never vowed to be faithful, lifelong partners. They didn’t need to. They simply chose the essential. Angus, Simon’s father, told them, just after welcoming Sean into the family, “Boys, I like what you say about ‘open arms’. Young lovers too often imagine love as closed arms. Authentic love is not that. Deep down inside, in the nook of our souls, burns the fire of our inalienable self, our solitary being. Whatever be the temptation, never relinquish that flame to one or the other. You share its warmth, its vital light, but keep it burning for yourself, each one, alone, because that flame is your one and only ability to love for real. Live your love with open arms — only as long as you open your arms to love!” ———- A free picture album illustrating this story (pdf) is available upon request at

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