Chapter One #2
I shake my head, trying to dislodge the snapshot of memories that I’ve cataloged over the years of him with other women, including my wife, Sophie.
“Do you remember the beginning of this attraction?”
My mind drifts back to the frigid January day when Carlo found me tucked up in my bed masturbating in our shared room in boarding school.
During the final two years of boarding school, the older boys were always relocated into two-bedroom apartments.
They were much nicer than the dorms we’d previously lived in.
Carlo and I shared a bedroom, and our friends, Rupert and Travis, had the other room in our apartment. We all shared a bathroom.
Unlike Carlo, I was still a virgin. My friend’s ‘don’t give a shit’ attitude gave him the confidence to find sexual opportunities where I’d never have seen them.
Which makes him sound promiscuous; he’d only had sex twice before I lost my virginity, once with the cleaner at school, and the second time with my parent’s maid.
He lost his virginity two days before his seventeenth birthday in November. I was so envious of Carlo’s ability to charm our hot cleaner out of her panties.
At the start of the following term, in January, Travis smuggled a couple of girlie mags into school that he’d stolen from his dad.
You’ve never seen a more well-thumbed mag. Fuck me, some women on those pages were the stuff of my dreams.
When he gave it to me, he warned me that if I got caught by the schoolmasters, it didn’t come from him.
We had various hiding places, but for this I used the space below a loose floorboard under my bed.
My plan was foolproof. What I didn’t cater for was what happened when my best mate caught me with it.
I waited until he was playing squash with Rupert, but for some unknown reason, the boys came back early.
The rules forbade door locks, and Carlo walked in right at the penultimate moment; I was too close. Nothing could have made me stop. Not even when Carlo dragged the sheet off me, revealing my nudity. He saw my ejaculation burst from my body.
Afterward, followed several seconds of silence.
“Fuck,” he groaned.
“Don’t take the piss, Carlo I don’t want to talk about it,” I said, trying to get off my bed, intending to clean myself up.
He blocked me. A vision stood before me in tight-fitting cycling shorts, his erection impossible to ignore.
“That was hot!” his gruff voice exclaimed, his words distorted with lust.
My eyes trailed up his abs, still moist with sweat from his exercise. Even though I’d just ejaculated, the sight of him aroused gave me a fluttering sensation in my chest.
My shoulders clenched as a blanket of heat simmered over my exposed skin.
“Rupert’s in the shower.”
Carlo dropped his dirty shirt onto the bed.
“Use this. It needs a wash anyway.”
I busied myself wiping the mess off my chest, while Carlo thumbed through my magazine. Glancing at each page.
“You’re a breast man?” he asked, jerking his chin up.
I shrugged but didn’t meet his gaze. His questions brought on my timidity. Though Carlo and I had grown accustomed to physical contact during boxing, or a comforting embrace, it felt odd discussing my sexual inclinations with him. Especially after my reaction to his hardness.
“Will you let me watch you next time?”
His voice was so soft it was almost inaudible, yet its timbre sent my blood surging south.
In my position, sitting naked on the bed, concealing my body’s response to him was impossible. I saw his gaze flick between my legs, which only made me harder.
He understood me well enough not to challenge me on it. Instead, he turned the page.
“She looks slutty,” he said.
His words were disparaging, but his voice brimmed with wonder.
My attention flicked down to the page to see a young woman, her legs spread wide. With her vagina cracked open, she seemed to beg for action.
Carlo’s hand rubbed his hardening dick firmly through his shorts, and my disobedient eyes locked on the movement.
Still towering above, he stared at me, his eyes black pools of desire. He hooked his thumb in the waistband of his shorts, and my pulse sharpened.
I’d seen Carlo’s body dozens of times but never in this state of arousal.
“Do you mind?” he asked, flicking his chin down to ensure there was no confusion about his request.
I shook my head, unable to speak for the lump that had formed in my throat.
How could I tell him I’d thought about this before?
I moved my shoulders back to drag myself out of my stupor and asked him if he would prefer some privacy.
His response was to push his shorts down, exposing his enormous, rigid dick.
My mouth instantly went dry. With his crotch at my eye-level, I couldn’t help staring; his crown, it was a darker pink than mine, and he already had a bead of moisture oozing from the end.
“Absolutely not,” he groaned, as he surrounded his hardness with his hand. “I want you to show me how you enjoy being jerked off.”
I stop talking; my mind is flooded with the memories of that day, and the sense of not just acceptance but comradeship that Carlo gave me.
Dr. Klein pauses again, this courtesy of giving me a few minutes already starting to feel familiar; comfortable.
We sat in silence, listening to the steady tick of the clock. Only this time, the noise didn’t make me tense because I wanted this experience to be over. The noise relaxed me. Discussing this. Sharing it was helping to reorder things in my mind.
Dr. Klein leans forward slightly, her eyes soft but focused on mine. “You’ve carried that memory with you for a long time.” Her voice is low and steady. “When you think back to that moment, what’s the strongest feeling that surfaces for you now?”
I swallow hard, staring down at the carpet. “A mix of shame . . . and longing.” My voice cracks just a little. “Like I wanted it so badly, but I hated myself for letting it happen.”
Dr. Klein nods slowly, not breaking eye contact when I finally glance back up.
“It sounds like there was a war inside you—desire battling fear and guilt.”
She tilts her head, her tone softening even more.
“Do you think you’ve ever truly forgiven yourself for what you felt that night?”
My jaw tightens as I rock my head from side to side.
“No. I don’t think I have for my own desires.”
Dr. Klein lets out a breath. The smallest, encouraging smile tugs at her lips.
“Then maybe that’s where we start.” Her voice is warm, coaxing. “Not with the act itself but with showing compassion to the younger you—the boy who just wanted to understand what he needed.”
I stare at her, unsure of what she means.
“I’d like to continue just like that, Mr. Barton-Jones.
Just talk to me; tell me the stories you believe have defined your life.
I’ll be here to prompt you, if necessary but I’d rather you go at your own pace and explain what’s happened and why you think you’ve got to the place you have,” she clarifies.
I roll my head against the headrest, but don’t have a clue where to begin.
She gives me a kind, knowing smile.
“Can you bring to mind a time you experienced joy as a child?” Dr. Klein asks.
The way she phrased her question showed it was a proposal instead of something I had to reply to.
That’s an easy one. My lips quirk up into a smile.
“Every year during the hot summer months, Carlo and I went to stay in Naples with Carlo’s paternal grandmother.
We looked forward to it; his grandmother’s place was the only home we knew.
His grandma, or Nonna, as we called her, was in her nineties but still ran the family’s lemon grove practically single-handed. ”
“She sounds like a formidable woman.”
My lips curl into a beaming smile with pride for the woman I adored.
“She was, and she loved young people. I think our arrival each July became her favorite time of the year too. Her presence in our lives helped to make up for our persistent sense of abandonment.”
My huge body sank further into the cushioned chair as I let my mind wander to those lengthy, warm summers. I can almost feel the heat of the sun baking our skin.
“I still remember the smell,” I say, almost without meaning to.
“The air was thick with citrus—sharp and sweet, like sun-warmed lemon peel crushed between your fingers.”
It got into your clothes, your hair, your skin. Some days, I swore I could still smell it hours after we’d left and returned to school.
Even now, sometimes when I’m slicing a lemon, it sneaks up on me—that place, the emotions it evoked. The one-time life didn’t seem so heavy.