Chapter 8
8
PINOCCHIO
I walk into the shop and soak in the scent of freshly baked bread. I don’t often come to the neighborhood bakery before lunch, but today I’m in a good mood. How can I not be happy when I have the privilege and honor of reading to my best friend every night? Lampwick listens intently as I regale him with magical stories as well as science books about sea monsters and the oceans. Reading with him is my new favorite pastime.
“Well buongiorno !” the man at the counter says.
“Good to see you, Signore Delluomo!” I smile and hold out my basket. “Could I please have six fresh rolls?”
“Of course!”
As he packs up the bread, I place the six silver pieces on the counter. He waves them off dismissively. Huh ?
“ Signore , I’m buying—”
“It’s free!”
I beam at him. “Really?”
“Yes! Anything for Giovanna’s boyfriend.”
My smile falls. “Boyfriend?”
He carefully places the heavenly baked goodness in my basket. “You know what I mean…date to the Autumn Festival.”
My mouth feels like sand. I don’t want to give anyone the wrong impression, but the idea of being romantically entangled with Giovanna makes me nauseous. She’s only a friend, and I certainly don’t dream of growing old with her. “I, uh…”
“You’re not breaking my daughter’s heart, are you?” His face turns serious. His massive stature, both in height and width, has me frozen in fear. Before I can say a word, he guffaws, a full-bellied laugh to the ceiling.
“Do not worry, young man. She told me you’d be dancing with her!” He cackles again and I force out my best laugh as I take the basket.
“Well, um…I still insist on paying.”
“Young man, I—”
“I have to go. Ciao .” I dash out of there before he can force the silver pieces back to me. I make the seven-minute trek back to the shop, briskly striding on the cobblestone.
Why do I need to dance with anyone? I have Lampwick. I mean…work to do. With Lampwick.
I walk to the back entrance of the shop only to witness something unusual. My plans to give my little family breakfast are paused by the sight of…Papa forcibly pushing Lampwick out the door. Huh ?
“What…what’s going on?” I ask.
“I’m trying to get to work!” Lampwick says. Papa is pushing him, and my friend is reluctantly scooting forward.
“Not like this you’re not,” Papa says in a chastising tone. “Piccolo, tell your friend here that he smells bad!”
“What?” I ask as I step to the side. Lampwick is pushed through the doors and now we’re all in the backyard.
“Your friend here needs to bathe. Get him some fresh clothes, either yours or some of my older garments, per favore .” Dad wags his finger, and I know he’s serious.
“But I don’t need new clothes!” Lampwick turns to me. “Tell your father that I smell fine.”
I cringe and look up and down at my friend’s shabby outfit. “I would say that, but my nose might grow,” I reply.
We all laugh and Lampwick rolls his eyes. “It’s not a big deal.”
“Tell that to our noses. Come on. Let’s get you a bath and some of Papa’s clean clothes,” I say, gently guiding him back to the house.
“Good. And don’t come back until you smell like roses!” Papa shuts the door, and I bite back a laugh.
“But—”
“You can’t assist us if you smell like il porco .” I lead him to the back area of our property. The wooden outhouse has a small bathing area with pumped water. Now that I think about it, Lampwick hasn’t taken a bath since who knows when. “You can’t work until you take a bath and I dress you in something that doesn’t smell.”
“But, Sticks, I can’t take your—”
“Go bathe.” I all but shove him into the outhouse and shut the wooden door. “There’s soap in there, and I’ll get you a towel.” When I saunter away, I yell, “And I better hear you pumping the water!”
Fifteen minutes later, I’m carrying a folded pair of Papa’s trousers and one of my larger shirts. On top is a green towel and clean undergarments. My friend should be done.
“Lampwick, I’m sure you can fit in this. Hopefully you’re not too BIG —” My last word wavers, coming out as a yelp when I’m rendered frozen.
The door to the outhouse is open. And Lampwick is lathering himself a few feet in front of me. He’s wet and naked, and I can see every part of him.
And I can’t blink. The logical side of my brain that insists on giving him privacy is gone, and my eyes take their fill. I gaze at every inch of him. His skin is a world of creamy, smooth porcelain with the occasional trails of freckles. His musculature is toned, like an ancient statue. I follow the sharp ridges of his back muscles down to the curvature of his hips and butt. Water and soapsuds cascade down, making his body shine in the morning light.
Then he turns around, and if I could barely breathe before, my lungs stop working altogether at the next sight.
My best friend’s cock is on full display. Water drips down his penis and massive balls, nestled in red hair. I’ve never seen one other than my own, and I’ve never had the desire to. But Lampwick has me hypnotized by this, his most private area. Why is my heart pounding so fast?
His hands scrubs around his groin, up to his head, and then under his arms. The tufts of hair under his arms show me just how virile and developed he is. He’s not a little kid anymore, he’s all man.
And judging by the stiffening in my trousers, I remember that I am too.
After an eternity, I catch his green eyes. He’s staring at me neutrally, not shocked, angry, or ashamed. His level gaze does nothing to quell my primal arousal. It’s like Lampwick is…challenging me.
“Sticks?” he asks while scrubbing his chest.
“GOTYOUCLOTHES!” I yelp, dropping the pile of fabric on the bench outside the outhouse. Then, I dash away, a difficult feat with an erection bobbing up and down in my briefs. I get into the house and run to my room, Arpeggio scuttling out of my way.
I sit down on my bed and hyperventilate. It’s wrong to spy on your friend while he bathes. Sure, it was an accident, but I froze and I couldn’t draw my eyes away. I have no idea why, and I don’t know why I’m rock-hard in my pants right now.
Being sexually aroused is something I’ve always ignored. Papa said it would happen eventually, but all the books I’ve read said boys can only like girls. Then why am I feeling this way about Lampwick?
And worst of all, why did it seem like he wanted me to watch?
With Lampwick squeaky clean, he’s back to his morning shifts at Geppetto & Son. We don’t talk about the naked incident, and Lampwick acts like it didn’t happen. I’m perfectly content with ignoring it and foregoing any awkwardness. If it didn’t affect my friend, I can act like it didn’t affect me.
It’s not a lie if I omit to tell him or Papa that every time I close my eyes, I see Lampwick’s body—his wet, naked, muscular body, whose mere memory has my blood pumping to all sorts of inconvenient places.