The Great War had ended six years ago. For some of us, though, it was still a part of our daily lives.
I had enlisted when I was seventeen. Six months later I was in hospital with pieces of shrapnel embedded in both of my legs. I recovered fairly quickly and returned to the fighting. As luck would have it, only a week before the Armistice was declared I was back in hospital, this time with two bullet wounds in my upper right chest.
The wounds were fairly clean and the bullets had gone completely through, nevertheless it took over six months for me to be released. Miraculously I didn't succumb to infection and my healing was fairly successful.
While I was in France fighting for my country, both of my parents died as victims of the influenza pandemic that was raging that year. I was unable to even attend the funerals.
My sister, who was older than I, had made a successful marriage and was well provided for so she insisted that all of my parents' estate come to me. As soon as I was well enough to travel I returned to Baltimore.
I discovered that there was nothing for me, there. My close male friends had all died in the war and I had never had a lasting relationship with a woman. Only a few months after my eighteen birthday I was independently wealthy and rootless. I returned to Europe.
In the years since the War I had wandered aimlessly, never spending much time in any town or country. I knew that I was wasting away, both physically and spiritually.
I found myself in Rome and had already spent two months just wandering the city. There was a dealer in antiques and books that I visited several times, purchasing a few small items but more intrigued by an object which he refused to sell. In the private area behind his counter he had several objects on the wall. One of these was a mask of Pan which I coveted. It was carved wood and covered the top of the head like a helmet, with eye holes in the front and a curved bridge that rested on the nose. Curled goat horns were carved on each side. He and I had discussed the mask and he told me that it wasn't old but was very dear to him, for which reason he couldn't part with it.
On this particular day I had unearthed a portfolio of prints and engravings representing various Classical paintings, sculptures and mosaics. There were several pages in the portfolio that were of a particularly erotic nature, most of them dealing with sexual congress between males.
I was looking at the prints when I became aware of the shop owner standing at my elbow.
"I can give you a very good price on those." he said. "They have been here a long time and are not as popular as I expected."
I was a bit embarrassed to be caught out looking at erotic pictures but I did want the portfolio. He and I agreed on a price and as he wrapped the package he said, "You are an American?"
"Yes," I replied, "I've more or less been in Europe since the War ended. I can't seem to stop wandering from city to city."
"Perhaps you need some time in the countryside." he responded. "There are many interesting small villages where one can rest and recuperate. They also often have undiscovered advantages. There is such a village that I often spend my holidays in. It is very small and quiet and it has some most spectacular ancient ruins that are hardly known."
"Roman ruins?" I asked, skeptical that anything of that much interest could be undiscovered by tourists.
"No, these are much older than the Romans. These are prehistoric ruins, though I am uncertain even in calling them ruins. They are the remains of a religious compound I believe, somewhere that was sacred before my ancestors even arrived in this country. I think you would find them of great interest. Also, the mask of Pan that you are so interested in was made in that area. Perhaps you will find one like it."
I agreed that I would like to spend some time in the country, the Rome summer was torturously hot and the city had already had several outbreaks of summer fevers.
The shop owner picked up a pencil and on the brown paper of my parcel he delineated a series of clear instructions on how to arrive at the village he'd mentioned, trains to take, where to change trains, where to disembark and how to walk to the village from the train station. I decided that I would take advantage of his recommendation and early the next morning I began my journey.
After a day of traveling I found myself at the station where I was to stop. There was nothing more than a covered platform, not even a ticket seller in the office, so I shouldered my pack and began my walk. I still retained the pack I had carried through the War as my only luggage.
The dealer had told me that the village was a distance of about seven miles from the train and after walking for several hours I found myself entering the settlement just as dusk was falling.
There was a small café with a few outdoor tables on the main street where the proprietor was closing his business for the night.
My Italian was rudimentary but serviceable so I approached him and asked, "Pardon me, sir. Is there an inn or a rooming house where a traveler may spend the night?"
He looked at me with no expression for a moment, and then beckoned me to follow. He led me several doors up the street until we arrived at one of the last buildings in the village. He knocked and the door was shortly opened by a handsome middle aged man.
While the two of them conversed I looked him over. He was of the typical swarthy complexion of those parts with abundant black curly hair. I could see from the thick musculature of his arms and chest that he was used to physical labor. He had on a fine linen shirt that clung to his chest and which had several buttons unfastened, exposing his curly chest hair.
I could decipher enough of the conversation to know that he had been told that I was American and that I needed lodgings for the night.
He thanked the inn owner and then turned to me.
"Come in." he said.
I entered and he closed the door behind me.
"I suppose that you haven't eaten." he said in lightly accented English.
"No, but please don't trouble yourself. I can get something in the morning."
"When did you last eat?" he asked. He had a very unsettling way of looking at one; his intense eyes seemed almost to bore into you.
"It was early this morning." I replied. "But I'm used to skipping meals."
"Nonsense, you look like a ghost." he replied. "I can make you something. It won't be fancy; I was not expecting a guest. Would an omelet suffice?"
"An omelet would be wonderful." I said.
He ushered me down the hall and seated me at his kitchen table while he made his preparations. I observed him from behind, admiring his virile physique and fleshy buttocks.
When the eggs were cooked he served me with home made bread and a light wine. I found myself ravenous and ate everything on offer.
I cleaned my plate, ate all of the bread and downed two glasses of wine while he sat and watched me. When my hunger was finally appeased he asked, "Was the meal satisfying?"
"I believe that was the best meal I've eaten in years." I said. "Restaurants in the capital could do no better."
He smiled at the praise and sipped from his drink while I looked around me. The kitchen was large and spotlessly clean with large copper pans hanging on the wall. Wide windows were flung open to the night and I could see a forest at the edge of his cleared yard. I became aware of an odor, slowly growing stronger, that permeated the room.
It was the scent of some flower, somewhat like the smell of violets but earthier. There was a strong under note to the aroma that at first I couldn't place, I only knew that it was somehow vaguely stimulating.
"What do I smell?" I asked. "Do you have a garden?"
"It is the scent of a wild flower that grows only in this part of Italy. They bloom at night." he said. "Do you find it disagreeable?"
"Rather the opposite." I replied. "I wish that I could have cologne that smelt so good."
I suddenly realized what the underlying scent reminded me of. Many times in my life, during the War and during my travels, I have spent sometimes days without the luxury of bathing. The subtle scent in the flower's aroma was almost identical to the smell of an unwashed masculine body, the heady aroma that comes from the cock and balls when they are allowed to ripen. Realizing this caused my cock to unexplainably stiffen a bit.
My host refilled my wine glass and asked, "Why have you come here?"
"On a whim, actually." I said. "I met an antique dealer in Rome who told me that there are unusual sacred ruins close to this village that he thought would interest me. I was tired of Rome and wished to be somewhere less urban, so here I am."
"I know who you speak of." he said. "He has often stayed here. Did he tell you anything about the sacred ruins?"
"I'm sorry, we barely conversed. I neglected to even ask his name. I suppose I had been looking for a reason to move on." I sat musing for a moment and then I asked, "The ruins, are they as unique as I've been told?"
"I will allow you to be the judge." he said. "The local men do not like strangers intruding there uninvited. I will arrange for one of the locals to guide you in the morning. Now, come, I will show you your room."
He rose and bade me follow him down a short hall. At the end, he flung open a door and lit a lamp. From where I stood in the doorway I could see the entire space, a whitewashed room with heavy old rustic furniture. The bed was high and soft with snowy white sheets and white curtains also covered the broad windows along one wall. My host crossed the room and, drawing back the curtains, flung the windows wide. The scent of the wildflowers filled the room.
"What a lovely room!" I exclaimed.
The host smiled broadly and said, "The bathroom is through here."
He stepped into the hall and opened another door across from my room.
"I will leave you now to get some rest." he said, then stood looking at me. I peered back, unsure of what he was waiting for.
