He sits cross-legged on the mats and spreads both hands as though narrating a tale by the fire. “Hephaestus was the Greek god of blacksmiths and metalworkers. He was born lame, and was cast from Mount Olympus in disgust by his very own mother, which is probably where his first stirrings of misogyny began…”
While I work, Giovanni tells me the story of a brutish blacksmithing god who was very grumpy but also very useful. He forged Achilles’s armor and Hermes’s winged helmet and sandals, as well as Eros’s bow and arrows, which, as I know from previous stories, have the power to strike love or repulsion into the heart of the receiver. Surely, I have been struck by Eros’s arrow of love for this beautiful and peculiar boy.
“And so, Hephaestus was given the most enchanting of brides to marry, Aphrodite, goddess of love and passion. It was probably a poor match from the start, as Hephaestus spent so much of his time in the forge while Aphrodite frolicked among the oversexed nymphs of the forest. In any case, it wasn’t long before Aphrodite began having an affair with Ares, the god of war.”
I smile to myself while Giovanni spins his tale. The boy is always in his head, contemplating the grudges and passions of gods. He speaks of them as though they are real people that he interacts with day to day, his preferred version of friendship, I suppose.
“To confirm his suspicions, Hephaestus wove a golden net to trap the lovers and when he did, he brought them, still naked and entangled in each other’s arms, directly to the gods for judgment. Hephaestus expected retribution for their obvious adultery, but what he got instead was mockery.”
Giovanni pauses there.
“This is the end?” I ask, glancing up from my work to find him watching me. He nods, so I ask, “What became of Hephaestus and Aphrodite?”
“They were divorced,” he says shortly, “or the god equivalent.”
“Probably for the best,” I say.
His brow wrinkles, and he tilts his head like a dove, still staring at me intently. I have the sense that there was some deeper meaning to this story, so I say, “Pretty baby, I am a simple man. Your Sir’s passions are food, sex, sailing, and taking care of my beautiful baby boy. When I hear this story, my first thought is how horny the gods were, always fucking one another, fucking animals, fucking their sisters and their brothers, mothers, cousins… and also how gorgeous you’d look in a net made of gold, and then I wonder where I can purchase such a rope and what material it might be made of. So, if there is a lesson to your story, you will have to explain it to me. Go slowly.” I drop down to the floor and mimic his posture, the perfect pupil.
“Sir,” he says with a troubled look. “I don’t want to make a mockery of our love.”
“How would you do that, sweetheart?”
“This sadist friend of yours. If he whips me and I like it, I don’t want you to feel threatened or as though you’ve been made a fool. I don’t want to be like Aphrodite caught in Hephaestus’s golden net.”
He is a tender-hearted boy, always thinking of my feelings.
“You think I am a very jealous man?” I ask.
He lowers his lashes and gives me a demur little pout. “I think you are a verypassionateman.”
“I am Italian, yes.”
He smiles. “I wouldn’t want you to think less of me or believe I wanted anyone else.”
“But what if the sadist is very handsome?” I ask.
He shakes his head, says with certainty, “There is no man more handsome than you.”
“What if he has a nicely shaped cock?”
He shoves me lightly in the chest. “I wouldn’t know because I won’t be seeing it. He can keep his nicely shaped cock in his pants where it belongs.”
I nod in understanding. “This isn’t going to be sexual, princess. At least, there will be no sex between you and the sadist. Strictly business.”
“He won’t touch me,” Giovanni says.
“Only with his implement if that is what you wish. And all of it will be negotiated ahead of time. Boundaries, limits, green, yellow, red.”
“I only want you to touch me. You and—” He interrupts himself before he can finish, eyes flashing guiltily.
“Only me,” I confirm.
We go back to working, Giovanni hums some foreign tune, and I wonder, how do I tell him that the man I most envy, is the one man I will never best?
6
Our trip to Napoli will be partly for work, partly for pleasure. Giovanni is happy to accompany me on my sailboat as my handsome first mate, and on our journey to the mainland, we stop by the smaller island of Procida where I take him to a secluded beach that is only accessible by boat. There we lie on the soft sand trading saltwater kisses and sloppy blowjobs until we are both wrung out from pleasure and the afternoon heat.
