Chapter 7 – Chapter 7

Brett dropped Angelo off in the Positano harbor late the next morning, and Angelo hobbled home rather than to his boat, almost not being able to mount the steep-sloped cobblestoned street to his building because of the glorious soreness in his channel and the aching of the leg muscles he'd used to keep his legs spread during the previous day and night, muscles he didn't normal use in his fishing.

Before he went up into the town, however, he checked Guido's fishing boat. It was still in the harbor, and Guido wasn't in it.

Angelo slept most of the day, only managing to get up in time to make his set at the café. Neither the Greek nor the American nor Guido showed up at the café. Only the flirty Luciano fluttered around, teasing a couple of middle-aged male tourist existed at the café to remind the lifestyle that Angelo had fallen into. He surprised himself by thinking of the Greek and his cock—and the sounding—more than he did about the American. So, it wasn't the beauty of a well-toned, young body that was attracting him. It was the mystery of the sounding and, above all, the mastery of a cock wielded by an experienced lover.

The next day, Angelo took his fishing boat out. He had to. He had to put food on his table. He went north rather than south, willing himself to do necessary work.

When Brett had left him off in the harbor, he said that he would come for Angelo when the Greek wanted him. Angelo assumed that would be the next day, but it wasn't. And it wasn't the next day either. On the afternoon of the second day, on which Angelo took the fishing boat south, to the fishing ground off Kokinos's villa to spend more of the day with his binoculars than with his net, but not seeing any activity at the villa, Angelo checked out Guido's boat again. It still hadn't left the harbor.

And this time Guido's boat at a "For Sale" sign on it.

"What do you know about Guido?" Angelo stopped at the fish market by the pier where Guido's boat was lashed up. "His boat as a 'For Sale' sign on it."

"I don't know. I haven't seen Guido in days. But I've heard that he already has left Positano."

"Left Positano?" Angelo was bewildered.

"Some say he has gone to Cyprus."

"To Cyprus? What's in Cyprus?"

"Well, his lawyer—who is trying to sell the boat—says that Guido is going to be in movies."

"In movies? Movies film in Cyprus?"

"One supposes, but I don't know. I just know that Guido's family has had that boat for generations, and I think he must be crazy to be selling it and leaving our little slice of heaven."

Angelo gave the man a dull look. Could he be serious, or was he poking fun? Not want to leave Positano? It had been Angelo's dream for years to leave Positano—and even to be in movies. And now Guido was already doing it? Before him or rather than him?

Even though it was late in the afternoon and it would be dark before he returned, Angelo climbed the hill to his home, took his motor bike out of the shed in the garden at the back, and drove the coastal road south.

No one answered at the gates of the Kokinos villa and, although Angelo found a place that he could scale the wall and get into the compound, there was no sign that anyone was there.

Forlorn, Angelo putted back to Positano and, over the next three weeks, did what he could to return his life to normal. Of course he no longer could return to what he had known as normal before he found man-to-man sex. Guido's lawyer had been making oblique suggestions to him for a couple of years. He was in his late forties and not bad looking, and he kept himself in trim condition. He had, in fact, been a bone of contention between Angelo and Guido. Guido had been willing to lay under the man, but the lawyer had made clear that he preferred Angelo. And yet Angelo had pretended that there was nothing on offer that he was interested in.

Angelo now surprised the man, though. He came to his door on a Saturday afternoon when Angelo knew that the lawyer's wife and their housekeeper were in Salerno buying goods they couldn't find in Positano. Angelo had taken him by the hand and led him to the man's bed and let the lawyer fuck him. Over the weeks, the lawyer had regularly been appearing at the café in the evening and had gone to Angelo's rooms and fucked him and then gone home to his wife. It was something, but not really enough for Angelo. The man did not have the imagination nor the demanding nature of either the American, Brett, or the Greek, Doran Kokinos.

But it was something, better than nothing. And the lawyer was totally smitten with his good luck.