Friday, June 19, 2009

Milan, Italy


It was the second day of the stakeout, but I was still so excited about my first job that I hadn´t gotten bored yet. Besides, there were only two hours I had to wait each day in the café across the street from the target´s gym to see if he´d show up, and as steroid-addicted as he was the chances that he´d be there today after yesterday´s no show were better than good. I had to give Mauro high marks for the choice he´d come up with for the start of my new career. He´d returned to the cottage two days later when I already thought I couldn´t take another second of green hills, fireplaces and never-ending pitter-patter of rain. We´d gone up to my room where he threw a couple of glossy, large photos on my bed, looking rather pleased with himself. The photos had been taken through a window with a telephoto lens, and showed a handsome dark-haired man in his mid-thirties wearing gym gear that showed off a carefully sculpted and tanned body. I was intrigued, needless to say.

Tell me.”

“Carlo Brambilla, the chairman of the European Union Science and Technology Commission,” Mauro started. “He´s on our list of the ten most important Europeans. Only two of the actual EU Prime Ministers are on the same list and neither one ranks higher than Carlo. The man himself doesn´t know how important his job is.” There was a pause. “A way to influence his decisions would be useful.”

You mean something like pillow talk...?”

I´m afraid I´m talking about something more blunt.”

A staff member knocked on the door, and brought us a tray crammed with tea and sandwiches. Once he was gone, Mauro turned back to me.

I need to know something first. Do you believe that our superiors are acting in good faith?”

I didn´t have to think about it. “Yes, I do. And I´ve been working for them for a long time.”

“Even if they did something that doesn´t seem right?”

“At first sight, you mean?” I said, thinking it out. “I suppose they take a longer view to things than us.”

This is really important,” Mauro continued, driving the point home. “If you´re not totally convinced, this job is not for you, and if you choose not to go forward obviously you´ll keep all your benefits and in time we´ll try to figure out something else for you to do.”

I didn´t hesitate. “Tell me more about the job.”

Carlo Brambilla´s black BMW entered the gym parking lot after I´d been waiting for him less than half an hour. When he got out of the car I saw him in person for the first time, and was once again surprised by the high quality of his plastic surgery. Apparent age at most 35, real age just shy of fifty, without any signs of pinched or permanently surprised looks. The same meticulous care had been applied to his body as well, and he made quite a figure walking across the parking lot to the glass doors of the gym. From a Milanese high bourgeoisie family, he was discreetly out of the closet and his sexual orientation had never been a problem during his rise in the ranks of the EU bureaucracy. I set down my Corriere della Sera and headed for the café door with my gym bag.

Outside, the late July sun was unpleasantly hot, and I hurried across the black asphalt towards the refuge of the air-conditioned gym. The access control machine read my brand new membership card and welcomed me with an approving beep, and I sauntered casually towards the locker room trying to ignore the stares. Italians weren´t afraid to gape at you just as long as they wished, and once again I was bewildered by the efficiency of all the slight enhancements that Engineer had devised for my looks. Nowhere else was this as evident as at the locker room where patently heterosexual Italian males fumbled with their shorts and shampoos as if the latest Miss Sweden had inadvertently strayed in from the showers. Some days it made me want to laugh, other days it was aggravating, but most of the time I couldn´t deny that it was a turn-on to cast men who considered themselves totally straight into agitated self-doubt.

I casually picked a locker that wasn´t too far from Carlo. His eyes had widened for a split second when he´d noticed me for the first time, and then he´d quickly turned his back. Perhaps this wasn´t going to be as easy as I´d thought. After careful consideration, I´d decided to wear something that was ticklishly retro yet sexy at the same time, which in this case meant 1970s. Very short but somewhat baggy blue nylon runner shorts with the characteristic splits in the sides, with a white jockstrap underneath, and a tight brand new tank top that ingeniously managed to show off every single muscle while underlining the V-shaped torso of a seemingly professional gymnast. The sight of the jockstrap dropped a couple of jaws in the locker room because it definitely didn´t belong to the traditional Italian wardrobe, but Carlo annoyingly insisted on remaining with his back turned. Not that it was an ugly back; perfectly proportioned and thickly muscled, tapering to narrow hips and perfectly curved buttocks. The man was a total package. I was glad Alex didn´t know about him.

The gym had previously been a three-story car dealership, and at the center of the building a spiraling ramp ran all the way up to the roof. The ramp now lined a disorienting array of cardiovascular equipment, and offered a view to all the various weight and exercise rooms. I fooled around with a treadmill until I saw Carlo leave the locker room and head up to the top of the building, which had been divided in two between a sun deck and an outdoor weights room with a canvas roof to protect the machines and clients from the elements. I waited a few minutes and followed him.

The weather was slightly too warm to be comfortable even with the light rooftop breeze, and there was no one but us in the weights area. The tricks from Engineer´s devious playbook inevitably started working their hooks into Carlo, and he was soon having hard time trying not to stare at me. I played it cool, pretending I was engrossed by the workout and oblivious to my surroundings. Nothing could have been further from the truth, and as soon as he started with the pec deck it was time for my bench press exercise. The pec deck sat facing the bench, and I felt Carlo´s eyes on me while I loaded the barbell with half the weights I could comfortably lift.

Lying on my back, I jack-knifed my legs to position my heels on the edge of the bench. Inevitably, gravity pulled at the legs of my ´70s shorts and exposed a slice of my speedo tan line and the fact that I was wearing a white jockstrap. I didn´t look at him, focused as I was on finding the right grip on the barbell – it took me quite some time – but I knew there was no way in hell he could ignore the sight. I started the exercise, and after eight reps, each slower and more laborious than the previous one, allowed the bar to settle down on my pecs.

Uh...” I grunted. “Help, please...”

Carlo didn´t move. Now that was such bad conduct at a gym that I just couldn´t believe it. I had to repeat my plea, sounding more choked this time, before he stepped down from the pec deck and moved to help me. The reason for the delay was immediately obvious: he was sporting a massive boner in his soft cotton shorts. I had to hand it to him, he carried the potential embarrassment off with perfect poise, pretending that nothing unusual was going on as he planted his legs astride my head and helped me to lift the barbell. This time it was I who couldn´t stop staring. Mauro hadn´t mentioned that the man was hung like a horse. My own cock was quickly reacting to the sight and realizing what was happening Carlo was in no apparent hurry to move away from the bench. After a few seconds I stood up and flashed a smile up to him.

Thanks-” I didn´t have time to finish the sentence before I saw movement at the edge of my vision. One of the instructors was climbing up the ramp.

Carlo gave me a quick nod and walked to the back of the room while I quickly sat down on the bench. My legs were feeling a little wobbly, as often happened after a particularly quick and strong hormonal stab. The pesky instructor remained upstairs for the rest of our workouts, and once I´d finished with my abs I walked by Carlo on my way back to the locker room.

What´s your name,” I asked.

Gianni. And yours?”

Jens. See you downstairs?”

He nodded, and I escaped before he could see my amusement. Gianni and Jens indeed. A seasoned plutocrat, the man was used to planning ahead.

I took my time in the locker room, and was only halfway through stripping off my gear when he appeared. I got rid of my shorts and the jockstrap and grabbed a towel and soap before heading for the showers. Carlo took his place in the stall in front of mine half a minute later. We stood under the warm jets, checking each other out as there was no one else in our direct line of sight. I struggled to keep myself from getting a total erection, lost the fight at a certain point, and had to stand with my back turned for a while.

When I could turn around again, he asked, “Where are you from?”

Sweden,” I answered truthfully. That was pretty much the only truth he was going to hear from me. “My parents moved here in December, but last month my dad, he´s an engineer, was sent to China for six months to oversee one of their hydroelectric plant construction sites. Mom went with him, but I absolutely refused to move there. The whole region doesn´t have a single English-speaking school.”

With some effort, Carlo managed to look appropriately worried. “Who´s looking after you? I mean, how old are you?”

The age of consent in Italy was sixteen. “I´m fifteen. A housekeeper comes in around noon to clean the house and prepare meals.”

He looked suspicious. “So practically you´re living on your own?”

Scandinavian kids are independent,” I said with a shrug.

Back in the locker room, I made sure I was ready to leave before him and merely nodded a salute on my way out. Once out in the street, my hurry vanished and I wandered lazily towards the nearby subway station. As expected, the black BMW came to a halt next to me well before I reached the station.

Where do you live?” he asked. “Can I give you a ride?”

I got into the car. “I live in that high rise in Porta Romana,” I said pointing at a skyscraper already in sight far in the distance.

Nice,” was his comment.

Do you want to come in for a drink or something?” I asked without wasting time.

He seemed a little taken aback by my outspokenness and said nothing for a moment, probably calculating the probabilities of getting away with bedding a jailbait. Then he glanced at me, quite serious this time.

You´re fifteen,” he said, shaking his head.

I thought I looked old enough in the showers,” I joked.

Hell yes... I don´t know how I managed not to rape you right there on the shower floor,” he admitted and then thought he´d gone too far. “I was just joking.”

“Too bad,” I quipped, and he laughed.

“You´re a bad boy,” he said, playing stern. “Some discipline might do you good.”

There was a rather small fly sitting on the edge of the dashboard. I stared at it for a moment, and it took to flight and disappeared somewhere.

You may be right,” I said.

The apartment was in one of the top floors, facing north, and the view over the city and the Alps was spectacular. I opened a bottle of white wine and we took our glasses to the balcony, but it was just too hot there and we soon returned to the living room. He set his glass down on the coffee table, drew me into his arms, and kissed me. We were both hard already, and as he pressed me against his muscular body one of his hands slid down along my back and cupped my left asscheek, while the other slipped into my hair and grabbed a fistful of blond curls. I managed to clear my head enough to quickly think ´Is the drone here with us´ and a few seconds later there was an almost inaudible buzz and the small fly settled on the coffee table for a moment before flying away again. It recorded video that was indistinguishable from a mid-range handheld video recorder of a well-known brand.

Fifteen minutes later I was wearing nothing but my tight white briefs. He was one of those people whose main interest is the ass, and he couldn´t get his hands off mine as I lay sideways on top of his legs, on my belly, on the black leather couch. The hottest ass he´d ever seen, he´d repeated several times while playing with my glutes. When he pulled my briefs down and started skillfully spanking my ass, a muted “You Could Be Mine” by Guns n Roses started playing. My cell phone.

Fuck,” I muttered. “I have to take that. Probably my parents.”

With a groan he released me, and I went to look for my phone in the heap of clothes next to the couch. Once I´d found it, I glanced at the display.

Hi Dad,” I answered before Mauro could say anything.

There was a moment of silence. “I just wanted to let you know that we have all the material we need. You can bail out any time you want.”

Everything´s fine,” I said. “Listen, I´m in the middle of a pizza... Tell Mom I said hi.”

Mauro rang off, and I turned to Carlo with a sheepish grin. “Parents...”

His jailbait talking to Dad on the phone during sex had only turned him on more, if possible. “I want to see your room,” he said, stroking his huge hard-on.

Of course, I nodded.

The room had a couple of video game posters on the walls, a Star Wars fighter model hanging from the ceiling and an assortment of superhero action figures on shelves. The footage of him fucking me amongst the teenage paraphernalia would be excellent.

Pity that no one else but him would ever see it. The blackmail would be just a bluff, even though undoubtedly efficient, not only because no one had any intention of destroying his career – he was more useful where he was, after all – but also because my photo and video could never be allowed to land on tabloid sites.

I loved my new job.



*



Things hadn´t turned out as well as I´d wished with Alex. He was no longer under security surveillance and I had only been given his address with no further information. It was my first day in Milan and after dropping my bags in the Porta Romana apartment, stunned by the view of the setting sun over the city, I called a cab and gave the driver Alex´s address. He lived in Corso Sempione, in a rather modern 15-story condo that didn´t fit all that well among the more traditional Italian buildings. I checked the buzzer to see the number of his apartment, and when someone unlocked the entry door electronically from the courtyard I pushed the door open to see an elderly lady on her way out. She gave me the once over, and as I didn´t match her image of a hoodlum she only said, “Buona sera,” and let me in. I took the elevator to the 13th floor and, after collecting myself, rang the doorbell.

Music filled the stairwell when the door opened, and a perfect stranger said, “Come in.”

Only then he gave me a closer look, with a slightly baffled expression. Who was this unknown foreign kid on his doorstep?

I´m looking for Alex Rayner,” I said, trying not to appear taken aback by this undeniably good-looking stranger answering Alex´s door.

A group of people, all holding glasses, entered the hallway from a door. I was interrupting a party.

Just a moment,” the stranger said, now starting to look somewhat suspicious, and left me at the door while he went to look for Alex.

And there he was. Wearing a pair of blue jeans and a loose white shirt, he entered the hallway and stopped dead on his tracks when he saw me. Neither of us moved or said anything. Then I thought his eyes were getting moist, and not noticing his friend´s deepening frown, he simply said, “Jonatan.”

Yes.”

So once again, the first thing I´d said to Alex was a lie. Perhaps I was the real Jonatan, after all.

His friend cleared his throat, and when Alex still didn´t react, asked with less than perfect tact, “Who is he?”

Alex snapped out of his shock, and introduced us. I was a `friend´, and Fulvio was presented to me as his boyfriend. Fulvio had the regular Italian good looks, dark hair, handsome face and a well-proportioned body. A few people were gathering in the hallway, and I was getting a lot of wide-eyed stares. Fulvio´s frown was back, big time.

You look familiar,” he said, and I felt my heart sink. Had he seen me somewhere, years ago?

That photo, from Sydney,” he continued, turning to Alex.

Oh, yes, that´s probably my father,” I intervened. “People tell me he looked just like me at my age.”

Fulvio raised an eyebrow at Alex. “You went out with this kid´s father?”

Listen,” I intervened once again before Fulvio had time to ask what on earth was I doing in Milan and the situation got totally out of hand. “Could I possibly steal Alex for a moment? We could go downstairs for a chat in that bar across the street.” Seeing Fulvio´s expression I had to add, “It´s really personal.”

Sure, let´s go,” Alex said. “I´ll be back right away.”

It´s my birthday party so you better be,” Fulvio snapped, fully aware that something fishy was going on.

We got into the elevator. “I´m sorry about that,” I said. “I didn´t mean to-”

Don´t worry about it.”

Do you have a car parked near by? I don´t want anyone eavesdropping on us,” I said.

Alex nodded, his eyes never leaving me. We walked around the corner, and got into a red Alfa Romeo.

When in Rome, do as Romans do,” he joked about the car, and then turned to me. “They told me you were dead.”

They weren´t lying.”

I decided to try to stick to the truth, as far as possible.

What´s that supposed to mean?”

I just looked at him. He was smart, and he´d realized the answer before he´d finished speaking.

“You-” he started, but the words refused to come out at first. “You´re a – clone? A some kind of copy?”

I have Jonatan´s personality, and all of his feelings and memories,” I said, preferring to leave out some minor details. My decision not to lie hadn´t lasted long. “I´m identical to him, even though there´s no actual physical continuity. It´s up to you to decide if you think I´m him or someone else.”

Alex was staring at me, looking horrified. “They – I mean, I – got you killed for real, then? I always thought – that maybe – ”

That´s all in the past. I´m here now, in the present.”

You must know I didn´t do it for the money.”

I know. And I knew it then. I know you, Alex.”

He swallowed. “They told me this crazy story, but what else could I have believed? It was you there, in Rome, and...”

Stop it,” I ordered. “I didn´t tell you the truth, so why shouldn´t you have believed them? Let´s just drop the whole thing. It´s in the past. Let it go.”

Then I just couldn´t take it any more and crawled over to him, the gear stick and the steering wheel be damned, and his big arms closed around me. I lay my head on his chest. Neither of us said anything for the longest time.

The very next afternoon Alex came to see me in Porta Romana, obviously behind Fulvio´s back. After that, more than two days never passed without us finding a way to see each other, but it soon became clear that our meetings were based on nothing but sex. Alex couldn´t get over the fact that I wasn´t the Jonatan he´d known, and no matter how hot our sex was once he´d shot his load he´d look at me with a mix of amazement and barely concealed horror for having just fucked something that was a copy of Jonatan, and the original being forever gone. Even when we were just talking, I sensed him keeping an eye on me, trying to discern a word or an expression that Jonatan wouldn´t have used. So many years had passed that of course there had to be differences, and each and every one of them alarmed him. Yet we couldn´t stop; in time, it seemed, we´d only grown more sexually compatible than ever before and the closet of my room was quickly filling up with leather gear, restraints and toys that he picked up from various sex shops on his way over to my place. Every time he called me and told me he was on his way I was instantly so turned on that my hands were shaking when I put the phone down, wondering what kind of new surprise he would be bringing along.

Almost three weeks had passed when Mauro called and told me that some bureaucratic blunder in Brussels had finally been cleared, and Carlo was about to begin his summer holidays. I was relieved. My waking hours had become structured around the possibility of seeing Alex, and getting my own life back seemed like a wonderful thing. However, there would be no reason to stay in Milan after my job was done; and if I did, it would come with the price of living as a prisoner in my own home as the risk of seeing someone I´d previously known was too high in a town as big as Milan. Mauro had told me that they could engineer me to look like someone else, but I didn´t even want to hear the details. I could still see the original Jonatan in the mirror, and would not let that go.

Then Carlo arrived, picked me up from the gym and after spending a long, wild evening in my place, was out of my life. I needed a new assignment.


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