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Subject: Valle de Aosta Valle de Aosta MCVT2017 15 November 2020 On the Austrian-Italian border, a war-weary man rebuilds his spirit on a boy’s narrow shoulders. You can build Nifty to ensure further great lit: fty/ 100% fiction, adult content: Mb, auth, rom, history–1930s. ===================================================================== On the border of northern Italy and Switzerland, there is a famous valley in the Aosta region. The history of the area is rich with stories of knights and ladies, all the royalty of a court, all the banners and flags of a proud people living high in the Italian Alps. These Italians carried this tradition through the early years of the twentieth century. It is no wonder that the children of the area fantasize about the big, armored men on their perfectly groomed, slick steeds or the ladies in their fiery and braided hair adorned with jewels. Quite common fantasies of the children in Aosta. A great war broke out in Europe. Historic knights were replaced with images of the Allied Forces as nations joined to reshape nations as old regimes fell. … Before the next great war there was a time of peace, a brief period that found three Aosta boys deep in the woods playing military games in their foxholes and secret headquarters in the forest. One warm summer of peace three boys met near the woods; Bibi, the blonde brother, and Bohner his dark-haired, older sibling. They met with their friend “Gunt.” (Real name: Gunther.) We now accompany these lads in their imagined military maneuvers: “Bring the rations?” Bibi asked, he was always hungry. “Only two baguettes and an apple.” Gunt answered, being the oldest boy, he was often saddled with this task. A few steps toward the old logging road, “Bohner, you be Archduke Ferdinand, I’m going to stop the assassination.” Bibi stuck his index finger out, imitating a pistol, wincing his eyes. “You be Princip. I was last time.” Bohner ordered Gunt. “Give me time to hide.” Gunt said, thinking he’d catch them as the boys went around the bend to their hideout but had a better idea. He ran through the forest and kept running. Gunt could find a high spot, jump down and surprise his playmates, though Princip always got caught. Then the playful capture and torture. Gunt jumped away and ran but heard them, their tinny voices, they’d followed him! He ran further, shimmied up a tree behind an old barn. Kept his breath silent as he watched the boys looking around the barn, even went inside, calling out for their villain. Ha! They hadn’t bothered to look up. Quite satisfied with his lofty perch, Gunt pulled a baguette out and ate the whole apple watching Bibi and Bohner disappear among the evergreens. Pretend-Princip wouldn’t be caught today. … Shimmying down the rough bark and prickly needles of the tree wasn’t as easy as climbing up. Skinning his smooth legs, till they reddened, he lowered himself branch by branch until he felt something pressing on his rear. A limb? “Drop down, boy. I’ll catch you.” An man in blue sweater reached up to him. “Come on now. Let’s get those scrapes cleaned up.” He smiled, arms upstretched. About six feet above earth and not seeing another foothold, Gunt let himself go. “Oo-ops!” Both he and the man fell to the pine needles surrounding the tree in a quiet pile, brushing the sticky foliage off themselves. “Gruss dich.” The older man reached both hands toward the boy, one to shake his hand, the other to brush aside the bark from the Gunt’s hair. Studying the man, “Gruss dich, sir.” This man didn’t seem upset with him trespassing. “I thought no one lived here.” “No formality here, my friends call me Dekko. You’re right, no one’s been here since last summer. A friend let me use it for several weeks as a respite.” “Dekko?” The boy thought, but couldn’t remember what the word meant. … Dekko’s warm fingers went to Gunt’s leg, “Nasty scrape. Come in the house, we’ll clean it.” A dark drop konyaaltı üniversiteli escort of blood ran down the boy’s thigh. Grabbing his bag, Gunt walked beside the man toward the country home, a small place though well-appointed with cultural symbols of the area. Music played as they entered and went to the kitchen, “Sit here.” Graciously, Dekko pulled a chair from the table and went to the cabinets, the sink, gathering equipment. “Nasty scrape, but not deep….” Gunt watched as the man’s long fingers cleaned his wound, stroked his skin, admiring his lean, slender muscles, the boy’s long legs, smooth knees, the aroma of a tree-climber. “You smell coniferous.” The man mumbled, smiling. “What?” This man used odd words, “What does con-ferrous mean; what is a respite?” The boy asked softly as his skin was wiped carefully. “Your name? Dekko, I’ve heard it before but I can’t remember where.” Sensing the boy’s position in life more clearly, “A conifer is a tree that makes cones instead of fruits, a pine tree is coniferous. They have a strong, evergreen smell. I’m on respite as I need a rest and Dekko is a moniker for a lookout, I served in a watchtower with the German military.” He looked up at the boy, “This may hurt.” Carefully, the man dabbed iodine over the boy’s cut and popped adhesive tape from its tin, “A bit of gauze, and you’ll be good as new.” Considering what Dekko said, his mind still on the excitement of war, “Have you ever been in a blimp?” At first, Dekko didn’t answer, he bandaged the boy’s skin, closing the wound gently. “Let’s speak of other things. My mind wearies of war… come to the piano with me.” … Italians and Austrians love music, and the boy was no exception. He wanted to hear a march, stirring and loud, but Dekko sat aside him in front of the old upright and touched the yellowed, chipped keys. A raindrop prelude delighted the boy. Notes rippled from the strings, not always harmoniously yet Gunt felt like the strains hung tinsel in his mind, sparkles in his thoughts. He leaned against the man who embraced the spindly form and continued playing. “Strauss, play a waltz.” Gunt said and stood with his nose lifted. The one-two-three, one-two-three began, and the boy began stepping, turning beside the piano. Dekko’s mind returned to his own easy days of play; he began playing faster. Gunt’s feet moved quickly, nimbly, heels never touching the floor until the piece came to a calamitously loud end devised by a concert pianist. “Bravo!” Dekko declared and pulled the sweating, boy to him. Pulled him between his legs to hold him close to his chest, “My t””nzer, what grace you have.” He smelled the boy’s hair, the sharp smell of pine, metallic smell of child-sweat, “I’m hungry.” Dekko spoke, perchance revealing a need greater than hunger. Cheeses, croissants, fresh milk and sweet, red currants from the side of the house, “I’ve so enjoyed you, and having someone listen to me always improves my playing. Will you come tomorrow?” Dekko asked. Feeling comfortable, “If Mama allows.” Gunt’s mother wouldn’t mind, if she found out. Many of the women worked after the war, and now as the great economic depression worsened. “I’ll ask her.” Gunther lied, curious to know more of this man Dekko. “Lovely.” In the barn, they settled themselves in to a leather seats of a deep red, wine red roadster with sleek lines and chrome bumpers. Gunt waved at his friends as he and Dekko sped past, hair flying and engine rumbling a low, powerful drone. … Bibi and Bohner ran behind the car yelling for Gunt. Dekko was in an amenable frame of mind, stopped and placed the boys in the small space behind the seats and took them to Gunt’s home, depositing them carefully in the yard. Soon the sun would hide behind the Italian Alps, “See ya’ tomorrow, Gunt. Not fair hiding in town, hiding–who is that man?” Not wanting to give away valuable information kurtköy escort on his suddenly most-favorite hiding place, “I’m busy tomorrow. Later, maybe next week.” Sly creature that Gunt was, he ran in the house. … Through the next few days, Gunt visited Dekko. Always music, dance, picking and eating fresh currants, scouring the woods for herbs, picnicked in the high meadows until Dekko relearned how to play. Remembered how to push sorrows aside and enjoy sun on his skin, sweet air, a friend who sang simple songs to him and who had a distinct proclivity for physical movement. Minuets were in order on those afternoons. Pointed toes made Gunt’s legs appear longer, he was an agile boy. Limber to the point he appeared as a silk ribbon in the breeze. As nimble and limber as Dekko’s fingers in accompaniment. How they admired each other yet their relations may be in a precarious position, each held never-spoken secrets. … Their summer was about to end: Climbing a nearby peak, Dekko brought the topic between them, “I must leave next week. Commitments in Vienna, I’ve signed contracts. Before I go, would you let me kiss you?” In partial understanding of Dekko’s explanation, Gunt agreed. Immediately, Dekko’s hands grabbed the boy’s ribs, lifted him and kissed his lips. Not a simple, innocent kiss, but as adult lovers kiss when impassioned. Dekko’s eyes were closed, one hand went to the boy’s rump, holding him still firmly against him with the other. Gunt’s eyes were opened, in surprise at first. He felt Dekko’s tongue still sweet with currants exploring inside his mouth, teasing his tongue. The boy reciprocated; kissing engorged his short member, made his heart beat fast. Is this what the teens felt when they ran behind the school house to kiss and fondle after school? Breathing hard, Dekko let the boy’s body slide down his front and noticed the small erection bumping his much larger swelling. He studied the boy’s face for a sign if disapproval, none appeared. The boy was in wonder, thinking. “Have I offended you?” Dekko didn’t expect this– Gunt, with one hand on his leather shorts, rubbing his member, the other reached to Dekko’s collar, pulling him close, “I like kissing you.” Tumbling on the grass, kissing and enjoying the warmth of their bodies on each other, the cool tender grasses beneath, they kissed until their heart beats echoed off the hills back to them, it felt. Exploring hands met new, inviting lands as clothing dropped away. Dekko, half-hiding his excitement, lay still, hands under his head as the boy admired his mature body. Short, slender fingers risked touching the waving, straining perpendicular appendage in front of him. “I’ll be like that?” Dekko looked between the boy’s crossed legs, “Almost, maybe you’ll have a rocket.” So delighted he was, he tickled the boy. Daring words came, “Will you let me love you?” In the afternoon sun, as they walked down the mountain, the gentle musician explained what he wanted, not in detail, using enticing terms. Gunt amazed Dekko. As they stepped over the threshold for a late lunch, “Only if you bind me. You must use ropes, secure me tightly.” Gunt stated. Over a quickly made repast, Gunt explained that when his friends caught and tied him as a prisoner in imagined wars, the lad became very aroused by boyish tortures which involved sexual play, “I’m not supposed to do it, but it’s exciting to feel them hold me down with the ropes and tease me. I feel wonderful, my skin is prickly and my cock is hard. Bad and good under pressure, makes my heart explode.” Such sophistication in a simple description, “If you want, I’ll tie you. Will you then let me make love with you?” Gunt blushed, suddenly embarrassed. “Will you let me put my finger inside you?” Cautious words from Dekko. “Like Bohner? He puts his cock in my rear.” Gunt’s truths broke through the air between them. Dekko was surprised ankara kurtuluş escort if not eased, “If you like, I’ll try to match everything Bohner does exactly.” … The next moments were spent tying the boy to the big feather bed’s ancient posts; suspenders worked well, a tie, a belt. Arms spread wide, ankles above his head, Gunt was gagged and struggled, part of his play to excite himself. Dekko nudged the boy’s short rod and balls between his legs. Fresh, Italian beauty on full display, Dekko salivated seeing the small rounded balls with their skin stretched tight, tip of a small cock ringed with foreskin and that delightfully gathered dark spot calling to be opened. Slowly, carefully Dekko approached and only breathed warm, fast breaths on the boy’s skin until the thin hair shafts stood upright on miniscule alps; erect with anticipation. He stroked and gently nuzzled the boy’s rear, very lightly until he heard soft moans. An eager tongue caressed the foreskin, the slit; he kissed the two pink orbs while his finger gathered dripping saliva at the tiny, hard muscle. Knowing that boys aren’t gentle or slow, Dekko, not rushing but not tarrying, pushed his finger into the boy forcing Gunt to squirm, sigh and curl himself tighter in front of his lover. Dekko’s tongue went to his finger buried deep in the boy’s crevice, he licked the resistant muscle, warmed it, lavished more saliva on the crevice. Slowly, he pulled his finger out and pushed two back in. He didn’t have to ask if Gunt liked it, the boy’s breathing quickened, his body trembled. At this point, propelled by both Gunt’s and his very own excitement, Dekko knelt close to the boy, keeping his fingers inserted and exploring while he began rubbing along his own heavy, bobbing shaft–impelled to give this boy something Bohner didn’t yet have. A sweaty, heavy situation on the bed that afternoon, not much movement, only one hand stroking and two fingers inside a softly groaning boy. The moment before the first pulse of semen, Dekko removed his fingers and pushed his glans half way into the boy and watched. Incredibly erotic, his very heart felt like it shot through his body, through his erection, out his slit and into the boy’s heat. Yes, the musician’s baton wanted to fully enter the boy, and it simply wasn’t big enough. Two fingers had stretched and strained to full expansion, it felt. Satisfied that he’d given the boy his best, he held the boy’s cleft closed, pulled the end of a binding. Two slender legs fell aside him and the boy looked at his face, smiling. The short rigid cock stood proudly and was immediately caressed by Dekko’s tongue. What a delight for both. Gunt’s spirit soared into another brief orgasm as his body absorbed the man who loved him. Bohner was never this good. Dekko’s sorrows lifted through the next few days as they zigged and zagged in their ways, with their words, unaccustomed and unfamiliar to the other, but in deep appreciation. Their parting brought tears. Dekko had contracts to perform, Gunt had friends who missed him and it had to be. … The winter seemed longer, colder; the skies gloomier until on the very last day of the year when the sun shone brightly in the clear air. Gunt’s mama bustled around the kitchen preparing dinner as a neighbor knocked at the door and delivered an envelope to her. It contained a letter fancified with sealing wax and stamps, looking ever-so official. “We don’t know anyone in Vienna.” Inside was a scholarship to the Theresianum for her Gunther, a famous and very old boarding school. An unfamiliar name from the selection committee offered a brief explanation saying her Gunther showed great promise. “How very generous, but why Gunther?” she wondered, there were smarter, more able boys in Aosta. Maybe an instructor had seen something in the boy she hadn’t noticed. Not being familiar with the academic world, she reread the letter, thinking this would bring her son to a greater life outside their rural area. “I must go Mama.” Gunther knew who made this happen. “We could never turn down this opportunity. You must promise to write to me and do your best.” That next week, Gunther was on a train bound for Vienna. On the platform of the Wien Hauptbahnhof, a slender pianist in a long overcoat opened his arms to a boy traveling alone. End. Aosta

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