The Peter & Charlie Trilogy

by Gordon Merrick

  Food was put on the table—sliced tomatoes and cucumbers and lumps of white cheese and sections of octopus in oil—and metal tankards of wine. They all began to feed each other, holding out bits on forks. Costa filled two small glasses for Peter and Charlie and clinked his own with theirs. They drank. Peter knew what to expect, but he saw Charlie gag and he burst out laughing. He put his arm around his shoulder and encountered Costa’s. They both held Charlie.

  “It’s all right when you get used to it,” Peter reassured him.

  “You mean you’re actually supposed to drink it?” He did so and shuddered.

  Scratchy music suddenly filled the room, a strange, wailing minor plaint. A boy from another table rose and began a solo in a clear space at one end of the room. Nobody paid any particular attention to him except Charlie and Peter, who were fascinated by the slow ritual of the dance. The boy held his arms out from his sides as he circled with small, precise steps, communicating a sense of deep concentration. He did low knee bends and slapped the floor, he leaped into the air and performed acrobatic turns and slapped his feet. There were scattered shouts of “oopa” from around the room and applause when the music ended.

  More food was brought. Tankards were emptied and replenished. More records were put on the old wind-up phonograph in the back of the room. More youths danced. A pair from their table performed a duet. They weaved about together without touching, circling each other until one leaped savagely feet first at the other and locked his legs around his hips. He held his body out horizontally, his arms above his head, in an attitude of surrender while the other swung him proudly, as primitive as Pan, in the final measures of the dance. There was a keyed-up tingle of excitement in the laughter and applause that followed.

  Four or five young men rose and began to gather at the end of the room. Peter felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked up and his gaze moved over a pretty mouth with a slight pout in it, a shapely nose, straight brows above big, dark eyes. The boy spoke to him and said “Petros.” He was very young, no more than seventeen or eighteen. A cheap, flimsy shirt barely covered a smooth, brown, boyish chest. Charlie became aware of someone behind him and looked up, too. “Trust you,” he said. “You got the beauty.” “All things come to him who waits.” “He wants you to dance. Go on. He’s an angel.” The boy was holding out his hand. Peter glanced at it as he took it, a good sinewy hand with long fingers. He rose, finding that he was several inches taller than the boy, and they went together to where the dancers had arranged themselves in a row linked together with handkerchiefs in their hands. The boy produced a frayed bit of cloth and Peter held the end of it and fell into place at the end of the line. The music started and the row moved into the dance. The steps were neat and brisk and Peter followed as the row moved away from him, making no attempt to dance but watching feet. The dancers reversed, putting Peter in the lead. He let the boy take over and walked along with him. The row moved forward and stamped their heels on the floor and did a knee bend in unison. The steps looked childishly simple and Peter began to perform them while the boy smiled and nodded at him, but something in the rhythm eluded him. Just as he thought he was getting it, the dancers took a step that ran counter to his instincts and he found himself stumbling awkwardly after them. The boy hooked their forefingers together around the handkerchief and exerted pressure. Peter glanced up and their eyes met and Peter stumbled again at the impact of the boy’s look of invitation and desire. The music ended and Peter laughed and shook his head.

  The boy took his hand and they returned to the table. “You’d be amazed how difficult it is,” he said to Charlie as he sat.

  “You didn’t disgrace us too badly.”

  The boy had found a chair and was squeezing in on the other side of Peter. He took Peter’s hand and lifted his arm and placed it around his shoulders. “Petros,” he said. He pointed to himself. “Dimitri.”

  “Dimitri.” Peter held his glass out to him. He took it and drank and lifted the glass to Peter’s lips and tilted it. He spoke, pointing back and forth at them, and ended with a questioning look that was still filled with desire.

  Peter smiled at him. “If you’re saying what I think you’re saying, the answer is probably no, but don’t go away.”

  Dimitri lay a hand on his thigh and leaned against him. Peter let his fingers stray lightly over his shoulder. He turned to Charlie. “I seem to have a boyfriend, after all.”

  “So it would appear. Give him a hug for me.”

  “This is all so crazy. How did we get here? Shouldn’t we be looking for the Kingsleys to decide about tomorrow?”

  “The hell with them. We’re seeing Greece. Besides, I’m getting drunk. This stuff is something. I feel as if I had a forest fire in my stomach.”

  Dimitri was pressing on Peter’s thigh. He turned back to him. The boy pointed at a plate in front of him and said a word. He looked at Peter expectantly and repeated it. Peter imitated the sound and Dimitri smiled and nodded excitedly. He straightened and pointed to other objects on the table and said words, which Peter attempted to reproduce. It was a Greek lesson. He learned that the table was something like “trapeze” and that the word for chair was impossible to pronounce.

  The others became aware of the game and quickly took it up. Soon, they were all reaching across the table tugging at Charlie’s and Peter’s hands to get their attention, shouting words at them. Peter was laughing helplessly. Dimitri pointed to his mouth and said a word. He touched Peter’s lips with his fingertips and waited for him to repeat it. When he did, Dimitri darted his head forward and kissed him on the mouth. It was a chaste kiss with closed lips and only a hint of tongue between them. The others all laughed and cheered as Peter felt himself blushing. He gave the boy’s shoulder a little hug to acknowledge it.

  They drank a great deal more wine, Peter and Dimitri sharing a glass. There was a momentary lull when Peter thought the party was breaking up and then they were all outside. Charlie and Peter tried to press money on Costa and were indignantly rebuffed. “Philos, philos,” he kept repeating. He put his arms around them both and pulled them to him in turn and kissed them on the cheek. They all crowded back into his boat. In the scramble to get aboard, Peter was separated from Charlie. He didn’t think he had allowed it to happen on purpose. He was pulled down between two youths who put their arms around him. Dimitri sat on the floorboards and shouldered his way in between his knees and looped his arms around his legs. He dropped his head back onto his crotch and moved it secretly to and fro against him. It was impossible for Peter to conceal the effect it had and he was drunk enough to feel that it didn’t matter. The boy laughed softly and turned his head and rubbed his cheek against him. Under cover of the darkness, Peter stroked his hair. The boy made a little murmuring sound and hitched himself in closer and lifted his head so that Peter’s sex was freed to lift along his belly. Dimitri settled his head beside it. Somebody began to sing and the others joined in a slow, sad song with thrilling stops and great soaring climaxes. The singing drowned the noise of the motor as they headed out across the still lagoon.

  Peter was seized with a heart-bursting euphoria. Charlie was near. The splendor of the star-filled sky brought tears to his eyes. The boy had aroused him but he didn’t want to carry it any further. He toyed with his face with a hand. Dimitri ran his tongue over it and nibbled his fingers in a way that made Peter giggle. It was like playing with a puppy. He moved his other hand over the boy’s brow and down his nose and stroked his beardless cheeks with the backs of his fingers and held his chin and ran the tips of his fingers down his long neck. Dimitri’s grip on his legs tightened and he bit his thumb. Peter stroked his soft lips; the mouth opened and he touched teeth and tongue. Dimitri ran his tongue between his fingers and darted it over the palm of his hand. Peter squeezed his shoulders with his thighs and slipped a hand inside his shirt and played with his nipples and learned the feel of his hairless chest. They both laughed at their game.

  The boat seemed to be going a
long way. Eventually, he saw that they were headed in toward land. Another boat emerged out of the night with a half-a-dozen dark figures in it and they ran in together, all of them calling back and forth to each other across the water. Peter could see a stand of tall cane just back from what appeared to be a strip of sandy shore. Costa cut the motor, and they all began to stir from the langorous positions into which they had fallen, disentangling themselves from each other and sitting up. Peter eased Dimitri’s shoulders out from between his legs. The boat bumped on a soft bottom and two boys were immediately over the side, beaching her. Peter and Dimitri stood with the others, crowded close to each other so that the boy was able to touch Peter’s sex discreetly. It responded to the pressure. Charlie appeared beside them.

  “God knows what we’re up to, but I don’t have the impression they’re going to murder us. They could rob us of all we have and we’d still have had our money’s worth. Wasn’t that beautiful?”

  “Sublime. I’m drunk and loving it.”

  “How’s your sweetheart?”

  “Still clinging.”

  “Attaboy.”

  The group had started leaping ashore. The other boat pulled in beside them. Charlie touched his hand and moved forward. Peter and Dimitri followed. They were among the last ashore and when they entered a narrow path through the high cane they were alone. The path led out of the cane into an olive grove. He could hear the others moving through it ahead, bursting into snatches of song. Dimitri jostled up against him and Peter put his arms out to steady him. The boy melted into him and their open mouths were on each other, their tongues meeting. Dimitri’s fingers clutched at Peter’s hair and his mouth became devouring. Peter’s hands were on his buttocks. They quivered under his touch and muscles rippled in provocation. Their invitation was undeniably exciting; briefly, it seemed to him as if Charlie were urging him on. Dimitri released his head and slipped his hands down between their waists. Peter wondered what he was doing and then realized that the boy was dropping his trousers. He was preparing to give himself here in the field. Peter’s heart pounded at this tribute to his virility, but he found Dimitri’s hands and gripped them and drew his head back.

  “That’s about enough of that,” he said with shaken laughter. It was still a thrilling novelty to find that he was wanted in that way and that he was quite capable of satisfying the desire, but Charlie firmly blocked temptation once more. He didn’t need or want anybody else. He knew the feel of the young body; his curiosity was appeased. He took a step back. He could see Dimitri’s eyes, wide and glazed with longing in the dark. He ruffled his hair affectionately and waited for him to fasten his trousers and took his arm and hurried him along the path. He could still hear snatches of song ahead of them. He walked fast, pushing Dimitri along beside him. They had almost caught up when he saw lights ahead and they were once more part of the group as they rounded a low building. They came out into an area of hard-packed earth covered by a shaggy cane roof. Light came from a hissing lamp suspended from the caning. He took a long look at the boy he had held in his arms. Dimitri’s eyes swam into his. Peter wished for a moment that they were back in the olive grove. He took his hand as they all reassembled around a table, their numbers swelled by the occupants of the second boat. Water rushed by in a ditch at the edge of the covered area. Peter could see that there was some sort of cultivation just beyond the range of the light. A cypress rose against the sky. He felt remote from the world he knew, but this simpler world was beginning to acquire reality. He leaned across the table to Charlie, who was still in Costa’s charge.

  “I guess we came here just for the sake of going somewhere. I suppose that makes sense.”

  Charlie glanced at Dimitri and smiled. “I know why he came here. He looks as if he’d follow you to the ends of the earth.”

  More food and wine was put in front of them. Time ceased. They sang and drank and ate. Eventually, they were all on their feet wandering down through the olive grove again. The sky was paling; the stars no longer sparkled with jeweled brilliance. Charlie found himself in the lead with Costa and some of the occupants of the other boat. One of them had been flirting with him for the last hour. He looked almost as young as Peter’s boy, but unlike Dimitri he had an assured and arrogant air. When they came out through the tall cane onto the strip of beach, the boy took his arm and urged him toward the second boat. Charlie pulled away, but a thought struck him. Peter and Dimitri were apparently lagging. He yanked the boat’s line off a rock where it had been looped and made gestures of departure. The boy smiled knowingly and said something to the others climbing into the boat. There was a burst of laughter. Charlie walked into the water and began to push the boat off the beach. The boy joined him and the boat was clear. As he clambered aboard, Charlie felt a wrench deep within him, but it was right to remove himself from the scene. The motor started and they began to move off. What was the point of thinking about freedom and independence if they never had an opportunity to exercise it? Peter had a clear field now to make what he would of the young Greek’s wide-eyed infatuation.

  The boy whose name he didn’t know sat beside him. He talked and laughed. He spread his legs and stroked his crotch, displaying himself. Charlie didn’t bother to look. He noticed that they weren’t headed directly toward the lights of the town but off to one side where the hotel was. Apparently everybody knew all about them. The run back seemed much shorter than it had going out. They were soon drifting in toward the cement landing block in front of the hotel. Charlie rose and the boy rose with him. Charlie pushed him down and indicated that he was to stay. When the boat was in close enough, he called “efharrystow,” which was as close as he could come to “thank you,” to the group in general and jumped ashore. The boy jumped after him and the boat pulled away, Charlie crossed to the steps leading up to the hotel. The boy followed. When Charlie stopped, he put a hand on Charlie’s hip and started to slide it around behind. Charlie brushed it away.

  “Petros. Philos mou,” he said. “Not you.”

  “Avrio?” the boy asked with his knowing smile.

  Charlie had learned that “avrio” meant “tomorrow.” “Sure. Avario.”

  The boy spoke at length, with gestures. Arranging a rendezvous? Charlie smiled and nodded and said “kali nikta” and continued up to the hotel. He felt lonely and virtuous. He tried to keep his thoughts off Peter and his sweet young conquest. His mind circled the enigma of Martha. She had figured quite definitely and interestingly in his thoughts in Athens, but he was less sure now whether anything would come of it. He felt a pleasant, lustful warmth toward her, but this didn’t alter the comfortable feeling he had always had with her, nor could thoughts of her erase from his mind the image of Peter and the Greek boy naked together, Peter taking him as the boy obviously yearned to be taken. Dimitri wouldn’t have clung to him so tenaciously if he hadn’t felt in him a promise of satisfaction. Perhaps Peter had committed himself in some way right at the start. He had to stop thinking about him. He had freely given him scope to make his own decision. That was the way it had to be from now on if they weren’t to suffocate in their preoccupation with each other. He had created more air around them.

  He had undressed and washed and brushed his teeth when he heard the popping of a motor approaching across the water. He heard it cut back to idle and voices calling, Peter’s among them. A thrill of relief ran through him. He had gambled and won. In another few minutes Peter came hurrying into the room.

  “There you are,” he exclaimed. “Thank God! What happened to you?”

  “I was enticed into the other boat by one of my suitors and we took off.”

  Peter laughed. “That young one who was eyeing you at the end? Isn’t it amazing? You can’t say they’re all queer. It doesn’t mean anything. Even we aren’t queer here. They’re all expecting it and ready for it, some of them maybe more than others.”

  “Your boy readier than any, it seemed to me.”

  “I’ll say. At least, that’s the way he was
acting all night, but he didn’t seem surprised or particularly upset when I left him just now.”

  “You’re not sorry?”

  “About what?”

  “Not staying with him and having him. I mean, I assume you didn’t.”

  “Of course, I didn’t. Are you crazy? Do you think I want every kid who smiles at me?”

  “I don’t know,” Charlie said unconcernedly, glowing with inner triumph. He stretched out naked on the bed. “You must’ve considered it at one point or another.”

  Peter began to undress. What new tack was Charlie taking now? Instinct told him that it was somehow connected with their sexual experiments. He felt as if Charlie were cutting him loose, urging him on, offering him a freedom he didn’t want. He thought of the kiss he had exchanged with Dimitri in parting a few minutes ago. He had been too anxious to find Charlie to do more than hold his hand on the way back, but as they arrived he had turned to him and Dimitri’s mouth had opened to his in a devouring way. As Peter jumped ashore, he had heard laughter and saw the boy gathered into somebody else’s arms. A satisfactory ending. Easy come, easy go. Nothing had dimmed the clear, urgent longing he felt for Charlie now. “The idea of having him was exciting. I don’t deny that,” he said, looking at Charlie levelly. “I had plenty of chance to, God knows. For some peculiar reason, I happen to prefer you. Do I have to say it?”

  “I just don’t want us to get in each other’s way when things are happening to us. We’ve got a long life ahead of us.”

  “I’d want to get in your way if anything like that were happening to you.” The simplicity of it, it seemed to him, made it worth saying. He knew Charlie’s tendency to intellectualize their relationship to a point where it had no connection with their simple wants and needs. He added facetiously, “What’s wrong with helping each other overcome the temptations of the flesh?”