Come for me, Comfort me
Chapter 1: If I can make it there
"Don't stop."
The loud moans filled the room with an odd kind of impatience.
Two weary eyes were looking straight up at the glass ceiling with moist sadness, an ever-present sadness, closing and opening back again with each thrust and hump.
Red locks of hair were spread over the black silk pillow, but no ordinary red, a specific shade, like the covers of old books, like ink, a rich and lush shade of crimson promising only lust and wild nights.
"Faster."
The man on top obliged and proceeded to shove into the lithe, yet well endowed body underneath him with animal greed, bringing the 16 year-old boy still closer to completion.
Dilated pupils changed focus from the ceiling to the slightly open doors, head resting against the pillow, suffocated and enraptured, eyesight blurry and cold compared to the burning cheeks and already sore lips. That frustrating feeling of impending orgasm washing through his body and colliding with his aching heart, stimulating nerve endings and pressing on each sweet spot, twisting and becoming more and more restraining, breathless and motionless, numb appendage tickling with pleasure, sweaty knees held up by steady hands and thighs causing friction against the hod body on top, a need to scream and grip and pulse wild.
Then the wave of relief, when the heart is at its fastest, on the brink of climax.
But when the boy jumped out of bed, eyes wide and bloodshot, screaming from the floor, the last waves of orgasm scattered away and into his despair, organ pulsing with false and ignored contractions, just like the man still on the bed. Naked and uncertain.
…...
My name is Kaname Tousen. I am an Economy teacher at god-forsaken school in the countryside of England, where I once used to live rather happily with my wife at the time, Caroline, who was pregnant with our very first child. See, it was all easy there. You didn't have to know much to be considered educated, there was no need for fortune and our lives were so silent, they had become unbearable.
I decided to move to New York.
…...
It was the spring of 1927 when I came to realize, I was educated far beyond the level of a countryside school teacher. Our child deserved better than that. I deserved better than that. My wife deserved better than that. It took her long to understand this.
But my plans were far grander, dreaming of The Golden City and its motley glamor, streets paved with money and mansions in Long Island.
"Caroline, dear, it's only for the summer. Remember Frank? I'll be working for him, he was ecstatic help his old friend. He told me he has this position, I might become the manager of one of his branches in..."
"DON'T tell me about Frank, Kaname! I know him, I don't trust him and either way he's too far. And he'd better stay like that!"
Francesco Levantiani was one of my oldest friends, my dear Eton companion, an American descending from an old-moneyed Italian family who was well known for their more or less fair, yet very successful ways of making affairs. Frank himself had been passed down the charisma and talent of generations, making him one of the lead names on Wall Street. In fact, some said he was so rich, he had dollar bills swept off the floor and thrown into the garbage every day. Frankly, it sounded like something he would do.
Nevertheless, he was a good man and he did not hesitate for a single second when I asked him for guidance regarding my arrival at New York. He made it all sound so hopeful and grand.
But little did I know that New York was a poisoned apple.
The summer was close and the temperatures were high, the beat of the city was heavy and it's streets screamed hysterical noises of sin.
The decade had made the city a temple of booming expansion and wild mysteries, a diamond reservoir for the young and courageous among whom a colored, middle-aged Englishman from between the quiet hills of Britain was trying to squeeze himself in.
And quite literally at that, as my suitcase and luggage had been torn and damaged and my ribbon hat lost in the wind as I was making my way through the flowing rivers of people and towards the phone booth.
"Dear Lord, what did I get myself into."
Finally inside, I took a moment to catch my breath and search deep withing my pockets for a certain piece of paper.
"Hello."
"Hello, I'm looking for Mr. Frank Levantiani, he said this is the number I should call?"
"Who is this, if I may...?"
"Kaname Tousen, he'll know me."
"A moment, Mr. Tousen."
The moment was longer than a moment and the heat was so terrible, I had completely discarded whatever more elegant yet unnecessary pieces of clothing I had on, making me look truly like one of the peasants I used to see everyday on my way to school. Covered in sweat and with hair in disarray, shirt wrinkled and overall unpleasant.
"Kaname, boy, how was your trip?", said a deep, laughing voice and I knew who it was.
"Wet, Frank. You didn't warn me America was this hot."
Laughter again, a laughter I was more than glad to hear after all those years.
"Well, Kanny-boy, how 'bout you come over and chill for a while? I'll send a driver and we can talk when you're here."
"You don't know how much I'd appreciate, Frank. For real, how do you live here?!"
About an hour later, a black car, a brand new Rolls Royce stopped in front of me, right at the corner where I was waiting in the cooler shadow, blocking the traffic and most likely parking illegally.
The door opened and a tiny man in a suit with a cap on came out to greet me with a cheerful smile.
"Welcome to N'York, Mr. Tousen."
...
The car drove me through the parts of New York where one cannot venture by themselves, along the bay, on winding roads where the breeze was cool and the heat less unbearable.
We were heading towards Long Island and the signs were showing.
White boats with bright sails were visible along the shore, resting near the docks of the rich, but also out on the water as the weather was just fine for a good day at the sea.
The mansions were lined up one after another, each grander than the previous, each larger and each belonging to a more renowned family. And among them was the Levantiani house, standing out as the most imposing of all.