Page 23 of The Gentleman’s Thief

“No matter what you decide, after the ritual, you will keep all that you have learned a secret. Our connections are a gossamer spider’s web running throughout polite society. We are quite prepared to ruin the reputation of any man who spreads slander.” Blake warned his peculiar eyes devilish while his mouth made a crescent of a smile. From the malevolent look in his two-tone eyes, I did not doubt that I would be in a great deal of trouble if I breathed a word of what happened tonight. I gulped and my thoughts swam. I felt an uncharacteristic lightness in my limbs and the judgment of what is right and wrong started to slip from my mind. The mantel clock sounded a dull ominous chime for nine-thirty. Lawrence Blake clapped his hands together.

“It is time. Come with me.”

I had not consented to anything, but I found that in my relaxed state I was curious as to what this ritual was, and indeed the identity of the Brothers of the Seed. What did Blake mean by ‘exchanging wisdom’ and what was this vessel?

I stood and with my limbs moving in what felt like a puppet fashion, I followed Lawrence Blake.

The Vessel

Blake led me from the anteroom and along an empty hallway as if he were tugging me with an invisible string. My head felt fuzzy and I was surprised that just one glass of that green liqueur could make me feel this inebriated. The walls in the hallway were tiled halfway and bottle green in colour. There was a smell in the air which poked and prodded at my memory…yes, it was from my school days—the pungent odor of sweaty armpits and feet—the scent of boys changing rooms.

Blake paused outside a pair of wide double doors. Above the doors, there was a line of Latin: Mens sana in corpore sano. I was the worst pupil in my Latin class and so when the study of the language was done, I seemed to have rid my memory of it. Therefore, for a devout man, my Latin was embarrassingly poor, but I was sure I could remember the phrase well enough. To the left of the double doors, there was a single door with a sign on it saying ‘Caretaker’s Closet’.

“You will observe the ritual from here,” Blake instructed. He opened the closet door and gestured for me to enter.

With automaton movements, I stepped in without question. Part of my mind was calling to me, asking why I had become so tractable! When Blake closed the door behind me I discovered I had not entered a closet at all, but a darkened secret passage. I saw a shaft of flickering light and ten steps in I found an open hatch in the wall at eye height. It was just wide enough for me to see into the large room within. The walls were half tiled in turquoise. There were strange timber bars, like ladders, and hooks in the ceiling. I did not know what this room was, but I understood now that I was to be a voyeur and bear witness to this ritual. I laid my cane against the wall, propping my hat on the pummel. I pressed myself closer to look into the room.

The set up was liturgistic, like something one would see for a religious ceremony, and the lighting was set purposely low. In the center of the room, a long table was draped with purple velvet fabric fringed with gold. Two items sat on the table—a purple and gold silk cushion at the head of the table, and in the center stood a silver chalice. I observed the chalice and from the shape of the cup and base, I knew it was old, maybe fourteenth century? I deduced that it must be the vessel Blake spoke of. Apart from standing candelabrum at each corner of the room, there was no other illumination and the dancing light cast ghostly shadows.

Hearing a noise I sent my gaze to the doorway on the left. The double doors opened and a procession of seven men entered the room walking at a slow gait while chanting in a low murmur. All of the men were barefoot and wore floor-length robes of red, buttoned to the waist and gold half-face masks to disguise their true identities. To my horror, there was not one pair of trousers to be seen. The procession was headed by a man who, even though he was also masked, from his wiry form I recognized was Lawrence Blake. The acolytes took their places, three men on either side of the table. Blake passed by them and stood at the head of the table.

I was torn, fighting with my feelings of discomfiture and the building elation in my blood at knowing I was not alone—there was a society of homosexuals where each man was accepted for who he was. The thought of being part of a secret society, a brotherhood of men who understood our attraction, and shared our wisdom appealed but was unsure about the ritual aspect of this particular club!

I could leave now while they were in the midst of their childish ritual, or I could stay and find out exactly what I had been coerced into witnessing. From what Lawrence Blake said, all members would share themselves with other members. This fact began the churn of disquiet in my gut, and also drew me to the conclusion that this was not my path. I did not want to share my desires with a group of men; however, I was most certainly committed to the possibility of one man ruling my heart.

“Bring forth the vessel.” Lawrence Blake announced. I expected one of the acolytes to collect the silver chalice that stood in the center of the table and deliver it to Blake, but they did not. The two men closest to the door turned and strode to it. Each took a door handle and pulled it open. I gasped as I saw a young blond man standing there clothed in a pure white gossamer robe. The fabric was see-through and I could make out every inch of his lithe young body. I gulped and undid the shirt button at my throat. The newcomer wore a silver half-mask and I was unsure if I was hallucinating or not, but he shone with ethereal light as if there was silver in his hair and on his skin. I knew immediately, this was the German noble, Baron Leopold Von Liebenstein, and by the looks of it, he appeared to be a central figure in this play. The men each took hold of his graceful hands and led him to the table as the others recited an incantation. Leopold moved on light feet, his head held high as if he were a prized pony at a flesh auction.

Blake then spoke in reverent tones. I was sure it was Bible verse he recited.

”Come, let us make our father drink wine, and we will lie with him, that we may preserve the seed of our father”.

With a nod of permission from Blake, Leopold chuckled and gripped the chalice. He held it up to his lips and flirtatiously said “Bottoms up!” before he tossed his blond curls back and consumed the contents. I guessed it must have been wine, for a drop of red liquid fell from the side of his mouth and the boy’s tongue absently shot out to lick it away. Leopold gave the chalice to one of the acolytes who passed it up the line until it sat with the cushion at the head of the table.

Leopold held his arms out and the men who were standing either side attended to him, unfastening the robe, and displaying Leopold’s youthful naked flesh. His skin appeared to sparkle in the candlelight. He was twenty-two, yet had no chest hair at all, but there was a nest of soft blond curls at his pubis. His flushed pink prick stood proudly and while watching him from my secret viewing place behind the wall I felt heat leap to burn my cheeks and my tallywags begin to throb with unwanted arousal.

The boy let the robe drop to the floor. He then turned gracefully, sat on the table, and lay back with his head upon the silk cushion. His youthful nakedness was displayed like an offering—a sacrifice. I knew then that I was witnessing a sexual rite the likes of which I had never, in my most deviant imaginings, considered. I understood too that the vessel Blake spoke of was not made of silver, as I had initially thought, but of flesh and bone.

I could see that the other acolytes were aroused by the sight of the lithe young man laid out before them, their cockstands protruding through the gaps in their red robes—large and small, ruddy, and thick, leaking precious pre-ejaculate. I could smell the pungent scent of sweat and sex from where I stood and it did nothing to make my shameless prick stand down.

Not one of the masked men moved to take their cocks in-hand or touch the boy. But Blake stepped forward, standing behind Leopold’s head. He leaned in and gave the boy a tender, open-mouthed kiss. Leopold was a very responsive young man. His hips rose from the table with desire and his prick lifted from his flat belly. Oh, the euphoria that rushed through me at witnessing such a beautiful sight.

Blake straightened and proclaimed:

“And so it is written, all life begins with sacred seed. Semen is the concentration of male perfection, of life, of wisdom—the liquid embodiment of the soul. We give the best of ourselves in our seed.”

“Bless-ed is the seed” The men chanted.

“And so tonight we perform our ritual. We share wisdom and life from brother to brother. It is the first step toward our greater goal. Our sacred vessel awaits us. We will be reborn, resurrected with the eternal cycle of life.”

The acolytes eerily murmured their response. Then each gripped his rod and began frigging.

I shook my head to bring myself out of this fever dream. This could not be. This ritual was a corruption—a mockery. I was disgusted, however, I found myself mesmerized by so many rigid stands, and, goodness, the desperate moaning sounds from the men as they tugged and stroked while watching Leopold sent my boiling blood straight to my cock. The boy was quite the coquette, running his hands teasingly up and over his chest, tweaking his nipples and then simulating the erotic movements of sex, his hips pistoning up and down on the table.

I understood from what Sebastian had discovered, that the Von Liebenstein boy led a rather sheltered life in Germany—which was why his father permitted his journey to London. How did the boy become such a prick-tease at this a young age if his life had been cloistered?

The liquid he consumed must have contained a drug for I did not believe any young man in his right mind would willingly behave so wantonly. No matter what, this was not Godly work, I was sure of it. It was an orgy of sin and depravity and I did not see how this ritual could lead to the giving of life or the resurrection of man.

The whimpers and moans increased, and colours flashed before my eyes, I did not want to look, but it was as if the Devil himself was in my britches and I could not look away. My shameless prick throbbed and ached to be touched. God forgive me, but I gave in. I hurriedly undid my buttons and thrust my hand into my trousers. I fisted my stand until I spent, my seed dashing up the timber panels of the secret passageway. I was immediately washed in a wave of burning shame.