Lawrence Blake entered the room, closing the door succinctly behind him. I saw that he was barefoot and to my shock, as he passed by me to take a seat at the table I saw a flash of pale thigh through a gap in his robe and realized to my horror, he was not wearing trousers. This was highly irregular.
Blake sat opposite me and confidently steepled his fingers, those heterochromatic eyes pinning—as if he was privy to information he was sure I did not know. In a low, measured voice Blake said,
“Before we can proceed I need you to understand a few things.” He absently picked up the unlabeled bottle and poured two measures of a green spirit that smelled strongly of anise. It was Absinthe. I had never tasted the liqueur, but at university, a boy in my halls, Frederick Seaton, stole a bottle of it from his father’s drinks cabinet and brought it back after the Easter holidays. He shared it with several others, Euan included, and they got themselves disgustingly drunk, and if not for their parentage, they would have been expelled. I was offered a glass and called a rotten coward for not joining in. Even then my moral compass was strong and true.
Lawrence Blake positioned a full glass of Absinthe in front of me and a smaller measure for himself. I did not want to drink it, but then again, my nerves were getting the better of me.
Blake paused, observed me for a moment and then purred, “I know what you are, Benedict.”
My mouth went dry and here was the rub—I knew that at last I was to be punished for submitting to my deviant weakness. Someone must have seen Cavell enter the bedroom at the Athenaeum Club and Blake must have lured me here for the purpose of blackmail.
“You are a wicked sinner, an abomination, a sodomite—” Blake’s voice and gaze penetrated me, and feeling the full weight of his wrath I hung my head in shame. How had he found out? I was sure Sebastian and I were discrete, and there had been no other man since Euan. I had remained celibate for so long and this one slip-up had brought me to my knees. This admonishment was all I deserved for giving in to the devil's temptation and my nature.
“You are—like me,” Blake confessed.
I looked up, shocked, and wondered if I had heard him correctly. “P…Pardon?” This could not be so. My emotions were torn from the depths of despair and shame and up into the light of possibility.
“Benedict, brother, don’t be afraid.” Blake said in a softer voice, “I know that your church believes that men who lay with men are the height of wickedness. But I do not believe in your God and the teachings of your church are not my truth. There are many men who have discovered this and secretly live by their own truth… their own desire.”
My mind swam and I did not know what to think. I reached for the glass of Absinthe and, as if I was drinking Brandy, I tossed it back. I knew as soon as the liquor hit my tongue that I had made a dreadful mistake and should have sipped it. Gods, the burn as the alcohol flowed into my gullet made my eyes water. I coughed and fought for breath. Blake paused for a moment on witnessing me make a damnable fool of myself. He gave me a peculiar, satisfied grin and then topped up my glass. I would not take another drop of that devilish drink.
Blake continued his patter, speaking casually as if we weren’t engaged in a one-sided conversation.
“I have studied many religions and their attitudes on homosexuality. There are passages in your Christian Bible that say our expression of love is sinful. However, the Egyptians, Mesopotamians, Greeks, and Romans—great powerful civilizations—all encouraged congress between men.”
This assertion was correct. Much of my personal historical research proved that homosexual trysts were commonplace in Ancient Greece, Erastes-Eromenos relationships – that is, the love between older and younger men was part of the coming of age.
“There is a record of male love in Greek tapestries, ceramics, and wall murals. Greece even had an Army of Lovers—the mightiest warriors, all of whom shared carnal knowledge because that intimate bond made them better fighters, closer than brothers.” I added knowledgeably.
“Indeed. The love between Greek men was seen as a rite of passage into manhood, and consuming gentleman’s relish sealed that sacred bond.” Blake continued.
“I beg your pardon!” I was sure I was blushing for I suddenly felt exceedingly hot and uncomfortable in my skin.
“Semen, Benedict.” Blake grinned mocking me for my prudery.
“We can speak freely of all things here.” He reminded. “The belief that semen is a sacred magical fluid is found throughout history, did you know that? It is the spark, the key, the life force that man creates within his body, and in turn, uses it to give new life. That does not only mean procreation with a woman. We believe it also means extending a man’s existence through the consumption of sacred nectar.”
This was pure quackery, somewhere in my mind I was certain this Godless American was a fraud, however, my body felt strange and I believed I was glued to my chair. I did not want to listen anymore but I could not move as the strange elixir I had consumed fizzed in my veins.
“It is said that men like us have dishonorable passions and we need to be shamed and punished for our sins.” This was indeed the kind of rhetoric that had been pummeled into me by my church from when I was a lad.
Lawrence Blake stood and passionately thumped a fist on
