And I Begin

I was fourteen years old when I realized that my feelings for Caracalla were not at all fraternal. It happened in the summer, on one of those unbearably hot days that forced you to stay indoors. I watched my brother with a special delight, as if admiring the architecture of the Palatine Palace or the bizarre mosaic that adorned the house of Senator Gracchus everywhere. I didn't remember exactly how it happened; I only remembered that the realization crushed me like a marble slab. It became difficult for me to breathe, my clothes felt tight, I was thrown into hot and cold flashes whenever Caracalla looked in my direction. From a self-confident boy, I turned into a shy young man who was most afraid that his secret would be revealed.   By that time, I already had several concubines of my own, but I had not yet tasted the lips of men. I spied on Caracalla; on his chambers when mistresses came to him. It was noticeable that he showed no interest in them; I didn't understand then that no woman could please my brother. But that didn't stop me from dreaming of being in the place of the girls who were pleasing him. And Caracalla seemed to know that I was closely watching his orgies, licking my dry lips and constantly looking around to make sure there was no one nearby.   Only once did I work up the courage and went into his bedroom. It was late at night, my parents didn't suspect anything, and the Praetorians and servants guarded their peace. Caracalla was lying in bed, but even then he was tormented by insomnia and illness.   Seeing me, he just smiled, as if he had been waiting for my arrival for all fourteen years. We were close. Like brothers, not like lovers. I didn't know what to say to him, but Caracalla understood everything without words. He silently got out of bed, came up to me, and with a sharp movement pressed me against the wall. I expected him to take matters into his own hands, but he just studied my face without saying a word. I was terribly embarrassed, my stomach twisted, but I felt an unprecedented attraction. It was nothing compared to the playful curiosity that haunted me when I was a mere observer. My brother's hot breath scorched my skin, his hands on my shoulders gave me no room to maneuver. I was cornered by my own passions.   "Is that what you came for, brother?" Caracalla suddenly spoke. I swallowed, there was a lump in my throat. I was afraid of rejection.   "I come every night and—" I began to make excuses.   "And you stand behind the door. I noticed," a slight grin touched his lips, which were now dangerously close to mine. Could this be considered reciprocity? "Have you ever had a feeling like..."   I didn't listen any further. Desire overwhelmed me, covered me like an avalanche. I didn't want to talk, I didn't want to discuss anything. I clung to Caracalla's lips, closing my eyes, praying to the gods I never believed in that he wouldn't push me away.   He let me do it, holding me close. There were only two tunics between us — his and mine. I felt the heat of his body, his excitement. I seemed to have lost my mind and lost my mind for a few minutes. Caracalla deepened the kiss, and it seemed to me that he put into it all the passion and love he was capable of. He never kissed concubines like that. I was the first and only.   At that moment, I realized that I could not let my brother go. If before I thought that my father intended me to become emperor, and Caracalla to give up the throne, now I knew: I don't need a world without him. I was ready to follow Caracalla anywhere, realizing that we could never again be just relatives.