...Headland House, Chapter Two: The morning was bright and crisp after the evening’s storm. Still dressed in my bucks and half-unbuttoned shirt after tending to the horses, I backed into the Study door with the breakfast tray. Mstr. Douglas, seated at his desk, was reading from one of the volumes I recognized as Cervantes; a Cuaba perfumed the air. “Ildefonso, I don’t fully grasp the ‘nuance’ of this phrase; my Spanish doesn’t seem to be doing the translation justice,” Mstr. Douglas iterated, pointing to the text in question as he beckoned me forward with his impressionable gaze made even more vivid by his brilliant azure eyes. I placed the breakfast tray before him, and moved to the edge of the desk to take a closer look at the passage. Mstr. Douglas lifted the book to my advantage and as I viewed the words before me, my gaze slid from the page for a moment; I shifted my stance awkwardly as I sensed my loins' increasing volume. Having offered a plausible English translation for the poetic Spanish, I bade my Mstr. a healthy breakfast and moved toward the door. The sun was at my height, silhouetting my muscular form to the room. I heard a low, subdued sigh that came from behind me. I turned profile, paused, completed the turned and asked, “Will that be all, Sir?” “Yes, thank you…” Mstr. Douglas quickly replied, “and don’t forget that we’re taking you out for your first sailing this afternoon, Ildefonso. Be certain to wear warm gear!” I exited; the perspiration from my first chore of the day had not lessened the buckskin’s clench on my lower torso. It felt as though I had a second skin that had been painted over my muscular thighs and buttocks and was now vulgarly tight in the groin: it felt as though the bucks would have to be peeled away. As I turned right in the hallway, I noticed out of the corner of my eye that Mstr. Douglas must have observed my walk from the room, his gaze steadfastly fixed in my direction.