The Archaeologist

By Gus Ralthocco

Leopold is an archaeologist working in Malta over the summer alongside students from a visiting university, and Anton, the translator who came to help out. At the start, Anton shares his desire for Leopold. They promise to keep in touch, but Leopold loses his phone, and Anton spirals from low self-esteem.

They reunite through Leopold’s brother, who manages to track down Anton after he realizes Leopold had someone on his mind. When the two meet again, they realize the moment they had together was incredible for both of them and the spark is still alive, but if they want to have a relationship, they need more than that.

Do Leopold and Anton have what it takes to stay together?

• Language: English
• Publisher: JMS Books LLC
• Release date: Dec 9, 2023
• ISBN: 9781685505868

Book preview

Part 1: From the Highest High to the Lowest Low

Chapter 1

It was a hot summer in the Mediterranean, yet it couldn’t hold a candle to the vision of that man at work. He’d been lecturing students in this weather for weeks, talking animatedly about the recent discoveries at the archaeological sites of Malta and how they were important to early European history, and he looked delectable doing it.

I thought he was far from a sophisticated man. I’d seen him spit on the ground when his mouth was too dry and full of dirt and sand. He sweated buckets every day, to the point of smelling like a working bull that had been carrying stones under the sun, which wasn’t far from what he did. Even dripping sweat and laying his moist paw on my shoulder, squeezing hard enough for my skin to redden, that man was never an affront to the senses.

He was tactile, a strong opposite to the last man I had in my life. He was always coming far too close to everyone he talked to, not just me, yet no one seemed to push him away. Women and men had to look up to his eyes before their gazes would stray down to his lips and neck, staring at the Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he spoke of old temples from the Neolithic with an enthralling excitement. He touched people on their arms, their shoulders, and brought them close under his wing. At times, I noticed some get uncomfortable, perhaps not because of the proximity in itself, but because his presence was so all-consuming it was hard not to surrender to his spell.

And then, there was that part of his body. Not a single person in his orbit could ignore it, and obviously I couldn’t either, because I had never seen anything like it. He was always wearing cargo shorts that, although made of thick fabric, would still show all that he was packing. More often than not, he was crouching on the ground, pointing at details of excavation sites, opening his legs and stretching that piece of garment until it strained so hard against his crotch, I thought he’d rip it open. I was sure most of us were expecting or wanting that to happen.

It never did.

He was so big it never ceased to amaze me how you could see the mound between his legs from almost every possible angle, a mountain of warm flesh that would fill both hands. On some days, you could see the big balls hanging low and marking his shorts, and on very few occasions, when he was not as flaccid as his lack of care for other people seemed to show, you could catch a glimpse of the shape of his head. It made my mouth water.

Still, he was an island fortress, emotionally distant from everyone. Unattainable, the exchange students whispered. Of course, most of them were decades younger than he was. And they were nothing but a there-and-gone glimpse in his life, in this summer program to work, and not something else.

This was no vacation. But after a day out in the sun everyone would run away to the myriad of bars in Paceville, where they could mingle with all the other young students and tourists in the city.

It’s good to relax after a long week’s work, but it’s not for me, the man would say, dismissing the students who invited him for a walk on the beach or to drink a cold beer at a bar.

I never asked him out. Mostly afraid of another rejection.

To fill my summer with something other than worrying about my thesis or my recurrent bouts of loneliness, I was there as an assistant-interpreter, because of my studies in Linguistics at the University of Malta. Most days we were close from early morning to night. Still, he didn’t seem to need my services when he worked, using command words in English that sounded gruff and tantalizing coming from his mouth. But when he interacted with students and teachers from the visiting universities, I came in to offer a better link of communication between them. I also helped translate documents, and just be of service when needed.

To say I enjoyed myself would be an understatement. The sheer presence of the man so close to me made it impossible for anyone else. I had scoured the apps all over Malta and Gozo in search of someone to quench my thirst