Guillaume Bacharene
bacharene@gmail.com
This story is a bit of fact and fiction although based on some key actual details. Names have been changed for privacy protection purposes. I reiterate that a mixture of fact and fiction is what good writing is about, and, one has to write, above all, for the reader. Getting the words right and telling a wonderful story to which readers can relate is key.
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Carlos' Story
Professor Carlos Gubain sat at the small table in his clapboard house kitchen with its multi-paned Georgian windows. It was Sunday and spring had arrived in New England. Although somewhat halting and indecisive, it was spring. Each day, the weather was a variation, which matched Vivaldi's Four Seasons Carlos so loved to play upon the cusp of seasonal change, as he celebrated each new day. On the table, his habitual tisane and oatmeal cooled. The newspaper sat in anticipation of soliciting timely interest and relevance to the moment.
Carlos looked out of the multi-paned window with its original hand-made glass panes from 1797. He felt good; better than he had in a long time and the array of daffodils and other spring flowers reasserting their presence in his garden stood as confident symbols of renewal and a new beginning. His dog having the ability to read the weather, on this particular morning, remained curled upon itself beside the warm stove and therefore, not interested in a walk. When he was in a walk mood, he lay instead by the door, nose pointing to where it opened.
Order, structure and predictability were returning to Carlos' life. He had not long overcome a series of unexpected health issues and his life had taken on a different reality, with which he was still coming to grips. Forbidden to drive for three months he had come to rely on the kindness of friends whenever he had to travel more than a mile or so. As a distinguished college professor, colleagues had tried not to treat him any differently but of course in fact and reality had done just that. He had become an unknown, living in the same body. Beyond the politeness and earnestly expressed concerns, colleagues had cultivated uncharacteristically long and awkward silences with and about him, where they hung like a mysterious fog. Within the specialised world and shifting sands of an already unpredictable academia, he realised he had to reinvent himself and make choices. This was about him. And, the other reality was that in 2018 he would retire and leave all of his academic life behind a firmly closed door, destined never to be re-opened.
He decided to have his shower. Before stepping under the caressing warmth of the water, he took a long look in the mirror. He was 64, still handsome, youthful and distinguished with chiselled features, a lean and taut body and salt and pepper hair cut in a flattering style. The worry lines from his three-month health scare had vanished and colour had returned to his face. His eyes sparkled. He was ready to take on the world again but on new and revised terms, terms still being formulated in his head. His organist friend, Marlene, knew all about this. She was supposed to be dying of cancer but refused to let it get in the way of her life. In her steely, determined way, she was an inspiration. There were others too.
As the water washed away the old Carlos and gave birth to the new, he said to himself aloud, "Well Carlos, a new dawn, a new life and a new future!" He felt buoyed. Later that day, he and the Dean were planning his classes and student supervision load. Even during the time of his health scare, the load had scarcely changed. In just the previous week he had been part of three thesis examinations and viva voce defences and this was quite apart from his normal classes. Vivas were always a pleasure when the student was bright and the thesis good. Many of course were not. In those cases, vivas were an ordeal to be survived and where one tried to latch onto anything positive able to be said and explored as relief from the agony for all.
His Wednesdays had become a particular test of survival and fortitude with his classes going on until 8:30pm. In fact he had wondered if it had all been a test of his mortality. As he dried himself off, he mused upon one of his life principles: success is the best revenge. But, feeling positive was a good thing and being back to total independence, a gift beyond measure.
Later, as he sipped his tisane and ate his oatmeal, he flicked through the paper. There was nothing much engaging until the 'Personals'. A line jumped off the page: 'MM. Young, very good-looking professional and grad student seeks older gentleman with class to show him the ropes.' There was a number to call and a code to enter.
Carlos mused. He fit the profile to perfection. He then began to think about the countless times he had been propositioned by students. There had been many offers to which he would like to have said 'Yes' but ever the consummate professional, he had always smiled sweetly, blushed, said thanks and changed the subject. Later in private, he would have to release and calm the erotic tension. As he mused, one graduate student in particular came to mind, James. James was quiet and bookish and never had much to say in class. To Carlos, James had a quiet and respectful approach to his work and assignments, which were always the best in his graduate class. His eyes always focused on Carlos, which he, Carlos, found flattering. He had a sense that mentally, James was undressing him. However, it was in research tutorials in Carlos' office that James really emerged from his shell. James always sat close and as well as the caressing eyes, as they worked, James performed (as Carlos noted in his head) 'creative moves' with his mouth and tongue. And, he was also a 'toucher' of knees and thighs especially. At first, Carlos had thought it all accidental but soon realised it was part of a pattern. It reached the point where James would squeeze Carlos' thigh or forearm to emphasise a point. There was never any verbal proposition but the sexual tension and opportunity was loaded and palpable. And, James was handsome with a fresh, wholesome, natural scent of his own. He knew his charms and how to exploit them with a subtle combination of allure, innocence and temptation. Carlos had seen it all before. The pressure cooker world of academia had multiple hierarchies of power and influence. There were the rankings of faculty within rankings of faculties; there were the rankings of students and there were the dynamics between each grouping. The relationships between faculty and students also had tensions. In essence this was about power and influence; favour and capacity. Each side was a critical judge of the other and within such a complex mix; there was also the opportunity for exploitation from all. Principles, professional values, ethical standards and acceptable behaviours were known to all but in such a heady, tension-filled world, the odours of temptation often acted like a drug, with the added exoticism of the illicit, the risky and the dangerous. Those with above average intelligence are no less immune to making choices, which on reflection, they might not otherwise make. And then there were faculty whose reputations for exploitation were known but spoken about in silent voices. Carlos, however, remained aloof from any stain and gossip and in relation to colleagues, whatever he saw, thought and felt remained within him. He believed in karma and was also reminded that the occasional faculty-student scandal did erupt, leading to adverse publicity, divorce, recriminations and resignations.
However, Carlos was not merely the object of attention from students. He was also the receiver of propositions online, although his natural caution and reserve made the process of connecting in person, somewhat challenging. Caution was also perhaps increased by his having very inquisitive neighbours who felt that his business was theirs but, so many of Carlos' many admirers lived already complex and ulterior lives of their own. It was thus a compounding of multiple complexities. Some were married, some had religious 'challenges' to face, others even more complex hang ups but, Carlos had a certain exotic factor, which tended to intrigue and further, his French ancestry gave a certain cachet. However, with both parties facing certain restrictions in the hosting of trysts, the naturally cautious Carlos and his equally cautious admirers were left with out-of-town encounters in motels and on occasion, at the cutting edge of danger, in secluded car parks and behind commercial premises after hours. Living dangerously was certainly not Carlos' thing but at times, carnal need and excitement and response to the moment, change one's perceptions of risk and danger. It was at such times that Carlos felt transported back to adolescence with furtive explorations related to his burgeoning sexual needs and his realising very quickly there were others with needs and interests matching his own. He was not alone, however, as always, the true challenge was finding each other and satisfying those most urgent and intense of needs, regardless how forbidden and frowned upon.
But, those were different times without the rampant technology and convenience of 2017. Latter day choice and options allowed for a supermarket of opportunity where goods and alternatives on offer could be put on display and various offers explored, negotiated and taken up. What was once a dark and mysterious cupboard was now a floodlit display of multiple choices and tastes.
So, by 2017, Carlos had realised that the often-quoted principles that 'there is no accounting for taste' and that 'all principles aside, there are always exceptions' rang ever more true.
Within his own world, he had wondered why students propositioned him. Certainly there was always the matter of grades and passing in the post-graduate degree hunt; students willing to do anything to gain favour and be accorded a higher level of competence. However, there were those (often brilliant students) whose needs had nothing to do with grades but with something less tangible, perhaps mere preference, taste; a tantalising brush with academic power. Such was James. But, more of James later. In the meantime, there was a parade of 'messieurs' through Carlos' life. It mattered not how they came into his life, be it a chat room or an app. It mattered not how the process for each unfolded. What mattered was the attraction, which transcended all; the arrival at that point where mere chatting and abstract exchange was not enough: there needed to be something more physical. And there was. Each 'monsieur' met a particular need for Carlos; each was different and each provided what Carlos called a 'toolbox service'. And, he didn't have to worry about the messy and complicated details of partnerships, relationships and allied discoveries, which often made the most attractive people totally the inverse.
Then there were the service encounters, those who operated checkout at the businesses he frequented who provided the stuff of additional fantasy: the Celtic boy who played the violin sublimely as certain festive times of the year in the local store, providing all with both a musical treat but also a vision of sheer human beauty, with a brilliant smile and personality. He loved playing, he loved pleasing with exquisite music and he loved life. Carlos was smitten. Another was the angelic techie boy with another radiant smile and personality, who rescued Carlos' laptop whenever something went wrong. Carlos would allow his imagination to flourish during and after their encounters, as seeds planted. Both and others became part of his erotic and emotional life, their images seared upon his brain.
Beyond the everyday encounters, Carlos also had his collection of 'messieurs'. He labelled and thought of them all in French, French being a language where all that might be considered sordid in English took on a certain edge of acceptability, of respectability even. He mused how the Code Napolon in France made it the place of freedom for the world and the place for every possibility, where citizens could live, free from judgement and admonition, especially in matters of sexual preference. Some in society might sneer and shake their heads behind gloved hands and fans, but in France, even the Catholic clergy just preached and then practiced as it suited. The church lived in accordance with a theoretical standard but that was flexible and in practice allowed anything within the embrace of discretion and privacy. Normality (whatever that was) was in any case, 'flexible'. As Carlos had discovered, to be a choirboy or priestly attendant in the Catholic Church meant having to meet certain duties for which there was no job description. It just was, and discretion applied to all within what was seen as 'normal'. To even complain and question was seen as 'abnormal'. The contradictions were never lost on those with the power and advantage of intelligence. For this reason, the Catholic Church became a refuge; the most sophisticated machine ever developed where contradiction and duality developed into the highest art where a priest could receive confessions from and give absolution to awkward fourteen year old boys about their masturbatory habits and immediately afterwards, fondle and kiss a priestly assistant without any sense of hypocrisy. It was not that the church was a lie or that their lives were a lie; the church simply was an organisation with a very long history of duality and contradiction wherein anything was tolerated unless and until it generated scandal. At such points, the denial and treatment were harsh; the church had been let down and the gates of hell opened for public judgement.
And so it was that 'les messieurs de Carlos' joined a select club, each accorded his label. There was Monsieur Veuf, a widower; Monsieur Voitures, who collected cars; Monsieur Policier, a retired cop; Monsieur Juif, escaping his strict, Jewish life for what he truly wanted and needed; Monsieur Prt--Manger, ready for anything quick, and like the masculine equivalent of fast food; Monsieur Mdecin, a doctor; Monsieur Camion, a truck driver. Each had needs, capacities and talents which Carlos accommodated and from which he derived satisfaction. Nonetheless, in spite of the variety and choice, Carlos felt frustrated. The simple fact was his collection of 'messieurs' could never be called reliable or regular. They were unpredictable treats. He seemed to be there to meet their needs, while his own rampant needs languished. And then, a sudden call out of the blue, a message, a rendezvous but without any control or order determined by Carlos. This was the very essence and being of frustration, needs satisfied unexpectedly and then being consumed once more by lingering frustration. In addition, Monsieur Veuf was seriously Catholic and convinced his trysts with Carlos would send him to hell. So, in spite of the pull of the flesh and the sinful needs they created and manifested, in spite of daily mass and confession, Monsieur Veuf had this other side, smothered in guilt, with vast potential to complicate Carlos' life. It was therefore better in general that his 'messieurs' remain at a convenient distance. Each inhabited his own box. In yet another twist, Monsieur Prt--Manger had, it turned out, taken up with a 20 year old who liked older men and contrived to get himself fucked regularly in the car park of his work place, hidden within the confines of the 20 year old's dark-windowed work van. Now, that really was living dangerously, especially given the setting and the fact that Monsieur Prt--Manger was married with two college-age sons, virtually identical in age to his secret paramour. It also brought a potential complication to Carlos' life he decided he did not want, being a backstop to Monsieur Veuf when the 20 year old was not available or otherwise engaged.
After much reflection, Carlos decided that despite their randomness, these one-sided encounters with his 'messieurs' had a definite place in his life but he needed something more. It was at that point that he began to look at James in a new light. He made a conscious decision. Instead of resisting James, he would yield and see where it all ended up. To Carlos' great surprise, however, it all happened much more quickly than he had dared to imagine. James had a progress tutorial scheduled two days later so Carlos brewed fresh coffee and went to his favourite French patisserie in search of some fresh pain au chocolat, unctuous with a special butter imported from New Zealand. His office smelled like an emporium of culinary and earthly delights. When James arrived at 2:00pm, he walked into the perfect setting of possibilities. He noticed.
Carlos sat behind his desk entering assessments, as James knocked and entered. Carlos stood up, and motioned James to the two armchairs at the side of his office. Normally they would sit at the table in the other corner. James inhaled audibly. 'Wow, what an amazing smell, Carlos. It makes everything in here seem delicious and edible.' They had been on first name terms since James began his doctoral research. Carlos poured coffee and placed a pain au chocolat on the low table in front of each armchair. He sat down and leaned back, sipping his coffee. James mirrored his actions and smiled what Carlos had already labelled 'the James smile'. 'Let's enjoy coffee and pain au chocolat before we get into the hard stuff,' he said. They were due to discuss functions of language across different languages and cultures and how this varied.
James was wearing beige chinos and boat shoes with a pale blue shirt under a navy sweater. He always had hair, slightly wild which gave him a raffish, attractive look. His hair was a dirty blonde as if from a lifetime of surfing in California, and his sunglasses pushed back on his head gave him a movie star edge. And, James gave Carlos 'the look' as they sipped coffee and ate pain au chocolat, flakes of unctuous pastry cascading to plates to be savoured with a saliva-moistened finger. 'Before we start, Carlos, I would like to invite you to lunch.' James looked serious. 'I want to say and show a special thank you to you for all the support you have given me on my research projects.' Carlos thought for a moment. 'That is very sweet of you James but, that's my job and for a student as good as you, it is an easy pleasure.' Carlos smiled. James smiled back and licked his lips. The erotic tension was building. 'But, dear James, you and I have work to do. We can sort out lunch details later.' They moved to the table and Carlos unshuffled a heap of papers, studded with Post-it notes. James leaned back in his chair, spreading his legs so their thighs touched, sending electrical frissons through Carlos. Then almost nonchalantly, James placed his arm across the back of Carlos' chair. The warmth from James' arm burned into Carlos' back. That was a new move. The electrics moved to a higher plane but, there was important work to be done and it had to be done. Time flashed by in a blur and then they were done. James squeezed and kneaded Carlos' shoulder with his hand. 'So, Carlos, how about lunch at my duplex on Saturday afternoon?' That was two days away. 'Shall we say 12:30pm? I will email you details. Is there anything you don't or can't eat?' 'As one of French blood, I eat everything,' Carlos replied, 'everything.' Carlos stood up. James knew he had another class. He too stood up and stretched, cat-like. As he was leaving he kissed Carlos on both cheeks, French style. Another new move Carlos had not expected but things were already moving in interesting directions, innocent or not.
The rest of the week was busy and Carlos barely had time to think about the encounter with James. When he did, however, the erotic intensity was palpable. This was all the stuff of fantasy but equally had taken on a dimension of interesting possibilities. On Friday evening, for dinner Carlos had a bowl of chicken soup with fresh and crunchy baguette warmed in the oven. His iPad pinged a message from James with the address. It was barely 20 minutes' drive away according to Google maps. Carlos had an early night. He was tired after a busy week.
Late next morning, after habitual tasks were completed, he began to think about what to wear. He opted for a red sweater over a green tailored Mille Chemises shirt from Paris with dark grey pants and black slip on shoes. He did his hair carefully and chose Monsieur Rochas, a lemon-scented eau-de-cologne. Next he went to his wine cupboard and chose a bottle of 2010 Chteau Paraza 'Les Baronnies' from Hrault in the Languedoc. As an additional treat, he retrieved a packet of Langues de Chat from Fauchon in Paris. And then he was ready.
As it turned out, James lived not far from the college but in the opposite direction. Carlos walked up the pathway having parked in front of James' garage. The garden was green and lush with an apparent focus on foliage plants rather than flowers. He heard Schubert's 'Trout Quintet' playing. 'A great choice,' he thought to himself. James came to the door dressed exactly as he was for the tutorial, looking ever more handsome. Again, he kissed Carlos French-style on both cheeks and expressed delight at the wine. His duplex was white minimalist, fresh and clean and whatever lunch was, it all smelled delicious. The table had been set in pristine white, including the flowers. It all looked like a designer magazine. Carlos was enchanted. It this was to be a seduction, the setting was certainly perfect!
James disappeared to the kitchen and re-appeared with two flutes of champagne, balanced on a silver tray and the bottle in an ice bucket. He did the duty of opening and service with professional aplomb, pouring two flutes to perfection. 'To collaboration and partnership,' he said. They clinked glasses. They wandered out into the rear garden and yet more foliage plants and trees. It looked almost tropical with new spring growth everywhere. 'This really is a magical setting, James. It reminds me of Hawai'i.' James smiled. 'My dad did it all. He's a landscape architect.' The words took things to a higher level again. James' dad was no mere creator of landscapes; he designed and constructed them. There was a difference.
In his own space, James was in control while nurturing and building an intense and erotic tension. It continued over lunch, where they sat opposite each other, feet playing a kind of roulette. Lunch was a seared tuna salad with a touch of chilli and slivers of cos lettuce and carrot, garlic and pepper pasta with a hint of lemon grass; crusty bread and then pears poached in red wine, star anise and cinnamon with a dash of crme anglaise and a dollop of vanilla seed crme Chantilly. The Chteau Paraza was a hit. 'I'm a red man with anything and everything,' James had quipped.
Later they sipped coffee and savoured the Langues de Chat in James' comfortable living room, opposite each other and almost knee-to-knee. James fixed his eyes on Carlos intently, more intently than ever. After a time of deep concentration he finally spoke. 'Can I ask you a very personal question, Carlos?' Carlos realised this as a significant moment. 'Of course,' he replied. It was as if he had engineered the entire event and it was going to plan. James thought for what seemed an interminable period. 'Have you ever thought about me in a sexual way, Carlos? I think you should know that I fantasise about you endlessly.' It seemed to Carlos that James had already framed his, Carlos', answer. Carlos put down his cup. 'James, you are a very attractive man and yes, I have thought about you in a sexual way but also, I am old enough to be your father.' It came out in a very matter-of-fact way, rather like a debate within a tutorial. A smile developed on James' face, making it light up more. 'Good,' he said, 'I have thought so much about you fucking my ass as your tongue fucks my throat.' I was very direct and although Carlos was a little surprised, he maintained his composure. After a time he said, 'I had no idea but, I too had thoughts of you fucking my ass. So, we have an impasse.' James smiled even wider. 'Easy solution, then. We fuck each other.'
They finished their coffees and refills and the Langues de Chat. Then James reached out his hand, and took Carlos', hand leading him to the bedroom. They kissed, a gentle but electric kiss and started to undress each other. Then they were on the bed in rampant passion, tasting of coffee and cinnamon and nutmeg from the Langues de Chat. It had in fact been the perfect mutual seduction, somewhat ideal in the complicated matter of Carlos' sex life. James smelled just like Carlos and in a moment of passion, as the room tumbled about them, Carlos saw the bottle of Monsieur Rochas on James' dresser, the one Monsieur upon whom he could rely. It was an omen of good. It was also no surprise that both loved kissing and both did so with ardour and intent, their cocks locked in an intertwined dance of their own. And then, James reached over retrieving lube from the bedside table. What followed was choreographed perfection as 8 inches of circumcised perfection slid deep into Carlos' ass and warmth radiated throughout his body as James fucked him, caressed him and kissed him to the point that Carlos was transported to another planet. He had never been fucked so exquisitely and he wanted it to last forever. And then with a gasp and a series of shudders and convulsions, James could no longer control himself. They lay in each other's arms, kissing; Carlos' erect cock drooling pre-cum. Then James rolled onto his front, whispering urgently, 'Fuck me hard Carlos, really hard.'
Carlos obliged. He had always preferred to be the bottom but a deal was a deal. He lubed his cock and positioning himself, entered James ass, tight and warm. He settled his body along that of James and nuzzled James' neck, entwining fingers. James shuddered. 'Oh fuck, Carlos, I've wanted this for so long.' Carlos began to fuck James, slowly at first and then increasing tempo and vigour, forcing James' legs wider apart with his. James moaned, louder and louder, itself a turn-on. The bed shuddered, James shuddered, Carlos shuddered as James worked his ass muscles around Carlos' cock. Carlos felt as if his entire being had come to reside in his cock and balls and then, with the sounds and sheer physicality of it all, intensified in the brain, Carlos felt his peak of no return mounting until he exploded deep in James' ass. James shuddered again, moaning softly. 'Stay inside me Carlos.' They remained conjoined for a good ten minutes before Carlos felt the urge to pee. As he did, James entered the bathroom, turned on the shower and then began nuzzling Carlos neck and brushing his nipples as he emptied his bladder. They took a long shower together and then dried each other off. Afterwards they went back to bed, resuming kissing and then sucking each other off. It was all tender and relaxed.
Thereafter, although it had been a long time coming, Carlos felt as if things had changed in his life. James did as well. Three weeks later, after many more lunches and dinners between their homes, over champagne at Carlos' house one afternoon, James smiled and clinking flutes said: 'I love you Carlos and what is more, I want you on my life forever.' 'L'homme propose, le Dieu dispose,' Carlos responded and then repeated it in English: 'Man proposes, God disposes.'