Richard and Franco 02
A year of Rosalie
Bi-MMF
-> Please donate to Nifty so that we can keep sharing these stories! <-
My name is Richard. I graduated college as an accounting major with a writing minor about two years ago.
Since leaving home and college in the States, I've gotten an education.
I have lived in Haiti for the past 18 months. I have been working in the kitchen of the best hotel in Port-Au-Prince, first as a dishwasher, then as "veg-prep", and finally as a saucier.
I've been given stuff I'd never been seen before, but my best guess seemed to meet the head chef's approval, but enough about work for now.
I live in a sparse but comfortable house with my roommate, Franco. We became lovers my first week here. I thought that would last forever.
It lasted six months.
The big change came in the form of something called a "Rosalie", Franco got a girlfriend.
Our house had alcoves and doorways, but no doors so if they were having sex I knew all about it.
I was back to sleeping on the twin bed.
For six months after Rosalie showed up, Franco joined me for my morning push-ups, jog and swim every other morning instead of every day.
I had supper with Franco and Rosalie every other day.
On half of my days off, I cooked for three people. The other days I cooked for myself and didn't see them.
I had something of a knot in my stomach. It's one thing to have a lover go away, but to live under the same roof with their new partner is hell on earth.
I had grounds to hate Rosalie, but she did a few things that made that difficult.
One was that sometimes when the three of us ate together, she'd kiss me as a greeting, when we broke apart, or both.
She was a Creole girl and had never lived anywhere but Haiti. She had no family in Port-Au-Prince, and was something of a free spirit.
About two months after she started her affair with Franco, the three of us sat under the open ceiling of our tiny courtyard and she produced a joint, lit it and passed around.
This was my introduction to it. I suppose most hotel kichen staff start much earlier, and I thought maybe my parents smoked it but they seem to be more free-spirited than me.
Fortunately the next day I was off; my "sunrise" jog and swim came at 9am that day, and was painful.
After that, the three of us shared a joint about once a month. I felt that if I became a full-blown stoner I'd loose my workout routine and I'd be trimming produce for the rest of my life.
About four months after Rosalie started with Franco, while the three of us were again sharing a joint in the courtyard, she talked us into something Betty, Bill and I should've probably tried in high school. I'm glad I did it while I was 22 and not, say 32; we did our toenails.
The next morning at 8am, because I was off work and still getting used to the weed, I did my barefoot run and lagoon swim sporting wild-cherry toenails. Painted fingernails seemed like a bad image for the guy trimming your vegetables, but I couldn't object to the toenails. The local policeman I usually see on my morning run did a double-take.
Finally, sex. Who? Me! Doldrums. My last sex with Franco had been the evening before he first brought Rosalie home. Most of the LGBT folks I was counseling were in high school or even younger. The other adults were lesbians. I danced with lots of people at Fiesta, but it's too loud to talk and casual sex had left me unhappy when I was a college freshman.
So at the point when I'd been in Haiti for a year, I thought that a routine had been established.
Again, my world got turned on it's ear, and again change came with the name of "Rosalie".
I didn't realize that I'd been in Haiti for a year. I did realize that I could hear a lot more noises from Franco and Rosalie that were neither happy nor sex, and it had been building in volume for about a week. By this point I could do my day-to-day business in the local dialect, but their words were outside of my grocery buying vocabulary. Finally, Rosalie was out the door.
A minute after she had left, Franco came to me on the twin bed, where I was doing something pointless on my Macbook.
I looked up, "What was that about?", I asked.
"Let's go get a drink and I'll tell you", he said.
I threw on flip-flops and a reasonably clean shirt and we walked a whole two blocks to one of those places that the police call before raiding.
"I think that Rosalie's mad that we were lovers, and she's mad that we're not lovers", Franco took a sip, "She seems difficult to please".
It turns out that the part of Creole that I didn't know, I was better off not knowing. "What does she want?"
"She won't tell me and I can't make sense of her."
Franco and I got supper at the bar, though the bartender made a phone call and a kid came fifteen minutes later with our food from around a corner.
We determined that nothing was going to be resolved without Rosalie, so after supper we went back home. Franco kissed me before we turned in, but we slept in our own beds.
The next day I got a surprise on arrival at work; the saucier had left for another resort, and I was offered the position. The raise was significant but it was harder work, mostly in that I was using my brain a lot more than I'd needed to since college.
That evening I got home feeling like I'd been hit with a truck, but Rosalie was there, smiling at me when I got through the door. "We need to talk!", she said to me in English.
Something in the back of my head said, "Lookout!"
We found an above-average street cafe, and Franco just sat back and let Rosalie do the talking.
There were a lot of words, half Creole, but the short version was that she didn't want to leave and she was upset about breaking up Franco and I.
She wanted Franco and I to become lovers again, and she wanted to become my lover as well. Her last word from that long speech was French: "Menage Et toi".
It occured to me that half the sex I'd had in my life was as part of a trio, but I'd never thought of it as a "Menage Et toi". Sounded like something completely new.
I had two glasses of rum with supper that night.
When we got back to the house, we stripped and Rosalie kissed us both, then Franco and I kissed like we were making up for lost time.
I got the purple dildo and put a condom on it while Franco lubed himself.
Rosalie really liked the color of the dildo.
I handed the thing to Franco and he started working it into himself.
I stood behind Rosalie and held her from behind while she watched Franco work the dildo, my dick pressing against her back.
Her hands were on her tits and she was breathing through her teeth.
If was only a few minutes till Franco had hit bottom with the dildo. He pulled it out and said, "I can take you now".
I took the dildo from him, took off the condom and threw the dildo in the sink. I put on a fresh condom as he put the pillow under his ass.
Rosalie gave Franco a big, open-mouthed kiss as I positioned myself and slowly started to push. I stopped when I was halfway in, and then Rosalie gave me a French kiss. Then I began the back and forth motion to work my way completely inside. Franco's butt was out of practice, but in a couple of minutes I was completely there. I felt like I'd recovered something precious that had been lost. Franco was smiling at me, and I started to give him a long, slow, proper fucking.
When we had a steady pace going I noticed Franco glance at Rosalie, maybe to see if she was still here. I looked too, and she was grinning at us. Now she came and kissed each of us quickly. I decided that we needed to put on a good show, and really went at it. Franco started grunting and got a suprised look on his face, so I guessed that I was hitting his prostate. I leaned over, kissed him and said, "Save something for your girl", in Spanish. He grinned back and me.
Soon I was making the last two thrusts as solid and deep as I could, and I was done. I saw him trying to contain himself. I gave him a nod, and he muttered back, also in Spanish, "She's our girl now".
I pulled back and started cleaning up, putting the condom in the trash and using tissues to clean his ass up a little.
Rosalie jumped in the bed and started making out with Franco. I found my spot and started eating her wet pussy. Franco saw what I was doing and went to work on her breasts with his hands. In only a few minutes she was rocking in orgasm. I opened a third condom for the evening and rolled it onto Franco, and the two of them got arranged so he could fuck her.
Rosalie might've been the most ready woman in the world, and Franco was all the way inside in an instant. He started slow, though I know he wanted to go at full clip as soon as they started. I just stayed out of the way; I'd had my fun for the evening. Maybe he lasted ten minutes, but he could be forgiven; he'd had a big day. I waited till he pulled out, then I kissed them both and helped clean up.
We took showers one at a time and I went to my twin bed to sleep.
When I got to work the next morning, the head chef took me with him when he went to the outdoor market and showed me his favorite vendors for produce, meat, seafood and poultry. He taught me what to look for and what to avoid. A year before I had been a dishwasher and he hadn't known my name.
A week later the Chef and I went to the market together again, and for the rest of my time there I went to the market alone first thing, and the hotel cooked and served whatever I brought back.
For the next six months Franco and I made the morning barefoot jog and lagoon swim about two mornings out of every three. Rosalie was never tempted to join us.
As far as sex, it was a three-person free-for-all, always with condoms now; Franco and I never discussed going bareback while we were with Rosalie, and we sure weren't going to discuss it with her.
So, when the day came that I'd been in Haiti for eighteen months, I had a decent paying job with some responsibility and two lovers. There was even a respectable amount of money in my savings account.
As it had every six months since I left the States, change came.
This time, the name of the change was The Absence of Rosalie.
Something happened in her family. Franco and I never found out if somebody died or was sick. We got back from work one day and she left a her house key with a note saying that she loved us but wouldn't be coming back; she had gone to her family in Cap Haitien. My MacBook told me that it was on the other side of the country, and we didn't have a car. We had walked everywhere in Port Au Prince.
I felt a lump in my throat.
Franco cried while I held him.
After about 45 minutes I talked him into going to get some supper; we went to the nearest street vendor. The owner looked at us and the fact that it was only the two of us; he brought us two glasses of rum each and patted our shoulders. We shared Franco's bed that night and just cuddled.
I went to work the next morning, because I didn't know any better. The lights in the kitchen were on but nothing was going on. My first instinct was anger that the staff was gonna get me in trouble with the chef, but before I could blow any relief valves the hotel manager came in and asked me to follow him.
I'd never seen the hotel manager in the kitchen before.
The rest of the staff, except the chef, were in the guest breakfast area. Red velvet ropes cut it off from the lobby. I saw the back of a sign; it must've been directing guests to Starbucks or McDonalds or whatever our competition was.
The hotel manager said that the Chef's contract had expired. I still don't know if that's a euphamism for "fired". We were all asked to re-apply for our jobs, with the expectation that all of us that wanted to stay were welcome to, except me. That made me feel more awake than I had all day.
The manager looked at me and said, "As you've been successful as the saucier for the past many months, I must ask you if you will accept the position of head chef".
It occured to me that some of the people working in the kitchen had been here longer than me, and that at least one of them had been to a culinary school.
I thanked the hotel manager and told him that I would like a good reference, but that others in the room were better qualified and I was resigning.
I explained that I only ever started in the kitchen because I needed to pay my bills and that I never wanted to be a chef.
We shook hands, and went through the kitchen, changed and went home.
I did my jog and swim, which I had skipped earlier. I talked to my parents on the phone, which was kinda stupid because I had half a story, and most of their quesitons I couldn't answer yet. I did some reading on the beach, wondering if I'd have that chance again, and I was waiting for Franco when he came home.
I told him that I'd been offered the position of Chef, and that I hoped they hired someone else. I also told him that I'd resigned because if I became a chef I'd never leave that hot claustrophobic kitchen. Franco pointed out that this jeopardized my visa. I told him that I had 30 days to coast.
We talked for two hours.
We got supper, and stayed in those seats for about three hours.
We went home and bounced some of our questions off of our MacBooks. Google and Wikipedia spoke to us, and then the web sites of a total of five countries gave us their wisdom.
France won; we both applied online for French work visas that evening.
We took a shower together, extra soapy, paying lots of attention to our assess and calloused feet.
We rinsed each other really good, and did a lousy job of drying off because that didn't seem as important.
We got in a sixty-nine-like position, but heads to toes and we sucked, kissed and nibbled each other's toes for a few minutes, which we'd never done before.
After a few minutes of this we shifted to another sixty-nine-like position, this time curled into each other and rimming each other's asses, tongues as far in as they could go.
It wasn't very long before I pulled my head back and yelled, "Fuck Me!", and soon I had my head and knees on the mattress, my ass pointing to the heavens, and Franco had a condom on and was putting lube where it was needed. It only took him about twenty seconds to reach bottom, and I barked the word, "Yes!" when he hit my prostate.
I might have cried right then. I know that I was happy.
The next morning I fucked his ass violently, because he asked me to.
Once we had cleaned up, we made flight arrangements, called the landlord, and arranged our cell phone service so we'd have French local phone numbers before our plane landed in Paris.
We put on shorts, held each other's feet while we did sit ups, then we did push ups and did our normal jog to the lagoon.
It was early. We stood there and looked at each other. We looked around. We grinned at each other, then we dropped our shorts and did our laps naked, finally.
We were pulling on our shorts when our familiar policeman came by on his patrol. I said good morning to him. He just shook his head.