Richard and Franco 03
First year in France
Bi-MMF
My name is Richard. I'm 24 years old and I prepare all of the produce for a hotel kitchen in Perpignan, France.
I grew up and went to college, with an accounting major, in the United States.
I spent 18 months in Haiti before coming to France. There I learned my way around kitchens and met my lover Franco.
My lover for most of that time is a Spanish man a year older than me named Franco. He had a girl for six months in the middle of our time in Haiti, and she became our girl for the last six months of that when we became a "Menage Et toi".
When Rosalie left us and went back to her family, Franco and I quit our jobs and moved here.
Like Haiti, we ended up in Pergnan because it had nice hotels that we could work at, but was inland enough that we could afford an apartment.
We transferred from an Airbus to a 737 at Orly.
My first impression of Paris was that it looked like a big airport.
I made a point to get Euros from an ATM; I had the feeling that Perpignan would be like camping before I saw the place.
We had a list of apartments to look at the first day. Franco rented a car because he had an international license and could make some sense of the addresses, though we stopped a few times for directions. "We have Hatian accents, don't we?", I asked him. He laughed.
A question in the back of my head had been growing, and it popped out while we were looking at the second apartment. "How close to here did you get growing up in Spain?", I asked Franco.
"Maybe 300 kilometers. We are on the east side of the Pyrenees; that was on the west side of them. Mostly Romani; "gypsies". between here and there".
We picked the third apartment we looked at. It was furnished, and a bit smaller than what we had in Haiti.
We got bedding and groceries for a week before returning the car and taking a taxi back to our new house.
We said "Welcome home" to each other and made out, undressed each other and caressed each other's bodies all over.
I had him lie down on the bed. He was almost hard and I used my mouth to make it complete, put a condom and lube in place and sat down on his dick so what I was looking at his face. This was a new position for us. When I got going, my own dick was mostly hard too.
I kept my hands behind my legs, on his thighs to avoid temptation. Franco reached for my dick and I stopped him; I wanted to wait.
It wasn't long before he came, and when I knew that he'd be too sensitive to continue, I stopped moving for a minute before leaning forward to kiss him and then climbing off. We cleaned up and made sure that the shower worked. Again I asked him to save my softening dick for after supper.
We found a cafe that looked like it belonged on a postcard and got supper. It was exciting to go from a poor neighborhood in Haiti to a French cafe in about 28 hours.
When we got back from supper we locked the door and stripped again. I had him put one foot on the couch-futon while his other foot was on the floor and he held the back of the furniture, and I put on a condom and fucked him standing up. Another new position. Franco seemed to like how far I could get into his ass now and I'm afraid that it was less than fifteen minutes till I filled the condom.
We cleaned up in the shower again and fell asleep in each other's arms.
The next day we got cleaned up and got busy. First we went to the library, threw together resumes and printed them. From there we hit the hotels and resorts, though not as a couple. In two of them I was taken to the kitchen and hit with questions, in French, from the chefs. I thought I handled them well, but was becoming self-concious because I was dressed to get a kitchen job in Haiti; I thought that I could dress better in France.
Franco and I met up for lunch at a cafe in the center of town. I was telling him that I might spend the rest of the day clothes shopping before trying any more job applications, when my phone rang.
"Veg Prep", which I did for six months in Haiti, at about half again what I made, if I could start in the morning.
I'd already figured out what I needed to make expenses, and accepted.
Franco pointed out that I should get clothes for cutting up produce instead of a job interview wardrobe.
Franco got a call that afternoon from another hotel; they needed a boss to look after their parking valets. Franco knew how much he had to make for his share of our expenses, and this was over that number, so he went down there and got details.
We spent an hour clothes shopping before supper; they were all throwing us out of the stores when we were done.
The next morning I got in to work early and learned where things were and got the names of the rest of the kitchen staff, starting with the dishwasher. Over the next two weeks I learned different ways of cutting vegetables that nobody in Haiti had ever asked for. I was glad to have come to France now; I wasn't going to learn fancy cutting styles back there, never mind the States.
I found out that employees could use the hotel gym and pool before they officially opened. Since I had to start veg prep before that time anyhow, I made it my routine to get up, come to the hotel, workout, swim laps and then report to my kitchen station. I had to tell Franco that he was on his own for workouts, but his hotel likely had the same perk.
My first day off, I bought new workout clothes. Barefoot running was good for Haiti but not this part of France. I was also going to cross paths with hotel guests so I didn't want to look like some bum that had wandered into the hotel. I also got a tiny French Speedo that a man wouldn't be caught dead wearing in the States. Clothes taken care of, I found the local outdoor market and got stuff for supper. It was nice to see vegetables that I knew the names of! I bought a two bottles of wine; one for drinking and one for cooking. I made coq au vin for supper, which sounds a lot fancier than it is.
Franco and I set into a routine very quickly. We migrated about 80% of what we had been doing in Haiti. We seemed like a more committed couple now; we'd moved our household across the Atlantic together, and had landed on our feet. Franco had made a long phone call to his family.
I just took snapshoots of our apartment and our view and texted them to my Dad; I figured that the photos told the story better than words.
I also had a waiter take a photo of Franco and I at a cafe.
We had ourselves tested after we'd been in France for five weeks, and again at ten. We didn't mention Rosalie's name to each other.
After we both tested negative the second time, we stopped using condoms again.
After about six weeks I started an online course to get an EU CPA certification. Since accounting was my college major it seemed like a wise career move, and my best bet for getting out of the kitchen. I still didn't want to spend my adult life being steamed like I was broccoli.
I bought a 20-year-old Citroen and had a mechanic with a good reputation do what he could with it, including tires.
I park it most of the time; my morning jog from my apartment to the hotel is an important part of my workout. I use the gym and pool early, while the guests are asleep, and have been trying to keep the swim team build I had in college. Franco says that it's working.
In January we had some time off and made a long weekend in Paris. Of course it's a fantastic city, but I like the pace of Perpignan.
I've never been big on glam.
When we got back I got word that Betty and Bill, my teenage lovers and best friends since we were toddlers, had gotten engaged.
Franco had heard a bit about them over the past two years, and we talked about it for a long time. Eventually our time zones gave my new home and my home town daylight at the same time and I called Bill.
"We wanna still have sex with you when we're married, okay?", was the first thing Bill said when he heard my voice. When I stopped laughing I told him that he'd have to get Franco's permission. The long distance delay was painful, and Bill and I tried to talk over each other. I verified that the wedding was in June, passed my love to both Bill and Betty, and we were done talking.
I told Franco that we were going to the U.S. in June for a wedding, and it looked like I was going to have to share his beautiful penis with a couple of newlyweds, because Betty and Bill might want to have sex with me, but they weren't going to leave Franco out of it.
I then proceeded to tell him what I could remember about the experimenting that Betty, Bill and I did as teenagers as I undressed Franco. I then gave his long uncircumcised dick a slow tongue bath, taking breaks to kiss his face all over and to tease his pecs. Finally I grabbed his ass cheeks and took his dick as far down my throat as I could, and in a couple of minutes I had a mess of success in my mouth.
I told him where my 3-D printed purple dildo came from while he made love to my dick with his expert mouth. After I came, he shared it with me while we kissed.
One day I asked him about a poster by the door of a cafe we went to often. It wasn't in French or anything I recognized.
Franco told me that it was Catalan, which his family spoke at home. It was for a gypsy dance class.
I could see from the address that it was in town. "Let's do it. The only dancing we did was at Fiesta".
Talking him into it was tricky; his masculinity was threatened, but I flittered my eyelashes and melted his resolve, so through February and half of March we learned gypsy dancing.
We made a couple of weekend trips to Andorra and Spain, close to the border. I learned enough history to become dangerous, and I was told that my idea for a "Dial a Roland Joke" was better left forgotten.
I started learning Catalan. Since we now knew gypsies that spoke it, and Franco spoke it at home, it seemed prudent. I'd already learned that each new language is easier than the last.
At the end of March we had another four days off in a row, and we took a trip to the western part of Spain, Franco's home, and I met his family.
Being raised Catholic, Franco was on pins and needles, but they were wonderful.
In early April I passed my EU CPA certification.
At the end of April we went to a Romani (gypsy) festival. We saw a quick play, ate some great food and we danced. One girl with big eyelashes seemed to be following Franco and I around.
I'd been drinking a glass of wine with my dinners since we moved to France, but tonight I had quite a bit, and so did Franco.
Somehow the Citroen, Franco, the girl and myself ended up at home.
The three of us had sex. All those skills we had for being tender lovers and the old rule about making sure that the lady gets off first were out the window.
Probably we each screwed her while the other watched and then she might've gotten herself off with her fingers while us boys snored.
I don't know, I don't want to re-trace that evening.
In the morning she was gone. My head hurt, my mouth tasted terrible and Franco's breath in my face wasn't any more pleasant.
I showered but felt dirty, I brushed my teeth three times, I used mouthwash, I took antacid, I shaved, I had coffee. None of it worked.
I put something on and sat in a chair and watched Franco try all of those things.
Eventually we got legally dressed and found a cafe and ordered a light breakfast.
We still did not talk.
After we got back to the house we had a long rowe, and I think our neighbors heard us having it out.
The words don't belong here but neither of us thought that bringing the girl home was a good idea.
Neither of us knew her name. Each of us seemed to be blaming the other.
It was probably 10AM but we took a nap. That and having got breakfast combined to make us feel better, and at around 1pm we were back around. I layed on the bed with my ass to the center of the apartment while Franco stood on the floor with his legs bent and gave my ass the reaming that I love best. He was cured of his hangover by then because he had me lay flat on my back in the middle of the bed while he lowered his ass down onto my dick and rode me till I came. Since we'd had a visitor the previous night, we were back to using condoms for another ten weeks.
In May we took a quick shopping trip to Milan.
On the way we looked at some houses off the road in the northern part if Italy, and promised ourselves to investigate; the place felt like we should've already lived there.
I got a couple pair of nice slacks, short- and long-sleeved shirts, a pair of loafers and another pair of Italian sandals, a different style than what I had ordered back in college.
All of this was going to be put away for a couple of months, but I knew that then I'd need them.
Now it's early June, like I said at the beginning. We're side by side on an Airbus headed to Detroit, and from there through customs to one last flight that will take us to my parents, and then the ride home, for the first time in two and a half years. Franco is asleep next to me on the plane. I think he's been through Miami once but if you don't leave the international terminal I don't know if it counts.