It was a dark and stormy night. (Sorry, I couldn't resist, because it was...) The party was ending, and it was only 9:34 P.M. The thunder and flashes had continued throughout the evening. It was THE EVENT honoring the Presidential Museum in Little Rock, Arkansas in November of 2009. The president of the United States and his wife were in attendance, as well as a former president and his wife, who were actually from Arkansas. It was one of the most exclusive groups of political contributors from every part of the world.
My best friend, Elsa, convinced me to escort her, as she just booted her last wealthy conquest to the curb three weeks ago, for getting caught with her best girlfriend, Shay, who is still in the picture, by the way...
He was supposed to be here, not me. I was just a hood ornament Elsa needed to display. My name is Aaron Fawcett. I am a designer, and a lightly published author. I work on my diet and level of exercise, and am fairly easy to look at. I am not a gym rat, but I do push-ups and lift a few weights at home. The sit-ups are what keep me tight.
Every man on the face of the earth looks good in a well-tailored tuxedo. Elsa thinks I look like Cary Grant at 53. I don't see it, but I AM 53, and counting. If you put a gun to my head forcing me to be honest, I find myself attractive when I see me naked. It seems arrogant, on one hand, yet healthy on the other. God gave me these genes, but charged me with the maintenance. I've done a respectable job.
As the thunder rolled between the cliffs that separated the estate from Maumelle, three seconds later you could see the explosion of light through the banks of enormous windows, illuminating the breathtaking view for miles up the Arkansas River, with Petit Jean Mountain prominently centered.
Little by little, the other guests milled about, gathering their umbrellas and hugging one another; air kisses, etcetera, and one by one began to exit in pairs or small groups.
When his eyes locked onto mine, there seemed to be a momentary shift in the earth's gravitational field. I was fairly at ease with my sexuality, but suddenly, everything I accepted as true, until this split second, paused. He was at least six feet, around one hundred and eighty pounds of taunt sinewy muscle. He was 55, and owned this mansion. Others were vying for his attention, but he stood soooo still, and for so long...
People began trying to locate the object of his attention. I looked away. My heart was thudding. I found it hard to breath. I had never actually believed in love at first sight.
"He was staring at you, Aaron!" Elsa hissed in my ear.
"I need to sit down."
"At first, I was soooo happy! Then I figured out he was not looking at me. He was looking at you, Aaron!" hissing again.
"I've lived in this town for over 20 years. How could I have missed this guy?"
"You never go out, goofball! You think some fairy Godmother or Mary Poppins is going to swoop in and present a man to your doorstep, who thinks you are the tops because he just noticed you on the street and decided to pop into your life?"
"He is one of the President's top advisors, Elsa. I think you might have misinterpreted."
"Aaron, you are either naive or blind. I know! I was standing right next to you! He was looking into your eyes from across the room. And you looked into his. Oui?"
"Oui."
I looked at Elsa. She was staring over my shoulder, as if in a twilight-zone-type-of trance. I twisted around to see what she was staring at when she went silent for a few seconds. There he stood. Then, the earth stood still. Really still.
"Thank you for coming. My name is Kent Clark. Ms Cunningham, Mr. Fawcett, it is a definitive pleasure to meet you both. Have you seen the house?"
How, on God's green earth did he know our names!?! I kept forgetting to exhale. I am not easily shaken. Cool as a cucumber, in general. The kind of guy one likes having around in a crisis. A clear thinker... but my brain froze. Dead still. Who knows what I looked like from the outside?
He was an apparition. Crisp, neatly clipped dark brown hair with a healthy dose of grey, deep brown sparkling eyes, and well tanned skin. I could see my own eyes reflected in his. I finally exhaled.
Elsa snapped out of it before I did.
"We have not had the pleasure, Mr. Clark. Are you offering a private tour?" Only Elsa. She just has this way about her, often putting us in the most fascinating, and sometimes unpredictable situations. This one had many of those earmarks.
He nodded as a king might do at a royal ceremony. He lifted his arm for Elsa to take, then nodded to me with an effortless grace. His eyes locked with mine for a moment, then released with a gentle twitch of his left eye. My heart pounded. I got a chubby as we walked across the great hall. Hey! I may be over fifty, but I still ejaculate at least once a day.
"Ms Cunningham..."
"Please call me Elsa. Aaron probably feels the same."
"Alright. But how will you know which one I am addressing?"
A full throttled laugh burst from my throat!
Elsa scrunched up her face and said "What?"
He looked at me, and let his left eyelid close ever so briefly. I would have missed it but for a breath I took in the middle of my outburst.
"What is so funny, Aaron?"
It's hard to explain an aristocratic sense of humor. Dry. Witty. Sexy. So I didn't even try. He smiled like a Cheshire cat.
"Elsa, Aaron, please, come this way."
We ascended the spiraled staircase to the left of the entry rotunda, whose twin flanked the right side. It was like a ramped up modern day version of Gone With The Wind meets Winston Churchill.
Even in his exquisitely, obviously custom tailored black summer weight wool tuxedo, I could see the rounded outline of his rear end as Kent and Elsa floated up the stairs just ahead of me. He glanced over his right shoulder to see if I was following, and caught me looking. The corner of his rose colored lips ticked up on the right side as my eyes met his.
Kent Clark was gorgeous, and he seemed to know it, the way the queen of England knows she is a monarch. It just is.
At the top of the stairs, we stood looking down a one hundred yard hallway, as wide as a city street, beautifully appointed with repeating consoles, each flanked by massive wingback chairs of lush gold silk velvet with center-stitched medallions. The delicate crystal sconces repeated themselves, at each seating, for its entire length. The massive windows at the far end of the long hallway overlooked the river running for miles to the west as the lightening flashed in the distance.
Room by room, we paused at a set of French doors that opened into the center of each one. It was magnificent. Perfection. Priceless antiques appeared to be the rule. There were ten sets of doors on both the right and the left, and the symmetry of this great hall was breathtaking. Obviously, no expense had been spared.
Our host strolled down the entire length of the opulent corridor with Elsa's hand curled at the inside of his elbow and bicep, telling us the name of each room as we paused momentarily to take it all in. I had only seen this sort of craftsmanship and design sense in the castles of Austria, France, and Italy.
The floors were a polished Carrera white marble, covered in the center with a richly aged-gold sculptured wool carpet runner that was twelve feet wide and over two hundred and seventy-five feet long. It was probably worth more than both my and Elsa's homes and their current contents combined, which was saying a great deal.
"Aaron, you haven't said much," he remarked. "What do you think?"
I was thinking about the broad shoulders and narrow waist that floated in front of me, but recovered as quickly as I could.
"Magnificent," I whispered.
Elsa and Kent paused, then turned to look at me.
"I hear you have rather developed sensibilities regarding architecture and design, Aaron. Is there anything I should do to improve on what you see?"
"Obviously, you do not need my opinion, Mr. Clark. Your taste level exceeds mine, I must admit."
"Aaron Fawcett!" exclaimed Elsa. "I have never heard those words cross your lips in our entire thirty years of association! Begging your pardon, Mr. Clark, but this is an absolute first!"
"Kent, please. Both of you will use my first name, if it you don't mind."
I was mesmerized by the intensity of his eyes, yet still had my chub under moderate control. Drop-dead gorgeous, I'll have you know...
He turned to Elsa and said, "Which room would you like for the night?"
I only wish someone had captured her face at that very specific moment. Faye Rae could not have appeared more astonished when King Kong lifted her into the air.
"Seriously?" Elsa squealed!
"Your wish is my command, Ms Cunningham." as he bowed slightly. "Select any room you want."
"I want the "Cream Suite."
"I will have it prepared as we share a drink in my study. Follow me."
Prepared? It looked like a museum already. What could he mean by prepared? I cannot remember ever having met so confident and poised a man as this. He walked, talked, thought, and smelled like a man. That chub was winning, but I persevered.
"The president and his wife will be two doors down. I trust your discretion is in tact? One never knows what can happen with so many people in one house after dark."
I cracked up. Elsa frowned. Kent dropped his lid, and the right side of his mouth ticked up. Dry humor. This house is big enough to accommodate eighty to a hundred overnight guests, and still not be at full capacity. We had seen only the rotunda and the second floor. As we entered his study, I almost wept. More about that later.
As Kent spoke, I realized the power he possessed over those who were engaged with him. "Fear not, my lovely, there are only eight people staying the night if you choose to join us." I think he assumed I was a given. He was correct on said point.
My brain had shifted to autopilot. I was waiting for everything and everyone to disappear, leaving me alone with this man. It was not to be, just yet.
There was a soft rap at the study doors, and Kent went to them, pulling the right door open ever so slightly after looking through the peep-hole. Then, in walked the president.
What does one do when that happens? Nothing, in my case, other than stare and try to breath normally. The fact that a former president entered just behind him kind of made the entire scene a bit surreal.
"My God! Both of you in one room! With me!!" Leave it to Elsa to break the ice!
"Mr. President, Mr. President, allow me to introduce Ms. Elsa Cunningham, and Mr. Aaron Fawcett."
One half hour is a blur. I could never, and would never, reveal the contents of those next few minutes, but suffice to say, the proposal was extraordinary
Two U.S. presidents, my best friend Elsa, me, and this incredible man entered into an agreement that changed everything. It was then, that he kissed me.
Ask, and tell.