THE STAR'S SHADOW 2
USUAL DISCLAIMER
"THE STAR'S SHADOW" is a gay story, with some parts containing graphic scenes of sex between males. So, if in your land, religion, family, opinion and so on this is not good for you, it will be better not to read this story. But if you really want, or because YOU don't care, or because you think you really want to read it, please be my welcomed guest.
THE STAR'S SHADOW
Written by Andrej Koymasky
October 6th 1993
©2020
translated by the Author
English text kindly revised by Hank
CHAPTER 2
PATRICK
Even though Patrick had just celebrated his 25th birthday he felt as old as the universe. He was tired, physically, psychologically and spiritually.
"Please, Claude, not another interview!"
"My boy, that's the price of fame. We cannot negotiate at this point... He will be at the hotel in less than an hour."
"I really can't... really!"
"Come on, read the questions we agreed on and the answers you have to give him. You still haven't learned them smoothly enough. We're lucky that he agreed to the questions beforehand. He is on our side, and you know perfectly well how important TMC-TV is, don't you?"
"I am in low spirits... just look at me..."
"The make up artist knows his job, and on television nobody will notice anything. Go on, read it again..."
"No, I..."
Pierre intervened, "Well, I think that Jules should give him an injection to give him some energy..."
"No, not another injection...then you'll have to give me another to make me sleep. Your stimulants and tranquilizers are killing me..."
"Don't be silly. Jules is a doctor and he knows what he is doing."
"He only studied for four years towards becoming a doctor..." Patrick weakly protested, but prepared himself for the injection.
Anyway, he knew that the three always made all his decisions for him. The irony of the situation was that theoretically they were his employees, but in reality he depended completely on them.
It had been five years, now. Yes, they had brought him to the top, but... at what cost... that fame, that richness, that life? It was only when he was up there singing on the stage under the floodlights that he felt alive, strong and free... but afterwards... just weariness, uncertainty and fear. He, the idol of the young, the symbol of rebellious strong youth decided to reaffirm his own life style, his own values. ... He felt terribly old, afraid and inert in the hands of the three men who switched him on and off like an machine. He hated these three men, but he knew that without them he would fall headlong into obscurity - not only professionally, but on a personal level also.
They decided what he ate, what he said, how he dressed... They chose the boys who were paid to amuse him in bed. Only his songs were completely his own. His songs... his secret world were he found refuge. A world that was full of warmth, full of life, full of joy and love. -- the only place where he found some relief... The boys they bought to his room gave some relief. They were skilled, good and available... but only passing bodies. They all seemed the same to Patrick -- expert professionals of mansex . They were well paid and they functioned perfectly, but they were like pale ghosts or empty larvae -- nothing real...
When Patrick was 13, he had been raped by his stepfather who was the director the cathedral's choir in which Patrick was the lead singer. He had been raped by his stepfather. He had raised the boy's snow-white tunic, lowered his shorts and took him, there behind the ancient organ in the deserted cathedral. He had put his hand over the boy's mouth to muffle the moan emitted at the moment of the loss of his virginity. That short moan rebounded through the ancient gothic vaults in thousands of faint echoes that sang of his pain mixed with his pleasure and of his burning humiliation and complete surrender. After that his stepfather used his hands on him many other times. Those hands played with Patrick's barely maturing genitals, aroused and prepared him to be taken and enjoyed. And, Patrick liked it. In the beginning he felt pleasure mixed with shame, but the shame seemed to increase his pleasure.
After the first time behind the ancient organ in the cathedral, every time Patrick's mother was away, his stepfather used him. Patrick couldn't escape, even when he tried to escape to a fantasy world. There, instead of his stepfather, was a handsome young man filled more with love than lust and more with tenderness than greed doing the things his stepfather was doing to him ...His literature teacher for example, who had only just graduated and was handsome, young and kind.
Patrick had to wait until he was 16 before having intercourse with a man of his choice. He was the youngest member in his school band where he played the electric guitar.. Serge, the drummer, was two years older than he, and Patrick fell in love with him. One day Serge explained to him the percussionist's role...
"You see, rhythm is basic. It is what allows a piece of music to penetrate, to be appreciated not only by your ears or brain, but with your entire body. And, do you know its secret? If you know it, it is simple. Listen to this rhythm... or to this one... do you like it? Listen... do you hear it? It is the rhythm of a heartbeat. That's why its resonance penetrates you and enters all the fibres of your body. It is the rhythm of a heart beating, now softly, calmly, peacefully, ...now strong, excited and emotional. Right? You can feel it with your body, can't you? Another basic rhythm is this, listen... This also penetrates your body, right? You can feel it with your body, can't you? Listen carefully... don't you recognize it? This is the rhythm of fucking... here too, now with calmness, now with passion... but it is the rhythm of the going and coming, of the up and down, of the back and forth... and then... listen... the syncopated, asynchronous rhythm of orgasm... And then, you use these rhythms, alone or alternated, or mixed, and your entire body is stimulated by the music, no matter what the melody you accompany it with is. Almost no one realizes this secret in a conscious way, but the subconscious knows it, feels it... and enjoys it."
Patrick clearly remembered Serge's "lesson" because at one point he said to Serge in a murmur, "Merde! You make me feel like fucking..." He remembered Serge's cunning provocative smile as he continued playing his drums with that mixed erotic rhythm, to which he added, in a lowered voice, "... or to be fucked..." Serge's smile widened, and with warmth in his voice said, "I, too, Patrick... to fuck... or to be fucked... I too..."
"Really?"
"Yes, and I hope we understand each other because we two are alike, Patrick. We are not like the others, we are special..."
"You and I, Serge? With this rhythm?" Patrick asked with emotion.
"Yes, you and I. I have wanted it so many times..."
"I have too, Serge..."
The percussionist took him home - to his room and to his bed. They made love and for the first time Patrick penetrated another man, after first having been penetrated by him. He felt as if he was in paradise and fell in love with Serge. But Serge also had a girlfriend, and Patrick was jealous. After some quarrels they split and Patrick moved on to become part of another band that was not in the school.
In the beginning he played and sang. Then he met Pierre who became his manager. Pierre had him hire Claude, and then Jules also. Not one of them was gay, and Patrick wasn't sexually attracted to any of them. Pierre and Claude were with him for a year before Jules was hired after Claude had caught him in bed with one of his fans in his hotel room.
"If it becomes known that you're gay, we're fucked!" Claude said after sending the young admirer away.
"But I AM gay! And I cannot, and WILL NOT deny it." Patrick answered with determination.
They had an animated discussion that included Pierre. Patrick was just about to tell them to fuck off - at that time he still had the energy to do so - when Pierre proposed a compromise. They would get "fresh meat" for him, but he absolutely had to forego looking for a boy by himself, and not accept proposals from any other boys.
Patrick surrendered. This was the first instance of his giving in. Soon he was completely in the hands of the two men. And now, these three men. Jules had appeared shortly after his first crisis. Patrick burst out in tears backstage in his dressing room after a show, and his entire body was trembling like a leaf. They had to take him to the hotel almost bodily, to save him from the hordes of yelling fans who were trying to touch him and to drown him in a climate of collective hysteria and to phagocyte him with their adoration. That hysteria stuck to him, upset him and infected him... and that left him feeling scared, emptied, afraid and trembling like a defenceless rabbit who was without hope of escape from a pack of ravenous wolves.
"They are cannibals... cannibals... They pawed me!" he moaned as they put him to bed and Jules gave him an injection to calm him down.
Little by little, Patrick was split into two personalities -- the adored one, who under the floodlights was strong, sensual, unbridled, erotic and sweeping; and the other one, who at times was hysterical, scared, dejected and completely terrorized.
He became famous, rich, sought after, adulated and courted. And, at the same time, he also became fragile, weaker and afraid. But he was the hen who laid the golden egg. Pierre, Claude and Jules made him yield. Step by step they raised him to the heights of fame, while filling him with chemical products to either calm him down or make him explode on stage. To the public he was the boy who was rebellious, yet clean cut. He was a strong boy who loved sex, but despised dope. Girlfriends were invented for him and he and the girls appeared on TV spots either against dope or fighting for AIDS victims.
Patrick was depicted crushing a syringe with his heel while tearing opened a small envelope filled with white powder and scattering the contents on the wind saying to his girlfriend of the moment, "I don't need this to turn on, I have you! I don't want to burn my life away with this garbage, I want to burn with passion. Then he turned to face the camera and said, "Hey, you! Don't let yourself be fooled by false promises. You can make your own paradise, as I do. Don't believe them, they just sell Hell!" He concluded that spot by embracing the girl.
"Make a present to your girl while making a present for yourself. The security of safe sex!" as he opened a condom packet and then in his warm, sensual voice added, "All the sex you want, but with all the assurance of not giving space to one playing gooseberry. A small price to stop AIDS ... You and she... and nobody else!"
Patrick would have liked to say, "You, HE, and nobody else..."
He started to feel bored by the boys chosen by his trio. He would have liked to have chosen his own partners. He would have liked to fall in love and, above all, feel that he was loved. Who had ever loved him? This, perhaps was his real hidden terror - who would ever love him? Nobody ever loved him, nobody was loving him and nobody would ever love him.
During his short rest periods between tours, he withdrew to his villa in Corsica with the three men and their families and always there was a boy who was paid to warm his bed and sweeten his nights. Once he almost fell in love with one of these boys. He was Spanish and full of vitality. He asked Pierre to hire the boy, steadily. He wanted the boy with him during his tours.
The trio didn't want to hear of it. "An affectionate tie? No, it would be impossible to keep it a secret. No, too dangerous..." they said.
He hated them. But he yielded.
He couldn't even remember the names of the dozens of boys he had sex with - not even the name of the Spanish boy that he liked so much. He confused them in his head. They all seemed the same to him. Sure, they provided him with physical satisfaction... but only physically.
He even began to hate his beautiful villa... the splendid wild panorama... the respectful servants...but most of all, his three jailors and their wishy-washy families. He hated their, oh, so respectable, so middle class, so alien children. He never was alone except when he was in bed, sleeping or having sex. And, even on those occasions, they were close by... watchful and ready... One time he tried to evade them. He jumped the garden wall and went down to the sea. There, for a little over an hour, he was intoxicated by a taste of freedom. For that hour he felt his fears and desolation leave him -- melting away under the sun that seemed sweeter than life itself. The air seemed purer than ever. He filled his lungs. He reached the sea and started to undress on the narrow beach as he longed for the embrace of the waves. In his heart a song was born:
"... in front of the sea,
waiting for us,
to lull us, forever..."
But, they came in their cars and with their radiophones... It was a wide-hunt game in which he was the prey. They hunted him down and they caught him.
"I want to swim... just to swim once in the..."
"Certainly, but in your villa, in the pool." -- in the thirty square yards of water his pool held that was coloured blue by the tiles on the bottom and not by the natural, quiet depths of mystery...
Patrick hated his pool. Was there anything he still loved, besides composing and singing? Yes, the rain. That, at least, could not be programmed. He was composing a new song in his head:
"It rains... you feel it,
It rains on our naked bodies.
A thousand caresses full of promises.
It rains... do you feel it?
It rains on our hearts.
A thousand songs full of tenderness.
And the violence we endure,
the wounds, the injuries
all washed away...
Shout, boy, shout.
Shout your thirst for love.
Thirst for sex made beautiful
by the rain's caresses,
of a sheer force, of a pure force..."
Yes. He would polish it and tune it to perfection. This would be his new song. He scribbled the melody and then wrote the words and gave them to Pierre. His manager paid a musician who wrote the scores for the band and then Patrick reviewed them and often changed and corrected them. Yes, "Enfin la Pluie" would be a success. He could feel that. 'At Last the Rain which streams on your quivering sex.'. He had to insist on those words. The only one who backed him was Claude, but at last, he made his point.
It was Claude who moulded his public image -- his look, his official personality. It was Claude who knew what the audiences expected from him. It was Claude who was able to exploit the trends on a world level, and who was able to anticipate them. It was Claude who told him what he had to say to the mass media... Claude, the artist, his public relations man! It was Claude who was now flirting with his woman down at the edge of the pool.
"Patrick," Pierre interrupted him, "The boy is waiting for you in your room. If you want to go..."
The agency boy was ready. Jules's wife had fetched him from the airport.
Patrick entered his room and the boy smiled at him.
Pierre closed the door behind Patrick and they were alone.
"May I undress?" the boy asked.
"Yes," Patrick said as he approached the bed. He let his silk kimono slip away with a light rustle. He was about to pull off his briefs.
"No... allow me do that..." the already half naked boy proposed.
"Forget it." Patrick answered in a surly manner.
The boy didn't lose his smile. He was a beautiful specimen. Yes, very beautiful. They were always beautiful. And, undoubtedly, he would be wonderfully skilled. They were always skilled.
"Do you do everything?" Patrick asked him as he laid across the wide bed already knowing the boy's answer.
"Of course."
Of course. They always did everything.. Never once had a boy told him, 'No, sorry, I don't like this (or that), sorry...' They made sure of that before hand with the "Rent-a-Boy" Agency.
"How old are you?" Patrick asked.
"Twenty one."
"You have a nice cock."
"It's all yours..." the boy answered climbing onto the bed near Patrick.
"Yes, I know. It is mine for this entire week." Patrick tiredly answered. Nevertheless, he started to feel aroused by the skilled caresses of the rented boy.
"I wonder how many men he has caressed this way?" Patrick thought as he began to relax.
CONTINUES IN CHAPTER 3
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