This is a story of friendship, commitment, love and trust. It is not a sex story. However, this story deals with love between male teenagers. If you are offended by stories involving love between two teenage boys, please do not read this story. There may be some sex scenes in this story; however, sex is not the main theme. If you are under age 18 or 21 or it is illegal to read this story where you live, don't read it. Reproducing this story for distribution without the owner's permission is a violation of that copyright.
Again another long chapter. I have had so many people askme about Claude and Mike and what happened to them well this really needs to be chapter 4 but 4 is already posted. So I am going to put it here then continue with Chapter 6. That's what I get for rushing!
I am ever thankful to those who have written and those who have become fans.
PS. I will continue to post the chapters as they are edited.
Chapter 4 - (the missing chapter)
Michael is perhaps the most stubborn person I have ever known or will ever know, but I love him so I simply put up with it. We arrive in Paris with barely any money and no where to stay. My family would be no help to us. They were half the reason I left Paris for the states. Our first two days we stayed in a cheap hotel room near Cinq Billards.
I had a friend Henri Dupree. He was the only friend I had that didn't turn his back on me. He was from a fairly well off family that spent six months of the year in Nice, however for business reasons they were going to the states and wanted Henri to stay in their villa.
He offered us his Paris apartment for a year. Michael never went to the Sorbonne. I got a job, which gave us food on the table. Michael turned to only thing he could do for cash – art. He was a street artist selling paintings to tourists and pretending to be French. He did all the cooking and cleaning for us.
Time went on and a year changed to two years and then three years.
Once I teased him and told him he was awesome housewife. What ensued was the worst argument of our life.
For two weeks he refused to have sex. As I said he is stubborn. I was at my wits end and horny as hell. Talk about blue balls! I tried flowers, candy, and a romantic dinner that I cooked. But nothing work.
"Michael, I love you."
"I love you too Claude. But I don't like being thought of as being your little housewife."
"I was joking! I'm sorry."
"Prove it. Prove to me that I am more than just your little houseboy or housewife. I'm not just a pretty face or a nice piece of ass. So until then I'm sleeping on the couch."
The thing is I never thought of him that way for that matter I loved being fucked by him. Why did I try and say something funny?
Claude and I had been living together in Henri Dupree apartment for three years. He worked at an office. We didn't have to pay rent just the utilities and food. I did not relish the idea of being a kept man. At first there was little I could do about it – I didn't have a work permit.
My days were spent learning French, reading and some times painting or sketching. I generally bought the food, cooked the meals and did all of the household chores.
It was springtime in Paris. We'd been living there almost a year. I was painting a picture of Notre Dame when an American tourist walked by, stopped and watched me paint for few minutes before she commented.
"That is a beautiful painting," she said.
"Merci," I said.
"Do you speak English?"
"eh little bit," I replied using a strong French accent – I always did that with tourists – speaking English with a French accent.
"I would like to buy your painting," she said.
I shrugged my shoulders. Then almost as a joke because I had never sold any of my paintings I said, "Two hundred dollars – cash." She looked at me. I smiled at her then returned to my painting.
She stood there for another few minutes and then tapped me on the shoulder and handled me two hundred dollars.
"Do you think I could pick it up in an hour?"
"Oui, one owwer et weil be rready," I said.
Man I was so excited! I didn't cook dinner that night. Instead I got dressed up nice and laid out suitable clothes for Claude.
I heard Claude coming in to the apartment.
"In the bedroom, I have some good news!" I yelled.
"Where's dinner? I'm starved!" he said as he entered the bedroom. "Whoa!"
"You like what you see?"
"I always like what I see when I see you? Skip dinner I'll just eat you."
"Later maybe," and wiggled my eyebrows, "but get dressed I am taking you out to dinner to celebrate. Call it a pre-anniversary celebration and I sold a painting!"
"You sold a painting!"
"That's wonderful!" he said and gave me a hug, which turned into a kiss - a very passionate kiss, which turned into awesome sex. We had a late dinner.
I began making almost six hundred dollars a week. I also started investing my money. Now that really excited me. I still did the housework and cooking. I never really told Claude how much I made I just told him I had a good day in the market.
We were very frugal because we knew eventually Henri would want his apartment back.
One day I had had a terrible day doing some day trading and lost a bit not much but I hated loosing anything. Claude happened to choose that day to come home and say, "Hi, sweetheart. How's my little housewife today."
"Your what?" I said.
"My little housewife," he laughed.
"That's what you think of me as? Your little housewife."
"Michael, I'm just kidding around. Okay?" He smiled, "Well, you do all the housework and cooking. Isn't that what a wife does."
He was right I did all the housework, all the cooking, cleaning, shopping while he simply went to work. It wasn't fair! I threw a plate at him. I missed. I stormed out of the apartment.
I walked around for hours. I thought of staying in a hotel for the evening, but three years of being frugal I couldn't see that as anything more than a waste of hard earned money when I had a perfectly good place to stay.
When I got back Claude had fallen asleep still fully dressed on the bed. The pillow was damp from his tears. I loved him so much but sometimes I let my own stubbornness rule my life.
For the next two weeks I remained defiant and he begged and groveled. Well, not really but he was trying to do anything and everything to appease me. The thing is I didn't know what I wanted from him – I knew that there was something but I for some reason had buried it deep in my subconscious mind. I knew I loved him –I didn't ever want our love to be over. He was my life, my joy and my inspiration.
For what ever reason sane or insane I couldn't let go of my upset with him over calling me his little housewife.
"Michael, I am not going to work today or tomorrow or the next day or the next day or ever until we get things straightened out. I love you and I can't go on with things the way they are. I know it's not that I called you in jest my little housewife. It's something else."
I burst into tears. He took me in his arms and cried too.
After awhile I began to talk and he listened. I think that that was the best thing he could have done. I had so many confusions about my life and our life so many fears of my own inadequacies but my biggest fear was someday waking up and finding our love was gone.
Our conversation wasn't all one-sided – there were times when he would talk and I would listen. I realized that we hadn't really talked like this for so long – both of us over the last year had begun to take things for granted that we ended up simply living together, having sex – existing but not creating our lives or our future.
We both wanted a future together – a future that would last a lifetime.
"Michael, more than anything I want that too. Stay here," said Claude as he got up off the couch and went to the bedroom then returned a few minutes later with a suitcase.
I guess I looked a bit worried. He smiled, "Well? Come on let's go."
"To Copenhagen – we're getting married. It may not be legal here now but one day it will be. It's the right thing for us to do."
I jumped up from the couch and threw my arms around him. It was true. It was the right thing for us. This would seal our future together.
The trip to Copenhagen was the happiest fourteen hours of my entire life. Part of the time we set our goals of what we wanted to accomplish in our life.
"Claude, I want at least a one day honeymoon. My investments are doing really well and - "
"Yes, in the market – the stock market. I told you."
Claude started laughing, "Oh, my God! I thought you were talking about markets like food markets. You would say you had a good day in the market. I thought you meant you had a good day shopping!"
What a misunderstanding! I wondered why he never seemed to be interested. We both laughed for five minutes.
"So, how well have you done?"
"I'm worth about $100,000."
"A hundred thousand dollars! Wow! I never knew you were interested in investments so I never talked about my investments."
"You have investments?"
"Yes! You've done better than me – I'm only worth $90,000."
On our arrival we booked a room at Hotel D'Angleterre.(a five star hotel)
Not having had sex for two weeks I think we were both looking forward to arriving at the hotel after our wedding vows. I know I was.
As soon as the door was closed we were in a passionate embrace and wildly stripping off our spouse's clothes. He was my spouse, my husband and I was his husband and I loved it when he called me his husband.
In the four years of living together our sex was great. But on our wedding night it was incredibly awesome. We sucked, rimmed and fucked each other to complete exhaustion and still wanted more.
Eventually we moved from Henri's apartment in to our own place. Financially, we were both doing well. I sometimes painted and in fact half of Henri Dupree's gallery contained my paintings.
Life was so good.
It was another spring day when I decided to go paint another picture of Notre Dame.
As I was painting I noticed a woman staring at me. I smiled.
"It's a beautiful painting. Would you sell it?"
I nodded, "Five hundred dollars cash and it's yours," I said in a very French accent.
She stood watching me for another five minutes then left.
I thought that that would be the last I saw of her, but thirty minutes later as I was packing up she returned with a man.
"My wife says that you have an decent painting of `Noter Daim'. Let me see it," he ordered. I did not like his rudeness.
First I corrected him, "Et's `Notre Dame'. And ze painting es not for sale." We stared at each other for a few moments.
"Can we speak privately for just a moment?" he asked in a hushed voice.
I nodded and we move away from his wife. "Look, I probably seemed a bit rude there. I guess it's because I boss people around. We have been married for twenty years. This is the first vacation we've ever taken. I love my wife. This trip is for her because I love her. We don't have any children now only a couple of dogs. She loved your painting and I think you reminded her of our son. He died four years ago."
He paused. I think he was trying to quell the pain in his own heart.
"Please let me buy the painting. I'll pay any price," he said.
I looked at him for a moment. Smiled, "One sec," I said with no French accent, walked over to my case took out the painting and returned to him. I noticed a smile on his wife's face.
"Here. For your wife and you."
"Nothing. My gift – a souvenir of the City of Love - Paris."
He looked at me and smiled, "What happened to you accent?"
"Oh that!" I laughed and shrugged my shoulders.
He laughed and shook his head. "Thank you, uh "
"Michael – Michael Phillips.
"Thank you, Michael, but I should give you something – time and materials."
"It's a gift. Besides, I have at least thirty paintings in our apartment."
"Well, by Danish standards we are," I sighed, "Claude and I have been together for almost thirteen years."
He looked at me for a moment. I thought maybe he'd get nasty. "You're gay?" he said softly. I nodded. He looked at the painting, back at me and turned away towards the river.
"Well, uh, I'll be going," I muttered.
"Please, Michael, don't go." He said softly, and then turned to face me. That's when I saw tears rolling down his cheeks, "I'm sorry – it's just that Brian was gay. I got angry. He thought I hated him. He uh, he committed suicide and..." He began to sob.
His wife came over.
"I'm sorry – I – he's upset about your son's death. Sorry."
She took him into her arms. Her tears began to flow. I had no idea as to what to do. I stood and waited until they got control.
"Michael I'm sorry – it's just –"
"It's okay. You want to talk? Claude and I are good listeners and besides being a good artist I make an incredible bouillabaisse." They both nodded their acceptance.
That evening, after dinner, Mr. Daniels' seemed to pour his heart out to us. He had caught his sixteen-year old son giving fellatio. It was a shock and he had a terrible temper saying things he didn't mean – things that hurt. His son ran out of the house and he let him go. The boy jumped off an overpass into the traffic below.
Claude looked at me. Hearing Mr. Daniels' tale of woe I had barely been able to keep from sprouting my own tears. I had never thought of what or how my leaving affected my own father. I had been the only thing he had and I had left.
I began to bawl like never before. Poor Mr. Daniels and Mrs. Daniels had no idea what was wrong with me.
After Claude got me calmed down he explained to the Daniels about why we left and the fact that we'd never communicated with my father since then.
"I never gave him a chance Claude! I just cut him off like he meant nothing! And he was my life before you!" I bawled.
Mr. Daniels came over, sat down on the other side of me and pulled me into his arms. "Michael, it's going to be all right. You'd be surprised how forgiving a father can be. It's time you reconciled things with your dad."
I nodded. He asked for my dad's address as I had long forgotten the phone number. He made a two calls – the last call was to my Dad.
"Hello, could I speak with Sam Phillips, please?" asked Mr. Daniels.
"This is Albert Daniels and I am calling from Paris, France."
"Sam Phillips? Mr. Phillips, this is Albert Daniels and I have someone hear who would like to say hello." He handed me the phone.
"Dad? It's me Michael."
"Michael! Michael, I love you. I didn't mean those things I said." It was my dad. I began to cry.
"Michael, please don't hang up! I love you." He was crying.
"Dad, I love you too! I am so sorry Dad," I cried.
"Sam," I heard a boys voice," Sam? Why are you crying? Sam, please don't cry! Is somebody upsetting to you?"
I heard Dad say, "I'm fine. It's okay – tears of joy not sorrow. Now go get in your bath and ready for bed. You've got to get up early!"
"I love you Sam. I love you more than anything! Tell the man on the phone that I love him too for making you cry tears of joy!"
"Okay," Sam chuckled, "Now my angel go take your bath.
"I'm here Dad. Who was that? Did you get married again?"
"Oh that is some you need to meet. His name is Jason Dawson Phillips."
"Your son, Michael."
"Your son. Well, more correctly yours and Sharon's son. She didn't want him because his dad is gay. So, I'm his legal guardian."
I couldn't believe it. I had a son.
"Michael? Are you okay?" asked Claude.
"I have a son," I said to Claude.
"Is that Claude?
"Yes, you want to talk to him."
"Of course." I handed the phone to Claude.
I had a son, Jason Phillips.
Claude and Dad talked for a good fifteen minutes. The Daniels' had to leave so I showed them to the door and thanked them for everything.
I had a son.
I talked more with dad. It seemed so unreal that I had a son. He was going on a camping trip the next day so I didn't get to talk to him but the way Dad talked about the boy you would think he walked on water.
Two weeks later a letter arrived with a photo of my son. The day I talked to him on the phone I was a nervous wreck. I was surprised – how well we got on. He was so smart and witty like Sam. He agreed to spend the summer with us maybe longer I thought. He and Sam would be arriving in Paris in two weeks.
I have never seen Michael so happy as when it finally sunk in that he had a son. We were both worry that he might hate us because we'd never been there for him and because we were gay.
The last call I had from Jason put me at ease a lot. "He said he knew we were a happy couple and he was cool with that."
Michael was in Germany that day on business. I could wait for him to arrive home so I could tell him that Jason was cool about us.
Michael never arrived home. At two in the morning I got word that he'd been killed in an auto accident.
I felt my life was over. Although, Sam was at the funeral Jason wasn't. Sam said, "Dawson's view was his best friend's Paul funeral was hard enough to get through. To see his father dead would only serve to upset him whereas if he didn't go his father could continue to live happily in his fantasies."
I wish I had met the boy, but I was too depressed to meet anyone.
A year later I receive an email from the boy saying that Sam had died.I thought how different life would have been if Michael had lived.
Thanks to G-Dad I'm an early riser and so is another part of me. I had to piss like mad. I was like squashed up against the wall because my bed is really only for one person and I shared it with Sven last night because he needed a friend and I needed a friend too. I really like Sven. He is so funny sometimes. I wish he were gay because I think I really love him. Oh, well, he's not, so no use dwelling on it. I think my g-dad would have been proud of me helping him by just really listening. So, now I had two friends, Sven and Alex.
I eased out of my bed got my towel and toiletries and went off to the bathroom. I had to pee so bad I forgot to lock the door and my dick was so hard there was no way I could take the time to aim. I turned on the shower stripped and got in. There was no shower curtain. I didn't care - at that moment I had to pee and what a relief! Ahhhhhhh! I soaped up and seeing as my dick was hard and it had been two days since I last jacked off I found myself moving my hand slowly back and forth along my hard dick. It felt so good. I was lost in the feeling, on the verge of spewing, and then something happened. The door opened and this woman in her twenties I'd guess walks in. So, there I am with my dick in my hand looking horrified and shooting cum all over the place! She has this shocked look on her face, but then she smiles and says something in French and promptly closes the door, locks it, walks over to the toilet, raises her skirt and squats to pee. She is still chatting quite cheerfully to me. I turn away from her. I hear the toilet flush and she says goodbye and points to the lock and leaves. I run over to lock the door then finish my shower.
When I got back to the room Sven was awake. I got dressed while he's doing whatever in the bathroom and then we both head out for breakfast. As we pass the concierge's office the concierge, a woman in her forties, says something to me in French, Sven talks to her and they both start laughing.
Sven is laughing so hard he can hardly tell me what she said. "She, ha-ha, says ha-ha, that ha-ha, she hopes you enjoyed your shower, ha-ha, and she hopes you ha-ha cleaned it up!"
I went bright red with embarrassment! God! Is all of Paris going to know I jacked off in the shower this morning?
Half way up the street Sven was still laughing - it was sort of funny I guess, and then I started laughing too. "Sven, I was so embarrassed!"
"Well, according to the lady you don't have anything to be ashamed of. She said you were pretty well endowed in that department."
I blushed and that began another fit of laughter from him.
"I'm sorry, but you're so damn cute when you get embarrassed! "
Then quite seriously he said, "Dawson, thanks. Thanks for being there for me last night...looks like I've got a new best friend. Thanks. I'll never turn my back on you..." he giggles, "unless I walk in on you in the shower!"
I punched him in the arm and laughed, "Asshole! Just rub it in!"
"No thanks, I'll rub my own!" he giggled.
"Eeeewwww, you're disgusting. Dude I'm out of here!" I took off and then I saw that the café wasn't opened. Only the bread shop and Cinq Billiards were open.
"Hey, croissant and café au lait - my treat!" he said.
"Cool!" I responded as I followed him into the bread shop. I stood there amazed and stared at everything. I had never been in a bread shop. The smell of fresh baked bread captured my senses as I stood there sniffing the air like an animal catching the scent of something delicious to eat. It was such a pleasant smell and my stomach must have thought so because it started growling. So, loudly that Sven began to giggle.
"Your are so funny, Dawson."
Then my eyes spotted the lady behind the counter. She smiled. I blushed.
"What?" asked Sven.
"That's the lady," I whispered.
Sven said something to her in French. The lady laughed and Sven nearly split his sides laughing while I stood there red faced and not knowing exactly what they were laughing at but also knowing it was about me. We left the shop and went next door to Cinq Billiards where I had coffee.
"So what are you doing today?" asked Sven.
"I need to learn French, you know like in a school."
"You need to enroll at the Alliance Française," said a British voice from behind me. It was Ian.
Sven looked and a scowl appeared on his face. He remained obviously silent.
"Oh, why thank you, Ian," I said turning around and looking up into his face, "care to join us?"
"If you don't mind, I would like to have some coffee," he said and ordered his coffee.
I could feel a lot of tension between these two.
"So, how was the party? I'm sorry I cut out on you guys but I just sort of felt out of place."
"I don't know. I didn't go..."
"Oh, I hope it wasn't because of me cutting out."
"Well, yes it was and no it wasn't. I owe you both an apology. Sven, because I purposely occupied his attention - you know give a child a ball and," a smirk appeared on Ian's face and a slight smile appeared on Sven's face, " and I saw you stop following us and said nothing...I'm afraid I was a bit jealous of your talents and well, here, I wrote this for you," he said as he handed me some sheets of paper.
"You, you wrote this for me?"
"Yeah, you drew a picture of me so I owed it to you."
I was sincerely touched; I really had to control my emotions. "But I was just being a smart ass." I felt a tear roll down my cheek and Ian's hand came up and brushed it away.
"Well, are you going to read it? Or just stare at me all day?" he smiled.
I immediately started reading it. It was about me and it was so well written and communicated with so much feeling I knew if I didn't do something I'd burst into tears or something. So, I did what comes naturally for me - I hugged him, which totally surprised him.
"Thank you, thank you, thank you! Nobody has ever done this for me before. You're the best!" I said and then released him from the hug.
"Well, it wasn't that good," he said shyly.
I reacted. I grabbed his shirt and yanked him over within a few inches of my face with my fist poised for a punch in the face, "Ian Roberts, don't you ever let me hear you degrade or invalidate yourself again! Or this fist will bloody well find its target on your pretty face! You are the best! You're as talented in writing as I am in my art and possibly more talented than me. Do you understand me?"
He nodded and I released him. We smiled at each other. I handed the story to Sven to read as I drank my coffee. Ian watched in silence and sipped his coffee.
"Bloody hell, Ian! I never knew you could really write. Dawson's right you are damn good!"
I saw Alex enter and called to him, "Alex! Come join us!" I could see a little tension between Ian and Alex. "Alex! Guess what? Ian wrote me a fantastic story!"
"Well, it's not..." Ian started to say. I looked at him, my eyes narrowing and my fist beginning to double, "It's not that bad Alex, in fact, " he smiled at me, "It's bloody good!" At which point the three of us Sven, Ian and I started laughing. Poor Alex had no idea as to why and Sven had to explain.
"But what was really funny was seeing this pip-squeak Yank grab someone the size of Ian," Sven laughed.
Sometimes my body just turns against me because as I retorted to Sven's remark saying, "Hey! I'm no pip-squeak!" my voice broke and I squeaked. They laughed and as they laughed I saw Dieter and called out to him. He seemed really shy. Alex made room for him to sit next to me.
Everyone read the story and complimented Ian and you could tell he was in seventh heaven. Then Sven brought up my shower incident and I blushed again as they laughed. There is something about Dieter that makes me nervous and I get butterflies in my stomach when I look at him. I really want to be his friend but I guess I'm scared he won't like me. That was the whole thing last night: I was really only upset because he ignored me. He's really quiet right now and I wonder if it's me. Maybe he doesn't like me. Maybe I should leave and let them all have their fun. I mean they have all been friends for a long time and I'm just an intruder. Ian shook me out of my thoughts.
"Okay Yank. Now be honest, how old are you?"
I looked at Sven who had a mischievous look on his face, and then at Alex who was patiently awaiting my words. I couldn't look at Dieter. I was too embarrassed.
I took a deep breath and sighed, "I'm fifteen. I'm sorry I lied."
"Hey, it's no big deal, besides it'll do me good to have a little brother," said Ian.
"He can't be your little brother because he's my little brother," argued Sven. The two of them then proceeded to argue over who owned me as a little brother. It was so funny because they were acting like a couple of little kids. Then Alex spoke up.
"Boys, this can be handled quite simply." The two stopped to listen, and Alex reached in his jacket pocket and pulled out a folded letter. "This document clearly states and I quote `That due to having been caught in the shower wanking by Madame Eleriche, commonly known by said youth, Dawson Phillips, as the bread lady, is hereby placed under the guardianship of said Alexis Schaumberg, a righteous gentleman of superior intelligence' unquote." Alex delivered this little speech with a completely straight face. The three now argued, making us all laugh. I wondered if Dieter would say anything; but he didn't and, in fact, had said little or nothing. I knew that he didn't like me and, although I was enjoying the antics of my three new friends, I was increasingly upset by the complete lack of attention or friendship from Dieter.
"Good gentlemen, please, hear me!" I spoke, "Tis with grave heart that I must inform you that I can not be thy brother nor thy ward as decreed by his grace, the king. Yes, my great ancestor, Louis Francoise Du Bolouge Jean Raphael Phillips, having saved King Louis of France a vast sum of money, did on that day of June 30th state that no descendant of Louis Francoise Du Bolouge Jean Rapheal Phillips could ever be adopted as brother nor held as ward to anyone who can not demonstrate skill and agility in the art of swordsmanship against the child from the lineage of Louis Francoise Du Bolouge Jean Raphael Phillips."
"What a load of codswallop!" laughed Ian as we broke out in laughter.
"Oh, look at the time! I've got to get to work," said Alex. Within a few minutes we'd said our goodbyes and see-you-tonights leaving me alone in the bistro. It had been a great morning because I had three new friends - I knew they all liked me except for Dieter. Try as I might I couldn't shake the disappointment. I guess I had been staring and looking into my empty cup of coffee for a while when I realized someone was standing there in front of me. I looked up to see Dieter.He looked like he'd been crying.
Aw! What's up with Dieter - Sam.