This is a work of fiction. Names of characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously; any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locations is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2011 by Dennis Milholland – All rights reserved. Other than for private, not-for-profit use, no part of this work may be reproduced, transmitted or stored in any form or by any means, other than that intended by the author, without written permission from the copyright holder.

 

Careful! This is a work of fiction containing graphic descriptions of sex between males and critiques of religion and governments.

 

Love It or Leave It

by Dennis Milholland

questions and comments are welcome. www.milholland.eu / dennis@milholland.eu

 

Fifty-three

(Sunday, October 23rd)

The duck couscous is delicious. The problem is, however, that it is so filling, neither Marty nor I can move. Of course, only figuratively speaking. I’m guessing, Jaén didn’t eat as much, since he is agilely moving about, loading the dishwasher.

Once he’s finished, he looks at me, as if contemplating what to say. “E’m,” I smile to encourage him. “could you show me where you keep the bed linen?”

I have to laugh and look at Marty for help. He shrugs. “Isn’t there any on your bed?”

He shakes his head bashfully. “Mrs. Mongrain must have stripped it. The hamper in the bathroom is full, and I have to get some sleep before I go to work tonight.”

Needless to say we start our search. There is nothing in the corridor downstairs, nothing in the corridor upstairs, nothing in Jaén’s room, nothing in my rooms. We even look in the kitchen pantry, nothing.

Frustration forces me to growl: “What the Fuck are you hiding upstairs in your place?” I grin sheepishly at Marty. “Sorry, that didn’t come out right.”

Nuttin, Seph only has twin beds.” Then, Marty chuckles. "Guess we’ll have to call Françoise, she’d know.”

I glare at him for that suggestion. “There‘s got to be some place, we haven't found yet."

Hey, what can you expect from a desert bunny and two fuckin’ hillbillies in a piss-elegant Parisian apartment?” Marty quips, which sets off Jaén’s super-contagious laughter, causing Marty and me to erupt.

Letting laughter subside, “What’s in there?” Jaén points to the door in front of which we’re standing.

Another bedroom like yours.” I open the door but find not one but two built-in closets, one of which is full of hangers and the other with a laundry receipt tacked to the cork pin board mounted on the inside of the door.

Marty takes stock. “Towels galore, but no sheets.” He puts his arm around Jaén's shoulder. "Looks like somebody forgot to pick up the laundry."

Jaén's face sinks. But Marty cheers him up with: “Dan’s bed is big enough for the three of us.”

We proceed to my room, and I don’t know why, but I cautiously, silently close the door. Force of habit, I guess. Anyway, nobody else lives here anymore.

Jaén rips me away from my thoughts, as he steps up behind me to unbutton my shirt. And I proceed to disrobe Jaén, when he turns his back to unbutton Marty’s shirt. I’m working on his shirt and Marty on his pants.

I have never before undressed someone and had the feeling that he still has something on. Jaén’s bare chest looks as if he’s wearing a sweater made of fur, reaching down below his slender hips. Below the waist, it appears as if he could have on fuzzy leotards with his huge cock poking out the front.

He is as furry and as cuddly as a teddy. That is with the exception of his monster dick; that’s not furry and not like a teddy’s. And true to form, after undressing one another, all three of us have difficulty keeping our hands to ourselves.

His body hair isn’t really hair at all, it's fur and therefore not long but short and all the more thick and soft. Petting him is as sensuous as running your hand across velvet. And he keeps touching Marty’s and my practically hairless bodies in disbelief. But of course, Raph shaved my pubes and ass not too long ago, so I have even less than Marty.

Exploring us wide eyed, Jaén seems a little frantic. And Marty and I are stroking his fur, particularly on his chest and arse. But, as we lie down, there is still the pressing fact of his needing sleep, hanging over us.

What did you tell me yesterday the word is for « bite »?” Jaén whispers.

Dick.” I tell him in a normal tone.

What’s the French word again?” Marty is now propped on an elbow, fingering Jaén.

« Bite » we say in unison.

The pressure is too much.” Jaén whispers as if in actual pain. “My dick aches.”

As I take hold of him, “When was the last time you had sex?” I find that it is not only hard but hot, as if he had a fever. So, I check his forehead. That’s okay.

More than a year now.” He moans as I let go.

That’s not healthy.” I stop to think a second. “Here’s what we’ll do. I’ll go get cleaned out, while you cuddle with Marty. Then you can fuck me and suck Marty’s uncircumcised dick. After that, you should be able to go to sleep with no problem.”

Rushing into the bath, I find the tube of lidocaine and first apply it round and inside my anus before I fill the enema bottle with warm water and glycerine. I cleanse myself twice and apply an abundant amount of the German hand cream and am back in bed in less than three minutes. Jaén is groaning for release, as he sucks Marty’s tasty cock.

I roll Jaén gently onto his back, making sure that Marty’s cock doesn’t slip out of his mouth. I grip Jaén’s seething column with my cool hand covered with hand cream, making it twitch. His dick continues to unload nice amounts of slippery juices. My tongue spreads them along the shaft. He quivers. They taste of salted honey mixed with sweet Teutonic cream. I quiver.

The fur around his abdomen smells of cloves and testosterone. And letting myself be guided by pheromones, I lick at the furry bulge, where I assume his balls to be. They are; he gurgles.

No longer being able to bear the strain of waiting, I stand and squat, straddling his groin and slowly lowering myself onto the colossal burning pole. The initial sensation is of my anus’ stretching as I push out slightly and restraining my body from pushing down too quickly.

A pinprick-sharp pain shoots up my spine from the back of my sphincter, where Raph mercilessly rammed me. I lift myself off a bit and wait for it to subside. Again, my longing compels me to continue.

Entry is slow but steady. Marty leans forward, taking my cock into his mouth, while letting Jaén nurse on his.

After a moment, he pulls off my dick and sucks on my face, alternating between my tongue and my lips. His breath smells of oriental spices. He licks his fingers, which start worrying my nipples. From the slurping sounds beneath, I assume that Jaén is sucking and tonguing Marty’s hole.

Having my big brother closer, I can better stabilise my balance by holding on to him. Taking a deep breath, I feel Jaén’s massively engorged glans slowly slip past my second sphincter.

Now, the rest of his siege engine can slide in easily, causing my anal muscles to spasm in an attempt to expel the intruder, resulting in what feels like an orgasm inside my pelvic organs. At this, my own cock goes rock solid and threatens to spurt, ejecting large amounts of prostatic fluid, which dribbles onto the damp fur. I grunt as my perineum and balls make contact with his pubic mound. Again, his velvety black fur excites my skin, as I adjust my position. I pause.

Jaén uses his nimble fingers to explore and discovers that he is entirely embedded in me. He plays with my balls and lightly strokes my dick; I have to pump him dry before he makes me squirt. I plunger myself on his piston five or six times and decide that it’s time for me to relinquish absolute control to Jaén.

I pull off, cautiously removing his granite stake and flip onto my knees to offer him my ass doggie style. The sweaty smell of intimacy saturates the air.

He smears the jelly-like secretion from my hole along his club and re-enters me, being very cautious to bottom out gently. And then he does something that is so out of character for Jaén but all the more welcome by me: he slaps my right butt cheek. It stings, heightening the eroticism, and I moan with pleasure: « Donne-le moi encore. » yelling for more.

At this point, he growls as his real, carnal, animal instincts kick in. He pumps and slaps; I groan and pant. His dick is too big to make me shoot. But the steady massage on the inside and the sharp stinging on the outside are keeping me right at the verge. Marty has his dick back in my mouth. My lips, covering my teeth, are manipulating his foreskin. When he thrusts, my tongue starts frantically lapping his bulbous tip.

Jaén retracts his cock and re-enters completely several times in succession, accompanied by my loud grunts. He uses this as a build-up to seriously shafting my now pliable hole. His rhythm’s frequency surges.

Marty groans from his gut and pants from the top of his lungs, urging things on ever faster.

When Jaén starts rabbit fucking my arse, Marty storms my mouth.

They are moaning and panting into one another's gobs above me. Heated drool drips onto my back.

Marty fills my mouth first. He’s releasing sounds of rutting and globs of sweet-tasting passion.

Jaén claims my ass as his with pelvic gyrations that rekindle orgasmic spasms in my anal muscles.

Grabbing the sides of my hips, he pulls me onto his skewer to release enormous amounts deep inside me.

Jaén then tosses me onto my back, spreads my legs, raises my haunches, and laps at my hole, reclaiming his own sperm.

Marty straddles my face and goes down on my raging hard-on. He offers me his hole to tongue. I’m just short of blacking out from sensory overload.

Jaén inserts fingers into me, curling them upwards and jiggling his hand rapidly. Gurgling against Marty’s pulsing hole, I empty myself of cum down Marty’s hot throat. I’m faintly feeling my body go limp, and I pleasantly drift from consciousness.

When I come to, Jaén it sitting on the floor with my feet up on the bed, holding my torso to his furry chest, rocking me, and humming something, as Marty massages the soles of my feet. I look up and smile weakly. “Let this go on forever. Please.”

Smiling down at me, Marty snickers with relief. “What happened, Little Brother?”

Marty takes one of my big toes into his mouth, making my dick twitch and me moan: “I have no idea, but I’d do it again in a flash.”

Jaén pulls me tighter to his chest. “Did my dick cause you so much pain that you lost consciousness?”

I laugh weakly, my body enjoying its relaxed state. "No,” I try to chuckle. "your dick caused me so much pleasure that I blacked out, not to mention your fingers jiggling against my prostate and Marty’s mouth sucking my cock.”

Are you going to be okay, Little Brother?” Marty wants to know, as he and Jaén lift me onto the bed.

I’m okay, right now.” As I speak, Jaén gets into bed in front of me and Marty behind.

***

The sleep that claimed us is interrupted by my travel alarm. Our limbs are intertwined and Marty has his dick in my ass. He’s not fucking me; it’s just there. And mine is as hard as a rock and sticking between Jaén’s legs with the tip buried in fur under his scrotum.

To judge by the lack of reaction to the travel alarm, none of us wants to get up. I make the first move, dislodging Marty’s dick. He moans with disappointment. I give him a kiss before shutting off the alarm.

At once, I have to go to the bathroom to empty my bowels. I check for blood; there’s none. The stream of warm water in the bidet feels as soothing as it should.

After drying, my next stop is the linen closet to get towels for Jaén and Marty and figure that I might as well take a clean one for me. On my way back down the corridor, the phone starts to ring, which answers one of my questions that I had: French phones do not have a double ring like phones in Britain do. « Halo, Trocadéro 22-15, qui est à l'appareil ? »

A very English male voice asks in basic, slowly pronounced French if I speak English. When I tell him that I do, he identifies himself as a member of the Homicide and Serious Crimes Command of the Metropolitan Police Service and asks if he is speaking to either Daniel or Martin Mongrain-Bourke. I tell him that I am Daniel and ask for him to explain what the Metropolitan Police is.

You more than likely know us as Scotland Yard.” His voice is sombre, indicating bad news.

Okay,” I set the towels on the floor and take out the pad and ballpoint from under the phone. "how may I help you?"

I’m Chief Inspector Alban. Do you know, or are you related to one Joseph Alexandre Bourke?”

Alarm bell go off in my head. “Yes, he's my father." When he hears this, Marty is at my side and takes up the separate earpiece. Jaén picks up the towels and disappears into the guest bathroom.

Would you please spell Alexandre?” I do and make a point of telling him that it’s the French spelling. He continues: "We have found an unidentifiable body that was in possession of a British passport, issued to Mr. Bourke. Do you possibly know where the passport was issued?”

Yes,” I make an educated guess, assuming that it’s his old one. “At the British Consulate in Kansas City, in the United States.”

Quite so.” Chief Inspector clears his throat. “Your names and this telephone number were jotted on the currency exchange slip. Would it be possible for you to come to London to try for identification?”

Yes,” I look at Marty and he mouths Wednesday morning. “um, would Wednesday morning be all right, if my brother and I can get a flight? Would you please give me your phone number, should there be a problem?”

He gives me the number, and I jot it down. Of course, I have no idea if this is the way to do it, and Marty watches me sceptically as I dial for the operator and ask for international information.

And what do you know? It works.

So, I ask for the number of the Metropolitan Police in London and write it directly under the other one, then dial. When I get the switchboard, I ask for the number of Chief Inspector Alban. It’s a match.

Marty is shaking his head in disbelief and I grin. “You have to hand it to the wee fecker, when he pulls off shit, it’s well planned.”

Marty giggles. “Do you think that he’s the one who called the cops about Françoise’s whorehouse?”

I shake my head then reconsider and shrug. Jaén arrives fully dressed. “I’ll be down in the foyer, if you want me.”

We want you, mon petit ours.” I pull him into a kiss with lots of tongue and heavy breathing, making his still moist beard even damper. “Can we come down later and bother you?”

He laughs sarcastically. “It’s your house.” He kisses Marty just as heavily.

Marty pants: "Can I call you ‘my little bear’, too?"

Jaén’s smile finally emerges from behind the moustache, as he looks at us both alternately. “You have no idea how good that makes me feel." He gives us both a little kiss and goes down the stairs to leave.

Do you think we should call Raph to see if he knows?” Marty looks over the balustrade checking that Jaén has in fact left.

I nod. “Yeah, but let me do the talking.”

Okay, where do you have the number?" He seems to notice that we are both still naked and blushes.

In my wallet.” I lead the way to my, and possibly now, our rooms. I get dressed and he seems hesitant. “Come on, we can shower later. We have things to do.”

We climb the stairs to Seph’s apartment. Halfway up the stairs, I realise that I’ll be seeing this for the first time. Just another unknown part of my father’s life. Slowly, he’s becoming a stranger, an enigma, whom I really don’t care to know. It’s becoming just too strenuous.

The sitting room is more Art déco with quite a few hints of Victorian England. Marty takes Dad’s leather music satchel that George bought him out of the large cupboard. He points to the telephone.

When I phone Raph, I get Doris, who tells me that Raph is too much in shock to come to the phone. I insist; she declines to comply. I hang up. “Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

Marty is sorting through papers from the leather satchel. “What doesn’t surprise you?”

That Doris has her claws in Raph.” I snarl. “He hasn’t even been back there for twenty-four hours."

Let it go, Little Brother.” Marty pulls out the Photostat of my birth certificate. “Here’s the proof we need that Joseph was your natural father.”

You’re using ‘was’?” Marty’s reason is not clear to me.

He wants to be dead. So, he’s dead.” His tone is swinging somewhere between mournful and angry.

I put my hand on his knee. “As I said yesterday: I’ve never felt so betrayed.”

Can I count on you, Daniel?”

To stand by you?” I know I can never desert Marty, so it’s easy to assure him. “We’re in this together for the long run, Big Brother.” I giggle. “That is unless you stick a gun up your ass and pull the trigger or start licking pussy.”

I think I’m gonna puke.” He laughs and fakes heaving.

Good. Keep it that way.” The phone rings. “And stay away from Auntie Françoise.” I pick it up. « Trocadéro 22-15, qui est là ? »

Daniel?” Richard Ashton’s familiar voice comes clearly through the line. “may Colour and I come over?”

Of course. When?” It sounds as if I can hear Geneviève talking to Liam in the background. She seems upset. Bad news does travel fast, even if it’s fake.

Say, in twenty?”

Make it ten. Your hotel isn’t that far. I’ll meet you in the foyer.” He grumbles assent, and I replace the receiver.

Marty looks up after latching the satchel. “Who was that?”

Richard Ashton.” I smirk, wondering what he’s going to tell us. “He’s coming over with Colour.”

Marty snickers, putting the satchel back into the cupboard. “What colour, pink?”

I keep forgetting that Marty doesn’t know any of the guys stationed at the residence, except for Richard and Vince. “It’s Colour Sergeant McAnally, Vince’s old boss.”

And why Colour Sergeant?” Marty looks at me as if he’s thinking that I can read his mind. Of course, he's probably thinking that it has something to do with race. But since he is improving, and in the very near future, it will more than likely no longer make any difference to him, which ethnic group anyone belongs to, I let it slide.

I chuckle. “I have no idea, Big Brother, why they call him Colour Sergeant.” I pause to think. “Hold on,” I seem to remember someone telling me. “it’s some kind of reward. Outstanding service or something.” Marty looks at me impishly. All I have to say is: “Don’t go there, Martin.” and he blushes.

What do they drink?" He gets up and opens the sliding glass doors of the huge Art-déco cupboard.

Whiskey would probably be best.” I look at the assortment of bottles, not recognising anything, except Glenfiddich.

Which one?” He seems to be in the same state of not knowing. I shrug. He starts: “Eeny, Meeny, Miny, Moe--“

--just take the fucking bottle of Glenfiddich.” I sigh and go for the stairs.

Before I go down to collect Richard and Liam, I look in the fridge to see if there is anything I can take down to Jaén. I find a couple of apples in the crisper, wash one and proceed to the cage and push the button.

When I arrive downstairs, he looks up and smiles behind his moustache. I can’t help myself; I have to touch. “Hi, brought you a bite to eat, Little Bear,” His smile now lights up his whole face. “and your keys.”

He pockets the keys and sets the apple aside for later. “Why are you and Marty doing this?” This time, his eyes are not dull and expressionless, it’s a simple question. One for which I don’t have a ready answer.

Let’s just say that we enjoy your company.” I know that I’m treading water, but attraction is a difficult emotion to believably describe.

Are you in love with me?” He is looking at the desktop below the window of the loge where he is sitting.

If we can call emotional attraction early stages of love, yeah, I think that it is going in that direction.” I'm proud of my analysis. “And you?”

He nods and smiles. “With me, it has probably already gone in that direction.” He looks at me sheepishly. “You were the first who ever let me penetrate them.” He glances back at the desk. “Until now, my sex life was always handy work." He pauses. "No, that's not the right word."

Hand job?" I help him out and can see again just how vulnerable he is. The thought of anyone with a dick that size being self-conscious about it, astounds me.

"Did it hurt you?” Guilt surfaces.

« Non, mon petit ours, tout s'est bien passé ; ne t'inquiètes pas. » Just as I finish telling my little bear not to worry, that I'm all right, the concierge’s bell rings. “I’ll get it. It’s probably for me.”