Date: Thu, 15 Sep 2016 18:23:12 +0200 From: Guillaume Bacharene Subject: California Dreaming - Part 1 Guillaume Bacharene bacharene@gmail.com This story is essentially factual. Some names have been changed for privacy protection purposes. As I indicated in my earlier stories, my romance with the US goes back to the early 1980s. Again, while there are exceptions as there are all over the world, I was totally seduced by the general niceness of people and especially, the beautiful, confident and sexy men who were totally enthralled by my accent. But also, it was the genuine openness and way they expressed thoughts and feelings. I had never had my ego so exquisitely massaged the same way ever. So, I am 1.80m tall, worked out and had what others described as "model looks" to the extent that when I was doing my first masters degree I had been offered a modelling contract in Paris. I thought about it and the money and travel, but figured I had too many brains to be treated like a glorified clothes' horse and as some superficial entity who had "the looks" but nothing else. I turned it down. Please support and donate to Nifty, which supports this community of writers and readers. Nifty needs donations to keep these stories coming: http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html California Dreaming - Meetings and Conference Tour It was 1986 and I had a series of meetings beginning in San Francisco and then heading to LA followed by San Diego where I was due to attend a major conference. I was not alone but travelling with two colleagues, one of who was gay but in the closet and the other who was as boringly straight as they come with no imagination, a profound nervousness about everything and a wife and three children whom he adored. Again in setting the context for my earlier stories, I indicated that America is the most amazingly good thing for one's ego. Only in America have I experienced these flattering events especially being propositioned in the most unexpected places by both men and women, people who knew exactly what they wanted and were prepared to risk a brazen approach on the basis that was in a worse case scenario the answer would be a flat no or they would be ignored, and in the best case scenario they could get lucky and get a yes. It was in San Diego on this trip I met a beautiful American who became the love of my life and, after 30 years, we are still together. San Francisco So, in San Francisco, with two colleagues, although I had friends in the city, I had no obligation to take my colleagues with me when I went to visit them. My closeted gay colleague lived a very guarded and secret life and yet at times I thought he took incredible risks. Since he was around 6 feet 4 inches in height and very solid, he was probably able to come out unscathed because he was hardly helpless and indeed, had an aggressive streak. I had discovered he liked the more seedy side of gay life and while we were in San Francisco was out cruising the rough clubs of the Tenderloin and also cruising parks. I felt his sexual life was far too much on the edge and lived too unpredictably and therefore, potentially dangerously. Our straight colleague had no idea and since we had agreed to do things independently in the evenings, he was happy to retire to his room and watch TV, getting food to go or from room service. He was madly in love with his wife and children. Security in the head is important for many and, this was his first overseas trip. He was also a great worrier and his worst fears were realised when his bag was lost for 24 hours. It was for him a major disaster, which bore out every fear he had. I tried to suggest that his negative thoughts merely attractive negative energies into his life but he worried ever onwards. If I was not seeing friends, each evening I tended to go eat something light at a bar called the Alta Plaza Bar & Grill on Fillmore and Clay, although I would drink nothing but Calistoga mineral water, since I was driving. I would also take a book since it was well lit and I could always read although it was a very chatty bar and people would come and talk. An accent in the US bar scene was at least in those days, an asset. One night as I sat at my small table, sipped my mineral water and read; I had this feeling of eyes drilling into me. It was uncanny. My conjoint part-Polynesian ancestry and spirituality kicked in. I looked up and around and sitting about six metres away was this huge muscled guy literally staring at me and sitting awkwardly on a bar stool. He dwarfed it totally. Our eyes met. He nodded and smiled. I did the same but regardless of his overall good looks, more out of politeness. Muscle dudes were simply not to my taste, with all that aggression, self-centred, narcissistic temperament and testosterone. I carried on sipping and reading. After couple of minutes he stood up and came over. I could hardly miss him. His frame, even out of focus, was there. He looked around 6 foot 7 tall and built proverbially. In Australia they would say 'like a brick shit house'. Aussie slang was an integral part of me after a teaching and research stint there. "Good evening," he said rather formally, holding the back of the other chair at my table. Would you mind if I were to join you?" Now that was a huge check, a huge tick: class and politeness and somebody using the subjunctive in English. I closed my book and had a momentary thought: he would either subsume the tiny chair into his massive frame or it would collapse beneath him. "Please do." I could hardly say no as he was so polite and, my head was engaged in a massive re-organisation. He was far from the classic Tarzan and Jane scenario with its mon-syllabic 'dialogue'. "I'm Marek." He held out this huge hand and sat down gingerly. The entire chair did indeed vanish and it also creaked loudly. Marek jiggled a little to test it. He had a bottle of Grolsch beer in his other hand and it looked like an aftershave sample, totally engulfed in his hand. He really needed at least three chairs! I shook his hand and replied: "Hello Marek. I'm Guillaume." "I don't think they make chairs big enough for you Marek!" I suggested. He laughed. In focus he was very handsome. Dirty dark blonde hair, quite long and pushed back, blue eyes, arched brows, tanned skin and nice chiselled features. "Or beer bottles!" he quipped. I had a Polish friend called Marek so I asked him if he was Polish. "Yeah," he offered, "but I was born in Chicago. Lots of Poles live in that area. They tend to call us Polacks." "Oh," I replied, "Is that insulting? I doesn't sound very nice." I had never heard the term before. "Yes, it is very insulting. Of course nobody would dare say it to my face. I'd crumple them between two goddam fingers." Marek looked pleased with himself. "So how tall are you, Marek?" "Six nine and 267 pounds." "Heck, Marek. That's over 121 kilograms. I'm about 84 and I am hardly small!" Marek laughed. "Yeah, you're tiny. Where you from anyway?" As he spoke and to make a point, he placed his hand over mine, which vanished completely. "France but I have lived and worked all over the world, teaching and researching and I'm a bit of a genetic fruit salad. You?" "I work in construction; engineer and architect by training but I also work as a security guard on the side." "I can imagine nobody getting past you or even daring to try, Marek." He laughed again. "A few tried and didn't survive!" "So tell me Marek, what made you decide to come and say hello?" He shrugged a little. "You looked nice. I tend to terrify most people. And I have now discovered you really are nice." "Thank you Marek. That is a compliment." I thought for a moment. A question formed in my head. "Do people come on to you, Marek? I mean, nobody is ever going to not notice you, wherever you are. You can't exactly melt anonymously into a corner." "Oh yes: I get it all the time but it's mostly really big guys and of course, women, lots of women." "And, do you have a preference?" "Well, Guillaume, we are sitting in a gay bar so I guess that says something. And, if the truth be known I prefer to hang out with guys your size." He was very matter of fact. I was reminded of a friend in Australia who was barely 5 feet and her husband was 6 feet 7. They had six kids so, basic size and anatomy was clearly no barrier. It's all about managing the situation. I finished my mineral water and stood up to get another. "Can I get you another beer, Marek?" I asked. "No thank you. I will wait until I get home. I live just around the corner and I prefer Heineken. When I sat down again. Marek asked my about my work. Each time he moved, the chair gave an ominous creak. I told him in about ten words. Smoke from cigarettes started to drift up from the lower restaurant level of the bar and I started to cough. "That smoke is shit," said Marek. 'You fancy coming to my place for a drink instead?" There was no pressure, merely an offer. My eyes were starting to water and my throat felt raspy. I thought it would be nice to get some clean air at least. "OK," I said and drained my Calistoga. We stood up, Marek's chair giving almost a sigh of relief. He ushered me out protectively, a huge hand in the small of my back and, towering above all. Outside, He put an arm around my shoulder. We turned the corner and within minutes were at his house. I realised then I had literally parked the car across the street. "Well, Marek, look at that. My car is right across the street." "Must have been a plan somebody had in mind then." He laughed. Marek's place was on two levels with the living areas up. It was very modern and tasteful but very masculine as well in brown leather and tones of brown, off-white, olive green and beige. I commented on it all. "I did a three-year architectural design diploma as well, Guillaume, so I have a few ideas how to make spaces look good and work well. This was actually a very basic place when I bought it. I did all the work myself." The living area was part of a large open-plan space with the kitchen, a small bathroom and an office. There were some good paintings and drawings on the walls. "Take a look around if you like. I'll get us a drink. I'm having a Heineken. What about you Guillaume? Another mineral water?" "Yes please Marek." I did a tour. Downstairs were two bedrooms, each with its own bathroom and, a deck area and a garden out the back. The rest of the space was storage, an entire wall of it. Upstairs, Marek had taken off his jacket and sat in an armchair, his massive arms spilling out of a Polo shirt and legs looking as though they would tears his jeans into shreds. I realised again how handsome he looked and how rugged and masculine. I sat opposite. We clinked glasses. Marek had filled a massive handled stein with three bottles of Heineken and poured me a large mineral water, which bubbled and danced. He fixed me in his gaze. "Now I get to see you relaxed, I like what I see even more, Guillaume. I think you are really cute." I smiled. "That's a compliment, Marek. I thought that at thirty nine I was well past the cute stage." He laughed. "No, you're not. You're still very cute and lean. I like you. If I didn't know I'd say you were late twenties." Flattered, I figured I had better say something as well to even things up. I reworded my earlier thoughts. "Well, Marek, you are very handsome. Put a cowboy hat on you and you'd be every gay boy's absolute Western fantasy. Come to think of it, put any costume on you and you would be!" He leaned back in his armchair, pelvis thrusting forward. He filled his jeans in front as well and not merely in the leg department. "Right now, Guillaume, you are my fantasy and my reality. I have you sitting right here in my house. What to they say about possession being nine tenths of the law?" I smiled. Things were definitely heading down an inexorable path. Neither could stop and neither wanted to stop. Marek stood up and went to the kitchen. There was a rustling of a packet and he came back with a bowl of cashew nuts. He put them on the coffee table close to me then he faced me and bent down placing his hands on the back of the sofa. "Can I kiss you, Guillaume?" I nodded. He bent right down and gently kissed the left, middle and right sides of my mouth with his lips, making a little popping sound like a dripping tap. Then he did the same under each of my ears. He sat down again. I was then very aware of his natural scent. It wafted over me. He fixed me with an intense stare, smiling. "Your move, Guillaume." I took a few sips of my mineral water which sent cleansing bubbles coursing through my mouth and then stood up, moving behind his arm chair. I began to knead his neck and shoulder muscles. He moaned and arched his back. Power rippled through his body. "Ooooh. Feels great. I was a bit tense there. I never feel comfortable in those silly chairs. I'm always a bit tense in case they crumple." I massaged his scalp and then, leaning forward, lightly kissed his temples. He sighed and then reached around and pulled me into his lap, side-saddle. I felt his cock through his fabric and mine. It was like I was sitting on a log. His powerful hands started kneading my sides, my chest, my arms. As he did so he also began slowly rocking his pelvis so his cock rubbed long my encased ass crack. It was intensely erotic. Then with a hand, he gently turned my chin and kissed me. I opened my mouth and our tongues met. I put an arm around his neck, cradling it. When we came up for air, Marek whispered: "Guillaume, I want you to take control." I retrieved his stein and held it so he could drink. His hands ran down my thighs and brushed over my tightly confined cock. "You want me to take control, Marek?" "Yes, Guillaume. People always expect me to be in control because of my size but in fact, I love to be dominated. It's a total turn on for me when a much smaller guy is in charge. It's probably a real surprise to you but I absolutely loved getting fucked by a guy much smaller than me. Nothing turns me on more." Well, this was an absolute revelation. In fact I had been turning over in my mind how to sort things out and had been making assumptions based on the merely physical. I have never been a bottom for anybody. In this case, the gods of the universe really had worked their magic. "Let's go to bed Marek." We picked up our drinks. Marek's bedroom was very minimalist with a very large bed and many pillows. "Here's a new toothbrush you can use Guillaume." We brushed teeth. Marek decided to have a shower but since I had done so just before leaving the hotel I thought I could wait. I undressed and lay back on the bed, thumbing through a car magazine. When Marek came out of the bathroom, he whistled. I wasn't exactly doing an imitation of Goya's 'La Maja Desnuda' but Marek liked what he saw. He had nothing on of course and really, he had one of the best bodies I had ever seen, muscled but in proportion and not at all grotesque. And, I cannot recall seeing legs on anybody before or since which matched Marek's. They were magnificent: well shaped, muscled in a lithe way and beautiful. There was just a lot of him in total as a package deal. I figured he probably shaved his body and limbs although his pubes were natural dark blonde and unshaven. He a has shadow of hair on his chest. His cock, flaccid, was huge and circumcised, also not common in Polish men. He climbed onto the bed beside me. It was rather like an earthquake struck. He snuggled up to me and I put my arm around this mountain of muscle. I kissed him while one of his huge hands caressed my body. He had an amazingly light and sensual touch and I was to discover, was very gentle. Our tongues explored and again, his was incredibly muscular and powerful. My cock was hard in seconds. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw his cock gradually come to life in a series of surges. When fully erect, it pulsed with each beat of his heart and it had to have been at least 30cm. It remains the largest cock I have ever seen and I have to say, I was glad it was not coming anywhere near my ass. I sure as hell would have been canonised instantly. I started to kiss, caress, lick his body. Rather than moaning, his muscles tensed and relaxed as little tremors erupted within him. He was clearly very much in tune with his body, as a sort of integrated electrical system. I disengaged and moved to his legs, which were incredibly sensitive. As I moved along his inner thighs he parted them, liberating his balls and revealing his crack with a fuzz of dark blonde hair defining and delineating. I cradled his cock as I licked his pucker and crack and the junctions with his thighs, and then licked and teased his balls. They were large, in keeping with his cock. Marek's body arched, coming to meet me, my hand barely able to reach around half his cock. I'd always imagined that large cocks could never become fully hard and erect but Marek put paid to that notion. His cock pulsed and exuded an amazing heat. Pre-cum glistened on his glans. I knew I was risking a serious jaw dislocation if I tried to take too much of his cock but licked around the glans and his piss slit, enjoying the velvety skin and his sweet nectar. His circumcision was so neatly done there was no scar at all. I got him to lean back, hold his legs and raise his ass on a pillow. His pucker was smooth and perfect and when my tongue started on it, along with the muscle tension and tremors he began to moan softly. I tongue fucked him for about ten minutes, feeling his tension rising. He pulled me up to kiss me. "Guillaume, give me your cock. Leave me look after mine. It's too big for your hands anyway." He reached over and handed me a tube of lube. His pucker was incredibly tight, no doubt because of his muscular body. I inserted my forefinger, lubing him well and then my cock, already wet with pre-cum. He guided me in and with the incredible tightness and muscularity of his entire body drawing me in: it was overpowering. I leaned forward to kiss Marek as I started to fuck him gently, our tongues finding a natural and compatible rhythm with my cock sliding in and out of his ass. His own huge hands were able probably to go around his cock at least twice but, as I kept up a steady fucking rhythm, I knew with each thrust, his prostate was getting a good massage. He could tighten his sphincter so much it was almost as if my cock would be claimed and left inside. At the same time he had this undulating rocking of his pelvis going. It was heaven. Although I tried to last, I knew with the anatomical dynamics going on, I would not. Marek knew, whispering: " Guillaume, I can feel you getting close. Don't stop and just keep up the same pace as it is perfect for me. I'm close too." I looked into Marek's eyes. His sheer handsomeness had grown. And then I exploded, followed a moment later by Marek, his cum issuing forth in such volume, it remains a historical record, unbroken to this day. He pulled me close, as we both shuddered in our state of bliss. The scent of Marek's cum, our sweat and of climbing roses wafting in the open window was the fabric and stuff of post-orgasmic delirium. He pulled me close and tight in a protective embrace. His sheer physicality changed the dynamics again. I had had my time of sexual dominance, acceding to his wishes and now it was his time of physical dominance. It was, in effect, the perfect balance. We spooned for a bit and then I figured I had better get back to the hotel. However, for the three remaining nights in San Francisco it takes little imagination to know what, where and who my priorities were located. Los Angeles Over a series of annual trips to the US since 1983, I still hadn't made up my mind if I actually liked LA or merely tolerated it. By this stage I had a number of good friends there, including a wonderful married couple with a giant macaw called Amazonia who sang opera excerpts. They provided a home away from home in Pacific Palisades, and a car whenever I was in LA. On this trip we were in a hotel and instead, I saw my friends for dinner at their house with Amazonia in top form. Anyway, my two colleagues and I decided to have dinner one night in West Hollywood. The restaurant we ended up in had typical California fare with a bit of a Texmex and Asian fusion going on. Our server's name was Mark and he was very solicitous to make sure we had excellent service. At one point, my married colleague went off to the bathroom and my closeted gay colleague leaned over and said: "Mark has been making eyes at you all evening. Have you noticed?" Since I am usually oblivious to these things, I indicated that I in fact had not. However, I did began to take more notice as Mark did his thing. He was tall and slim with black hair, green eyes, a cute nose with a slight turn-up and really nice lips. I realised once I did start to pay attention that my colleague was right. It was the way Mark looked at me and his facial gestures when we had eye contact. As I went to the bathroom, Mark held up a folded piece of paper and then slipped it into my back pocket. His fingers momentarily brushed across my butt as he did so. In the bathroom I pulled it out. In beautiful writing it said: 'I know your name is Guillaume. It's beautiful. You're beautiful. Can I buy you a drink some time? Here's my number. Mark xx' Well, there is a first time for everything. I had never been propositioned by note ever before and, as is the case with all these new situations; I was rather flattered and intrigued at the creativity and enterprise shown by Mark. When he came back to the table, I gave him a nod. He smiled and out of sight of my colleagues, did a thumbs up. So, when we got back to the hotel, although I knew Mark would still be working I called his number and left a message and my hotel name, number and room. I told him we would be in LA for three more nights although I also had a free afternoon the next day and the evening. Early next morning, the telephone rang. It was Mark. He was really sweet and very excited. He actually had a really deep and sexy voice, which belied his tall, lean and slender form. "Hello Guillaume. This is wonderful. I have today and tonight off. Why don't I swing by and pick you up around 3:00pm? We can then come back to my place and figure out a plan. I have a dark green MG. Around 2:00pm I had another shower and dressed smart casual with jeans, shirt and a light sweater and I was waiting at the hotel entrance when Mark arrived. "You look so handsome, Guillaume." "You look so handsome, Mark." We laughed in synch. "Well, Guillaume, I thought we'd go to my apartment and decide what to do. I had thought about offering to cook dinner but of course, had no idea about Mark's set up. I decided to raise it as an option. "Mark, I love cooking and do it very well. Would you be happy for me or us to cook dinner?" "Well, what a great idea, Guillaume. I love cooking too and have a small but well-appointed kitchen. I've also got a lot of fresh food, which could be the basis of dinner. I've also got wine, red and white and French at that." I repeated my mantra that the mark of a good chef is somebody who can cook a memorable menu in a strange kitchen with whatever is at hand. I then asked if we could stop at a market so I could buy some champagne. "It is a celebration after all, Mark. It is the first time I have even been propositioned in the skilful way you did it!" Mark laughed and blushed. "Oh, I was beside myself. I've never done it before, but I couldn't help myself. I heard you talking with your friends, fell in love with your accent and of course, you are wonderful eye candy as well." So, Mark stopped at his local liquor store and I bought some Pol Roger. They had a two-bottle special. Mark's all white, minimalist apartment was in a small one-level block at the back and slightly elevated so there was a pleasant garden and a view with a lanai. Those were the days of California decor 'over dressed and dark' so it was very much a before a trend. However, as soon as we got in the door, Mark gave me a huge hug. I put my hands on his hips and we kissed, exploratory at first and then more ardent. He certainly knew how to kiss. His arms encircled my neck. He smelled and tasted fresh and clean. He was slightly taller than me but leaner muscle and lighter. He looked bigger than I remembered in the restaurant. He wore a green polo shirt, jeans and sneakers and looked really good. After our exploratory kissing, I suggested that we get dinner sorted and then we could relax. Mark opened the refrigerator and ran through what was available. He had lots of good vegetables, salad things, some pork fillets and turkey escalopes. There were also apricots, figs and cherries and farm eggs from his cousin. In the pantry were pasta, rice and all necessary ingredients for baking. "What do you fancy, Mark?" "You mean other than you Guillaume?" "Well, I figure you've got that anyway." He laughed. I suggested a warm seared pork and turkey salad with red cabbage, carrot, bell peppers and radish with an onion, garlic, lemon zest and chicken broth risotto, followed by a fig, cherry and apricot Clafoutis. "Wow, a meal fit for a king," Mark exclaimed, 'and I have some rillettes de canard and biscottes to nibble with pre-dinner drinks." So, we got working, Mark washing and chopping various ingredients for our menu while I sorted the Clafoutis, including the tedious job of pitting the cherries, and got it into the oven. The rest was comparatively simple. I made a vinaigrette dressing for the warm salad adding some pine nuts and lemon zest. Next I tossed the slivered and mixed turkey and pork in some olive oil and on a high heat, used a rolling, wrist-action motion of the pan to keep it moving so it cooked and browned but didn't get too dry. I added a slug of whisky and lots of chopped garlic and set it aside to assemble. The risotto needed about 30 minutes. Mark opened a Pol Roger and we sat down on his sofa. He ruffled my hair and blew into my ear. He had some very large and commodious flutes and so there was enough for two glasses each. "Mmmmmm, Guillaume, you smell like dinner! I could eat you already!" The rillettes and biscottes were French and soaked up a bit of Pol Roger. He lay back, posing like a male Odalisque in cushions. I kissed him deeply and he sighed, loudly. Between sips of Pol Roger we kissed. He was really an expert kisser and not being that common in my experience, it was a bonus. "I'm so fucken hard," Mark whispered. I used the palm of my hand to do light, feather touches over his bulge. He thrust his pelvis forward and his kisses became more intense and impassioned. By this stage I was ready to strip him and really get down to it but the smells of the food had made me hungry and I had not had lunch. I said: "Let's eat and then we can have second dessert after that!" We both came back to earth. I set to with the risotto and assembled the salad while Mark set the table using all white: plates, place mats, and real linen napkins. He added sleek stainless steel flatware I recognised as Danish and then some fine crystal glasses but very plain. He disappeared onto his lanai and came back with a white and a red rose, which he put into a bud vase. "White for purity, red for passion," I remarked. "Poetic, Guillaume, poetic!" A line from a Jacques Pr‚vert poem danced into my head and I recited it: Cette fleur ne pourra se faner Cette fleur subite Faite pour eux A la minute Devant eux. This flower will never wilt This sudden flower Made for them In an instant Right before them. Mark was impressed. "So fucken sexy as I'm seduced by words. You're a walking orgasm!" He gave a shiver and then proceeded to open a bottle of Chablis. So, we ate dinner sitting opposite each other, toasting and chatting about many things. Mark had actually done a BA in history at UCLA and had a special interest in colonial histories of the first super powers. From unusual beginnings this was becoming something memorable. "This is truly delicious, Guillaume. The pork and turkey were still tender but cooked through and the rest was a symphony of tastes and textures, precisely how I like food. With the Clafoutis we had vanilla ice cream, not exactly French but a perfect cultural and culinary liaison. We cleaned up, loaded the dishwasher and finished the Chablis. Thereafter there were few words. Mark took my hand and took me to his bedroom where he kissed me more passionately than ever as he started to undress me. He tasted sweet and had really sensuous and soft lips. I did the necessary body positioning to enable removal of every bit of clothing and then, did the same to him. Mark licked my nipples and then ran his tongue directly down my body to my cock, dropping to his knees as I stood there. He teased my cock and balls with his tongue and then moved behind to attend to my crack and pucker. Then he returned to my cock. I pulled him to his feet and lowered him onto the bed, proceeding to give him a tongue bath all over. Our cocks were the same size, almost exactly, about 18cm. And then I lay on top of him, our cocks enmeshed and caressing each other. The skin of his cut cock was darker and there was a huge contrast between it and the area below his glans, excised at circumcision, which was almost creamy white. We kissed, caressed and ground crotches together. Then Mark rolled me onto my back. "Close your eyes, Guillaume." I heard Mark open a drawer and then he was back, over me, lubing my cock before taking me slowly into his asshole. I opened my eyes. His back was arched and head thrown back and he started to raise and lower his body, spiked on my cock. I caressed his body and jerked his cock, having felt the lube near my side. Within minutes, being totally turned on, head bussing with Pol Roger and Chablis, I was about to blow when Mark gave a sudden moan and his cum spurted over me in a good seven or eight substantial spurts which I felt hit me, painting me with fleeting warmth and. Mark shuddered and moaned, his ass muscles clenching and releasing. We remained like that, not wanting it to end. Then Mark said: "Guillaume, I want you to fuck me doggie." He disengaged from my cock and then, placing his head and arms on the bed, raised his butt. I held his haunches as I entered him again, starting to fuck him gently and increasing the pace. He moved his butt in perfect rhythm, building me up to an orgasm, which hit me suddenly when Mark did a series of rapid ass movements and clenches. I collapsed on top of him, kissing the back of his neck. We had a shower and a coffee and I headed back to the hotel but for the remaining time I was in LA, although Mark had to work at the restaurant, I would go late in his shift, have a glass of Pol Roger and then we would go to Mark's place to fuck. We both wanted it and needed it. He had made LA truly memorable. San Diego The conference was full on and heavy going although this time I didn't have to do any presentations. Between my colleagues and I we had a car and the deal was we each had it for a night so we could go out and do things we wanted to do. By accident I had discovered a bar called 'Flicks' on University Avenue and it was exactly the sort of bar I liked: a clean-cut crowd, preppy, friendly and professional and a nice environment and setting. And, the boys were all so good looking and smartly dressed. At the back was a room with the ubiquitous pool table which every bar had. I figured it was a kind of preen and display area for the peacocks, the physical actions of playing, allowing a chance to show off various physical attributes. And there were some. I ended up there, perched on a stool and sipping my Calistoga. A tall blonde guy sidled over. "Hi, I'm Chris. I surf." It was an odd opening line. I couldn't resist. "Hi back. I'm Guillaume. I snow ski." We shook hands. "Where you from Guillaume?" "France but I'm a citizen of the world. " Chris looked puzzled. It was clear he had no idea what I was talking about. "Where's that exactly?" I very quickly put things together. This was a handsome, muscled, blonde, blue-eyed, 6 feet 4 package with great physical attributes but somewhat lacking in the brain department. In my eyes, this was a serious flaw, all physical attributes aside. I needed to escape. He was the sort who would fuck like crazy and then realise. It was then I saw him, the most beautiful guy I had ever seen. He came into the space where the billiard table and was like a vision. We locked eyes. We smiled at each other. We nodded at each other. Wherever Chris thought he was going, it was going nowhere for me. The beautiful vision disappeared. I needed another mineral water and excused myself. The audience with Chris was over. I went back to the bar to get another Calistoga and there he was sitting right there, the vision himself. "Hello. Why didn't you come over and say hi?" "Because I'm rather shy and in any case, you were clearly being chatted up by that blond hunk who looked like Christmas had come for him." "Yeah," I replied, "a blond hunk with no brains. I needed to escape! And, if it makes you feel any better, I'm rather shy too." He smiled and my heart melted. So, I'm Guillaume." I held out my hand. "I'm Brian." I could end it there but won't quite, although the rest is really a very private and intense story. I knew and he knew that for us both, this was it. It was the moment we had both been waiting for; the moment the love of our lives entered and changed everything. It floated within us both, and in the air and all else, all others suddenly paled and we were oblivious. It needed no analysis, no explanation: it just was. "Let's get out of here, Brian." I've got a car so let's leave yours and we'll go to my hotel. I have a suite. I'll bring you back early tomorrow and you can collect your car." In hindsight I realised there was perhaps some presumption but in fact, it was as if all had been planned, pre-ordained, and instinctive. It was the moment we both fell totally in love. Thirty years later, nothing has changed. Epilogue: The epilogue for San Diego has already been spoken. But I cannot and will never write about it all in detail. It's our story which we have lived. We are as much in love as ever and have a shared success in life. We face the world together and always will to the fulfilment of our marriage commitments. For the other stories, when one is available, has the attributes which others find interesting and attractive and offers what others are seeking or, there is at least, a willingness on the part of both parties to do a test run, there can be outcomes. In this case, good friendships given the general challenges for one party to move to the country of the other. It can be done after much bureaucracy, time, detail and expense but the challenges are enormous. Marek and Mark are still good friends although we are all older, definitely wiser and full of memories and experiences. Marek eventually met a hand surgeon and Mark a very masculine florist who was also a hairdresser with a private clientele of celebrities whose names he never divulged.