Date: Mon, 5 Jun 2017 11:53:17 +1200
From: Guillaume Bacharene <bacharene@gmail.com>
Subject: Carlos' Story

Guillaume Bacharene

bacharene@gmail.com

This story is a bit of fact and fiction although based on some key actual
details. Names have been changed for privacy protection purposes. I
reiterate that a mixture of fact and fiction is what good writing is about,
and, one has to write, above all, for the reader. Getting the words right
and telling a wonderful story to which readers can relate is key.

Please support and donate to Nifty, which supports this community of
writers and readers.

Carlos' Story

Professor Carlos Gubain sat at the small table in his clapboard house
kitchen with its multi-paned Georgian windows. It was Sunday and spring had
arrived in New England. Although somewhat halting and indecisive, it was
spring. Each day, the weather was a variation, which matched Vivaldi's Four
Seasons Carlos so loved to play upon the cusp of seasonal change, as he
celebrated each new day. On the table, his habitual tisane and oatmeal
cooled. The newspaper sat in anticipation of soliciting timely interest and
relevance to the moment.

Carlos looked out of the multi-paned window with its original hand-made
glass panes from 1797. He felt good; better than he had in a long time and
the array of daffodils and other spring flowers reasserting their presence
in his garden stood as confident symbols of renewal and a new beginning.
His dog having the ability to read the weather, on this particular morning,
remained curled upon itself beside the warm stove and therefore, not
interested in a walk. When he was in a walk mood, he lay instead by the
door, nose pointing to where it opened.

Order, structure and predictability were returning to Carlos' life. He had
not long overcome a series of unexpected health issues and his life had
taken on a different reality, with which he was still coming to grips.
Forbidden to drive for three months he had come to rely on the kindness of
friends whenever he had to travel more than a mile or so. As a
distinguished college professor, colleagues had tried not to treat him any
differently but of course in fact and reality had done just that. He had
become an unknown, living in the same body. Beyond the politeness and
earnestly expressed concerns, colleagues had cultivated
uncharacteristically long and awkward silences with and about him, where
they hung like a mysterious fog. Within the specialised world and shifting
sands of an already unpredictable academia, he realised he had to reinvent
himself and make choices. This was about him. And, the other reality was
that in 2018 he would retire and leave all of his academic life behind a
firmly closed door, destined never to be re-opened.

He decided to have his shower. Before stepping under the caressing warmth
of the water, he took a long look in the mirror. He was 64, still handsome,
youthful and distinguished with chiselled features, a lean and taut body
and salt and pepper hair cut in a flattering style. The worry lines from
his three-month health scare had vanished and colour had returned to his
face. His eyes sparkled. He was ready to take on the world again but on new
and revised terms, terms still being formulated in his head.  His organist
friend, Marlene, knew all about this. She was supposed to be dying of
cancer but refused to let it get in the way of her life. In her steely,
determined way, she was an inspiration. There were others too.

As the water washed away the old Carlos and gave birth to the new, he said
to himself aloud, "Well Carlos, a new dawn, a new life and a new future!"
He felt buoyed. Later that day, he and the Dean were planning his classes
and student supervision load. Even during the time of his health scare, the
load had scarcely changed. In just the previous week he had been part of
three thesis examinations and viva voce defences and this was quite apart
from his normal classes. Vivas were always a pleasure when the student was
bright and the thesis good. Many of course were not. In those cases, vivas
were an ordeal to be survived and where one tried to latch onto anything
positive able to be said and explored as relief from the agony for all.

His Wednesdays had become a particular test of survival and fortitude with
his classes going on until 8:30pm. In fact he had wondered if it had all
been a test of his mortality. As he dried himself off, he mused upon one of
his life principles: success is the best revenge. But, feeling positive was
a good thing and being back to total independence, a gift beyond measure.

Later, as he sipped his tisane and ate his oatmeal, he flicked through the
paper. There was nothing much engaging until the 'Personals'. A line jumped
off the page: 'MM. Young, very good-looking professional and grad student
seeks older gentleman with class to show him the ropes.' There was a number
to call and a code to enter.

Carlos mused. He fit the profile to perfection. He then began to think
about the countless times he had been propositioned by students. There had
been many offers to which he would like to have said 'Yes' but ever the
consummate professional, he had always smiled sweetly, blushed, said thanks
and changed the subject. Later in private, he would have to release and
calm the erotic tension. As he mused, one graduate student in particular
came to mind, James. James was quiet and bookish and never had much to say
in class. To Carlos, James had a quiet and respectful approach to his work
and assignments, which were always the best in his graduate class. His eyes
always focused on Carlos, which he, Carlos, found flattering. He had a
sense that mentally, James was undressing him. However, it was in research
tutorials in Carlos' office that James really emerged from his shell. James
always sat close and as well as the caressing eyes, as they worked, James
performed (as Carlos noted in his head) 'creative moves' with his mouth and
tongue. And, he was also a 'toucher' of knees and thighs especially. At
first, Carlos had thought it all accidental but soon realised it was part
of a pattern. It reached the point where James would squeeze Carlos' thigh
or forearm to emphasise a point. There was never any verbal proposition but
the sexual tension and opportunity was loaded and palpable. And, James was
handsome with a fresh, wholesome, natural scent of his own. He knew his
charms and how to exploit them with a subtle combination of allure,
innocence and temptation. Carlos had seen it all before. The pressure
cooker world of academia had multiple hierarchies of power and
influence. There were the rankings of faculty within rankings of faculties;
there were the rankings of students and there were the dynamics between
each grouping. The relationships between faculty and students also had
tensions. In essence this was about power and influence; favour and
capacity. Each side was a critical judge of the other and within such a
complex mix; there was also the opportunity for exploitation from
all. Principles, professional values, ethical standards and acceptable
behaviours were known to all but in such a heady, tension-filled world, the
odours of temptation often acted like a drug, with the added exoticism of
the illicit, the risky and the dangerous. Those with above average
intelligence are no less immune to making choices, which on reflection,
they might not otherwise make. And then there were faculty whose
reputations for exploitation were known but spoken about in silent
voices. Carlos, however, remained aloof from any stain and gossip and in
relation to colleagues, whatever he saw, thought and felt remained within
him. He believed in karma and was also reminded that the occasional
faculty-student scandal did erupt, leading to adverse publicity, divorce,
recriminations and resignations.

However, Carlos was not merely the object of attention from students. He
was also the receiver of propositions online, although his natural caution
and reserve made the process of connecting in person, somewhat
challenging. Caution was also perhaps increased by his having very
inquisitive neighbours who felt that his business was theirs but, so many
of Carlos' many admirers lived already complex and ulterior lives of their
own. It was thus a compounding of multiple complexities. Some were married,
some had religious 'challenges' to face, others even more complex hang ups
but, Carlos had a certain exotic factor, which tended to intrigue and
further, his French ancestry gave a certain cachet. However, with both
parties facing certain restrictions in the hosting of trysts, the naturally
cautious Carlos and his equally cautious admirers were left with
out-of-town encounters in motels and on occasion, at the cutting edge of
danger, in secluded car parks and behind commercial premises after
hours. Living dangerously was certainly not Carlos' thing but at times,
carnal need and excitement and response to the moment, change one's
perceptions of risk and danger. It was at such times that Carlos felt
transported back to adolescence with furtive explorations related to his
burgeoning sexual needs and his realising very quickly there were others
with needs and interests matching his own. He was not alone, however, as
always, the true challenge was finding each other and satisfying those most
urgent and intense of needs, regardless how forbidden and frowned upon.

But, those were different times without the rampant technology and
convenience of 2017. Latter day choice and options allowed for a
supermarket of opportunity where goods and alternatives on offer could be
put on display and various offers explored, negotiated and taken up. What
was once a dark and mysterious cupboard was now a floodlit display of
multiple choices and tastes.

So, by 2017, Carlos had realised that the often-quoted principles that
'there is no accounting for taste' and that 'all principles aside, there
are always exceptions' rang ever more true.

Within his own world, he had wondered why students propositioned
him. Certainly there was always the matter of grades and passing in the
post-graduate degree hunt; students willing to do anything to gain favour
and be accorded a higher level of competence. However, there were those
(often brilliant students) whose needs had nothing to do with grades but
with something less tangible, perhaps mere preference, taste; a tantalising
brush with academic power. Such was James. But, more of James later. In the
meantime, there was a parade of 'messieurs' through Carlos' life. It
mattered not how they came into his life, be it a chat room or an app. It
mattered not how the process for each unfolded. What mattered was the
attraction, which transcended all; the arrival at that point where mere
chatting and abstract exchange was not enough: there needed to be something
more physical. And there was. Each 'monsieur' met a particular need for
Carlos; each was different and each provided what Carlos called a 'toolbox
service'. And, he didn't have to worry about the messy and complicated
details of partnerships, relationships and allied discoveries, which often
made the most attractive people totally the inverse.

Then there were the service encounters, those who operated checkout at the
businesses he frequented who provided the stuff of additional fantasy: the
Celtic boy who played the violin sublimely as certain festive times of the
year in the local store, providing all with both a musical treat but also a
vision of sheer human beauty, with a brilliant smile and personality. He
loved playing, he loved pleasing with exquisite music and he loved
life. Carlos was smitten. Another was the angelic techie boy with another
radiant smile and personality, who rescued Carlos' laptop whenever
something went wrong. Carlos would allow his imagination to flourish during
and after their encounters, as seeds planted. Both and others became part
of his erotic and emotional life, their images seared upon his brain.

Beyond the everyday encounters, Carlos also had his collection of
'messieurs'. He labelled and thought of them all in French, French being a
language where all that might be considered sordid in English took on a
certain edge of acceptability, of respectability even. He mused how the
Code NapolŽon in France made it the place of freedom for the world and
the place for every possibility, where citizens could live, free from
judgement and admonition, especially in matters of sexual preference. Some
in society might sneer and shake their heads behind gloved hands and fans,
but in France, even the Catholic clergy just preached and then practiced as
it suited. The church lived in accordance with a theoretical standard but
that was flexible and in practice allowed anything within the embrace of
discretion and privacy. Normality (whatever that was) was in any case,
'flexible'. As Carlos had discovered, to be a choirboy or priestly
attendant in the Catholic Church meant having to meet certain duties for
which there was no job description. It just was, and discretion applied to
all within what was seen as 'normal'. To even complain and question was
seen as 'abnormal'. The contradictions were never lost on those with the
power and advantage of intelligence. For this reason, the Catholic Church
became a refuge; the most sophisticated machine ever developed where
contradiction and duality developed into the highest art where a priest
could receive confessions from and give absolution to awkward fourteen year
old boys about their masturbatory habits and immediately afterwards, fondle
and kiss a priestly assistant without any sense of hypocrisy. It was not
that the church was a lie or that their lives were a lie; the church simply
was an organisation with a very long history of duality and contradiction
wherein anything was tolerated unless and until it generated scandal. At
such points, the denial and treatment were harsh; the church had been let
down and the gates of hell opened for public judgement.

And so it was that 'les messieurs de Carlos' joined a select club, each
accorded his label. There was Monsieur Veuf, a widower; Monsieur Voitures,
who collected cars; Monsieur Policier, a retired cop; Monsieur Juif,
escaping his strict, Jewish life for what he truly wanted and needed;
Monsieur Prt-ˆ-Manger, ready for anything quick, and like the
masculine equivalent of fast food; Monsieur MŽdecin, a doctor; Monsieur
Camion, a truck driver. Each had needs, capacities and talents which Carlos
accommodated and from which he derived satisfaction. Nonetheless, in spite
of the variety and choice, Carlos felt frustrated. The simple fact was his
collection of 'messieurs' could never be called reliable or regular. They
were unpredictable treats. He seemed to be there to meet their needs, while
his own rampant needs languished. And then, a sudden call out of the blue,
a message, a rendezvous but without any control or order determined by
Carlos. This was the very essence and being of frustration, needs satisfied
unexpectedly and then being consumed once more by lingering frustration. In
addition, Monsieur Veuf was seriously Catholic and convinced his trysts
with Carlos would send him to hell. So, in spite of the pull of the flesh
and the sinful needs they created and manifested, in spite of daily mass
and confession, Monsieur Veuf had this other side, smothered in guilt, with
vast potential to complicate Carlos' life. It was therefore better in
general that his 'messieurs' remain at a convenient distance. Each
inhabited his own box. In yet another twist, Monsieur Prt-ˆ-Manger
had, it turned out, taken up with a 20 year old who liked older men and
contrived to get himself fucked regularly in the car park of his work
place, hidden within the confines of the 20 year old's dark-windowed work
van. Now, that really was living dangerously, especially given the setting
and the fact that Monsieur Prt-ˆ-Manger was married with two
college-age sons, virtually identical in age to his secret paramour. It
also brought a potential complication to Carlos' life he decided he did not
want, being a backstop to Monsieur Veuf when the 20 year old was not
available or otherwise engaged.

After much reflection, Carlos decided that despite their randomness, these
one-sided encounters with his 'messieurs' had a definite place in his life
but he needed something more. It was at that point that he began to look at
James in a new light. He made a conscious decision. Instead of resisting
James, he would yield and see where it all ended up.  To Carlos' great
surprise, however, it all happened much more quickly than he had dared to
imagine. James had a progress tutorial scheduled two days later so Carlos
brewed fresh coffee and went to his favourite French patisserie in search
of some fresh pain au chocolat, unctuous with a special butter imported
from New Zealand. His office smelled like an emporium of culinary and
earthly delights. When James arrived at 2:00pm, he walked into the perfect
setting of possibilities. He noticed.

Carlos sat behind his desk entering assessments, as James knocked and
entered. Carlos stood up, and motioned James to the two armchairs at the
side of his office. Normally they would sit at the table in the other
corner. James inhaled audibly.  'Wow, what an amazing smell, Carlos. It
makes everything in here seem delicious and edible.'  They had been on
first name terms since James began his doctoral research. Carlos poured
coffee and placed a pain au chocolat on the low table in front of each
armchair. He sat down and leaned back, sipping his coffee. James mirrored
his actions and smiled what Carlos had already labelled 'the James smile'.
'Let's enjoy coffee and pain au chocolat before we get into the hard
stuff,' he said. They were due to discuss functions of language across
different languages and cultures and how this varied.

James was wearing beige chinos and boat shoes with a pale blue shirt under
a navy sweater. He always had hair, slightly wild which gave him a raffish,
attractive look. His hair was a dirty blonde as if from a lifetime of
surfing in California, and his sunglasses pushed back on his head gave him
a movie star edge. And, James gave Carlos 'the look' as they sipped coffee
and ate pain au chocolat, flakes of unctuous pastry cascading to plates to
be savoured with a saliva-moistened finger.  'Before we start, Carlos, I
would like to invite you to lunch.' James looked serious. 'I want to say
and show a special thank you to you for all the support you have given me
on my research projects.'  Carlos thought for a moment.  'That is very
sweet of you James but, that's my job and for a student as good as you, it
is an easy pleasure.' Carlos smiled. James smiled back and licked his
lips. The erotic tension was building.  'But, dear James, you and I have
work to do. We can sort out lunch details later.'  They moved to the table
and Carlos unshuffled a heap of papers, studded with Post-it notes. James
leaned back in his chair, spreading his legs so their thighs touched,
sending electrical frissons through Carlos. Then almost nonchalantly, James
placed his arm across the back of Carlos' chair. The warmth from James' arm
burned into Carlos' back. That was a new move. The electrics moved to a
higher plane but, there was important work to be done and it had to be
done. Time flashed by in a blur and then they were done. James squeezed and
kneaded Carlos' shoulder with his hand.  'So, Carlos, how about lunch at my
duplex on Saturday afternoon?' That was two days away. 'Shall we say
12:30pm? I will email you details. Is there anything you don't or can't
eat?'  'As one of French blood, I eat everything,' Carlos replied,
'everything.'  Carlos stood up. James knew he had another class. He too
stood up and stretched, cat-like. As he was leaving he kissed Carlos on
both cheeks, French style. Another new move Carlos had not expected but
things were already moving in interesting directions, innocent or not.

The rest of the week was busy and Carlos barely had time to think about the
encounter with James. When he did, however, the erotic intensity was
palpable. This was all the stuff of fantasy but equally had taken on a
dimension of interesting possibilities. On Friday evening, for dinner
Carlos had a bowl of chicken soup with fresh and crunchy baguette warmed in
the oven. His iPad pinged a message from James with the address. It was
barely 20 minutes' drive away according to Google maps. Carlos had an early
night. He was tired after a busy week.

Late next morning, after habitual tasks were completed, he began to think
about what to wear. He opted for a red sweater over a green tailored Mille
Chemises shirt from Paris with dark grey pants and black slip on shoes. He
did his hair carefully and chose Monsieur Rochas, a lemon-scented
eau-de-cologne. Next he went to his wine cupboard and chose a bottle of
2010 Ch‰teau Paraza 'Les Baronnies' from HŽrault in the Languedoc. As
an additional treat, he retrieved a packet of Langues de Chat from Fauchon
in Paris. And then he was ready.

As it turned out, James lived not far from the college but in the opposite
direction. Carlos walked up the pathway having parked in front of James'
garage. The garden was green and lush with an apparent focus on foliage
plants rather than flowers. He heard Schubert's 'Trout Quintet' playing.
'A great choice,' he thought to himself.  James came to the door dressed
exactly as he was for the tutorial, looking ever more handsome. Again, he
kissed Carlos French-style on both cheeks and expressed delight at the
wine. His duplex was white minimalist, fresh and clean and whatever lunch
was, it all smelled delicious. The table had been set in pristine white,
including the flowers. It all looked like a designer magazine. Carlos was
enchanted. It this was to be a seduction, the setting was certainly
perfect!

James disappeared to the kitchen and re-appeared with two flutes of
champagne, balanced on a silver tray and the bottle in an ice bucket. He
did the duty of opening and service with professional aplomb, pouring two
flutes to perfection.  'To collaboration and partnership,' he said. They
clinked glasses.  They wandered out into the rear garden and yet more
foliage plants and trees. It looked almost tropical with new spring growth
everywhere.  'This really is a magical setting, James. It reminds me of
Hawai'i.'  James smiled. 'My dad did it all. He's a landscape architect.'
The words took things to a higher level again. James' dad was no mere
creator of landscapes; he designed and constructed them. There was a
difference.

In his own space, James was in control while nurturing and building an
intense and erotic tension. It continued over lunch, where they sat
opposite each other, feet playing a kind of roulette. Lunch was a seared
tuna salad with a touch of chilli and slivers of cos lettuce and carrot,
garlic and pepper pasta with a hint of lemon grass; crusty bread and then
pears poached in red wine, star anise and cinnamon with a dash of crme
anglaise and a dollop of vanilla seed crme Chantilly. The Ch‰teau
Paraza was a hit.  'I'm a red man with anything and everything,' James had
quipped.

Later they sipped coffee and savoured the Langues de Chat in James'
comfortable living room, opposite each other and almost knee-to-knee. James
fixed his eyes on Carlos intently, more intently than ever. After a time of
deep concentration he finally spoke.  'Can I ask you a very personal
question, Carlos?'  Carlos realised this as a significant moment.  'Of
course,' he replied. It was as if he had engineered the entire event and it
was going to plan. James thought for what seemed an interminable period.
'Have you ever thought about me in a sexual way, Carlos? I think you should
know that I fantasise about you endlessly.'  It seemed to Carlos that James
had already framed his, Carlos', answer.  Carlos put down his cup.  'James,
you are a very attractive man and yes, I have thought about you in a sexual
way but also, I am old enough to be your father.' It came out in a very
matter-of-fact way, rather like a debate within a tutorial. A smile
developed on James' face, making it light up more.  'Good,' he said, 'I
have thought so much about you fucking my ass as your tongue fucks my
throat.'  I was very direct and although Carlos was a little surprised, he
maintained his composure. After a time he said, 'I had no idea but, I too
had thoughts of you fucking my ass. So, we have an impasse.'  James smiled
even wider.  'Easy solution, then. We fuck each other.'

They finished their coffees and refills and the Langues de Chat. Then James
reached out his hand, and took Carlos', hand leading him to the
bedroom. They kissed, a gentle but electric kiss and started to undress
each other. Then they were on the bed in rampant passion, tasting of coffee
and cinnamon and nutmeg from the Langues de Chat. It had in fact been the
perfect mutual seduction, somewhat ideal in the complicated matter of
Carlos' sex life. James smelled just like Carlos and in a moment of
passion, as the room tumbled about them, Carlos saw the bottle of Monsieur
Rochas on James' dresser, the one Monsieur upon whom he could rely. It was
an omen of good. It was also no surprise that both loved kissing and both
did so with ardour and intent, their cocks locked in an intertwined dance
of their own.  And then, James reached over retrieving lube from the
bedside table. What followed was choreographed perfection as 8 inches of
circumcised perfection slid deep into Carlos' ass and warmth radiated
throughout his body as James fucked him, caressed him and kissed him to the
point that Carlos was transported to another planet. He had never been
fucked so exquisitely and he wanted it to last forever. And then with a
gasp and a series of shudders and convulsions, James could no longer
control himself. They lay in each other's arms, kissing; Carlos' erect cock
drooling pre-cum. Then James rolled onto his front, whispering urgently,
'Fuck me hard Carlos, really hard.'

Carlos obliged. He had always preferred to be the bottom but a deal was a
deal. He lubed his cock and positioning himself, entered James ass, tight
and warm. He settled his body along that of James and nuzzled James' neck,
entwining fingers. James shuddered.  'Oh fuck, Carlos, I've wanted this for
so long.'  Carlos began to fuck James, slowly at first and then increasing
tempo and vigour, forcing James' legs wider apart with his. James moaned,
louder and louder, itself a turn-on. The bed shuddered, James shuddered,
Carlos shuddered as James worked his ass muscles around Carlos' cock.
Carlos felt as if his entire being had come to reside in his cock and balls
and then, with the sounds and sheer physicality of it all, intensified in
the brain, Carlos felt his peak of no return mounting until he exploded
deep in James' ass. James shuddered again, moaning softly.  'Stay inside me
Carlos.'  They remained conjoined for a good ten minutes before Carlos felt
the urge to pee. As he did, James entered the bathroom, turned on the
shower and then began nuzzling Carlos neck and brushing his nipples as he
emptied his bladder. They took a long shower together and then dried each
other off. Afterwards they went back to bed, resuming kissing and then
sucking each other off. It was all tender and relaxed.

Thereafter, although it had been a long time coming, Carlos felt as if
things had changed in his life. James did as well. Three weeks later, after
many more lunches and dinners between their homes, over champagne at
Carlos' house one afternoon, James smiled and clinking flutes said: 'I love
you Carlos and what is more, I want you on my life forever.'  'L'homme
propose, le Dieu dispose,' Carlos responded and then repeated it in
English: 'Man proposes, God disposes.'