Date: Tue, 12 Jun 2012 17:49:09 -0700 (PDT) From: J M Subject: Everything Goes Awry: Chapter Four Thanks for taking the time to read this story. It's my second posted on this site. This is just the start, and based on your feedback will continue to develop it. Any/all thoughts are appreciated. Thanks. jm08nyc@yahoo.com. CHAPTER FOUR Flashes of reality hit me through the pounding of the music and the flash of the lights. I was dripping in sweat. Eyes half closed. Moving my body in beat with the latest track--the pop diva of the day, remixed by the beat master of the moment. Grinding into the boy. His name escaping me. I had lost my shirt at some point, and felt the heat of his body pressed against my chest. The mass of other bodies swaying in sync with the rhythm. Flashes of memories seeping through the haze of booze and recreational substances. Flashes of the dance floor. Flashes of the boy. Flashes of the cab ride home. His head in my crotch, my legs around my ankles. His lips wrapped around my hard cock. Flashes of the cab driver making eye contact in the rear view mirror. Flashes of no shame. My hand down the back of his pants, massaging, probing. Wanting. Flashes of laughter. Flashes of us spilling on the sidewalk on Rue Charlot outside the house. Stumbling up the stairs. Lips locked. Hands on bodies. Spilling through the front door. A flash. The note still taped to it. Fuck. On the floor in the hall. Clothes off. Hands on young flesh. He couldn't have been more than 20. Short. Tight, slim body. Gorgeous ass. Big cock. Eager mouth. Hungry. Passionate. Uninhibited. His face pressed into my ass, mine in his. Working each other over. Sweaty bodies writhing on the floor of the hall. The front door still ajar. On my back, stretched out on the hardwood floor, my hands on his head. Guiding it up and down the long, thick length of my cock. His legs swinging over my head, knees on either side of my face. My hands spreading his cheeks. My face buried. His lips around my cock, my tongue in his hole. Working each other. Lust. Adrenaline. Hard bodies. Flashes of us in bed. Flashes of long, hard fucking. His voice screaming out as my cock hit home, begging for more. Flashes of us passing out. *** Fuck. I opened my eyes. The light starting to fill the windows of my bedroom. I was face down in a pillow. I pushed myself up on my forearms I took stock of my surroundings. The clock on the table flashing 6:13am. No covers on the bed. The body of the boy asleep next to me. Naked. Breathing softly. Me. Naked. Fuck. I slipped off the bed, picking up a sheet from the floor and wrapping it around my waist. Fuck. Sophie. She'd be here soon. I went to the closet and found a pair of underwear and a t-shirt and slipped them on, and walked into the kitchen to put on a put of coffee. I stopped in the hall. It was strewn with clothes every wear. Mine. The boy's. What on earth was his name? Fuck. I hadn't had sex with anyone but Cooper in years. And I hadn't had sex with anyone, including Cooper, in almost four months. And I've just spent a night having dirty, passionate, lusty sex with a young French guy. I stretched my arms far over my head, testing the limits of my body. I turned back and slipped a blanket over the boy's body, returning to the hall to pick-up the remnants of the night before. I held his shirt to my nose and smelled his scent on it. Electrifying. I folded his clothes and left them stacked at the foot of the bed, where he was still sleeping. Mine I left in a pile in the closet. Into the kitchen, I switched on the kettle to boil for coffee. And opened the fridge to see if there was something else to eat or drink. I poured him a glass of orange juice, in case that's what he liked in the morning, and grabbed a bottle of water. Cutting the kettle off just before it whistled, I steeped a pot of coffee and took all the beverage options back into my bedroom. I set them down on the table next to the bed. And sat down next to him. I ran my hand along his back. Tracing the curves of his body. "Good morning," I said softly, as he started to stir. I noticed three used condoms on the floor next to the bed and shoved them under it with my foot. Fuck. He rolled over to face me, pulling the sheet up to his neck, a slight shiver in the morning. He smiled. "Bonjour," he said slowly, clearly working through the events of last night much as I had done. He glanced around the room as he laid his hand on top of mine. A sense of relief as he saw his clothes sitting close by. "Il ya du café, l'eau et le jus d'orange ici si vous le souhaitez. La salle de bain est simple par l� si vous voulez prendre une douche ou que ce soit. Il ya des serviettes et tout ce que vous pourriez avoir besoin. Et .... Prenez votre temps. Vos vêtements sont ici. Je vais fermer la porte et être au bout du couloir quand vous êtes prêt." He smiled and pulled himself up to seated position across from me. He slipped his hands into my lap. Holding my cock through my underwear, leaned in and kissed me. "Bonjour," he said again. "La nuit dernière, est un peu flou." He took the cup of coffee from the table and sipped it. This could've gone many different directions, and I'm sure, if I wanted, I could've spent the day in bed fucking the boy. I got up and walked to the dressing room, slipping on a pair of jeans. It was time to put an end to this, "prenez votre temps. Je serai dans la salle lorsque vous avez terminé," I said softly, staring down at the floor before looking up. Meeting his eyes it was clear he got the hint. He smiled and slipped out of bed, heading for the bathroom. *** By the time Sophie arrived at 7:45 the boy had vacated the premises. He had showered, dressed and given me a long, deep good bye kiss before a quick wink and an "au revoir." I had walked back into the bedroom and found a note he had left on the dresser. "I know you don't remember by name, but I can't stop thinking about your cock. Call me the next time you need to fuck. -- Jean-Pierre" was scrawled in a slightly mess handwriting along with a local Paris cell number. Fuck it. I put the note in my sock drawer. And got dressed. I walked into the kitchen to meet Sophie, who had steeped a fresh pot of coffee and picked-up pain au chocolat, my favorite, on her way in for the day. And, sitting in the middle of the table, was the note. The note. "A." Written across the front in that very familiar handwriting. I sat down at the table and fiddled with the note as Sophie saddled up to my side, "Merde, Andrew," she began, "it's from Cooper. Did you see that? It's his handwriting. It was taped to the door. Did you see it when you came in last night?" "No... no, I didn't." "Well, he clearly won't let you go." I put my head down on the table and banged my forehead against it three times. Looking up, "Sophie, that's not what I need to hear right now." She held my gaze for what seemed like an eternity. "Well, I don't know what you need. But I'll keep my mouth shut if you want. But..." Her voice trailed off. And then she walked away. *** I gazed around the office, thinking back to the events of last night. Making intermittent eye contact with my team. Nodding my head. Smiling when appropriate. Going through the emotions. I let my mind wander. Thinking back to the house in the South. Wishing I could close my eyes and beam back there, away from the world. Away from reminders of Cooper. TO BE CONTINUED.