Jacques' mother was more excited than he was. She thoroughly cleaned the apartment, prepared a cake to offer to her son's guest, put a wine bottle in the refrigerator and wore her Sunday dress. Jacques had decided to stay in his track suit and she couldn't convince her son to at least wear a clean suit. Even if this guy was just a gay magazine journalist, the woman thought, he was a journalist. And it was a chance to distract her unlucky son.
Recently she had noticed that Jacques was a little more serene than usual, although she didn't know the reason for it. The woman didn't think the time her son spent at the telescope had anything to do with that change in humour, since the boy had been at the telescope long before. But the fact of seeing him more serene, whatever the reason could be, relieved the woman. In fact, even if she tried not to add pain to pain by showing it to her son, she always was really worried about the subtle underlying sadness in Jacques. The woman had the impression, at times, that both her son and she were outdoing each other to show they were carefree... Lying to each other. Although this was, in some way, a reciprocal proof of love, she would have liked to share more confidences with her son; especially since, besides her, he had nobody. At least other boys can open their hearts to friends, can unburden themselves, can confront their fears, but all that was denied to her poor Jacques...
The door bell rang.
"Here he is!" the woman murmured in a flutter of emotions, going to answer the door, and for the umpteenth time she arranged her hair just a moment before opening it.
"Excuse me, Madame, is this Monsieur Jacques Moiret's home?" Alain asked with a hesitant voice when he saw the woman, for in fact he hadn't thought a middle aged woman would open the door.
"Yes, please come in... I'm his mother." the woman said with a wide smile.
Alain made a rapid mental calculation: if the writer was her son, he must be no more than twenty five years old... Very good.
"Ah. How do you do? I'm Paul Allen, the journalist." he said smiling and looked at the entrance of the modest flat.
"How do you do. It's a pleasure... Come in, come in, please. My son is waiting for you." thoughtfully the woman drew aside, bid him enter, and led him through a small living room, with kitchen, furnished with old, cheap pieces of furniture, and knocked at a door. "Jacques, a mister... the journalist is here."
"Come in." a voice said.
Alain thought that he liked that voice. It was low, warm, agreeable.
The woman opened the door; again she shifted aside to let the guest enter and thoughtfully said: "I'll leave you alone..." and closed the door at Alain's shoulders.
Alain saw the young man (wow, isn't he handsome? he thought) then noticed the wheelchair and stopped, slightly surprised. But he was even more astounded when he saw that on the writer's face incredibly strong emotions were alternating, and he couldn't guess the reason for that.
When the door was open and his mother shifted aside, Jacques at once recognized "his Paul" and felt his heart jolting in his chest, then stopping. With a very thin voice he asked: "How... how did you find me? How could you know about me?"
Alain didn't understand the sense of that question and hesitantly answered: "I've read your works and I wanted to meet you. I got your name and address from the magazine, as you know..."
"Do you work at Gay Pied?" Jacques asked feeling his head spinning, completely confused, contemplating Alain as if he were a vision, then asked: "... and is your name really Paul?"
"Yes, I work for Gay Pied but my name is not really Paul, I'm Alain. I chose that pseudonym after reading this." he pulled out from his briefcase a copy of "My Boy" showing it to Jacques.
"Sit down." whispered Jacques trying to coordinate his thoughts but not succeeding at all.
Alain sat: "Excuse me, but... do you feel OK?" he worriedly asked.
"Yes, that is, I don't know. I'm confused. How... How did you know you were Paul?"
"I? Yes... I thought that but... how can I really be him? This is the first time we met. What do you mean saying that Paul is me?" Alain asked, also starting to feel confused.
"Why did you ask for this interview, then?"
"Well, I... I hope you will not become upset with me, now, but... I am a passionate reader of your stories and your novels for a long time. I also wrote you a letter, last year, through the magazine, that I signed with the name Charles. Reading your last novel, I felt so strongly the desire to know you, because... well, the truth is that through your writing I... I fell in love with you!" Alain said in a low voice and he immediately asked himself if he didn't ruin it all by making that confession.
But he couldn't avoid saying those words. All the nice speeches he had prepared vanished like dew under the sun when at last he was in front of that so attractive boy.
"What? What are you saying?" Jacques asked, widening his eyes.
"Yes. That's why, having no other means to find who you were, where you lived, I became in a day sports reporter for Gay Pied. The magazine liked my first interview so they hired me as a part-time journalist and.... at least, I got your address. Because I wanted to know you, to meet you, to tell you that, just as I said, I'm in love with you. That I would like to know you better and that if you... I you too liked me... well, that I would really like to..." More and more embarrassed and confused, Alain continuing to think that he was ruining all his chances, unable to keep from telling all the truth. He couldn't lie or play with words with the boy he was in love with.
"In love with me? No, not with me, but with my writing."
"But in your writing there is you. Your sensitivity, your potential love, and I would like to be the subject of your love. You love Paul, well I would like to really be that Paul."
"But you ARE Paul, don't you understand?"
"What does that mean?" Alain asked, utterly confused.
"From September of the last year I... Well, now I feel rather ashamed, but... do you see that?" he said pointing at his telescope.
"The telescope?"
"Right. Try and look in it."
"In this?" Alain asked but stood up and complied to Jacques's request. He put his eye to the viewfinder and gave a little start: "But that... that's my room! So you... so you... so I'm really Paul! Then you... you are in love with me!" Alain said, the thrill shaking him more and more strongly.
"Yes." wailed Jacques.
"But I too am in love with you! That's... incredible, but wonderful. We fell in love, you through the telescope, I through your writings." Alain said and felt incredibly happy for that discovery.
"But I saw you, saw your beauty. You, at the contrary... look at me! Immobilized in a wheelchair. A cripple!"
"But I saw beauty in your soul, in your writings. You are a splendid person."
"It is not possible, don't you understand?"
"Do you have...have a lover, then. I see. I guessed it." Alain said, a little hesitant, a little disappointed.
"Oh, no. Who do you think could desire to be the lover of a poor and handicapped guy in a wheelchair?"
"No? Really? You have no lover? Then I... I would like to be your lover." the boy said full of emotion.
"Come on! What's that, the Beauty and the Beast? But your love cannot transform me into a handsome prince, can it?" Jacques said with bitter irony.
"To me, you are a handsome prince. And you love me, if I am Paul. I've read that in each and every page of this book, or rather, in each line, in each word. I know it almost by heart."
"Forget it! Let's do the interview, that'll be better."
"The interview was just a pretext to come to meet you, to let you know me, with the hope you could like me, to be lovers."
"Forget it, please."
"No. I want to be your lover, I want your love for Paul to become love for Alain. Jacques, why are you fleeing now that at last we meet, seeing each other in person?"
"I had, before, a boy that tried hard to love me, but he couldn't endure. I don't want a new disillusionment. I know my destiny is to be alone, I got used to this idea. Leave me to my life, please. Forget it."
"No. I love you and you love me. I don't need to try hard, to strive, to love you!"
"Don't insist..." Jacques wearily said.
His mother knocked at the door: "May I come in? I would like to offer something to mister, the journalist..." she said with a merry voice from behind the door.
"Come in." Jacques answered with resigned voice, but at the same time almost happy for that interruption.
The woman opened the door and entered with a tray with the cake cut in slices, the wine bottle and two glasses.
She put it all on Jacques's desk: "Help yourself, please. I made the cake, it's nothing special, just an old country recipe." she said with a smile and again left them alone.
"My mother!" Jacques said with a tender smile, slightly shaking his head.
"She seems a likeable person."
"Well, she does what she can, poor Mum."
"And... your father?"
"Dead. In the accident that reduced me to this."
"Then, just the two of you?"
"Right."
"How old were you?"
"Fifteen: it happened nine years ago."
"But... what is exactly the problem?"
"My legs cannot hold me up any more, at all. Do you see? Problem to the spine, to the nerve system."
"And that's the reason you want to renounce to... to accept my love? I can't see the connection, really, I can't."
"Paul... sorry, Alain, yours is not love, I mean, you are in love with a mental image, you are in love with my writings, not with me."
"But I want to love you. Why you don't want to allow me?"
"Because I'm not persuaded that..."
"In your book you wrote that you would like to love me, to give me and to receive from me love. I'm here, right? For you."
"The book I wrote also said that it was an impossible love."
"Because you thought that I could never notice you, but you were mistaken. Your message has reached me, has persuaded me. Jacques, let me love you."
"No..." the young man almost whined and turned the wheelchair wheels so that he was now turning his back to Alain.
The boy then said: "All right, agreed. You refuse my love. Do you at least accept my friendship? At least that, can you accept?"
"Friendship?" Jacques asked, without turning around.
"Yes. Now that I've found you, I don't want all ending here. I want to meet you again, to talk with you, to get to know you better, to make me known."
"I have no friends."
"Well, I would like to be your friend."
"You'll get tired."
"Did you get tired watching me? In all those nine months, did you get tired? Or do you think you'll soon get tired?"
"Getting tired? Me? I've nothing else. I really cannot afford to get tired: it is a too costly a luxury to be tired. I write novels, I do proof reading for a publisher, I look at my telescope... All my life is here. You cannot compare your life to mine. You have thousands of possibilities, but I..."
"So, let me at least try to become your friend."
"Well... and if my answer was no?" Jacques asked turning again to look at him almost defiantly.
"You don't know me, I'm a stubborn guy. Will you try? Will you see who is more determined, I in my will to be at least your friend or you with your no?" Alain answered, returning him the same look.
Jacques smiled and nodded slightly, but for a good while, studying Alain expression. Them emitting a faint sigh, he murmured: "OK, let's try. What do we have to do to become friends?"
"Talk, being around each other, opening up little by little to one another, trusting each other as we get to know each other."
"Good. Let's talk, meet, know each other, then. Who are you? What do you do? What are you thoughts?"
"Well... my father and my mother met at a dance party. They liked each other. They made love a couple of times, until my mother understood I was on the way. So they married and after six months, I was born..." Alain quietly started to say.
Jacques was listening while his guest continued to tell him all he knew or remembered of his childhood.
Alain parted from Jacques several hours later. He had been the one speaking most of the time.
When he went away, the mother went to see Jacques. "He was young! But that journalist was nice. And if he works for Gay Pied, he has to be gay, right?"
"Yes."
"Sure. Really nice, and he was also very handsome, refined, elegant. He stayed here for quite a long time, right?"
"Mmmh."
"At the end it seemed that he was the only one to talk. But he said he will come again, right? Does he need to end the interview?"
"Bah... he just wants to talk again with me."
"Don't you like him?"
"Mum, cut it out!" Jacques tried to interrupt her.
"Well, did I say something wrong? He is a handsome boy, nice, and you say he wants to talk with you again. And he is gay."
"Exactly. And you imagine who knows what!" Jacques surly said going to his computer to stop that discussion.
"I... well, I've done that..." the woman hesitantly said, then shrugged her shoulders and, silently, went to prepare for supper.
Jacques imperceptibly sighed and started to write his novel's continuation, writing down quite integrally his meeting with Paul, just omitting he was Alain and that he found him through Gay Pied. Writing as he could, little by little, he calmed down. That visit had literally put him in turmoil. Having him so near, his Paul in the flesh, had stirred up such strong emotions. And hearing him say, insist: I love you! Ha, he was just a young boy, an idealist. Alain will probably get over it. Yes, he would get over it rapidly as he was giving him rope to hang himself, letting him try to set up a friendship... Alain, an athlete, will get tired of him who was, as he defined himself, after reading Paul-Alain's interviews in Gay Pied with the athletes, as the "anti-athlete" par excellence.
Meanwhile, Alain was back home. His head still in turmoil. He found Jacques, and the young man had refused his love. He said it was not love, it was not possible. And yet to him the fact that Jacques was immobilized on a wheelchair didn't at all seem an obstacle to the fact they could love each other. He liked Jacques and even, on several occasions, just being near him had aroused him. His face was really pretty, and then, he had eyes, and a smile, that had really charmed him. And beautiful hands. OK, he wasn't an Adonis, but he liked him all right, physically. But above all he liked Jacques's personality. Well, he agreed to meet him again... He decided to do more than to just conquer him. However long it took, he wanted Jacques, he wanted to become Jacques's lover, he wanted Jacques's love. He was more than determined.
During dinner he was asked why he was so pensive.
"No, nothing. Probably I'm just a little tired." Alain said, just to avoid more questions.
After dinner he went up to his room and at once his eyes looked beyond the park, toward the far buildings: behind one of those windows was Jacques, and he was possibly looking at him right now. He waved one hand, hoping he was at his telescope. He remembered that he forgot to ask him for an autograph on his book, he had to remember that next time. His eyes continued to turn towards Jacques's house.
He decided undress for Jacques. He went to the foot of the bed, so as to be completely visible, then started a kind of slow striptease for His private enjoyment and at that thought he got aroused so that, when he stripped down his briefs, he had a full erection. He felt like masturbating, but then decided it was better not to overdo it. He prepared his books for the next day's classes, put away the elegant clothes he'd worn, prepared others for the following day, going around the room, always completely naked. Then he went to shower as usual.
Jacques didn't see all that. In fact, now that Alain knew about the telescope, a sense almost of modesty restrained him from using it. It is a little, he thought, like when he was in school: in the locker- room of his school gym he spied on the nakedness of a handsome school mate, with pleasure, until his presence was known. If the other knew he watched, he had to turn away his eyes, making up an indifferent air. But the desire to look again at Alain's body, after a while, got the upper hand and with a light sense of shame, but also of anticipation, he went to his telescope.
Alain wasn't in his room, but the light was lit and the curtains, he noticed with pleasure, completely open as always. He had to be in the bathroom, it was more or less the time when Alain took his daily shower. He waited, his heart beating like the first times. He thought that he would have liked to see him under the shower, or even better, to be with him to wash his body. But he, with his dead legs, couldn't even stand to take a shower. The bath was OK, especially since his mother had the shallow tub set into the floor so that he could enter and come out without to much pain and just with his arms' strength. He loved being into the water: all his body seemed to become lighter and for some moments at times he could even forget his condition.
Alain came out from the shower as usual, vigorously brushing his body with the towel. But instead of just stopping outside of the door, he stepped towards the window to dry himself. He guessed he was being watched and he wanted to be seen by Jacques. After a while, in fact, he waved.
Jacques was growing full of leaping emotions. He knew that Alain knew he was watched and yet was intentionally showing himself to him. He felt an unusual heat and excitation in his body. For a moment he called himself a stupid: "But how, that splendid boy wants to make love with you and you said no? When in your life would you have that chance? Even if he could get tired of you, why don't you enjoy that one time, or those few times it would last?" Then he thought about Alain's glorious nudity, then of his own white and flabby body and told himself that he would be ashamed, too much to let Alain see him naked, and even more with Alain naked. No, it was really unthinkable he could ever make love with that splendid boy! Such things happen only in the fairy tales, and anyway he never heard about a Male Cinderella or of Sleeping Beauty who was a Prince.
Alain continued to carefully dry himself in front of the window, more slowly than usual and with a nice erection. So, he was aroused because he knew he was being watched, Jacques began to sweat. He desired that body with all his heart and wanted Alain to become his possession. But he had to refuse. He had, he had, he had...
Alain heard a knock. He turned slightly towards the door, wrapping the towel around his waist, and asked: "Who is it?"
"It's me, Alain. Can I come in?" Didier, his brother, answered.
"Just a moment!" he yelled looking at the towel and noticing it was clearly stretched out by his erection. In hurry he pulled it off, put on his briefs and then tucked the towel back around his waist, then finally went to open the door.
"Alain... ah, were you taking a shower?" the boy said, entering the room.
"Yes, I just did."
"What was the matter at dinner? I don't think you were tired. It seems to me... I think instead that you're in love... am I right?" he asked going to sit on his brother's bed.
"Oh, really? And how did you get this idea?" Alain said, trying to seem indifferent, but surprised for his brother's shrewdness.
"Come on, we know each other, don't we? Who is she? Do I know her?"
"No..."
"Ha, so I'm right!" the boy said triumphant.
"Well, I didn't feel like talking about it. You know how it is, especially with our mother. No, I don't feel like talking about it."
"With me neither?" Didier asked with an accomplice smile.
"Well, really... no." Alain answered, sitting on the chair by his desk and giving a glance towards the window.
"Why Alain, don't you trust me?"
"No, Didier, it is not that I don't trust you. Just I don't feel like talking about that. There are things people like to keep for themselves, right? You don't tell me everything, right? It's normal, even between brothers."
"I don't think I hide things from you..."
"Now, you've never told me about your sex life, for instance, right? And I didn't presume you had to. There are things that people like to keep to themselves, it's just natural."
"But I would have liked to do it, several times. You can talk of it with your friends, but always in so an idiotic way. You are more experienced than me and... of course, it is not easy to talk about. But I would like to talk with you about it."
"There are things you just can't say, not even to a brother or to a friend. At least, for me it is."
"Instead... I would like to tell you. Do you mind?"
"No, Didier, if it's really important for you..."
"See, Alain, three months ago I had my first experience. After Jean's birthday party we stopped at his place. It was him, me and two girls in our class. And...well, Jean started to embrace Annette, they exchanged kisses, so I tried with Martine and she was game. Annette started to touch Jean down there, then pulled it out of his trousers and Martine followed suit and did it to me and... well, Jean and Annette on the sofa, I and Martine on the arm chair, were kissing and touching and... Jean wanted to fuck Annette but they didn't have a condom, so Annette refused. He insisted, she went angry and wanted to go away, so Martine also went away with her. So, Jean and I, touched ourselves... each other..."
"Those things happen. Just have always a couple of condom with you, in your wallet, from now on." Alain said smiling at ease like an accomplice.
His brother nodded: "Yes, now I have condoms with me, even if the occasion to use then doesn't come. The problem is... you see... I and Jean, after that time, did touch each other again... several times..." the boy said, a little ashamed.
"This also is quite natural, it happens often..."
"Yes, but... Jean, once... we were really excited and we were as usual touching each other... he said: 'Let's try to suck each other'."
"Ah, and then?"
"Well, he started giving me head and in a while I did too..."
"Yes?"
"We came. And I loved coming that way. Well not really so much giving head but a lot, being sucked. So we did it again, many other times, and... and I don't know but... do you think I'm becoming gay?"
Alain laughed and shook his head: "I don't know, but I don't think so. Just you like to come and for the moment that way is the more easy way. Aren't you anyway attracted by girls?"
"Yes, sure, but... I love doing it with Jean, you see?"
"If you had a girl, would you prefer to do it with Jean or her?"
"I don't know, I don't think so. But I'm not really sure I would give up with Jean. The fact is that I'm really starting to enjoy it a lot, I really like it. I mean... I'm starting to like... giving head to Jean."
"OK. Apart from Jean, do you feel attracted by other boys? Or men?"
"No. And then it is not that I'm attracted by Jean, but just by doing those things." the boy said, slightly blushing and looking at his hands that he kept intertwined tightly on his lap.
Alain smiled, went to sit next him on the bed and ruffled his hair: "No, Didier, I don't think you are gay. Anyway, even if you were, or perhaps if you were just a bisexual boy, does that scare you so much? Is that your problem?"
"Yes... that is, no... I want to say, I like him, but I have to understand, to know how I am... Well I'm rather confused. Jean says I'm stupid, that we are just two friends playing with themselves because girls aren't so easy to fuck. But I don't know if he is really right."
"Excuse me, Didier, do you ever have a hard on just thinking of Jean?" Alain kindly asked him, looking in his eyes.
"No, that no. But I get an hard on thinking about doing it... with Jean."
"Sure. I really don't think this means you're gay. Soldiers do it, sailors, in the boarding schools or in the prisons... in a word, all the males for whom it's difficult or impossible for a more or less long period to have a girl, a woman. But when they have one, those activities stop, as I think they will for you."
"Perhaps."
"Listen...it's OK if you don't feel like answering, understand? But do you touch yourself a lot?"
"Yes, quite often."
"And what are your fantasies when you do it? Jean or the girl you were talking about? A boy or a girl?"
"A girl..."
"That's it. This is the answer you were looking at. Don't make problems where they don't exist, Didier. It is really not necessary."
"You... did you also have this problem?"
"Yes, but for me it is different."
"Different? How? Oh, I see, because you have a girl and you can do it with her, right? That one you are in love with?"
"Not exactly. The fact is that..." Alain started to say, then, looking his brother straight in his eyes, he concluded: "... I know I'm gay."
"Whaaat? You...? Are you serious?" the boy asked widening his eyes and looking at his brother with unbelieving air.
"Yes. And now I'm in love, you were right, but with a boy I met. He is twenty four years old. I was thinking about him, tonight during dinner."
"But...since when do you think you were gay?"
"I didn't think, I am. And since always, more or less."
"And... did you have sex with other men, before?"
"Lots of..."
"And women?"
"No, I'm not at all interested or attracted by women. Well, at twelve I flirted, like you with your girl, but nothing substantial. Really I was not attracted, you see. I was excited. To touch each other, same as you and Jean, but in my dreams, in my fantasies there weren't girls but males. No, I'm for sure and totally gay. And this doesn't give me the faintest problem. Apart from the fact I have to hide it. You can guess what could happen in the family if just they guessed. What's up now? Did I trouble you with this news?"
"No. Surprised, sure, you are so virile..."
"To be gay doesn't mean to be effeminate. And I don't like effeminate boys, anyway. I'm a man who loves men, who aren't effeminate.... that rather bores me..."
"And he? Does he love you?" Didier asked with real concern.
"It's a story a little complicated. He loves me, but he doesn't want to have a relationship with me... at least for the moment."
"I don't understand..."
"I don't either. But I'm determined to have him, because he is the most extraordinary person I ever met. So, I've decided to court him. Between two males it is not so different than between male and female. At times you just need to fuck, at times instead you are in love and then everything becomes different. And I never was so much in love. It is wonderful, you know, being in love. All you life changes. It's better."
"It's never happened to me, but I believe you. And... do I know him? What's his name?"
"No, you don't know him, and his name is Jacques."
"Is he handsome?"
"Less than others I had sex with in the past, but he shines with an inner beauty, which is really the most important, a beauty that nobody has."
"Do you have his picture?"
"No, not yet. When I got one, I'll show you. But, keep it under your hat, OK?"
"Sure. What we tell each other remains only between us, it's understood. I hope you'll succeed, that you get his love..."
"Thank you Didier. I hope everything will develop nicely. And as I said to you, don't make problems where there aren't any. I don't think you are gay. You might possibly be bisexual, what wouldn't be bad at all, no? If it's so, you double your choice of partners..."
Didier smiled, amused at the idea: "I never saw the thing like that..."
They talked a little more, then the boy left his brother and went back to his room. Alain was happy he had opened up with Didier. To tell somebody his secret made him feel lighter, more serene. He never felt it a burden, being forced to keep everything inside himself, but it was an agreeable sensation to have a confidante in the family. Somebody accepting him as he was, without problems. And he esteemed his young brother for the simple way he had accepted the news of his gayness.
Jacques watched the long dialog, without guessing that the two brothers were talking about him. He just perceived, from their attitude, the affection that tied them. It had to be good to have a brother with whom to talk. He never succeeded in talking with his mother about himself, his desires, his wishes, his sensations. Perhaps because she was a woman, perhaps because she was his mother. Who knows why he had to be a only child? Now he felt that as a burden. Before he never thought about that, but to see the two talking, sitting one near the other, exchanging affection signs, had made risen in him a kind of nostalgia for something that had to be beautiful but that he never knew, he never experienced.
As soon as his brother left, Alain had pulled off his towel and his briefs and made a gesture in Jacques' the direction that clearly meant: 'Sorry, I had to take care of him for a while'. Then he lay on his bed, on his side turned toward the window, his right leg drawn up, the left stretched down, in a beautiful fluid pose, and had started to caress his own body, to arouse himself, and then masturbate.
Jacques knew that he was doing that for him, and he was excited, so he freed his turgid member from his clothes and started he to masturbate "together" with his Alain. He stopped just for a moment, hastily covering himself, when his mother knocked at the door to wish him good night. Then, again alone and quiet, put again his eye to the visor and started again his activity, dreaming he too was on that bed, near Alain, in mutual pleasure. After all, he confusedly thought as his excitation was increasing and he was feeling the maximum pleasure moment approaching, that boy was ready to do it with him. He could even accept it, to feel at last, after years, those emotions he dreamed so much about, thinking he could never again taste them. He was just twenty four, his sexual energies were at their full and impetuously they pressed to be freed. Someone who is handicapped has the same desires and passions of any other human being... because he is a human being...