Date: Mon, 26 Sep 2016 12:44:47 +1300
From: Guillaume Bacharene <bacharene@gmail.com>
Subject: My Lecture Tour - Part 5

Guillaume Bacharene

bacharene@gmail.com

This story is a bit of fact and fiction although based on some key actual
details. Some names have been changed for privacy protection purposes. The
mixture of fact and fiction is what good writing is all about in my
view. And, one has to write, above all, for the reader. A writer is an
agent or channel to get the words right and tell a wonderful story to which
readers can relate.

My romance with the US goes back to the early 1980s. 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 and my brain. 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 with a major fashion house in Paris. I thought about
it all, the money and travel, but figured I had too many brains to be
treated like a glorified clothes' horse and as some superficial entity with
"the looks" but nothing else. Added to that was what I saw as bullshit
"glamour". I turned it down to pursue an academic career instead.

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My US Lecture Tour and Master Classes - Part Five

It was 1983 and I was to have four weeks in the US doing a series of
lectures and master classes based one some research I had done. It doesn't
really matter what is was all about now but it was held to be extremely
important. It was an offer that came out of nowhere really. Sometimes, the
powers that be of the universe seem to have a plan for us. This was to be
no exception. I was able to negotiate really generous terms with a week in
Honolulu on the way and then sessions in San Francisco, Chicago, New York,
Washington DC, New Orleans, Los Angeles and San Diego.

I indicated earlier about my first touch with America being the most
amazingly good thing for one's ego. In each of these cities I was to have
an experience, which could read like a romance novel. It was heady and all
culminated some years later with me meeting the big love of my life, a
beautiful American. After 30 years we are still together. But that's
another complete story I might also tell one day!

Washington DC

As the capital of the nation, Washington DC has always had a certain
cachet, blessed as it is with the halls of power on many fronts both real
and imagined. And power, both real and imagined, attracts many, like the
proverbial bees to a honeypot, each with their own motivations. Regardless
and not being on any power trip, I was looking forward to a few cultural
highlights - the Smithsonian, National Gallery and a few others but had
vowed to keep right away from the usual such as the Capitol and Lincoln
Memorial. I ended up in a cute hotel in Georgetown and as it turned out,
all was handy to my venues and, there were restaurants and bars in the
area. At one local bar I even got chatting to a guy who just came over and
said I looked lonely and then ended up inviting me to a party of Ronald
Reagan staffers. So, that was an interesting experience. Whatever Reagan's
politics were, he apparently employed lots of gays.

However, the most amazing experience of my Washington stay happened at one
of my presentation lectures. Now, as a teacher, lecturer and presenter on
top of one's game, one has to develop supreme skills of communication and
presentation. This includes not only absolute knowledge and confidence
about one's subject matter but also the ability to make everything and
every moment interesting for an audience and to make each person feel you
are speaking directly to them. So, this means inclusive eye contact, roving
around the room, voice articulation and modulation and, absolutely no
reading from a paper. You have to speak as if you were having a personal
conversation with each and every person present because that is in fact
what you are doing. Reading from a paper puts even the most interested to
sleep in 2 minutes. And, anecdotes, jokes and stories add a human side,
especially important when there is something dry and unsexy on the subject
side. In some ways, people are there from interest but that is not
enough. One has to have them leave with a sense of triumph, fulfilment and
revelation.

So, after the introductions, which are always glowing and flattering and
done by a senior university official or academic, there's a great
expectation that one perform and perform well. I was prepared and of
course, had already done the series four times. I wasn't cocky about it
because every audience is different but I was confident. And, American
audiences I had discovered were always so appreciative and nice.

As I began, my eyes raked around the lecture theatre. It was a tiered
affair and I figured there were somewhere between 200-300 people
present. Such a lecture theatre makes it easier in fact to establish links
with all present. Although most are too far away to realise it, when one
looks in their general direction, it becomes personalised and one is in
fact relating to blocks of people who all feel a very personal connection
back. You see them as a block; they see you as relating directly to them as
individuals. It was then I noticed him sitting right in the front row to
the right. He was blonde, very good looking in the classic American way and
about which I have spoken already on many occasions in this series and will
again. But, while others in the room were dressed in muted, sensible
colours, he stood out in a red, open-necked shirt and a cobalt blue sweater
with dark grey pants, grey socks and black leather shoes. He was like a
colour beacon and each pass of the room started there and returned
there. He was a great visual clue to aid audience inclusion. Every time I
looked his way, his eyes were fixed upon me and he smiled and nodded.

At the end of the session, which ran for 90 minutes with a 10 minute
comfort break in the middle and 15 minutes for questions, there was the
usual throng of people wanting to say thanks, make comments and requests or
to ask more questions. I was adept at doing these. But I noticed the blond
guy waiting patiently on the perimeters. Eventually, all those wanting to
ask questions or whatever left and I was gathering my things together. My
hosts were busy packing up as well. He approached. Thank you Professor,
that was most enlightening, spell binding. He held out his hand.

"Allow me to introduce myself. I'm Markus and I wanted to say that was over
and above the best presentation I have ever heard, anywhere, and, if you
don't have plans, I wanted to invite you to have coffee or something
stronger. I have some things I'd love to raise with you but of course, only
if and even when it would or might suit." He handed me an embossed card:
'Markus Monte Leone Divola, Director of Marketing, Import Divola' it said
simply and gave a telephone number.

Now usually, after such an event, there would be official drinks and dinner
somewhere, however, since this occasion started at 8:30pm I had asked if
any such official events could be held over until later in the program. So,
effectively I was a free agent and Markus was certainly a good reason to
say yes, merely on looks alone. Close up, he was another vision to
behold. I decided he was around 26 or so. He turned out to be 28 as I was
to discover later.

He then excused himself, retrieved a large navy coat and returned. I liked
his confident manner I decided instantly.

"Markus, thank you. That is incredibly sweet of you to say so and actually,
as is turns out I am completely free as of this moment. And, I am
Guillaume, as you know but I am here as "Doctor" and not "Professor". We
shook hands again." His hands looked like those of a pianist; immaculate,
beautiful. I also noticed the Patek-Philippe with the lapis lazuli face and
gold casing and hands.

His face lit up.

"Great. Now, there are places around but I have a suggestion. My family
imports and roasts the best coffee in America and my apartment is close
by. Why don't we go there?"

"Well, Markus, I am totally in your hands." It wasn't in any was a
double-entendre. He smiled anyway.

As it turned out, Markus had his car right outside. Although he lived close
by and was a doctoral student, he had been to a family business meeting at
HQ on the city fringes and didn't have time to park his car and then walk
the 10 minutes or so to the venue. Of course, I did a double take: the car
just had to be a red Ferrari. It was pure sex on wheels, the smell of the
leather alone acting like an aphrodisiac.

The car barely had a chance to utter a snarl and we were at the entrance to
Markus' garage in a block with an indeterminate number of apartments, but
very sleek and modern with steel screens. The electric security door went
up as the car purred away. I had already decided Markus exuded class from
every pore and it was effortless. He parked in a large space where there
were also storage lockers and we got out. The push of a button brought down
another security screen and the car was secured.

Markus lived on the 7th floor, not only the top floor but also the
penthouse. The entire place was like an Italian design catalogue and
display. I couldn't help myself. As we entered via a huge pivoting door,
operatic arias played softly in the background.

"Markus, this is really beautiful. I am looking at everything in wonder."

"Let's just say that I want for nothing and everything has to be the very
best Italian. I frequently have to host client and prospective client
events here and also, the Italian Embassy uses it a lot. It is really a
showcase for Italy and although it is really mine, I share it. Having said
that, I work hard promoting my family coffee business and looking after
marketing and PR and so I guess, this and other things are the material and
lifestyle rewards. Come."

Markus took my by the elbow and ushered me through the large sliding doors
to the external terrace. It was huge with potted palms and a profusion of
other exotic plants, including 3m coffee plants, which I recognised as part
of my family in Tahiti grew coffee. The view over the city was
incredible. Washington is low-slung anyway and well laid out but I remember
especially its lights at night with great affection. We came back
inside. As I was looking up at a large fishtail palm, Markus anticipated my
next question:

"All these plants have to be stored away in a winter hothouse we have
otherwise the Washington winter would be deadly. They have to be craned up
and down."

"I am so glad I accepted your invitation, Markus. This is a real feast for
an artist's eyes!"

"So you are an artist as well, Guillaume?"

"Well, yes, but I do appreciate beautiful things, beautiful design and the
skills required to set it all out and together. You clearly have a real
flair."

"Thank you Guillaume. But I am being a terrible host. What can I offer you?
I can certainly offer you the best coffee but equally, I have a selection
of champagne. I certainly think your performance tonight calls for
champagne as well! I do have the Italian version of course but I prefer Pol
Roger."

I had to smile. He noticed and did an open-armed shrug.

"Where would we French and Italians be without arms and facial expressions!
We'd be mute!"

"Well Markus, you guessed my preferred champagne. However, I would dearly
love to sample what I presume to be the foundation of the family business
and your personal success."

"Go make yourself comfortable over in the alcove, Guillaume."

Well, the alcove was an under-statement and full blown. It was a U-shaped
area, which could seat 40 on beautifully upholstered sofas in a grey-blue
fabric, with sleek glass and stainless steel tables separating them. The
fittings, linen drapes, paintings and drawings and lights were set off with
small sculptures and some beautiful Roman terracotta figurines in frozen
gestures.

I heard an espresso machine spark and splutter into life and the aroma of
coffee bathed the entire space, as large as it was. Then Markus arrived
with the Pol Roger and two double espressos set out on a plain silver tray
with a platter of Speculoos. I adore Speculoos.

"As you are a gentleman of class, Guillaume, I didn't bother to ask: I made
a double espresso for you, assuming that would be appropriate."

I replied: "The class act is yours, Markus, and you certainly have the
stage for it. This is totally magical. The other thing is you have
classical American good looks and yet you are Italian."

It was actually rather weird. I began to feel as if I had known Markus
forever. Then I took a sip of the espresso. It was like a honeyed crema
concoction, which raced around my senses. Markus looked at me intently. It
was heavenly coffee.

"I can see why your family business is such a success. This is quite simply
sublime, Markus, really beyond words." He smiled and offered a simple thank
you.

"Since you are French, Guillaume, I am going to ask you to do me the honour
and attend to the Pol Roger." I did. I had chosen a place at the end of the
alcove so Markus was seated at right angles to me, knees almost touching. I
stood up and eased out the cork and the Pol Roger gave that very subtle,
gasping breath out as it came back to the living world from that of the
champagne dream world in waiting. As I poured I said to Markus:

"What did you want to ask me, Markus? I have been the recipient of your
kind hospitality for a while in this beautiful setting, your home, and the
reason for this has been pushed aside. Not that I am complaining."

Markus smiled.

"Well I do have some questions but I must confess, Guillaume, I had an
ulterior motive. I had this inexplicable urge to spend time with you,
alone. I simply cannot explain it. I am pleased but also was rather
surprised, you accepted."

I switched into 'business first' mode.  Markus put his questions as we
sipped Pol Roger, which had a habit for me on this trip of opening
interesting doors. I answered each in sequence. It turned out that Markus
was doing research in a similar field and it was all about the modelling of
expert decision-making as part of artificial intelligence. Of course, most
would choke with utter boredom but that is what research is all about;
making today what will be the system tomorrow and, it is all intensely
boring until it does its main stream normality thing. I was well used to it
all over the world. Of course, I wanted urgently to ask Markus in depth
about his ulterior motive but first, wanted to know about his name.

"I wanted to ask why, as an Italian, you are Markus and not Marco?"

Markus smiled:

"You really are on top of everything, Guillaume: I am so impressed. Simple
answer, Guillaume. My mother is German and her father, my German
grandfather, is Markus. Monte Leone is an old family name on my Dad's side
of course."

I smiled.

"You and me are both a bit of a genetic fruit salad, Markus except, perhaps
yours is a simple fruit salad whereas mine is full of exotic fruits of
which most have never heard a thing and would be loathe to taste."

I looked into his eyes. The Pol Roger was working its magic.

"And so, Markus, to your ulterior motive. I am intrigued."

"Allora," Markus began in Italian then switched to English, "I sat there
listening spell bound as you spoke but undressing you totally with my eyes
and imagination. I can't explain it. Your voice and entire persona were a
real turn-on."

I thought for a moment, not wanting to sound like a psychiatrist.

"Have you had much experience, sexually? Is this actually normal for you?"

Markus laughed. I thought aloud:

"Whatever normal is anyway, Markus!"

"With two Italian grandmothers constantly trying to marry me off, my life
is full of options, none of which I want to exercise! My Dad is far less
Italian in that regard, having grown up in America and my mother is very
matter-of-fact. She wants me to find love with no family strings and
obligations. When she and my Dad met and married, they had to elope as
neither family wanted it to happen. It was all about the war and terrible
history and memories."

"Well, Markus, I am very flattered that you both hung on my every word at
the lecture but also that you undressed me all evening. Now you have me
alone, feeling wonderful in your incredible home, what do you have in mind?
You might notice I am not exactly running out the door in panic!"

Markus said nothing but stood up, took my Pol Roger, set it down and then
kneeled in front of me. I opened my legs wider. He came in close, all
blonde, flawless and deep blue eyes. Taking my hands in his, he kissed each
in turn. He looked into my eyes. I closed them and his lips brushed against
mine. I kissed him back, hugging him close. Now, I am a sucker for nice
smelling hair and Markus smelled of lemons and limes. If I had not been
hooked already, I certainly was at that moment.

He settled, between my legs, his back towards me, and leaned back, and his
arms over my upper thighs as if I were the throne of his empire and I was
the 'Leone' of his middle name. I leaned forward and kissed him. We were a
good fit even at that odd angle. I massaged his hair and scalp, all silky
smooth.  It was yet another moment of perfection.

We finished the Pol Roger and Markus removed the debris, leaving the
Speculoos. I ate four. Markus disappeared for a while and then came back,
dimming all the lights. Silently he took my hand and we went into his inner
sanctuary. Off his bedroom, which was total designer chic, was a bathroom
and yet another terrace although this was small, very private and dominated
by a hot tub, pulsing with life. Markus kissed me and began to undress
me. I did the same to him. Within moments we saw each other naked in the
semi darkness. He was slightly taller than me but we were very similar in
other ways. He took my hand and led me to the hot tub. At first, it seemed
far too hot but then my body adjusted. Nearby was a tray with a pitcher of
iced water and more Pol Roger in an ice bucket.  Markus handed me a glass
of water and then settled back, snuggling into my side. His hand began to
massage my thigh. My cock was hard in an instant. He leaned back on my
shoulder and we kissed. Then Markus found my raging cock.

"We are both atypical, you and me he said: we are both circumcised."

In the reduced light hadn't noticed he was although normally I would have.

"Have you got Jewish ancestors, Guillaume?"

"Not that I know of Markus. Arab neither. All the men in my family have
always been circumcised on both sides. You?"

"We are the same. I don't really know if it was because I was born in
America where it is so routine or again because there is Jewish blood."

Markus and I jerked each other off, slowly and sensuously within the warm
embrace of his hot tub, kissing and caressing like crazy. We then retired
to his huge walk-in shower, all sleek stainless steel, glass and
grey-black, small-format tiles. I had discovered Markus loved to kiss. So
did I so, once we brushed our teeth we spent hours merely doing that;
kissing and caressing. One certainly gets to know a partner's body that way
and also, where their hot buttons are. We also both liked to be sucked off
and so, within a matter of hours, we had discovered a rare sexual balance.

When I awoke, Markus was already up and the smell of coffee and croissants
permeated the entire apartment. At the bottom of the bed was a white
bathrobe. I got up and put it on and went into the bathroom, splashing cold
water on my face. Separate heated towel rails said 'Mine' and 'Yours' so
there was no crisis about which to use.

Markus smiled when I emerged into the kitchen.

"Buon giorno bello, bonjour."

We hugged and kissed. A table for two was set most elegantly on the
terrace.

Over breakfast he said:

"I want you to move in here for your stay. We can go get your things
later."

So, I did. I took over the kitchen cooking wonderful dinners in a beautiful
kitchen, which had everything. We went out to dinner once to a very classy
restaurant although afterwards, Markus said:

"That used to be my top restaurant. With you cooking such amazing food,
Guillaume, that's all changed!"

When I had time to reflect afterwards, we had an interesting
relationship. It was not at all possessive and clinging but a balance of
intellect, companionship and sensual sex. In some ways, it was perfect but
we also knew, it was finite. We were both on different trajectories
although we knew we would be friends forever.


Epilogue:

Over the years thereafter I saw a lot of Markus. Our pathways crossed
frequently around the world and so there were a few trysts in exotic
locations. He eventually married saying that the grandmothers persistence
paid off and they got their wishes. His wife was a glamorous Sicilian from
a noble family whose passions were doing lunch with friends and shopping. I
didn't really like her and neither did he but, it was an arrangement which
worked. Most sadly, however, Markus was killed in a terrible auto accident
caused by a speeding drunken driver, while on a business trip to Milan. He
was 36.