Date: Thu, 25 Jul 2019 16:41:42 +0000
From: Simon Mohr
Subject: David's Contribution:First Vacations-Chapter 4

This story is a work of complete fiction. Any resemblance of characters to
real persons and reality is a coincidence. This story eventually includes
descriptions of sex between adult males. If you are a minor, if this
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David's Contribution: First Vacations-Chapter 4

        Ten o'clock in the morning arrived. Eric and Seamus got to the pool
door at the same moment.

        "Good morning...," both of them blurted out, and they started to
laugh.

        "Did you bring your swim suit?"

        Seamus' eyes dilated and he looked downward. "Uh, I didn't think we
needed one."

        "Just kidding," Eric said. "Henri must have told you already."

        Relieved, Seamus tentatively smiled. Wasn't anyone serious around
here?

        The two men entered the pool room. Eric led the way and Seamus
followed, shutting and locking the door behind him. They shed their clothes
onto the maple bench, both as horny as men ever get.

        "Looks like somebody's happy to see me this morning," said Eric.

        "My cock is kind of like the lead dog on my sled team, at least in
my brain it is. When it swings up or down, right or left, in or out, it's
often my first clue of what might happen next to my sled. Crazy huh?"

        "My cock," Eric replied, "is the locomotive for my train. It sees a
track it likes, it powers up, and takes me there. Does your ass like
locomotives?"

        "I don't know. My tracks never been used. It's never seen a
locomotive."

        "Seamus..."

        "Eric."

        They drew closer to each, two strong, very naked, interested men,
attracted like moths to flame. When their heads were close Eric reached out
gently and touched Seamus' cheek and jaw, urging him closer.

        They didn't exactly kiss.

        Their lips just met and touched like wind touches a leaf. Eric's
tongue reached out a bit and licked Seamus' upper, then his lower lip while
his hands reached around to Seamus' rounded butt and ran them down and
around the smooth, firm bubble on both sides, scooping it closer to him.

        Both men breathed carefully, their fresh breath caressing the
other's face, not wanting to blow the moment away. Seamus reached to Eric's
chest and touched Eric's nipple with his fingers. In that second, he knew
he'd never felt anything so warm and smooth as Eric's skin. He touched
Eric's ear, firm, well-shaped, drawing his finger along the curve at the
top, then whispered into his ear.

        "You excite me."

        Eric's responded, tenderly pushing the tip of his tongue between
Seamus' lips. Seamus didn't think about it. He felt Eric's small wet muscle
between his lips wriggling and sliding into his mouth, so he opened to let
Eric's tongue in. That's all it took for the passion bonfire to erupt into
flame...touching, licking, sucking, rubbing, massaging every square inch of
skin and when Eric's tongue reached Seamus' anus, sound filled the room and
echoed off the water.

        "Eric, please don't stop or I'll die...please don't stop."

        "Damn, you taste good."

        Eric took Seamus' balls into his mouth and gently swirled them
around, heating them, teasing them. He took Seamus in his mouth and sucked
his cock as if tomorrow just wouldn't do and today was all he had.

        Seamus opened his eyes wide. Where had he been all his life? How
had he possibly missed out on this in the land of surfer dudes in Ventura?
Why hadn't somebody told him? or done him? There were men all around on the
beaches of California and they all had cocks and he hadn't tasted any of
them. None of those men had pushed their tongue into his mouth either.

        He decided things came along when they arrived. Not a minute
before. Not a minute later.


        Eric turned Seamus around and bent him gently over the bench,
spread something cool on his ass, and using utmost care, pushed through the
slippery circle into Seamus' warm tunnel, stopped for a moment, then began
to rock in and out of his ass, bending over Seamus who kept trying to turn
and look into his eyes.

        Eric came out of him and turned Seamus on his back. Seamus tossed
his luminous thick red hair and locked on to Eric's eyes, never looking
away. Eric dicked Seamus' ass again, teaching Seamus how to participate
with his pelvis sliding back and forth, kissed him, licked, and bit his
neck and shoulders. Finally they both screamed, gasped their release,
shooting cum hard. Really. Hard.

        They spent a few exhausted moments on the bench, then Eric withdrew
and got up. They grasped arms and Eric braced himself and pulled Seamus to
the sitting position. They both dived into the pool, Eric right close to
Seamus moving everywhere Seamus went for a while.

        "Are you following me around?"

        "I am."

        "I feel like I somehow belong to you. It feels weird. I gave my ass
to you," Seamus said, "and that's a fact. I wanted you to use me and own
it. I feel like a slut and I like the feeling."

        "I did use your ass. I feel I own it in a way now. I mean, you get
to carry it around, clean it, maintain it, feed it. It's mine to make love
to, to fuck, to be the sole user other than you. I don't want anyone else
to come near your ass or cock. I want you to tell me if anyone even offers
to use your ass."

        "What I want and what I get might be two different things, but I
think you deserve to know how I feel and where I stand on that matter."

        "OK."

        That surprised Eric just a little. It seemed too easy, but this had
been Seamus' only time and Eric was an experienced fucker and a nice guy,
so why shouldn't Seamus want him? It wasn't just gratitude. How could a
red-head be a 'gold' digger?

        He remembered some of the conversations at the Hollywood Casting
Company when Andrew and he had interviewed. He remembered how he had felt
with his first lover and then he relaxed. People tend to fondly treat their
first guy or first girl for that matter and give them the benefit of
doubts. He was OK with that.

        The next day at 4 p.m., Paddy and Tom arrived at the museum and ran
up to Eric's office.

        "What's going on?"

        Eric told Tom that a guy claiming to be his brother had arrived at
the Campus a couple of days before. He showed them the DNA results which
confirmed that they were brothers.



        "Your mom was pregnant with your younger brother when she left
Boston. Your brother can tell you more."

        "Henri, please have David escort Tom to Seamus' suite so they can
meet and talk. We'll all have dinner in Salon A at 6 p.m., a buffet, I
think, so David can eat with us instead of serving. Please eat and
celebrate with us if you are able. Would you please inform the kitchen?"

        Tom and Seamus hugged and cried for their losses, for their time
missed together, for their mom, and for the joy of meeting each other. They
caught up on the larger details of their lives, then began to drill down to
details.

        "I been working here for a while as a footman. I had met Paddy and
he recommended me. He's my lover, by the way. He's got a world-class ass."
Tom was justly proud of the fact.

        "I just had my first time today," said Seamus. "It was dreamy, and
my ass feels so good. I think I'll keep him."

        "Did someone force you to have sex?" Tom was ready to do battle on
Seamus' behalf.

        "Oh no, I gave it to him. Twas a free-will offering on my part. I
didn't know sex with a man was so good or I'd have started earlier in me
career."

        The two brothers laughed and hugged each other. "I'm still horny,
brother," continued Seamus.

        "If we hug too long, I'll be humping your leg soon. You'll feel a
log down there as it is. I don't think it's going to settle down for some
time. You're a cute thing...all that red hair."

        Tom felt his cock twitch and start to swell.

        "Yeah, your red hair is pretty sexy too, bro. Better watch your
cute ass around me. Are you a dedicated bottom?"

        "How would I know? In my long experience of one-time only, I
haven't sampled all the options," said Seamus.

        "All I can show you, bro, is how to give it, not take it. I'm a top
90% of the time. With Paddy's assets, it would be shameful to do otherwise,
a real waste."

        Seamus laughed. "You sound like mom on the 'waste not' thing."


        Dinner was a vast buffet of delights. All the hands had been called
in to prepare this one.

        The crowd gathered for drinks (lemonade, wine, various aperitifs)
and moved to the Salon to serve themselves at the vast buffet with chefs in
tall hats at the roasted food stations.

        Place names found Eric at the head of the table, Seamus at his side
at the end, Tom in first position on the side of the long table next to
Seamus, Paddy next to Tom, Henri next to Eric on his right at first
position on the other side of the table, David next down from Henri.

        "As you all must know by now," Eric began to tap his glass for
attention, "we are here to eat and celebrate Tom's acquisition of his
brother, Seamus from California."

        "What you may not know yet is that Seamus and I have formed a
little attachment of our own. He will stay here in the museum for
now. Please raise a glass to Seamus O'Brien."

        "Hear, hear!" was the response from those at the table.

        "Please continue eating. I've a few words to say."

        "I ordered two large luxury private railcars for the high-speed
train network, one that will comfortably hold us and one with a private
kitchen and chef, security, and footman's quarters as well."

        "I'm hoping that we'll have it in six weeks or so, have asked a
priority 'rush' for its construction and fitting-out and hope to make a
cross-country run to Los Angeles, then Portland with all of us on
board. Seamus can re-visit Ventura while we're there and show us his roots
there."

        "I will acquaint you with Mt. Rainier and Ohanapecosh glacier some
three hours north of Portland with its campground and trails and the
Portland scene including Rooster Rock state park with its nude beaches for
the sun lovers among us."

        "We'll take Sweet Pea to Paris from Seattle-Tacoma International,
Moses Lake, or Wenatchee after that so Henri can introduce us to his family
and roots there. We'll fly to Barcelona and taste the sun there, then Sweet
Pea can bring us back to Dallas where David can introduce us to his family
and roots there."

        "We'll take the private railcar from Dallas to Boston so Paddy and
Tom can show us around. Then home on the train again."

        "Why the vacation? It will be a first for many of you and I need
you to know each other very well prior to difficult times, the intense
teamwork ahead."

        "The priorities of the Trust need to be thoroughly re-imagined. The
world is changing. The population growth is out of control. The world isn't
a peaceful place. We need to move forward with mining the rare earths that
we've discovered off Angola."

        "We need to help Congress confront poverty by providing more jobs
for more people. We need to help build up education and decentralize
campuses in this day of computer learning. We have tons to do and not a lot
of time to do it."

        Eric looked at his friends and smiled. "We have the resources to
change our world and I believe this team can do it one step at a time."

        "I'm asking you to be my work family and my personal team family,
for honesty and style and love and loyalty, to be my eyes and ears, to hold
up my hands and arms like the story of Moses in the Bible whose helpers
held his hands up so the battle would go his way."

        "I'm not Moses and we're not fighting a battle with weapons but
with ideas and resources, but there are similarities."


        "The story simply reminds me of John Donne's poem back in the
seventeenth century:


    No man is an island entire of itself; every man
    is a piece of the continent, a part of the main;
    if a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe
    is the less, as well as if a promontory were, as
    well as if a manor of thy friends or of thine
    own were; any man's death diminishes me,
    because I am involved in Mankind;
    And therefore never send to know for whom
    the bell tolls; It tolls for thee.

        "I am not self-sufficient. What happens to you, happens to
me. Please be my family, guys."

        With that said, the eating continued, some got up for seconds,
Seamus first. He had been on restricted calories for a long time and was
enjoying eating again. His brain was on pleasure overload with food and the
sex that day. Eric noticed that he was slowing down a little and whispered
in his ear.

        "Hey, shall we have David take you to your suite so you can get
ready for bed? If you wake during the night, ask your footman to bring you
to my suite. I'll tell the night footman to watch for your call. You can
come climb into my bed and I'll keep you warm, Seamus. If you would rather
go sleep with Tom that's fine too. Just know that the locomotive runs at
night, too."

        David escorted Seamus to his suite and laid out his clothes for the
next day, handed him silk pajamas, turned down the bed, adjusted the
temperature and showed him how to call the night footman.

        "Will there be anything else, sir?"

        "Yes. Please just call me Seamus. Someone might have called my dad
sir."

        "OK...Seamus."

        "Thanks for your help today David."

        "You're welcome...Seamus."

        Early in the morning, Seamus woke, didn't remember where he was for
a second, then it all hit him at once. The loss of his mom, the sex with
Eric, the trip, the near starvation, the dinner, meeting his older brother
for the first time, the dinner, the sex, the suite, the sex...his cock
began to grow, and he thought of Eric in his nice warm bed, wanting him.

        He called the night footman who responded quickly and the two of
them walked to the end of the corridor and around a bend to the double
metal doors covered in rare wood. The night footman entered his 12-digit
code into a keypad and knocked. Eric came to the door, thanked the footman,
and drew Seamus into his suite.

        "Come to bed. Thirsty? Need to pee?"

        "OK. No and no."

        "Seamus climbed into the king-sized bed. Eric was already on his
side and they met on Eric's side. Eric shed his pajamas, removed Seamus'
pajamas and the two men moved together, Eric curled around Seamus' back,
his erection sliding gently in Seamus' crack. They lay still for a few
minutes.

        "Are you awake?" Seamus asked the question.

        "Yeah, I'm awake and I want you."

        "Take me, Eric."

        Full on. Hard. Erect. A rush of feeling to the cock and deeper
inside. Balls aching. Heart rate speeding up. A feeling of warmth,
readiness, pleasure already from being wanted and accepted. Gearing up to
pump his seeds. Anticipation of pleasure. Checking all systems. Breathing
OK...easy. No other interfering urges besides the urgent need to fuck.

        Smelling Seamus...he knew the fragrance now...the soap, the soft
hair, the fresh breath, the Seamus underarm funk, an honest sweat, pleasant
actually, a man scent... the Seamus groin scent, a hint of acid, all man
smell, a huge pheromone turn-on. Then the taste of Seamus, skin sweet, cock
neutral, tongue slight lemon taste maybe from toothpaste, ass faintly
bitter, not unpleasant...

        Seamus turned to his back and drew Eric on top of him. He wrapped
his legs around Eric and rested his lower legs on Eric's ass. Eric applied
a gel to his own cock and then to Seamus' ass and game on.

        Again, the tender pressure, sliding through and in, then an
explosion of motion, a little rough, sound levels high, the sounds of two
men communicating their feelings during
sex. Appreciation. Pain. Pleasure. Instructions. More appreciation.

        Eric got up and got a warm washcloth, Seamus and himself, took the
washcloth, dropped it down a laundry chute, dried himself and his partner,
climbed back into bed and took Seamus into his arms once again. "I'd take
you again anytime. Thank you for the kind invitation, stud."


        ""It felt so good. You have to know how nice it is to give you
pleasure, Eric."

        "Did you ever think I was out there somewhere waiting for you? Did
you ever wonder if an Irish man needed this and your cock really bad and
had saved himself for you accidentally or something?"

        "I had a first love and married him. A piece of me will always love
him. He wasn't you, of course. No one can take his place. I don't want a
replacement for Andrew."

        "I think Andrew would have liked and enjoyed you, Seamus. I think
he would have been happy to share you, probably happy to fuck you. Can't
think of why he wouldn't have. He would have buried his face in your ass
for hours and come out a better man for it. Or maybe I'm just projecting my
own feelings. Anyway..."

        The two men drifted off and were woken by Paddy and Tom the next
morning bringing breakfast into the suite. Eric and Seamus shed their
clothes and hopped into the shower. Paddy and Tom stepped in, having taken
their own clothes off. A lot of soap, rubbing, sucking, coming... Having
had a lot of brotherly fun, they dried off, and the four sat down to
breakfast.

        Eric dressed and went to the office. David arrived with a backache,
so Seamus and Tom and Paddy gave him a triple massage in Seamus' suite with
a happy ending, solving the problem.

        Henri finished his contact lists, made appointments for calls for
Eric, called VIP secretaries to establish a network, made lists, checked
Eric's task lists, met with Eric at 11 a.m. and scheduled a noon
appointment to meet the French consul at the New York consulate.

        His meeting with the consul had to do with introductions, checking
discreetly to ascertain if the consul knew Schuyler history, and found that
he did, including the decades-old relationship between the family and the
Louvre. The consul invited him to lunch and Henri enjoyed true French
cooking that day. Henri was invited to meet his family, two sons, Pierre,
age 17, Robert, age 29, his wife Lisette LaMonte, and their daughter Marie,
age 7.

        Henri had a hard time keeping his eyes of Pierre, a blue-eyed,
light-haired beauty of a teen with a bright disposition, a keen mind, a
cultured laugh, a sense of humor, and an interest in art history.

        Robert, a dull slouch in comparison, had long hair and smelled of
cigarettes and alcohol, his pupils pinpointed from drugs, Henri
speculated. Marie was a cute, lively girl whose main interest was her
friends and fashion, if her conversation was any guide. Lisette was a
gracious host and although not a motherly type, appeared to have a good
deal of common sense and was good at conversation about many things.

        The family hailed from Aix-en-Provence. He had been the consul to
New York for decades. Ambassadors came and went apparently, but the working
staff at the major consulates tended to stay put for years because they
grew to know their cities and regions and so became more effective.

        Henri expressed interest in Pierre's art history training,
referring to his expressed love of the subject and speculated that he might
want to visit and study the French masterpieces at the Campus.

        "I would be delighted to arrange a tour for you and perhaps a tutor
to go over the pieces you wish to study in depth," he offered.

        "I can ask the beneficiary of the Schuyler Trust, the owner, for
that permission. I am reasonably sure he will approve it for the son of the
French consul. Did you know," he said, changing the subject a bit and
looking at the Consul, "that the Schuyler Traders have offices in the Place
des Vosges?"

        "I had heard that they were planning the offices and had not heard
anything more after that. They went ahead with renovations, then?"

        "John Lodge and Jayden Miller stayed there for a time in a suite
above the Trader's offices and Eric Nelson (Lodge-Miller) stayed there when
he was studying at the Louvre before he became beneficiary. A good deal of
European and Middle Eastern money flows into Paris through the Schuyler
Trading office in the Place des Vosges. They are anticipating major growth
and hope to expand their physical presence in the park if support from
important French officials is forthcoming."

        "I am pleased that the offices there are doing well. I am not so
important as all that but would be delighted to support the expansion. As
you know there is space available in the old Place quadrangle. Let me know
when and how I can be helpful."

        "And may I thank you for a word for Pierre with the beneficiary;
the study of the French masterpieces could be an edge for Pierre since some
of those pieces haven't been in the light of day for many decades and
recent study with recent technology and theory is lacking on some pieces."


        "I understand the Schuyler collection is well-maintained and that
advanced environmental technology is used to preserve the ancient objects
of art. Pierre, you might study and produce a paper on that technology,
assuming the museum shares it with you."

        His son brightened up and nodded. Henri felt a twitch down below,
suppressed it and ate another bite of his dessert. He wasn't into children
or teenagers and knew that Pierre would be eighteen soon. He'd done his
research.

        That research, besides producing profiles of the French consul, his
wife, and his children, included birthdates, proclivities, discreet
pleasures, non-discreet pleasures, subscriptions, often-visited web
sites...a host of information that led him to believe Pierre was more than
just interested in same-sex porn online, that Robert was deep into drugs,
Lisette enjoyed a male lover in the Bronx, the Consul had a bit of fluff on
the side in Queens, and that Marie was nearly as pure as her namesake.

        That visit concluded, Henri asked the chauffeur to take him back to
his community college. He asked for the career counselor and soon sat in
her office.

        "I wanted to stop by and say thank you in person for recommending
me for my job. In some places in the world it is customary to say thank you
in a more tangible way."

"Is there a need that the college or your office particularly or you
yourself has that I might donate as a thank you for your kind action? What
you have done for me extends far beyond the normal 'he's OK, why don't you
hire him' and I know that many in your shoes wouldn't have chosen a
foreigner first."

        "If in the future," she replied, "your sky has reached some
astronomical limit of gratitude and you feel compelled to give, this office
could use, this college could use, a new computer with enough workstations
to teach in a computer lab and an IT person to keep it running and access
to up-to-date teaching tools such as software."

        "If I have reached that height now, might I present the check to
you or your employer?"

        The counselor blanched. What if she had taken his offer too
lightly? What was this?

        "Uh, I don't have a notion as to the cost, Henri."

        "Then we'll do it in stages. Would you be so kind as to invite the
President of this college to join us?"

        She picked up the telephone and spoke into it. In a few minutes
there was a knock on the door and a distinguished well-dressed woman walked
in and introduced herself to Henri as the President of the college.

        "Thank you for joining us," Henri said. "I would like to give a
gift to my college in living memory of my career counselor for her
instrumental kindness in finding very meaningful and rewarding work here in
Manhattan."

        "This gift, in the form of a check, is the first of how ever many
it takes to establish a state-of-the-art computer system for the college
and fund an IT expert to maintain and tend to that system. If the Schuyler
Campus IT department can assist you, please feel free to call me to arrange
that assistance."

        The President didn't faint or cry. She was far too shocked to do
either. She looked at the counselor, looked at the $100,000 USD check
again, flushed a little, then brought herself to discipline. "I cannot
thank you enough. On behalf of the Board of Trustees, I can assure you that
your gift will stretch as far as is possible."

        The President didn't hug students or ex-students. It just wasn't
done in her world. She shook his hand, brought it to her lips, and in a fit
of inspiration, kissed it. She guessed that the French did this sort of
thing often and something inside her told her it might be her last chance
to kiss a Frenchman properly. She had, after all, watched movies in her
day.

        Back at work, Henri knocked on Eric's door. "I have just donated
some of your money to the community college I attended for a computer
system and IT help. Should I ask for it back or am I just fired?"

        Eric smiled. "How much?"

        "$100,000 USD. and perhaps two or three more checks like that over
time to maintain or pay IT."


        "Write a memo to the Trust to authorize reimbursement of that money
to you if you wrote your own check, and I'll sign it."


        "Oh, and nice work! You are already authorized by me to write
personal checks with reimbursement from the Trust for amounts to $250,000
USD for documented charity work, you know. Did I forget to tell you?"

        "Write another memo authorizing that to the Trust and I'll sign
it."

        "You might ask first next time if the amount is larger. I will
nearly always approve without arguments and be glad you came up with the
idea first, but the strain on your heart wondering whether I will or
won't...I'd like to avoid that strain."

        The strain on Henri's heart then was real, but temporary. He felt
like he was gaining some purse power in addition to his powers of access
and information which could only help Eric in his work. He was right.

        Henri sprang into action that same afternoon and prepared an
authorization for one Pierre LaMonte to study the Schuyler art (yeah, with
a security guard close by taking the fucking notes that Henri should have
had the privilege to take, he thought).

        He authored a memo to a counterpart at the Metropolitan museum
renting one of their art tutors who the Met had on hand for very wealthy
clients, patrons and friends of the museum.

        He called the Consul and informed him that luck had intervened. A
tutor from the Metropolitan museum was available to teach Pierre and Pierre
had authorization to take a security guard from the Schuyler staff and
study any object(s) he wished and write papers if he wished in their
library. The Consul thanked him briefly, being busy, having no idea that
Henri had plans for his son next year.

        Henri was bedazzled but could not bring himself to share the
personal news just yet. It hadn't happened and might not ever. He found a
photo of Pierre from a prominent Paris photo-news journal, then had it
enlarged and framed. It went up in Henri's suite on a bathroom wall,
providing Henri inspiration from time to time.

        By August 1 of that year most of Eric's appointments that he had
asked Henri to schedule were done as were the telephone calls. Eric turned
his attention to the rare earth mining project and a review of the
high-speed train project with a view to improving project planning from
lessons learned before and during execution of the projects.

        The two private railway cars arrived in late August. Their trip had
long been planned by all departments including security and
communications. The rail system offered to give them their choice of
departure dates. They left for Los Angeles on August 23.

        At high speed express, the scenery flew by, but they saw and did
more and relaxed more than the jets provided. The food was good, and they
stopped at some stations and 'unhooked' from the train to take side
trips. The food was fantastic from their own kitchen and with broadband
internet and satellite connections they remained in touch with business as
usual.

        Home again from their route...Los Angeles to Portland to Seattle to
Paris to Barcelona to Dallas to Boston and back to Manhattan, they felt
like a team with shared experiences, just as Eric had predicted.

                 On January 4, Henri found Pierre's 18-year-old's luscious
self in the basement studying the paintings with his tutor, a bored
security guard standing by. Speaking in French, Henri asked Pierre to stay
by and eat dinner with him in his suite at 6 p.m. Pierre accepted and
knocked on Henri's door just before 6 p.m.  Henri opened the door and
ushered Pierre in. Tom and Paddy wheeled dinner in and left. Henri began to
tell Pierre what he had in mind, then stopped.

        "What's up," Pierre asked. "Why did you invite me for dinner?"

        "Because you're 18 years of age now and I want you."

        "Good. I thought it might be awkward or something. What parts of me
do you want first?"

        "All of you as soon as I can get to them."

        "I'm done with dinner right now then."

        "Mon cher Henri, prends-moi! Tu m'excites."

        Henri pulled Pierre to him and began to show him just how he felt
about the matter at hand, now 'in-hand'.

        Pierre, free of experience but full of imagination, began to
disrobe on the spot, freeing Henri to do the same.

        Pierre's exuberance and Henri's romantic streak merged
quickly. Vocal streams of French exhorting every amorous duty were heard
from both. "Plus fort! Oh oui!"

        Long kisses with plenty of tongue everywhere, then Henri sat back
on the bed looking at Pierre. "I want to see you, Pierre. All of you
now. Are you sure you want to make love?"

        "Baise-moi, Henri."

        "Mais non, baise-MOI!"

        Pierre, now ready to shaft the planet, did his duty for the
reputation of France. Had his partner been a woman and close to ovulation,
she would have produced triplets. This, Pierre's first adventure, ended in
an earth-shaking climax which thrilled Henri no end."

        Henri, ecstatic that his body had done that to Pierre's libido,
wanted to be drilled again and again. Pierre called his parents late that
night, explaining that he had too much to drink and had to stay the night
for safety. They agreed and the fucking continued much of the night,
punctuated by showers and brief rest periods.

        By breakfast, Henri and Pierre were satiated and sleeping at depths
unplumbed ordinarily. A note on the door forbade disturbance or breakfast
until further notice. Tom and Paddy passing by, grinned and raised a finger
or two. They told David to put a note on Eric's door telling him Henri
would be an hour or two late to work that morning because he was
'indisposed'.

        At 9 a.m. Henri woke with a start, felt Pierre's hard cock
knocking, backed on to it and the fucking began all over again. Pierre shot
the last remnants he could without more food, and they made arrangements to
meet again son. Breakfast, coffee and a shower revived them a little and
Eric went to the office while Pierre was driven home.

        Pierre's mother saw him first, her son walking in the door with
that swagger and a look in his eye. She knew immediately that his virginity
was a thing of the past and he had grown up. She said nothing to the Consul
or to the other kids. She told her bit of muscle on the side about it that
night and he laughed. "Boys will be men sooner or later. Sounds like Pierre
is his own expert now. What will you say or do?"

        "What can I say or do? I am my own expert in love. You have taught
me all I know other than the basics that my husband showed me."

        "That's the point, darling. Your husband only knew the basics. I've
got a doctorate in sex and I'd say you are due for your master's degree, my
lovely thing. There's nothing to say to your son."

        The Consul was recalled to France one year later. The Diplomatic
Service had their own ways of investigating the personal affairs of their
staff and although the French were tolerant of 'les affaires', such
behavior in a major post was frowned upon and he was elevated to a minor
position at 37 Quai d'Orsay back in Paris.





        The Consul's family was set to go with him until his 19-year-old
son Pierre told him he would stay in New York to pursue his art history
lessons. The Consul was in no position to forbid it.

        His son told him that his friend at the Schuyler Campus had offered
a place to live in the meanwhile and that the Trust would cover his
expenses. The Consul and his wife were grateful.



        Eric sat his desk one spring day thinking about the Trust. It was
his habit to set aside an hour a day during the week to reflect on the
issues of the day, global and national, Trust progress toward meeting its
goals, Trust issues such as his successor, and related ideas. He was proud
of the high-speed rail network, looked forward to the mining project, the
higher education project, and job creation initiatives. A thought entered
his mind which jolted him a little.

        He didn't have any friends. Sure, he had a lover and pals in the
footman ranks, but no peers as friends. He didn't really know how to be a
friend, tended to be a loner versus others that he knew who had dozens of
people they could call and talk to, people who had each other's backs, who
were interested in what their friends had to say and shared personal and
business ideas with them.

        He made an appointment with a psychiatrist in Manhattan, an older
woman with a stellar reputation and sat in her office for the first visit.
She asked some details, his name and date of birth, then plunged right
in. "What brings you here, Mr. Nelson?"

        He didn't want to say, "I don't have any friends." That sounded
needy and he didn't think it would strike a good impression, so he waffled
a little. She looked at him and asked if he knew why he was there. He
nodded. She asked if he was reluctant to say that reason and he nodded. She
told him that the work to understand himself was difficult and, even worse,
he had to do the work.

        She indicated that she merely supervised his work and suggested
directions to go along the way and would tell him if the direction his work
took wasn't realistic and would suggest options and other paths for him to
explore.

        With that in mind, he told her that he had decided at first not to
answer the question because it made him look 'needy' and he didn't want to
make that impression. She told him that her impression of him was at a
level of 100% positive and nothing he could say to her could lower that
number or improve it. "My impression of people who are brave enough to
undertake the hardest work in the world is very positive."

        "I don't have any friends."

        "How does that make you feel?"

        "I feel that I know a lot of people but none of them have my back
as I imagine a friend would. I am afraid that I don't have the skills to be
a good friend to someone; I don't have a lot of time. I don't know how to
have friends, make friends or keep them and am afraid they would like me
for my money."

        "Do you know anyone that you like because they have lots of money?"

        "No."

        "If someone wanted to be your friend, how would you know it?"

        "They would listen to me and share things with me, perhaps take my
advice if it was good for them, they might like to spend time with me."

        "Are you different from other people, Mr. Nelson?"

        "I'm unique."

        "I feel you are skirting my question. Are you different from other
people?"

        "Probably not, at core anyway."

        "What would be the worst thing that would happen if you never had
any friends?"

        "I'd feel like I missed out on something valuable, somehow."

        "Do you know anyone who is a friend to someone else?"

        "I just know some pairs of guys who are lovers who work for me. So,
no, I don't know anyone out of my circle who are friends with each other."

        "Have you ever identified someone you would like to be a friend to
or with?"

        "I'd like to know someone who isn't impressed by my wealth and
doesn't want something I have and doesn't want to do business with me."

        "Are there other requirements you have for a potential friend?"

        "Not in mind just now."

        "If you were looking for someone to fill a position, how would you
go about that?"

        "I'd ask someone if they know who might be available for the
position, or advertise, or go to a place where they train persons for the
position or perhaps just sit in a sidewalk cafe and talk to someone...but
probably not the latter because it would worry my security people."

        "I can see where that might be off-putting, or perhaps just the
thing to start a conversation. Once you identified a person for a position,
how would you contact them?"

        "Telephone, email, texting, talk to them in a public place,
perhaps...most likely hire someone to hire them."

        "You are making progress, Mr. Nelson. It's a beginning. I would
like to see you in 3 weeks on a Monday at 3 p.m. and meet you here."


        "Your homework before then is to pick, at random, five people you
would like to meet, call each of them, and tell them you admire their work
and would like to meet up with them at a restaurant of your choice, no,
their choice, in Manhattan."

        "Make the appointment with them and keep it. I want you to listen
to what they have to say with rapt attention and don't offer to be their
friend."

        "If you like them, ask to meet them again in two weeks at an event;
a concert, a sports event, a library, any spot they are interested in would
do. Don't take notes, just listen to them. Don't offer to help them. Don't
give them advice."

        "Don't give them money. Don't flaunt your money. It's OK to
identify yourself if you wish, but don't give false information."



        "If you are able, make one or two of those people junior people
wherever they work or play. Sometimes they make better friends, sometimes
not. Make notes after each encounter and bring them in three weeks on a
Monday at 3 p.m. to discuss them."

        She shook his hand and he left. The bill arrived the next day by
messenger. The balance due was $329 USD.


        Paddy and Tom had stopped sleeping with Eric. They had kept him
warm for a few weeks after his husband died. Seamus had entered Eric's life
and was, presumably, keeping Eric comfortable at night. They entered Eric's
room one evening to lay out his clothes for the next day and found Eric and
Seamus in the middle of Eric's bed, naked and at play. Eric looked up and
grinned.

        "Don't be formal, lads." Paddy looked at Tom, saw a twinkle there,
and both footmen began to shed their clothes.

        Tom drew the covers down off the bed and stood by for a second,
then climbed up on the bed and began to slide his hand over his brother's
skin. Paddy, once naked, climbed up to Tom and placed himself on his back
next to Seamus on the bed.

        Tom mounted Paddy and began to massage his chest. Paddy reached
down and found Eric's hand on Tom's cock already. Eric gave a little tug
and Tom climbed over beside his brother.

        Eric mounted Tom and Seamus, both of whom began to suck Eric while
Paddy turned his face into Eric's ass and tongued it with abandon.



        Paddy and Eric then drew back to watch, holding hands while Seamus
and Tom kissed and grasped each other's cock. Tom, the older brother,
turned Seamus over, brought lube to his own cock and Seamus' ass, then slid
his cock expertly into his brother, fucking him hard and fast. Their
juxtaposed red hair excited Paddy and Eric both.

        Paddy knelt down beside the brothers and Eric took him hard,
rabbit-fucking beside the two handsome brothers. All the hard, rapid
breathing subsided after the four men screamed as they came...and they
started to giggle.

        "That would be a great evening activity for us shut-ins on
weeknights...if Paddy and I get our hair dyed red, we could have a Red Ball
real often."





        Eric decided to choose his five friend candidates from different
backgrounds. He wrote down a variety of sectors on cards including sports,
finance, banking, politics, emergency responders including firemen and
police departments, media, musicians, artists, restaurant workers,
automotive, and professionals, attorneys, and healthcare workers.

        He asked Henri to shuffle the cards and at random choose five and
give them to Eric at lunch.  At lunch he found the cards on his desk and
read: attorney, musician, sports, fireman and chef.

        He googled 'New York' and 'attorney' and found a respected firm
downtown which had just won a case in the New York Supreme Court and the
lead attorney was Jenny Taylor, co-lead Michael Weinstein.

        Google found him a pianist, Yevgeny Krumholtz, and a baseball
player, Randy Fortin; also a fireman hero, Rodney Smith, and a chef at
Plumeria, Eduardo Cinque. Eric asked Henri to get him the five telephone
numbers.

        By one p.m. he had the numbers and addresses and emails of all of
them.

        He agonized over what he would say, finally decided, and picked up
his cell. Michael's guard dog receptionist insisted on an
appointment. Yevgeny's agent flatly refused unless a fee was paid...to
him. Rodney, at the fire station house, answered.

        "Hi, is this Rodney Smith? I'm Eric Schuyler. You've probably been
getting these calls 24/7. I wanted to call and say that I admire your
work. I was hoping to meet you for lunch, my treat, your choice of
restaurant. I want to know how you do it. I'm not a reporter. Might you
have a day free to eat?"

        "Uh sure, I guess so, I like the little Italian place at 33 Beekman
in Manhattan next Thursday, noon?"

        "That will be fine. Next Thursday noon, 33 Beekman. See you then."

        Eric exhaled. That had been one of the hardest calls of his life
for some reason. But it went OK and he hadn't had a heart attack.

        The baseball player actually answered his own phone. "Randy
Fortin." The conversation went precisely the same and a lunch appointment
was made for the next Wednesday noon at La Jardinière in Manhattan.

        The chef's number was the restaurant number and Eric could hear the
clash of pots and pans, curses, invitations to drop dead, statements to the
effect that another's mother had been badly compromised, Spanish and
English mixed...then Eduardo, "Yeah! So, who the fuck is this? We're busy
fixing a tea party for the Queen! Make it snappy."

        "I'll eat lunch but not here. I cook the food and the guy that
washes the dishes has diseases doctors haven't even discovered yet."

        Eduardo signed up for noon lunch Friday next at a Chinese
restaurant a couple of blocks away from his own workplace.

        Wednesday morning of the next week came much too soon to suit Eric
who just knew Randy Fortin would hate him, hate gay guys, would already
have tons of friends...he dressed just above casual chic to suit the
restaurant, took a cab to La Jardinière at 11:15, arrived at 11:40 and
spent the next twenty minutes fidgeting at the door, looking for someone
who looked like the google picture.

        Randy arrived, eyes roving around some until Eric stepped
up. "Hi. I'm Eric Schuyler. Hope you're hungry." Eric turned and the
doorman opened the door for them.

        At the desk, the maître d'hôtel checked the reservation list,
recognized Eric, began to greet him by name, then stopped abruptly seeing
Eric's slight shake of his head and narrowed eyes and noting Eric's face
relax in relief at his response which was a polite greeting only and of the
baseball player's name.

        The table was a good one, Eric noticed.

        They were surrounded by wait staff of various sorts. Menus were
handed out, specials were explained, and then they sat observing their
surroundings and finally Randy turned to Eric. "I've been curious why you
asked for this meeting."

        "I really admire your work. I was hoping to hear more about what
you do and how you get it all done."

        "Thank you. I'm from California and never knew my dad so all I
learned was from my mom. She didn't know anything about sports but taught
me that whatever I did, she expected me to put every ounce of energy into
it. I had a coach in high school, we'd moved to Portland, Oregon by then,
who told me that my overall athletic skill and fitness along with the
baseball skills I'd learned from him, I could be in the majors someday. I
wanted to believe that and decided I could do it."

        "I'm best at third-base. Our 3B job is to catch anything that comes
our way, of course, but beyond that we keep an eye on traffic approaching
from second and traffic leaving for home base, defending our area.3"

        "At the same time, we have to constantly remember to touch third
often enough to have that advantage, face home plate, and defend the area
with one foot on the base and arm out to catch balls. I never was fast
enough to be a great shortstop so third base suits me. All in all, third is
the hardest to do well and perhaps the most dangerous of all the positions
to play."




        "How do I get it done? I don't allow myself to think of other
things during a game. Before and after is one thing, but somebody's cute
butt is just off limits to think about during the game."

        "So, I keep a running commentary to myself. Randy do this and Randy
do this and watch this. I have short lists of body positions to assume in
different situations and glove positions and certain player behaviors in
memory. Some of my moves are controlled by muscle memory, I don't always
have to figure it out before I do it."

        "If a stray thought enters that conversation, it gets blocked out
on purpose. I don't make a note to check it later. I just go back to the
talk, the constant internal patter that keeps me focused. I guess other
players do it different. That's my Portland patter thing."

        "What did you think of Portland?"

        "Summer was best of all. Hot some days, but low humidity made it
great. I've played in Florida and Mississippi and the humidity leaves you
dripping and feeling, well, hot afterward. People in Portland, most of
them, are progressive thinkers. New stuff doesn't bother them and none of
them want to go back to the good old days. Not all of the good old days
were good; some were fucked-up, pardon my French."

"Oregon grows a lot of fruit and vegetables, hazelnuts particularly to
supply enough 'noisettes' for every French citizen a dozen times over, have
decent seafood and a jillion craft breweries and local vineyards. The nude
beach at Rooster Rock State Park is nice; one end for mixed men and women,
the other end for just males."

        "Winter was a drag. Cold, wet, but not much snow or ice
usually. Spring came early there so there were leaves on some trees by
March and some snow-flowers in January springing up from the cold, muddy
ground. Autumn was OK if we got an Indian summer, a longer summer, then the
temperatures drop down from the 80's to the 40's highs and the warm coats
and boots come out."

        "Jeeze, I don't think I've ever talked so much about myself and
we're almost done. I'd like to do this again and find out what you do. Let
me guess. You're a lawyer."

        "No," Eric laughed.

        "An accountant?"

        "Nope."

        "A fireman?"

        "That's hard work. No. Let's eat at Coney Island in a couple of
weeks. I haven't tried their hot dogs and ice cream. They're supposed to be
good and we could check it out."

        The two men decided on a day and time and a place, shook hands and
parted.


        Rodney Smith, the fireman, might have been the macho guy Eric had
ever met. He was masculine to the point of being nearly stupid, talking
about the pussies he'd fucked, the beer he guzzled in one night, and his
vast knowledge of football scores. The Italian food was fantastic, though.

        He redeemed himself by dismissing his heroic rescue of two children
from the fourth floor of a burning tenement as something anyone would do if
given half a chance. It was the right thing to do, he told Eric, and he
tried to do the right thing when given the opportunity.

        "How do you do it?"

        "I think about what I'm going to do when I'm done. I think about
how fast I can get it done so I won't get hurt and so whoever I'm with can
breathe good for the rest of their lives."

        "I think about my kids, anything but the fire. If the fire takes
over my head, I'm done."

        "Firemen have to give themselves to people, not the fire. Yeah, I
feel scared sometimes, I think we all do. If you believe that you're going
to see the guys on the other side, the guys that have passed on fighting
fires, that helps some."

        "I miss some of them. Not saying I'm dying to join them soon, just
saying it will be OK on the other side too. It has to be."

        "What would be my ideal vacation? I'd like to go hiking in a huge
forest near mountains and streams all by myself, just surviving off the
land. Maybe take a buddy with me, leave the wife and kids behind for a week
or so. Fires mess with your head."

        "The firemen live together, eat together, piss together, depend on
each other, face fear and fires together, everything but fuck each other
and I think a few do mess around."


        "I don't know you and vice-versa, so I can tell you that one day
while I still can get it up, I want to have sex with a guy just once to see
what the attraction is. I want to live and to feel again. I love my wife in
all kinds of ways.

        "Joan is a good mom and wife, a decent lover, though not
volunteering much of her body these days and won't consider a three-way or
a swap or a swinger arrangement. I wonder if my mentioning it turned her
away. Just don't know. Maybe two guys and her would flip her switches."

        Eric and Rodney arranged another lunch in two weeks.


        Eduardo came walking into the restaurant with a little limp.

        "Damn sous chef pinned my foot to the floor with his chef knife
when he thought I was talking back to him. Don't know what his ass thinks
that will get him. We Ecuadoreans do 90% of the cooking in that place."

        "We work for less and get burned every day and the work at rush
hour gets us in the weeds so the Exec chef yells at the top of his lungs
half of the day. Italian cooks would have murdered him and quit already."

        "We put up with more and get paid less. He and the bartender are
sticking it to each other in the locker when they can and think we don't
know. He smells like shit most of the time and cum the rest of the
time. Lucky asshole. That bartender has a hot ass."

        "My family is from Quito, high in the mountains. There are flights
into there from Houston, Miami, Fort Lauderdale and Atlanta in the US. In
our off-time, we watch soccer, the cup games (FIFA) and sometimes
wrestling."

        Eduardo told Eric that he kept track of orders through a system on
a screen and his secret to fast work was to have all of his ingredients at
hand and his work position constantly clean. When he got a new order for
'chick parm', all he had to do was to scoop the starting ingredients from
their pre-arranged spot on his counter (his 'mis-en-place) into a clean
sauté pan and go for it.

        Eric made another lunch appointment with Eduardo who liked Chinese
food.

        There was a callback from Michael Weinstein waiting. The attorney's
attack dog receptionist must have googled Eric and given him the call. Eric
wasn't sure. He wanted to be complete, however, and called him back again.

        Sure enough, the guy's voice was tonal and high-pitched. "Hey man,
are you THE Eric Nelson Lodge-Miller at the Schuyler Campus? What an honor
to speak to you, sir. How can I do for you today. Wow!"

        Eric tried to drop his feelings and just proceed. "I really admire
what you do and wonder if we could hang out, perhaps lunch..."

        "Sure, of course...noon on Tuesday at La Grenouille be OK? It's my
fave."






        Eric's guess turned out to be nearly correct. The lunch crowd at
the glittering restaurant was an audience for their meeting and he was sure
the attorney dined out on the story for a long time, how Eric Nelson
himself hung on his every word, verified by the audience at La
Grenouille. Eric kept looking for photographers. None showed up.

        H made notes of his meetings with the four and the call to the
fifth person and took them to his next visit to the psychiatrist.

        "Hello, Mr. Nelson." She took the papers from him and read the
notes. It took a few minutes and she turned to him. "Were any of these
people impossible for you to get to know?"

        "No."

        "Were you particularly drawn to one over another?"

        "Yes. The baseball player, the fireman, and the chef were people,
solid people. The lawyer was obviously advertising to his friends and peers
that he 'knew' me."

        "So, you will want to be sure to include him. He will challenge
your friend-making skills. Listening to him until he wants to listen to you
is still the basic secret."

        "There is no gratitude quite so deep for meeting a need rarely met
as listening to someone without making judgments about their past, their
motives, their impulses, their opinions of you or anything else. People pay
vast sums to meet that need. Prostitutes, psychiatrists, gynecologists,
fortune tellers, and friends all would starve if that need disappeared."

        "I didn't ask you about your love life. Tell me who you love."

        Eric told her of his loss when Andrew died, his grief, his anger,
the ache, the inheritance, hiring Paddy and Tom, meeting Seamus, their
lust, his guilt over pleasure now after Andrew's death, the distance from
his roots, the distance from his mother and her friend, the weight of the
Trust work, the decisions that affected so many, the high-speed train
system, the mining coming up, his plans for the Trust over time, and his
need to find a successor in time.

        "I don't love Seamus. I love what we do. The sex is fabulous. I
don't wish to spend the rest of my life with him. I don't want a trophy
husband. We don't think alike on anything but sex, a point of connection to
be sure, but there could be so much more. The baseball player is from where
I am, he attracts me more than Seamus. The problem with Seamus is that one
of my personal footmen is his brother. I can't make enemies of them or his
brother's lover."




        "Does it have to be a zero-sum game like that?" she asked. "Could
you call Seamus in and tell him how much he means to you and that you are
transferring him elsewhere, then inform the footmen that they are to attend
to him or go to school or attend the miners or a dozen other things other
than make enemies of them. Do they expect that Seamus is in line for the
throne, so to speak?"

        "I feel that they do; they can be diverted, I'm sure, from the
idea. I'd be sending none of them to their execution after all."

        "Is it their absolute right to own your love? No matter how central
a place they occupy in your affairs at the moment? Do you still have some
choice, some control over your life?"

        "Yeah, I can still choose. No, it isn't their absolute right to
inherit anything. They have been extremely well paid."

        "Do you have any questions for me?"

        "Not now. I appreciate your help."

        "You are welcome. I wish you the best."


        "Mr. Weinstein, please. This is Eric Nelson calling."

        "One moment please."

        "Hey Eric, how's it hanging?"

        "I'm good. Wondering if we could hang out for lunch
tomorrow. There's a restaurant at 4566 Fifth I've been wanting to try. Noon
OK?"

        "Just wrote it down. Is it Peruvian, by any chance?"

        "No. Just plain Northwest diner food."

        "Right."

        "See you tomorrow there."

        "See you."


        Eric called the Security office and spoke to the chief. "You're
keeping us busy, boss. We've checked all these guys out...no knives so
far. I'll set someone on the restaurant and on detail for tomorrow..."

        "Thank you, Ben. I appreciate your having my back."




        An hour later, Ben called back. This place has good food, bad
karma. Some interesting people meet here to eat, and I guess everybody has
to eat somewhere, but I'm poking in a table of two of us incognito close by
and at least one off-duty NYPD. Our little lady will be at the bar with her
tools too.

        Michael and Eric met at the restaurant the next day. Michael wore a
light tan suit, Eric a light gray suit with an open collar for the
heat. The seasonal greens preceded a delicate lamb entree presented with
long, julienned French fries with aioli-jalapeno sauce to dip.

        "I've admired your expertise in court, Michael. How do you do
that?"

        "I had a good team. Jenny chose me over her two usual co-leads
because I had litigated a similar case in Colorado before coming to New
York. I was born in Oregon near Salem and raised in Hillsboro. My parents
had a chain of shoe stores there and it was 'sell Nike or die' for the rest
of my life, so at college I opted for pre-law. That was the easy part."

        "Law school for me was a nightmare until I hit the classes dealing
with courtroom procedures and civil litigation. I hit my stride there."

        "Defending drug addicts and petty thieves attracted some of my
classmates but I just couldn't do it. You have to have a thicker skin than
mine for criminal law. Analyzing a civil case and antecedent cases that
apply and sometimes helping to forge new precedents is where I'm at...all
the time."

        "Some people think that the law is a bunch of written rules and all
you have to do is know those rules and obey them. Like a static thing or
something. The law is a living, breathing animal, moving, sometimes
fucking, sometimes sleeping, giant and you have to respect its power and
fluidity, or you fall down 40 floors and end up in a gutter."

        "I've seen attorneys in gutters. It's not a pretty sight."

        "This lamb isn't bad and the shoestring fries, wow. Um, Eric,
there's a guy staring at you, no, don't look, behind you and another 20
degrees over to your right. His hand is in his coat pocket and he's
standing up from his chair."

        "Gun! He's got a gun!"

        By this time his voice was at screech. The restaurant froze for a
second and then a choreographed chain of events occurred that Michael was
to later swear he didn't understand.




        A man at the next table pressed a button and a very loud noise like
a bang went off. The blast jarred everyone in the room except for a couple
two tables over with earphones on.

        A little lady at the bar walked closer to the shooter, shook her
head and removed a long hatpin from her hat. She began to sing a little
ditty, looking him right in the eye and smiling, then quickly at lightning
speed, jabbed him in the neck with the hatpin.

        The would-be shooter froze in his tracks and grabbed his neck. The
gun fell to the floor.

         She walked on and out the door and disappeared.

        The shooter appeared to lose his balance after a few seconds, then
toppled in a dead faint to the floor, losing control of his bowels in the
process.

        A group of men came to Eric's table and hustled Eric and Michael
outdoors and into a van that came screeching up to the entrance and the van
hustled out of there.

        The van let Michael out in front of his office and an officer asked
for his keys to his car and promised to retrieve it after the area was
secured.

        Eric shook Michael's hand.

        "Nice lunch. Not so sure about the entertainment afterward. Let's
eat at a peaceful place next Thursday at noon. I'll call you."