Man In Motion - 17. The Louvre

October 5, 1985

Paris, France

I woke up with a massive hangover, feeling like total shit. I briefly evaluated my bodily functions and realized that I urgently needed to pee. My breath tasted nasty, so I brushed my teeth and went back to bed to find Robbie sleeping. It was odd that he was fully clothed and facing away from me, but my mind was working too slowly for me to worry about it. I moved up behind him and wrapped my arms around him in a loving way, then was totally shocked and not a little pissed off when his elbow slammed into my side, pushing me away.

“Ow!” I yelled. “What the fuck was that for?”

He turned over and glared at me. “Fuck you! I came home last night and found Marcel in here, a full condom still on, stroking your ass. You had just cum all over the fucking bed! And you want to know why I'm pissed?”

I stared at him, completely confused. What did Marcel have to do with any of this? “I thought it was you.” I heard my voice as if through a fog, as if it was a distance away.

“What do you mean you thought it was me?” he demanded, even more irate now.

“I remember coming home around 1:30am,” I said, forcing my mind to recount what had happened. “I was disappointed that you weren't back yet. I took off my clothes and lay down on the bed, on my stomach, because I wanted you to fuck me when you got home.”

“You didn't need me to fuck you. You found someone else to do that,” he spat at me. My mind began to flounder as I tried to piece this together, and then I figured it out.

“It must have been Marcel,” I said in a detached way. Marcel had watched Robbie fuck me when we’d come back from the States, and he’d done it just like Robbie had, mirroring his moves.

“What?” Robbie demanded, still yelling. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” There was a knock at the door and Marcel came in, his eyes red and teary. “Here's your loverboy. I'll leave you two alone,” Robbie said as he got up.

“Will you calm down,” I said to Robbie, because I was still trying to figure this out and because his yelling was especially painful with of my hangover.

Robbie walked over to Marcel and got right in his face. “Give me one reason why I shouldn't kick your fucking ass.”

“There is no reason. I deserve it,” Marcel said. He was totally defeated and dejected. “It is my fault. I am sorry.”

“God damn it!” I said, finally losing my cool. “Will you people quit fucking yelling and posturing so I can figure out what the fuck is going on here?” Robbie stared daggers at me.

“I’m out of here,” Robbie said and made to leave, but he had finally exhausted my patience.

I pointed my finger at him and yelled “You are not going fucking anywhere!” He stopped and stood there with his arms folded, looking more pissed off than I'd ever seen him. I was kind of surprised he’d actually listened to me and not left.

“I came in last night and fucked you,” Marcel said, looking at me sheepishly.

“It was you?” I asked.

He nodded and looked at Robbie. “You should be mad at me, not him. I was really drunk and really horny. The horny is normal; the drunk is not,” he said, trying to joke. It actually worked a little bit, as Robbie started to calm down.

“If you were as drunk as me, you were really drunk,” I said ruefully, to try and keep everyone from shouting again.

They both ignored me, with Marcel focusing totally on Robbie. “I knew Brad was horny like me. I could tell by the way he headed to your room. I thought I could maybe come down and peek in and watch you, but when I got here it was pitch black in here, and he was alone. I should have just gone back to my room, but I didn't. My body completely overruled my mind. I saw you make love to him before, so I did just what you did. I did the same moves you did with your mouth, with your nose, with your finger, and with your dick. It was exciting because he got really into it, but only because he thought I was you.”

I really didn't know what to think and I really didn't know how I felt about this. “Marcel, this is kind of a lot to think about, and it’s even harder because I'm hungover. Give me a few minutes with Robbie, OK?” He turned to flee. “But don't leave this apartment.” He nodded as he left and closed the door behind him. I put my head in my hands, trying to think, trying to grapple with this whole situation.

I felt a hand on my shoulder, then I felt two hands trying to massage the tension away. “I'm sorry,” Robbie said. “It wasn't your fault.” I was pretty sure that Robbie would agree with Marcel and dump all the blame on him for this, and that really wasn’t fair.

“In a way, it was,” I said. I turned to face him and we ended up sitting in bed, side by side. “I knew he watched us sometimes. I could have done something. I could have locked the fucking door to keep him out. I was stupid, and this is the price I have to pay.”

“He's the one who snuck in here and fucked you,” Robbie said firmly. He had a tendency to see things as either white or black, while I saw shades of gray.

“Letting him watch us was like doing a striptease. It was bound to get to him. He's sixteen. He thinks with his dick.” I saw Robbie processing that, remembering back to that age.

“Not that you don't when you're 23 too,” he said, smiling softly at me.

“This much is true,” I agreed, then lay down on the bed and pulled him down with me so we were facing each other. “I'm really sorry; I really thought it was you.”

“So he's a great lover?” Robbie asked, teasing. I smiled, because if he could joke, he could get beyond this.

“He did just what you did. He followed your lead. So yeah, he was great,” I said. “You know what was weird, now that I think about it?”

“What?” he asked, giving me a strange look. He was probably confused because there were any number of reasons why this was weird.

“It was kind of like how you used to make love to me when we were teenagers,” I said pensively. “There was more fumbling, it wasn’t as smooth, and he didn't know the right buttons to push.”

“And that didn't clue you in that it wasn't me?” he asked, and he was back to being annoyed.

“It wasn't that different, and I was drunk. I figured you were just really, really horny.” I ran my fingers through his hair lovingly. “I'm sorry that I hurt you. I wondered why you were being so mean to me last night. You were actually being pretty fucking nice.”

“It was pretty crushing,” he said. We lay there for a long time, me holding him, his head on my shoulder.

After we stayed like that for a while, I started to get uncomfortable because I needed to get closure on this. “I love you Robbie. I told you that I'd be faithful, and I screwed up. I didn't mean to, but that doesn't make it any better. You think you can forgive me?”

“Yeah.” He smiled at me. “You know, it seems like every time we spend your birthday in Paris, you end up fucking another guy. We're not coming here in October anymore.” He’d meant that to be funny, but the reference back to the other time when I’d had that fling with Marc Sievres was like a knife wound. I guess I deserved it.

“Thanks. You want to show me what it's like to have sex with a real man now?” He smiled back at me and we made love. It wasn't a wild 'I'm horny, fuck me' kind of sex, it was more emotional and more pure, It was a total expression of love, and it was sheer bliss.

Afterward, I lay on his chest panting and shaking from yet another amazing orgasm. “So what do we do about Marcel?” he asked.

I was annoyed that he’d ruined our afterglow by bringing this up again, but I managed to be logical instead of getting pissed. “Well, I guess you're the injured party here. What do you want to do?”

“I need to go talk to him,” he said.

“Alone?” I asked. I was concerned that he'd still try to kill him.

“You don't trust me? He fucked you; don't you think I should be allowed to let him fuck me too?” He was teasing; I could tell.

“Yeah, but I get to watch.”

He snaughed. “Stay here, I'll be right back.” I got up to pee and slam a few aspirins down, then went back to lounging lazily in my bed. I’d just got comfy when Robbie came in with a very nervous Marcel.

“So I was thinking Marcel, that since you fucked my boyfriend, it would only be fair for me to fuck you.” I hid my smile. I knew he was teasing, but Marcel didn't, and Marcel just about shit a brick. He was a virgin and he’d seen Robbie's big dick.

Marcel got a fatalistic look on his face and shrugged, then sighed. “That sounds fair,” he said as he went to unbuckle his belt.

Robbie stopped him. “Marcel, I was just kidding,” he said, then got severe. “But if you do that again, I will fuck you, and with no lube.”

Marcel blanched at the thought of that. “I am really sorry. I really am. You guys have been so nice to me, done everything for me, and this is how I repay you.”

When he started crying, I decided that enough was enough. He knew he fucked up and he’d said he was sorry; it was time for us to move beyond this. “Come here,” I ordered, and pulled him into a hug. “It's OK. It's over. Let's move on. I forgive you.” He nodded, and buried his head in my shoulder. Robbie climbed in behind him and we held him in a sandwich. “Besides, we let you watch us. That was a mistake.”

“So that's my punishment? I can't watch you anymore? Fuck!” He seemed really upset about that. “I think I’d rather be fucked without lube.” That was funny enough to make Robbie and me laugh.

“Are you gay?” I asked him.

“I don't know,” he said. “I do know that watching you guys really turns me on.”

“What do you think about when you jack off?” I asked.

“You guys,” he said, then blushed. “I think about sex constantly and it seems like I am hard all the time. I try to concentrate on something, and then someone cute walks by; I think about fucking him or her, and I have to go jack off again.”

I laughed. “That's part of being sixteen.”

Marcel leaned back into Robbie and I just looked at them, marveling at the beauty of the scene in front of me. I saw two of the hottest guys I knew, who looked almost like twins, with the older, bigger one behind the smaller, younger one. Robbie raised an eyebrow. He ran his fingers down Marcel's chest and across his abdomen sensually, and looked at me for approval. “So we've been teasing you, taunting you, making you horny?” Robbie asked him in his sultriest tone.

Marcel sighed, and then moaned as Robbie unbuttoned his pants and lowered the zipper. “You need some help, some relief; we might be able to help you out from time to time,” I said. Robbie had Marcel’s dick out now and was gently stroking it. “But you don't fuck us. No fucking, got it?”

“Whatever you say,” Marcel moaned. I smiled at him and moved down, replacing Robbie's hand with my mouth. “Ahhh,” he practically yelled, and shot almost immediately.

I swallowed him, taking his entire load, then smiled up at Robbie as I licked my lips. “He tastes just like you.” Robbie chuckled.

“Thanks,” Marcel said with a smile.

“There's another thing,” I said. “I don't mind helping you out, but it's dangerous to have sex with other people these days. You get into a relationship, or you get into anyone else at all, you let us know. Promise,” I commanded.

“I promise. I should be so lucky,” he joked. “I should go.” With amazing speed, he zipped up his pants and scampered off.

“This probably isn't the smartest idea,” I told Robbie.

“The kid's cute, and he's a little horndog. Maybe we can help him stay on an even keel.” I thought about that. “You said it yourself. It's scary out there. I'd rather have him come to us and let us blow him, or jerk him off, than have him do it with some stranger and catch something.”

“This thing, he cannot come between us. We cannot let anyone do that.” I said, the sincerity, the seriousness in my voice surprised me.

“If it does, we'll stop.” So we fucked on it, sealing a deal that I wasn't too sure about, but I rationalized by telling myself that we were saving Marcel from exposure to people who could infect him with something, even that dread disease.

October 22, 1985

The Louvre

Paris, France

I sat there at the dig, trying to stay out of the way while I spent my time frantically sketching. I'd gone through several sketch pads, already, trying to fill them up with my impressions. I continued to be fascinated not by the dig, although that was interesting, but by the people. My strategy was to take all of my sketches back to my studio in our apartment and spend some time going through them. I earmarked the better ones, and spent my time at home trying to more fully develop them. The picture I had sketched of Emil, the one Marcel had admired, was one of the best, and I had started to turn it into a painting.

I felt a presence behind me, but I was in the middle of capturing a moment, drawing a young lady who was pondering a human bone she’d excavated, and I wanted to get it down. “Your work is interesting,” a voice said, pulling me away from my sketch. I turned and found myself face to face with Dr. Cambronne. I hadn't had any interaction with him since he'd signed off on my pass.

“Thank you,” I said deferentially. “Photographers can capture the facts; I like to focus on the people.”

He sat next to me. “May I see?” he asked.

“But of course, I said, and handed him my sketch pad. He flipped through it carefully, while I looked through the sketches with him. It was inevitable that his entourage would assemble around us, to the point where I almost felt a little claustrophobic.

He paused at one of the many drawings I'd done of him. “You make me look angry in this one,” he said in annoyance. “I am not angry here at the site. This is a labor of love.”

“While this may be your labor of love, you were indeed angry,” I said. “You were upset about the work being done around the fourth bastion.” His entourage gasped, which made me guess that he had a big ego and did not like to be contradicted.

“The work around the fourth bastion was shoddy,” he said, smiling at me. “You’re right, I was angry.” I could almost hear the silent gasps of those around us as they watched this man who was so important, at least in his own mind, admit that he was wrong.

I smiled and flipped ahead a few pages, and gestured to a different sketch. “You were not angry in this sketch,” I noted. “You were in the middle of explaining to visitors from the Ministry the discovery of some ancient coins.”

“That was indeed a much better situation than the fourth bastion,” he said, making me chuckle.

I refocused on the sketch, the one where he was talking to the visitors. “This was such a fun drawing to do,” I exaggerated. “Look at how animated you were. You spoke of the joy you experienced being here at the dig, and your eyes so vividly reelected that.”

“And you, in turn, just as vividly captured it and put it on paper,” he said. “I like your work. Perhaps you would finish one of these for me?”

“Of course,” I said. “It would be an honor. I owe you my thanks for letting me sketch here in the first place.”

“Your instructors at the Sorbonne said you left,” he said, but it was more of an accusation. I was kind of surprised that he’d taken the time to discover that I dropped out.

“That is true,” I said, confirming what he already knew. “I didn't enjoy my time there. My professors told me that my work was flat, and that it lacked both emotion and creativity.” I looked at him, hoping he could see the honesty in my eyes.

“Obviously a different subject matter was what you needed,” he said. “Once you complete your portfolio, we will see if they are willing to admit how wrong they were.”

I laughed at that. “Thank you for your kind words.” He got up to leave, but I was feeling playful, so I stopped him with my words. “Doctor, did you want the completed work to be an impression of you when you were angry, or when you were being more officious.”

Cambronne looked at me and smiled, then he actually laughed. I'd never seen him laugh before, and had gotten the impression that he never did. That was all but confirmed by the amazed expressions of his dig posse. “Neither,” he said, and raised an eyebrow as if to make it a challenge.

I tried to lock the look he’d had when he’d laughed into my brain, and as soon as he moved on, I began to frantically sketch it so I didn’t forget. I focused on trying to remember the way he’d opened his mouth and the way his eyes had twinkled. Throughout the day, he'd catch my eye and smile at me, and put so much charisma into those looks it helped me with my sketch of him.

I paused and considered him not as a distinguished scholar but as a man. He was older than JP, maybe by five or ten years, but the way he looked made that age differential seemed much bigger. Cambronne was older and he looked like it. He struck me as someone who had worked hard and aged hard, yet there was an attractiveness about him that was inherent. His gray hair was clipped short but still managed to have that slightly unkempt look that artists often had. His face was weathered, but in a handsome way. His brown eyes were usually piercing, but could twinkle when he smiled. He wore smocks and jackets that hid a wiry, muscular body. Combining all of those attributes made him into a handsome man, but what made him really attractive was not his appearance, it was his charisma. He carried an attitude or an aura with him that exuded confidence.

JP approached me when he was done for the day. “Are you ready to leave?”

“Go ahead. I'll be home soon. I want to finish up a few things.” Marcel was at JP's side, his normal place, so they took off.

After they were gone, Dr. Cambronne smiled at me then came over and sat next to me. His presence was so dominating, giving off the vibe of the kind of person who was used to getting what he wanted, and usually did. “You are tired of drawing me?”

“Probably not. You are a handsome subject,” I said, flirting a little. He raised an eyebrow and smiled.

“Come to my office,” he said, almost an order. “I want to see your work, but I am tired of the dirt.” I followed him into the palace, through a warren of corridors, until we found his office.

I laid my sketchbook on the table, then he opened it and scanned through my drawings, laughing at some of my work. “You must not show these to my staff. They do not know that I can laugh.” I smiled at him. I'd never been in a situation like this, where I felt so under the spell of another man. I told myself it was just admiration, but I knew the truth was that it was raw sexual attraction.

“You do not mind if I change, do you?” he asked, and started removing his smock.

“Of course not. Maybe I'll sketch you nude.” He raised an eyebrow. He pulled off his jacket next, then his shirt. He had nice muscles for an older guy. I felt myself getting hard as a rock looking at his chest. This attraction wasn't based on his nice body though; it was based on his mind, and the power he wielded. He was watching me as he pulled the shirt completely off. He caught my eyes and smiled knowingly. I was so busted. I thought about getting up to leave but I was too hard for me to do that. I'd be tenting all the way out of the Louvre.

He bent over to untie his shoes, bringing his face within a foot of mine. I could smell his body odor, the scent of a man who had been working all day. It was intoxicating. Then he untied the other shoe, getting even closer, so close a small move on either one of our parts would have brought our lips together.

He stood up and unbuckled his pants and pulled them down. He was standing in front of me, and there was no mistaking the bulge in his boxers. I swallowed nervously and tried to think of Robbie, but I couldn't. I was totally under Cambronne’s spell, his influence.

Our eyes met as he lowered his boxers, his hard dick springing out almost right in front of my face. It was six inches, I thought as I mentally measured it, and really thick. I felt my mouth open as I moved forward, felt my lips touch the head, and heard him moan. He pulled my mouth onto his dick and held me in place while he pumped his dick in and out of my mouth, fucking my face. I used my hands to cup his ass, which was still remarkably tight and fit, and ran them up and down his body.

I heard him grunting as he got closer to his orgasm, and then, without warning, he exploded in my mouth. I tasted his essence, which was pretty tart and kind of unpleasant, but swallowed obviously just to be sexy.

“Thank you very much,” he said, and rubbed my head as if I were a dog. “That was quite a nice way to end my day. It has been a long time.”

“It was fun,” I said, then grimaced. “My boyfriend would not appreciate me doing it, but I had a good time.”

“Well, we will not tell him,” he said succinctly. I wasn’t surprised that a guy with an ego as big as his wouldn’t worry about my lack of faithfulness to my boyfriend. “Maybe you can come see me again?”

Every bone in my body told me to say no, but it was like my mouth didn’t hear a thing I was telling it. “Maybe,” I said with a smile. I stood up and he reached down and massaged my hard dick.

“Next time, I want to see you.” He kissed me gently, then I left, almost running to the nearest bathroom to jerk one out. With that pressure relieved, I headed out of the Louvre. It was a nice day so I decided to walk home, enjoying the brisk fall air.

As soon as I started my stroll, I got really upset. An objective observer would have probably guessed it was because I felt guilty for cheating on Robbie, but that person would be wrong. I was bothered because while I should have felt that guilt, I didn't. I couldn't figure out why. Why wasn’t I overcome with knowing I’d betrayed Robbie? I knew it was wrong. How would I feel if he had done this? What if he'd blown one of his professors? I thought about that carefully and realized that it didn't really bother me at all. It didn't bother me when he blew Marcel. It didn't even bother me when Marcel blew him. Shouldn't it?

I dug deep, trying to decide if my lack of guilt was because I loved him less. I analyzed my feelings and realized that I loved him just as much, if not more than I had before I’d cheated on him. This was maddening, because this should really bother me, and it didn’t. It was only when I was almost back to the apartment that I finally got an epiphany. I realized that I loved Robbie with all of my heart, and that nothing would change that. This had just been a quick encounter based on what was purely physical attraction. It was a meaningless sexual release.

My mind moved on to the next question: whether I should tell Robbie about it. If it was no big deal, why wouldn’t I tell him? I tried to rationalize it in my quest to find an excuse not to tell him. If I told him, it might hurt him, and I didn’t want to do that. I let that gel in my brain, then discounted it. I owed it to him to be honest, and if I didn’t, that secret would sit there and could ultimately erode our relationship. It would bother me, and I would act differently, and worst of all, I could end up taking the irritation I felt with myself and unfairly lash out at Robbie.

I got home and headed to the bedroom where I found Marcel nude, sprawled across my bed, with Robbie, completely naked, blowing him. I smiled at the sight of these two hot guys going at it and stripped off my clothes, going up to Marcel and shoving my dick in his face. He'd grown into an accomplished cocksucker, and he liked the challenge of taking me. I stroked Robbie's hair as Marcel blew me, then pulled my dick out of Marcel's mouth and moved up to Robbie's ass. I slipped on a condom, lubed it up, then entered him slowly, feeling my way into his ass. I heard him moan as I entered him, and saw Marcel's eyes bulge. He loved to watch us fuck. I locked my eyes onto Marcel's and held them as he came, shooting his load down Robbie's throat.

When they were done, I pulled out of Robbie and rolled him over onto his back and plunged into him again, taking him on a great ride. Marcel moved down and started sucking on Robbie's dick, all the while staring at my pubes as I fucked him. In no time at all, Robbie blew too. I wasn't done, but I met Robbie’s eyes and he gave me permission to keep going so I pounded away a little while longer until I exploded too. Marcel scampered out and headed to his room, leaving us alone.

I snuggled up to Robbie, with my head on my chest. His hands lovingly stroked my hair while I felt his sexy body underneath me, and that should have made me happy and content, but it didn’t. This was what I had been worried about. I could already feel the distance between us. I could not keep my encounter with Cambronne from him. I could not keep this secret.

I moved so I was laying on my side next to him, locked my eyes on him, and swallowed hard before taking the plunge. “I fucked up today.”

“What happened?” he asked, worried about me. That was like a stake in my heart, because his first reaction was to jump to my defense. I felt like a total piece of shit, one that didn’t deserve him at all. All my introspection had convinced me that I wasn’t guilty, only now the guilt erupted in me like a dam had broken. It was unexpected and I hadn’t had a chance to brace myself, so the end result was a cascade of tears. “What happened? Tell me. It will be alright.” His words only made things worse.

I was at the abyss, and I knew I had to tell him, but I couldn’t. I lay there for a second, wondering how he’d react, if he’d forgive me or hate me. In my mind, those were the only two reasonable outcomes. He stared at me, his loving gaze, and I finally overcame the agony. “I blew Dr. Cambronne.” My internal knots had somehow transformed that into a cold, almost defiant statement.

“You did what?” he asked. He was surprised, very irritated, and a little pissed off, but at least he wasn’t irate. Yet.

“I blew Dr. Cambronne,” I said, like I was a zombie in a trance. “He’s the guy who's running the dig at the Louvre.”

“You blew your boss,” he concluded, shaking his head in disgust.

“I don’t really know if you could call him my boss, since I’m not officially working there. All I do is sketch people,” I said, but he stared at me, dismissing my excuses. I sighed and caved. “Inasmuch as he’s my boss, yeah, I blew him.”

“How's that supposed to make me feel?” he asked. The surprise had worn off, and his anger had grown. I knew we were at a very dangerous tipping point in this conversation.

“It's supposed to piss you off,” I said honestly. “I betrayed your trust and my commitment to you. You're supposed to be mad at me.”

“You want me to be mad at you?” he asked, full of outrage.

“I do,” I said. “You have every right to be. I fucked up and I did something I shouldn't have done. I didn't do it to hurt you. Shit, I don't know why I did it at all. It was like I was under some sort of spell. One minute I'm showing him my sketches, the next minute his dick is in my mouth.”

“Don't you love me anymore?” he asked.

“Of course I love you,” I said, and now it was my turn to be totally alarmed. “I love you so much it hurts.”

He grinned slightly, but he wasn’t ready to stop being mad at me yet. “Yeah, it really seems that way,” he said in a snarky way.

“Robbie, I totally fucked up, but that doesn’t change how I feel. I still love you. I love you completely,” I said, almost in desperation.

“I don’t know what to think about this,” he said, which didn’t surprise me, because I didn’t know what to think about it either.

“I knew this would hurt you so I thought about not telling you. I thought that maybe I could just hide it, but I can't do that. You know me so well you can feel my soul. You'd know there was something wrong, and it would create a distance between us,” I said. “That cannot happen.”

He grappled with that, then scrunched up his face and nodded. “You’re right. I could already feel it as soon as you were done fucking me.” It was uncanny that I’d had the same reaction.

“I'm telling you now so you can be pissed at me and do whatever you need to do to get over this. You can tell me what I have to do to make things right, and I’ll do it,” I said earnestly. “The only thing that isn’t negotiable here is that whatever I need to do, in the end you have to forgive me so we can put this behind us and move forward together.”

He nodded, and said nothing. “I'm not sure how I feel about this,” he said.

I looked up at him, horrified. “You'll forgive me, won't you?” I started to panic but he put his finger on my lips to shut me up.

“Yeah, I'll forgive you,” he said, which was such a relief I lunged forward and hugged him, hanging on to him as if my life depended on it. We finally broke our embrace, and he swallowed hard before going on, which damn near freaked me out all over again. “I forgive you, but I just don't know how I feel about it,” he said.

“I don’t understand,” I said.

“I should be angrier, but I'm not,” he said. “What does that mean?”

“I'll tell you what it meant to me,” I said resolutely. “It meant nothing. Absolutely nothing, It was just some weird thing that happened, that I let happen.”

“Did you feel guilty afterward?” he asked.

I sighed, because now he’d dived into my soul, and I was going to have to expose all of my warped thinking on this. “Not until I was here with you.”

“You didn’t even feel bad that this would upset me?” he asked, back to being outraged.

“I didn’t say I didn’t feel bad, I said I didn’t feel guilty,” I said. “I was confused by that as much as you are.”

“Well, this could mean that we don't love each other like we used to. Maybe we just aren't as committed as we were,” he said. He saw me valiantly try to bite back the tears at the thought of that. I was such a fucking emotional basket case. Just before I lost it, he spoke again. “I don't think that's the case though.”

“You don't?” If this conversation went on like this much longer, the only way I’d be able to save my psyche was to pass out.

“You do?” he asked, teasing me, and with that, all of my worries flew out the window. If he could tease me about it, I knew that he would forgive me and that we’d be fine. As my agony abated, the smile on my face grew. I had to force my glee aside and continue this conversation.

“No, I don't,” I said. “As far as I’m concerned, that’s not the case at all.”

“Another explanation is that maybe a blow job is not a big deal,” he said. “Maybe what we have is way bigger than that, and that’s why it doesn’t matter.”

“I was walking back from the Louvre, grappling with this, and I came to two conclusions,” I said. I was relaxed now that he wasn’t going to dump me, and that brought back my more logical self. I was so happy that person was in charge again.

“Tell me about these two conclusions,” he said, acting like my ideas would be crap.

“I wrestled with this and came up with the same answer you did,” I said. “Oral sex, especially meaningless oral sex, had no real impact on my feelings toward you or our relationship.”

“Sounds pretty smart, especially since you agreed with me,” he joked. “What’s the second thing?”

“That as awful as it would be, I had to tell you about it,” I said.

“I don’t think I reacted badly,” he said defensively, because I’d implied that he’d been an asshole.

“Baby, you have been awesome,” I said. “You have to understand that it wasn’t your reaction that was awful; it was that I had to upset you that made it so bad.”

“I can see that,” he said. “Besides, soon you may be having to forgive me for fucking up.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Since you haven't sketched those elevations for me like you promised, I may have to blow my professors just to make it through this semester.”

I kissed him and was elated to feel how strong our love was. “Let's talk about erections now, and then we'll get to those elevations later.” He snaughed, then rolled me over and made love to me.

We lay there afterward, enjoying another round of post-orgasmic bliss, only this was so much better because the separation we’d felt had been eliminated. “I don't care if you blow him or not.”

“You don't care?” I asked.

“No. I don't.”

“That worries me,” I told him.

“Why? You act like you want me to be all pissed off at you,” he said, exasperated.

“No, it worries me because of where we've been. Remember back in high school? When you fucked up with Gary,” he cringed and his brows furrowed, “and then I fucked up by not forgiving you, and for not agreeing to be monogamous?” He relaxed and knew where I was going.

“So what do you want?” he asked.

I thought about it, and made a decision that was completely opposite of what he expected. “Marcel. We can blow him, and that's it.”

“Really?” He looked at me. “You're not going to blow Cambronne again?”

“Not even if it costs me my pass,” I said. “I fucked up. I won't do that again.”

“Works for me. Now can we work on those elevations?” I laughed, and spent the evening doing some kick-ass renderings for his plans.

November 19, 1985

Paris, France

I read the paper even though I really wasn’t all that interested in the news, acknowledging internally that I was just using that as an excuse to avoid starting my day. Reagan and Gorbachev were meeting in Geneva today for the first time. Maybe they'd get along and ease the tensions in the world. Maybe there would be world peace. It seemed pretty unlikely, but it was possible.

I’d been avoiding the dig, relying on the sketches I had to create paintings or drawings. I'd gone back the day after our first encounter and Cambronne had made it obvious that he was planning for another round, and that made me really uncomfortable. I’d dealt with the situation by staying away from it. Unfortunately, I was facing a pretty big dilemma. I’d left three of my sketch pads at the dig, and those contained my best drawings. I was torn between just leaving them there, but I thought they were really good, and I wanted to try to transform them into more meaningful art. I’d finally resolved to go back to the dig today for the last time and get my sketchbooks, resolved to do my best to avoid interacting with Cambronne. I got ready to go and as I looked in the mirror, I frowned, because I hadn’t really taken great pains with my appearance. It was like I wanted to look ugly.

My plan to avoid Dr. Cambronne was short circuited as soon as I got to the dig and he spotted me. He ambled over to me, with his entourage following a few yards behind him. “Brad, it is good to see you. You haven't been around.” His words were friendly to everyone else, but sounded accusatory to me.

“I know,” I said, trying not to sound nervous. “I've gotten so much material from my sketchbooks that I needed to work on fleshing them out. I just came by today to get the books that I left here.”

“They are in my office,” he said. “I'll be happy to take you to get them.”

“You don’t have to do that,” I objected. “You can just send someone to help me get them.”

“Nonsense,” he said. I swallowed hard then followed him through the corridors. He opened the door to his office and invited me in, then shut it firmly behind us.

“You have been avoiding me,” he said in an accusatory way.

“I have been,” I admitted. “I knew that if I was around you, I would find you to be almost irresistible, and I can’t risk that.” I was hoping that my appeals to his ego would work, but they didn’t.

He moved toward me, then behind me. I felt his hands on my chest and his mouth on my neck. “Is it asking too much for you to make me happy one more time?” I was so frozen it was as if I were a statue. His hands roamed across my body until they landed on my crotch, where he grabbed my dick. “The idea appeals to you, I see.”

“It does appeal to me, but I cannot cheat on my boyfriend again,” I said.

My words had no effect on him as his hands began to stroke my cock through my pants. I moaned, and almost gave into him, when I finally got my self-control back. I spotted my sketch pads and that propelled me into action. I made a quick movement that let me break away from him, I grabbed my sketch pads, and was about to open the door to flee when someone knocked on it. I was elated because when another person came into the room, I would be able to escape.

“Professor Cambronne?” I heard Marcel ask. Just before I opened the door, I glanced back at Cambronne to see him glaring at me. I was almost physically assaulted by the hate and anger in his eyes.

Marcel came in and looked worried until he noticed my tenting pants, then glanced over and saw a similar reaction in Cambronne’s crotch. “Did I interrupt something?” Marcel asked coquettishly while he looked at Cambronne with his ‘fuck me’ eyes.

Cambronne seemed to see Marcel for the first time, and it was obvious from his expression that he appreciated Marcel's beauty. “Perhaps,” he said slyly, and squeezed his hard cock. “But Brad was unable to help me out.”

“Perhaps I can fill in for him,” Marcel said, moving up to Cambronne with a sensuality I'd never seen him display before. He fell to his knees in front of Cambronne and unzipped his zipper. Then Cambronne's cock was out, and Cambronne was fucking Marcel's mouth, just as he’d fucked mine. I swallowed hard, lust surging through me as I watched Marcel work his dick. I made eye contact with Cambronne. He was clearly overcome with the pleasure Marcel was giving him, but he pulled himself out of his blissful state long enough to wink at me. I took that opportunity to all but flee from his office, pausing to remember to close the door behind me. I went to the same bathroom I’d used to beat off after my last encounter with Cambronne, but I was too freaked out to do that. Instead, I just waited until my erection wasn’t noticeable, then I left the Louvre.

I walked away feeling relieved that I’d managed to escape fucking around with Cambronne, happy that I’d honored my commitment to Robbie this time. It bothered me that Marcel was with Cambronne, who was so much older than him, but I decided that even though Marcel was young, he was very smart. He knew what he was doing, and if he got into trouble, I'd step in and help him out.

I got back to the apartment and found Robbie still in bed. “You're not going to class today?” I asked, even as I started to take off my clothes.

He smiled at me. “You said you'd be right back, so I waited for you.”

“You waited for me in bed, naked?” I teased.

“Yep.” He looked at me, worried. “You see Cambronne?”

“Yeah, I had to,” I said. “My sketch pads were in his office.”

“Did you blow him again?” He was making it sound like it was no big deal because he was trying to give me an out if I fucked up. It just made me love him that much more.

“No,” I said, and leaned in and kissed him. “He tried though. Felt me up, had me hard as a rock.”

“But you resisted?” Robbie asked. He was totally relaxed about this, probably because I’d just told him nothing happened.

“Yeah, I did,” I said. “He just has this way about him that makes it hard to say no. I could take all the credit for being strong, but I was saved when someone knocked on the door, and then came into his office.”

“A different victim eh?” he said, shaking his head at Cambronne. “Do you know the guy who took your place?”

“I do, and so do you,” I said. He gave me a really curious look at that revelation. “Marcel was the one who replaced me in Cambronne’s affections.”

He looked at me and laughed. “He snaked your older man away, eh?”

“Yeah,” I said. “When I left he was on the floor, blowing Cambronne.”

“He didn’t waste any time,” Robbie said.

I had been pretty focused on this conversation, because the whole experience with Cambronne had been pretty intense, but I saw the twinkle in his eye and realized there was something else going on. “What?” I asked.

“I want you to make love to me,” he said.

“OK.” I said simply, making him chuckle.

I joined him in bed and our lips met first, fueling our passion, as our bodies smashed together, thrusting against each other, frotting so hot and heavy that the friction alone threatened to bring me off. I broke away from him and Robbie moved his body, giving me access to his hole, but keeping me on top of him. This was probably my favorite way to make love to Robbie, because my dick was big enough that I could lie on top of him, he could wrap his legs around me, and I could fuck him like a chick. I went to grab a condom but he stopped me. “Don’t use one,” he said.

“We need to be safe, baby,” I said.

“Not any more,” he said, grinning like an idiot. “I retested again. I’m negative.” I grinned back at him, grabbed the lube again, and then entered him.

“God, I missed this, feeling your skin against mine, your ass wrapped around my dick with nothing in between us,” I said. He felt so good, I was in heaven. He moaned, a high pitched whimper, and thrust with me.

“Me too. I love feeling you, just you in me. God, I love this,” he said, throwing his head back, exposing his throat to me. I sucked on his neck, giving him some massive hickeys, and giggling as I did, while we made love. And then when I came, it felt like I flooded his ass with my load. There was something incredibly erotic about feeling my cum shoot straight out of my dick and right into his ass. Whether the feeling was real or imagined was irrelevant. It was intimate and intense.

It had been six long months since he'd cut ties with Neil. Now, being able to have sex with my boyfriend without using a condom completed the cycle. That horrible chapter in our relationship was finally closed.