The Land Whore - 17. Chapter 17

June 8, 1973

“Roger!” I said and ran over to hug him. I'm not sure if I was putting on my act or if I was genuinely happy to see him. “What a surprise! What brings you to Paris?”

“I need to talk to you,” he said seriously.

“Well I get back in town tomorrow night. Could you not have waited until then?”

“No.”

He was clearly very upset. “Let us go for a walk. It is a lovely evening.”

JP really looked nervous about that. He was so protective. “I'll be alright,” I told him in French. “I'm going to go to the cafe, then maybe to the courtyard of the Louvre.”

He nodded. “Do not let on about your research,” he said back to me in French. “Even if he tells you what is going on, you can use it to corroborate his info.”

Roger was even more agitated that we were speaking a language that he didn't understand, but that was too bad. Still, I thought I'd try and make him feel better. “Sorry. Force of habit. I've been in Paris for a week now and we've all lapsed completely into French.”

We walked along the Rue Rivoli, past the cafe, and to the courtyard of the Louvre. It was well-lit, and having the huge palace surrounding me made me feel stronger, more balanced. Roger didn't say anything until we got there.

“I lied to you. I deceived you. And it's killing me.” There were tears flowing down his cheeks. Roger didn't cry.

“And how did you do this?”

“Bobby isn't just a hired hand.” Ah. So there it is.

“He is your boyfriend,” I said bitterly.

“No, he is my brother.”

Brother? “I did not know that you had a brother?”

Roger nodded. “He's my half brother. He looks younger than me, but he's actually older. He's 26. He's my father's kid from a fling he had before he married my mother.” We sat there quietly for awhile. I understood his pattern. Momentous statements followed by a period of introspection, or perhaps a chance to gird himself for the next round.

There was a lot to digest in that statement. First of all, it made Roger's plot to try and weasel the winery out of me more plausible. It would make sense that a disinherited grandson would be angry and would try to get something out of it. But he had let Bobby fuck him, his own brother. Incest. That was pretty fucked up.

“He came to see me right before you met him. Told me you'd screwed me over on the sale of the land. He had all kinds of numbers to prove it, even did a spreadsheet. He said we had to get back what was rightfully ours.” He paused for a minute, getting his breath.

“He wanted to get back the winery and split it between us. I told him that I was trying to negotiate for half of it. He got pissed off at me, said that wasn't good enough, and that if I only got back half of it that that half should be his. Since he didn't fuck up and make such a bad deal, he said.”

“Why not just come talk to me?” I asked. “Have I ever treated you unfairly? If I screwed you over, it was an accident, and I'd fix it.”

He was silent, but the tears were flowing even harder. It was hard not to feel sorry for him.

“He's always dominated me, beaten me down. Ever since I was a kid. It's become a habit I guess. It used to be physically. Now he uses his words and his schemes, and....” he stopped and just put his head in his hands.

I couldn't stand it. I couldn't stand to see him in such pain. I moved closer and put my arm around him and pulled him to me. He sunk into my embrace for a minute, and then recoiled away. “No! I don't deserve your friendship, and I certainly don't deserve your love.”

I pulled him back. “It is OK Roger. I do not hate you. Go on.” He let me hold him with my arm around him.

“He fucks me,” he said quietly.

So that was it. It wasn't about sex, or love. When Bobby fucked him, it was all about dominance. It was essentially rape. But he had to admit it. “I thought you did not like to be fucked?”

“I don't. I mean, I like the way it feels, but it just makes me feel so horrible inside. He uses that. Tells me I'm a disgusting faggot. Makes me beg him to fuck me. And I do it. I don't know why. I just do. And then when it's over I feel like shit, like I want to curl up and die. And he just sneers at me.”

“Roger, this is a form of abuse. It is like the woman whose husband beats her but she still stays with him. It is a cycle you must break.”

He nodded, and there was another long pause. “I know. It's been this way since I was little. He told me that my dad did it to him, so it was only fair that he got to do it to me.” He gulped. “I know it seems ridiculous, it sounds so stupid when I talk about it. I've never told anyone about it, not before now.”

I thought about the truly fucked up guys that I'd known. Guys like Jeff, that had such a crappy childhood that he ultimately imploded and overdosed on heroin. Or guys like Jason, who spent their whole lives trying to overcome it, sometimes winning, sometimes not. Being with him would be a wild ride for anyone. I wasn't sure if I was up to that.

“So after he fucked you, we had a big fight. It got physical, and I actually kicked his ass. That felt so good.” He grinned at that. I ignored the reference to me and Bobby, and he got somber again. “He said he could tell I was in love with you and that I was too big of an idiot to pull this off. He figured that he'd just do it himself. I just couldn't let him do that to you, what he'd done to me.”

I was softening. I tried not to, but I couldn't help it. I hugged him tighter, a gesture of support, and he dissolved into tears again. He pulled himself together. “He came back with some guy after you left to come here. Said it was his boyfriend. Big guy. I wasn't sure if I could take both of them. Told me to forget it, they'd just work things out themselves. I didn't really think anything about it. I figured that when you got back I'd tell you all about it, and that you could handle those dirt bags. I guess if I was a real man I would have handled it for you, but I never was good at dealing with Bobby. He's like my Achilles heel.”

“So what made you fly to Paris?” I asked.

“I went to the office to meet with Luke, just an ordinary meeting, and I saw his boyfriend there. He works for you. Phillipe Carbonneau. I didn't know what they were up to, or what was going on, but I had to tell you. I owe you that much, that little bit.”

He sobbed now, really sobbed. There were a few other people in the courtyard and they just stared at us, but I ignored them. I looked at the Louvre, the awesome buildings that had housed the kings of France and now held the treasures of a nation. A building cobbled together over time. Maybe people are like that, cobbled together by their experiences. “Stefan, after Jimmy, I thought I'd never be able to love again. And then I met you, and you are everything to me. I didn't realize it until it was too late. I am so sorry. So sorry. But at least, I thought, if I told you about them before you came home, maybe you could stop them. It is the least, the very least I can do.”

And then he broke down completely. I wrapped both of my arms around him and let him cry and cry. I looked up to see someone staring at us and realized it was a gendarme. “Is everything alright here?” he asked in an inquisitive yet slightly rude manner.

“My friend just flew in from America to tell me that he lost his brother. He is a bit distraught.” The cop mellowed and nodded.

“I am sorry to hear that,” he said, and moved on.

“What did you say to him?” Roger asked. I told him and he nodded. It was true. His brother was lost to him now. And good riddance.

“Do you hate me now? You should you know. On the flight over here I kept thinking that if I tell you all this, and you just don't hate me, then it was worth it. Worth the trip.”

I searched my feelings. “I do not hate you Roger. You have been honest with me, so I will be honest with you. I feel betrayed and hurt, but I have strong feelings for you. I am not sure when the betrayal and hurt fades if I will still feel the same way, but I am sure that when all is said and done, there will at least be a way for us to be friends.”

“You mean it? You think you might be able to forgive me enough that we could still be friends?” His whole mood had changed and he was like a little boy whose father had said they might go get some candy. He had hope.

“Yeah, I think we can. You have to give me time to work through this, and you're going to have to come back with me and talk to JP about this.”

He really got apprehensive. “I don't know if I can do that.”

“He is a very special person to me, the one I trust the most. He will need to help me through this.” He digested all that was in that statement and finally nodded, and we headed back to the hotel.

The sitting room was dark. The boys had gone to bed, and JP apparently had too. I led Roger into the bedroom and found JP sitting up in bed reading the paper. He was still dressed. I smiled. I knew him so well. He was worried to death about me.

“You are back. Good,” he said.

“I need your help yet again,” I said. “Roger has told me some things and I'm not sure how to handle them.”

“I will do anything to help you, you know that,” he said casually. There were two corpses to prove that, I thought grimly. “Tell me about these things Roger.”

I started to explain to JP, but he stopped me. “I want Roger to tell me.” He wasn't doing this to make Roger suffer, I discerned, he was doing this so he could evaluate for himself how sincere Roger was. JP knew that my judgment was likely to be cloudy when it came to him.

Roger went through the story again, and having told it once he was a little more stable, but not much. JP nodded a lot and said very little. He gave me a dirty look when he found out I'd fucked Bobby. He already knew about Phillipe. So sue me. I'm a slut.

“Roger, you are exhausted, both physically and emotionally. I think it would be unwise for you to fly back tomorrow, and I also think it would be unwise for you to stay in Paris alone. I have an idea.” He stopped for a second to fully formulate his plan or just to keep us on edge; I didn't really know which.

“Stefan, why don't the two of you stay in Paris for a few days? I'll take the boys back tomorrow. And then, if you want me to, I will handle these two while you are gone.”

Roger just looked to me. He was totally dependent on me for guidance. I thought about Peter, who was so weak, so easily influenced, and how I'd lost respect for him. It wasn't like that with Roger. Yes he'd betrayed me, or thought about it, but in the end he'd come clean. His weakness was with his brother. Somehow, that made him more human: a crack in his armor. I knew I'd forgive him, and I knew that once I did I'd still care about him, maybe even still love him. JP was giving me a chance to stay in Paris with him and figure that out, to have some time alone to sort through our relationship.

But he was also telling me that if I wanted him to handle Bobby and Phillipe, he was going to do it his way. And that was just a little scary. I knew that Roger had no idea how brutal JP could be when it came to defending his family. One choice would be to go back and handle things myself. That was the hard choice, and it left Roger and me with no time to resolve things. The other was to let JP handle things, and possibly accept more casualties. I made the choice.

“If you're OK with that plan Roger, I think it would be good for us to stay here for a few days. Besides, you have not even seen Paris yet.” I smiled at him and he positively beamed.

“Well, you two have a while to enjoy your vacation. I have to get up early and fly home. I'll go sleep on the couch,” JP said, starting to get up.

“If anyone sleeps on the couch it will be me,” Roger said forcefully, some of his old self peeking through. “But if you guys don't mind, I'd like it if we could all be together. I feel pretty drained, and pretty lonely.”

JP actually smiled at him. “I'd like that too, but only if you take a shower.”

Roger chuckled and headed to the bathroom, leaving us alone.

“I feel bad that once again I am dumping my problems at your feet. I feel like a fool, totally helpless.”

“Nonsense. Who went to Claremont to back me up just a few weeks ago? In our own special way, you and I are partners, a team,” he said, making me smile and putting me on Cloud Nine. He lowered his voice. “He seems sincere. I think you should keep an open mind about him.”

“You are telling me I should give him a second chance?” That was incredible coming from JP.

“It seems that not too long ago someone stormed into my room and lectured me on letting pride get in the way of a good relationship. It was good advice.” I smiled and hugged him.

“Thank you for handling those two. I will not question your motives or the results,” I told him, “but try to keep the body count to a minimum.” He stared at me for a few seconds until he realized that I was joking, and then he laughed.

June 9, 1973

We woke up the next morning in the same positions that we'd been in when we fell asleep. Roger was in the middle flat on his back while JP and I cuddled up to him on either side. We hadn't had sex last night and I found that I wasn't in the mood for it this morning either. Now there was a first. Last night had just been so emotionally exhausting for all of us; all I wanted to do was sleep.

That was not in the cards though. We all got up and I explained to the boys that I was staying for a few extra days in Paris with Roger. They were jealous and wanted to stay too, but JP's temper was frayed and he put that to rest quickly. We rushed around finishing up their packing.

“Is Roger your boyfriend?” Brad asked me as I zipped up his suitcase.

“In a way. We are good friends.”

“Do you have sex with him?” he asked.

I'd told him to be open with me, so I felt I owed it to him to reciprocate. “Yes.” He grinned. I hugged him tightly. “I love you Brad.”

“I love you too Uncle Stefan,” he said. Then he blew my mind. “Someday I want a boyfriend as cute as Roger.” And then he scampered off before I could say anything else.

The hour or so of pandemonium faded as soon as the boys and JP left. I arranged for us to stay in the hotel room for a few more days, and then we went back to bed.

Last night had worn me out, so I just passed out, cherishing the oblivion that sleep brought. I didn't wake up until close to noon, and then the only thing that brought me back to the real world was the feeling of Roger's big, calloused hand gently stroking my hair and my face. I luxuriated in the feel of his touch, of his soft body beneath me. I moved my hand across his broad chest and grazed his nipple with my finger tips.

“You're awake,” he said, and stopped stroking my hair as if he was busted doing something wrong.

“I am,” I said, moving my mouth to his chest to kiss his other nipple. I heard him take in a deep breath and I giggled. I knew he liked this. He moved away from me. “What's the matter?” I asked.

“I don't deserve you,” he said.

I moved my mouth up to his ear. “Roger, do not be that way,” I whispered in my sluttiest voice. “I want you, my body yearns for you. Satisfy me.” I brushed my leg across his hard cock and moved my mouth onto his. I kissed him gently at first, then more forcefully. I didn't get a reaction, or at least not much of one, and I was starting to get a little irked, when suddenly a switch went on and he turned into the animal I craved.

“God I missed you,” he growled. “I missed your body.” He moved his mouth down my chest, making those growling sounds as he went, until he got to my dick and enveloped it. The growl reverberated against my cock as his mouth worked me, and the sensation was so pleasant I just lay back, my hands behind my head, and enjoyed it.

Then he moved off my dick and sucked on my balls, moving lower and lower until he was nuzzling against my taint. I moaned and spread my legs to give him complete access, and then his mouth hit my pucker and started to work my hole, and that just set me free. I grabbed my calves, pulling my legs up to give him complete access. He was driving me crazy.

“Roger, make love to me,” I begged. “Please, please fuck me.” He moved up to me, a smile on his face and a crazed look in his eyes and lubed himself up. He moved the head of his dick up to my hole and entered me slowly. He moved in so slowly, so tantalizingly slow, that my whole body seemed to focus on my ass like a lens, enjoying the sensation of having him inside me.

And then he started to fuck me. He went nuts. He pounded me, savoring my body like a man stranded in the desert would savor a drink of water. Our eyes met and we connected, that connection that I could only get with men that I really cared about, men that I was willing to not only let into my ass, but into my head as well. We shouldn't have lasted as long as we did, we were both horny with pent up lust for each other, but he made it last, stringing it out until we could stand it no more, and then we exploded. It was an explosion of fusion, not fission, and it was beautiful.

He collapsed on top of me; this big heavy guy sprawled across my body pinning me down. It felt great. We panted in unison until we caught our breath, and then I ran my fingers through his hair. I felt something wet on my chest and realized he was crying.

“You are sad?” I asked.

“I' m happy and sad at the same time.”

“That must be confusing,” I joked.

He looked up at me and grinned, and moved up so his head was next to mine. I kissed his tears away. “I'm so happy that I'm with you. I dream about you and being with you, and it's been so long. But I'm sad that I've ruined our relationship.”

“You have not ruined our relationship. You have put it in jeopardy, but you have not ruined it. Right now, I feel love for you, a genuine surge of love, but you must give me time to work through what has happened.” He smiled and nodded. “Let's do this. Let's spend the next week here in Europe and just focus on enjoying ourselves and being together.”

“That sounds amazing. It sounds like a dream come true.” I dragged him off to the shower for another round of amazing sex, and then took him out to see Paris.

June 12, 1973

I hung up the phone after a brief and cryptic conversation with JP. “What did he say?” asked Roger impatiently.

“He said he's got everything under control, and that we're not allowed to come home until Saturday.” We stared at each other and smiled. The last few days had been great. We had been totally absorbed in each other, and had explored Paris, the most romantic city in the world, with a new view. I had fallen in love with him all over again.

It surprised me how fast I was able to do that, but I have never been able to carry a grudge. If someone wrongs me and sincerely apologizes, there is no reason to carry animosity toward them. It merely pollutes my soul. But I had not only fallen in love with him again, I was starting to trust him again, and while that was safe to do here in Europe, I'd have to be more careful when I got back home.

“I'm bored,” I said, apropos of nothing.

“With me?” he asked nervously.

“No you idiot. You are my exciting sex beast.” He snaughed, and I smiled at the gesture, no longer linking it to Jeff as I had in the past. “I'm bored with Paris.”

“How can you be bored with Paris?” he asked. “I love this city.”

“I do too, but I want to see something that's new to me as well.”

“OK, where do you want to go?”

“Where do you want to go?” I asked. I figured that we'd play this game, this back and forth of indecision, but I was wrong.

“Rome,” he said in his assertive, decisive tone. I smiled. Italy. I'd never been there, but the thought of being in Rome with Roger suddenly seemed irresistible.

“Great idea.” I grabbed my suitcase and started packing up our stuff.

“Right now?” he asked.

“Sure, why not. Let's go.” I loved being spontaneous, plus I had a really fun idea. I booked us on a train to Rome. We'd have to make a few train changes, but I was able to get a big sleeper compartment for the whole trip.

We spent the entire trip in our compartment, fucking and gazing out at the countryside as it whizzed past. I could not get enough of him. I was insatiable, and so was he.

Almost immediately, Rome approached Paris in the rating scales of my favorite city. The Italians were such fun and friendly people, and the food and wine was unbelievable. We toured the city; saw the ruins of the forum, the Pantheon, the Trevi fountain, the Spanish steps, all of the things you are supposed to see. We even went to the Vatican. Roger had been raised as a Baptist so he was sure it was a sin to even go in. Such thoughts did not bother me, although I did wonder if my level of debauchery would cause the whole edifice of St. Peter's to fall on top of me. I giggled at the thought that I was no worse than many of the Popes.

We got familiar with the city and explored more deeply, visiting the same restaurants in our neighborhood and making acquaintances among the locals. I truly regretted boarding the plane on Saturday. I felt so balanced, so happy, so relaxed, and so fulfilled. God only knew what waited for me back home, but I felt like I was restored enough to handle just about anything.

It seemed that the closer the plane got to San Francisco, the more uptight Roger got. I dragged him to the bathroom and initiated him into the mile high club and even that didn't calm him down. “What's wrong?” I finally asked, frustrated.

“I'm worried that things will change when we get home. I love you so much, I really do Stef. This last week has been like heaven.”

“I love you too Roger, but you are right, things will change. But unless you have not been completely honest with me, my feelings for you will not waver.”

“You know everything now.”

“I have learned a lot about myself on this trip, both before and after you got here. I learned that I can love someone deeply, but I have room in my heart for more than one person. I can be with one person and enjoy them completely, but I could never limit myself to a monogamous relationship. It is just not me. I crave the excitement, the pleasure, the thrill of new people and of sex.”

I paused, thinking about what I had just said, perhaps realizing these things about myself for the first time. “I am not sure why anyone would want to be in a relationship with me. I sound so selfish and uncaring. I guess I am.”

“Oh bullshit,” Roger said. “I want to be with you. I know how you are. I know that you fuck around with other guys, and that you have feelings for some of them. But I figure if you love me more than them, and if I satisfy you more than them, then I have your heart as surely as a married man has his wife's.”

I smiled. He understood me and accepted me for who I am. Is that really possible? Was this just a facade, an act, like before? Was he doing this just to achieve his goal of getting back his vineyard and his winery? There really was only one way to tell, and I'd deal with that when I got back. In the meantime, I decided to take him at face value and enjoy him. I put my head on his shoulder and was about to drift off to sleep when I remembered something, something important.

“There is one other thing that you must do, both for yourself, and for me.”

“What?” he asked suspiciously.

“You must get some help to deal with all of this, with your past.”

“You mean like a shrink?”

“That's exactly what I mean,” I said firmly.

“I can handle this myself, with your help,” he said, trying to suck me in to that trap.

“No you cannot. Listen to me, I have been with guys like you who have had fucked up pasts, tough pasts. They kept the baggage with them and it turned our relationship into an emotional roller coaster. That is a ride I'm not willing to take. It would be too painful to me personally, and it would be painful to see you endure it as well.”

“This isn't negotiable is it?” he asked with a smile and I knew I'd won this round.

“No it is not.”

“So if I go to therapy I get to be your boyfriend?” he teased, pretending to be in junior high school.

“No, you get to join my harem. But you are definitely good enough to be my number one concubine.” He snaughed and dragged me off to the bathroom again, much to the irritation of the stewardesses. I couldn't have cared less.