Date: Tue, 12 Jun 2012 17:49:09 -0700 (PDT)
From: J M <jm08nyc@yahoo.com>
Subject: Everything Goes Awry: Chapter Four

Thanks for taking the time to read this story. It's my second posted on
this site.  This is just the start, and based on your feedback will
continue to develop it.  Any/all thoughts are
appreciated. Thanks. jm08nyc@yahoo.com.

CHAPTER FOUR

Flashes of reality hit me through the pounding of the music and the flash
of the lights.

I was dripping in sweat. Eyes half closed. Moving my body in beat with the
latest track--the pop diva of the day, remixed by the beat master of the
moment.  Grinding into the boy. His name escaping me. I had lost my shirt
at some point, and felt the heat of his body pressed against my chest. The
mass of other bodies swaying in sync with the rhythm.

Flashes of memories seeping through the haze of booze and recreational
substances.

Flashes of the dance floor.  Flashes of the boy.  Flashes of the cab ride
home.

His head in my crotch, my legs around my ankles.  His lips wrapped around
my hard cock.

Flashes of the cab driver making eye contact in the rear view mirror.
Flashes of no shame.

My hand down the back of his pants, massaging, probing. Wanting.

Flashes of laughter.  Flashes of us spilling on the sidewalk on Rue Charlot
outside the house.

Stumbling up the stairs.  Lips locked.  Hands on bodies.

Spilling through the front door.  A flash. The note still taped to
it. Fuck.

On the floor in the hall.  Clothes off. Hands on young flesh. He couldn't
have been more than 20. Short. Tight, slim body. Gorgeous ass. Big
cock. Eager mouth. Hungry. Passionate.  Uninhibited.

His face pressed into my ass, mine in his. Working each other over. Sweaty
bodies writhing on the floor of the hall. The front door still ajar. On my
back, stretched out on the hardwood floor, my hands on his head. Guiding it
up and down the long, thick length of my cock.

His legs swinging over my head, knees on either side of my face. My hands
spreading his cheeks. My face buried. His lips around my cock, my tongue in
his hole.  Working each other.

Lust.  Adrenaline.  Hard bodies.

Flashes of us in bed.  Flashes of long, hard fucking.

His voice screaming out as my cock hit home, begging for more.

Flashes of us passing out.

***

Fuck.  I opened my eyes. The light starting to fill the windows of my
bedroom. I was face down in a pillow. I pushed myself up on my forearms I
took stock of my surroundings. The clock on the table flashing 6:13am. No
covers on the bed. The body of the boy asleep next to me. Naked. Breathing
softly. Me. Naked.  Fuck.

I slipped off the bed, picking up a sheet from the floor and wrapping it
around my waist.  Fuck.  Sophie. She'd be here soon. I went to the closet
and found a pair of underwear and a t-shirt and slipped them on, and walked
into the kitchen to put on a put of coffee.

I stopped in the hall. It was strewn with clothes every wear. Mine. The
boy's.  What on earth was his name? Fuck.

I hadn't had sex with anyone but Cooper in years. And I hadn't had sex with
anyone, including Cooper, in almost four months. And I've just spent a
night having dirty, passionate, lusty sex with a young French guy. I
stretched my arms far over my head, testing the limits of my body.

I turned back and slipped a blanket over the boy's body, returning to the
hall to pick-up the remnants of the night before.  I held his shirt to my
nose and smelled his scent on it. Electrifying.

I folded his clothes and left them stacked at the foot of the bed, where he
was still sleeping. Mine I left in a pile in the closet.

Into the kitchen, I switched on the kettle to boil for coffee. And opened
the fridge to see if there was something else to eat or drink. I poured him
a glass of orange juice, in case that's what he liked in the morning, and
grabbed a bottle of water. Cutting the kettle off just before it whistled,
I steeped a pot of coffee and took all the beverage options back into my
bedroom. I set them down on the table next to the bed. And sat down next to
him.

I ran my hand along his back. Tracing the curves of his body. "Good
morning," I said softly, as he started to stir. I noticed three used
condoms on the floor next to the bed and shoved them under it with my
foot. Fuck.

He rolled over to face me, pulling the sheet up to his neck, a slight
shiver in the morning. He smiled. "Bonjour," he said slowly, clearly
working through the events of last night much as I had done. He glanced
around the room as he laid his hand on top of mine. A sense of relief as he
saw his clothes sitting close by.

"Il ya du café, l'eau et le jus d'orange ici si vous le souhaitez. La
salle de bain est simple par lĂ si vous voulez prendre une douche ou que ce
soit. Il ya des serviettes et tout ce que vous pourriez avoir besoin. Et
.... Prenez votre temps. Vos vĂȘtements sont ici. Je vais fermer la porte
et ĂȘtre au bout du couloir quand vous ĂȘtes prĂȘt."

He smiled and pulled himself up to seated position across from me. He
slipped his hands into my lap. Holding my cock through my underwear, leaned
in and kissed me.  "Bonjour," he said again. "La nuit derniĂšre, est un peu
flou."

He took the cup of coffee from the table and sipped it. This could've gone
many different directions, and I'm sure, if I wanted, I could've spent the
day in bed fucking the boy.

I got up and walked to the dressing room, slipping on a pair of jeans. It
was time to put an end to this, "prenez votre temps. Je serai dans la salle
lorsque vous avez terminé," I said softly, staring down at the floor
before looking up. Meeting his eyes it was clear he got the hint. He smiled
and slipped out of bed, heading for the bathroom.

***

By the time Sophie arrived at 7:45 the boy had vacated the premises. He had
showered, dressed and given me a long, deep good bye kiss before a quick
wink and an "au revoir." I had walked back into the bedroom and found a
note he had left on the dresser.

"I know you don't remember by name, but I can't stop thinking about your
cock. Call me the next time you need to fuck. -- Jean-Pierre" was scrawled
in a slightly mess handwriting along with a local Paris cell number.

Fuck it. I put the note in my sock drawer. And got dressed.

I walked into the kitchen to meet Sophie, who had steeped a fresh pot of
coffee and picked-up pain au chocolat, my favorite, on her way in for the
day.

And, sitting in the middle of the table, was the note. The note. "A."
Written across the front in that very familiar handwriting.

I sat down at the table and fiddled with the note as Sophie saddled up to
my side, "Merde, Andrew," she began, "it's from Cooper. Did you see that?
It's his handwriting.  It was taped to the door. Did you see it when you
came in last night?"

"No... no, I didn't."

"Well, he clearly won't let you go."

I put my head down on the table and banged my forehead against it three
times. Looking up, "Sophie, that's not what I need to hear right now."

She held my gaze for what seemed like an eternity. "Well, I don't know what
you need. But I'll keep my mouth shut if you want. But..." Her voice
trailed off. And then she walked away.

***

I gazed around the office, thinking back to the events of last
night. Making intermittent eye contact with my team. Nodding my
head. Smiling when appropriate.

Going through the emotions.

I let my mind wander.

Thinking back to the house in the South. Wishing I could close my eyes and
beam back there, away from the world.  Away from reminders of Cooper.

TO BE CONTINUED.