The Grand Tour: Europe

"Will,  It's Gail". I recognized her voice, this time more strangled than usual. "Tell me you're going to Europe this weekend and, for the love of God, take Tom with you. And keep him there."

Tom and Gail had an interesting marriage. For a time both had been happy although there were some bumps, that turned to speed bumps that turned to hills after a few years. She had known, for he had told her, that, occasionally, he had a penchant for men and if she'd understand, all would be well. His candor caught her at a naïve moment and so the wedding march played, they walked down the aisle, had a handsome son-named for me, his Godfather, and then a storm overtook their home. It was one thing for Tom to be somewhat latently homosexual, but quite another for him to come out as full blown latently bisexual, probably with a tilt toward men.
"Will, are you there?" I wasn't going to let the plaintive note, the panic, the annoyance in her voice persuade me. Trying to think of what shepherding her husband through the several countries I was scheduled to visit did not suggest itself as a pleasant tour with an old friend.

"How bad is it this time?"
She tried to gulp out an answer but through her tears and her anger I didn't get much save that, whatever it was, she would kill him, maiming wasn't enough, unless he was out of the house for enough time to allow her to collect her thoughts and do whatever she wanted to do.
"You do know this is a business trip and I don't have the time to take him sightseeing. IF he's willing to keep to my schedule with no excessive hanky panky and none that embarrasses me, I'll do it."
"You are the dearest friend a girl ever had. I promise if he ever wants to see Little Will in the future he will do exactly what he's told to do. Exactly."

"Plane leaves at Four pm from LAX and allow part of your natural life to check in. I'm flying first class as always so he'll have to suck up that cost." The thought of Tom where I couldn't see him for ten or twelve hours gave me goose flesh. And, in the back of my  mind, the ugly idea that he might really mis-behave and we would land in some Gawdawful place where he would be placed in cuffs and handed over to whatever the local constabulary might be.

Not a peep from Santa Monica, save for an email from Gail confirming everything up to and including meeting me at the airport two hours before departure. All seemed calm so my office contacted the hotels where I planned to stay and told them to make my reservation for a party of two. Twin beds.

Saturday arrived, I packed as I normally did which filled two suitcases. I would carry on a modified pilot's bag and that was it as far as what I needed went. That, however, was not all that Tom would need. I got to the terminal just seconds after they did and watched as sky caps unloaded enough luggage to outfit a deluxe safari. What he took and would have to pay for was his business. Gail left us and Tom, almost tap dancing with joy, told me how he was looking forward to all this and promised to fuck me in every new place we went. Not happy news. Certainly I liked an occasional man but my taste did not run to Tom. In the hectic business of getting checked in, I forgot about his offer and, leaving him there with his termite mound of luggage, had myself carted off to the First Class Lounge.

He seemed put off when we boarded the plane, complaining that he'd looked for me but I'd disappeared. In the back of my mind I figured someone at the check in area had made an executive decision and "forgot" to give him a pass to the lounge. Did I mention that forgetting things would be a good idea? Did I? Well, you figure it out.

I made him take the window seat so, at least, he'd have to get over me to get out and before he got out I would know exactly where he was going. Big as these planes can be, the truly inventive person can find a nook (or a cranny) and slip into it probably with someone else. He was not allowed anywhere save first class and, further, he had to stay on the deck where our seats were. To further ward off trouble, I'd selected seats as far forward as possible to keep his wandering eyes from wandering very far. In the centre seat was a business man from the orient and on the far pairing, a young, clearly newly wed couple who seemed determined to play slap and tickle at their first opportunity.

One thing I knew was that Tom could not hold his liquor, at least not very well. I had a quick chat with the purser and he had a drink in his hand before we even pushed back and another as we did the magical mystical tour looking for the active runway. The third one arrived as we circled back over Los Angeles after taking off over the Pacific. I know my lushes pretty well and just as he finished the fourth one, he slid beneath the waves and also from his seat to the floor. It looked rather cozy, actually, he was holding pillows as you might a stuffed toy and was covered with two blankets to prevent the cold. My only dread was that he would pee on himself and also the plane but I was spared that.

After dinner I had my seat turned into almost a bed, just reclined enough to be really comfortable and with the foot rest completely up, Tom was safely secured. I'd left instructions that IF he stirred, wake me, get him up, take him to the lavatory and then put him back in his seat and offer him a drink. Only happened once on the whole crossing.

We had started our descent into Amsterdam when he returned to consciousness. This time no liquor but coffee and some aspirin as well as a modified Continental breakfast. He looked more or less like Tom only slightly rumpled. His only comment was that he dreamed he was asleep on a floor somewhere and that two men in uniform had taken him to the bathroom and held his cock while he peed. My only comment was that dreams can be stunningly realistic with no basis in fact. Although I did wonder about his cock being held.....

His first disappointment was that we weren't staying in the city itself but rather in the Capitol of the Netherlands, The Hague. That's where my business was and that's where we would be. He wasn't in much of a condition to even consider arguing the point but the hotel was great, even had an indoor swimming pool That would go some distance to satisfy him....once his hangover faded. To that end, he fell into one of the beds and died.

I had no such luck and had a luncheon meeting followed by several conferences. By the time I got back to the room, I, too wanted to fall into bed but Tom had revived enough to want to go out. There was a very good restaurant and I had the front desk make reservations there then took a shower followed by a nap which was desperately needed.

There was a call for me about 7:30 which launched me back into the day. Tom was stall walking, he could hardly wait to get out. With some effort I crawled into my suit and downstairs we went to go to the restaurant. But I didn't move fast enough. Tom hoped in the cab and said, "Take us to a place for homosexuals". I could have killed him. The driver shifted into move and we coasted perhaps fifty maybe sixty yards down the street and came to a full stop.

The driver pointed to a sign hanging outside what might have been a tavern and said, "This is the place, the one for gay people." Tom was out the door leaving me to settle up the very modest fair which included a large tip and then followed him.

Whatever he may have read about sexual liberation in the Netherlands, the Hague didn't seem to be what he had in mind. Yes, the bar was populated by men, many of them quite handsome. Yes, the décor was standard issue Gay but not the hard core he had in mind. Although just what he had in mind eluded me. Yes, he attracted attention....but that's true of any new comer to a closed society sort of place and he was clearly a tourist; What I was probably didn't concern them. Tom was in full flight, shaking hands, hoping he'd make new friends.....the Dutch are hospitality personified so they were pleasant and probably puzzled.

I was nursing a beer and wondering if I could just leave Tom here or would he try and find other places to go when a fine looking man, dressed about as I was, asked if he might join me. If nothing else conversation would keep me awake so I stood, introduced myself as we both sat. His name was Klarn and he was with the government. He asked about my "friend" and, as carefully as I could think to do, I gave him a very thoughtfully edited story of who he was and why he was here with me. Klarn thought that over and said, based on arriving that day, I looked exhausted which was a good assumption on his part. This was a perfectly nice gentleman, the sort I dealt with all the time and, for that, was one myself. I was so tired I almost cried; a few tears did drip from one eye. Klarn read the situation perfectly and told me he was certain my friend would get in no harm, in fact he could guarantee it.

Somehow he got me up, out the door and into the street. If I hadn't been so fucking tired I would have offered him dinner and, maybe, something else. Just then all I wanted to do was get to the hotel and slam dunk myself in to bed. I think I may have said that just before my legs deserted me and I passed out.

What I remember next was being stark naked in bed in what, I assumed, was my hotel room. By the light of a small bulb, I saw a man in his underwear in a big chair covered in blankets and leaning against a pillow. Putting two and two together was beyond what I could do so I went back to sleep.

My next visitation to life was many hours later and I was wakened by the sound of silver wear and dishes plus the smell of food. Forgetting I wasn't wearing clothes I opened a door to what proved to be a sitting room and sitting in it was Klarn in a robe provided by the hotel for those using the swimming pool. Suddenly I was too aware of my condition and, I fear, blushed from my toes up. All available for viewing if you were in the room.

"Come, sit, eat. I'll get you a blanket...." I edged into the seat trying to get the covering around me so that as little of me as possible was on display. At least I remembered his name. I also noticed that there was no Tom, that it was six in the morning and......my worry quotient just sailed up.

"My friend, the man I was with....."
"Tom?"
"Yes. Tom, he's missing and....."
"No need. He's asleep in a single room. I had you moved down here so you wouldn't be disturbed. Now, best thing, have a coffee then eat something. I've arranged for you to go down to the spa and have a massage a bit later."
He couldn't have said anything nicer or reassuring. That didn't answer a flock of questions but, just then, the juice, the coffee and the food seemed very appealing.

"This is all very, very kind of you but... how did you manage it?"
He smiled an almost paternal smiled, got up, found his jacket and took out a leather case and opened it. While I stared at his badge, he continued to put milk and sugar in a large mug  already filled with coffee which he handed to me. My eyes rolled up from his badge to him. He smiled and, I must say, I felt an urge of desire not wholly based on all the kindnesses he'd shown me. He was buttering some very good Dutch bread which he put on a plate in front of me along with a selection of very small jars each containing a different jam or jelly plus honey which was the one I selected.
"Officer Klarn?"
"Inspector Klarn. It's my surname but it's what I'm called. Your hotel called me, they were concerned about you and knowing I am a homosexual, I went to the place and there you were. The rest, you know."

I couldn't speak with my mouthful and honey running out the side of my mouth and I didn't have to. Klarn gently leaned over, licked the honey and kissed me on the cheek. "As long as you are in the Netherlands, I will be with you."
"Why didn't you just get in bed? I remember you didn't look comfortable."
He smiled that great smile and pointed out that as  a cop, he'd slept in far worse places waiting for something to happen and he felt if I'd wakened to find a naked man in bed with me, I might take fright.

A peaceful moment was interrupted by the phone which rang once and then was silent. Klarn was immediately involved, standing, telling me to get back in bed. He paused only to push the room service table against the wall, turn out almost all the lights.  and he was only a moment behind me, apart from pulling off his undershirt and dived under the sheets with me. "Pretend you're asleep."
He shoved toward to me, flopped one arm over me and he, too, imitated sleep.

It might have been thirty seconds before I heard the door to the suite open followed by the door to the bedroom. It was, of course, Tom. As quietly as he could-he certainly noticed I wasn't alone-he got near my face and whispered that he had found a friend who would take him to Amsterdam-for someone asleep-I shuddered. Klarn gave me a pinch which, I guessed, meant "Play along". Tom was gone before I could pretend to wake up. Klarn just laughed.

"Oh, Will, he's found a friend alright, one who will take him to Amsterdam and let him experience what he thinks he wants. Don't worry about him until at least tomorrow afternoon or later and then have lotion and plasters ready, he's going to be one beaten up boy. All that talk about bondage and discipline......." He had to pause to laugh again. I'll get the pictures of him enjoying the sights of Amsterdam and show you."
"He's not going to be hurt, I mean, not badly, he'll recover". Klarn laughed some more. "Hurt? Oh my God he'll be in pain and agony which is what he thinks he wants."
"You set this up."
"I certainly did. He's out of your way and, even when he comes back, a hand job will be more than he can stand. Now, you and me. I'd say this was a compromising position. Give me a moment......"

He stood up, removed the rest of his clothing, including a gun that was strapped to his calf, and got back into bed. Saying nothing, he went under the covers and I could feel lips beginning to eat the head of my erect cock. Deciding it was definitely time to repay at least some Dutch hospitality, I drew his crotch to me and began my own Dutch treat.

I must say, we were both very good at cock eating. Each of us got off two shots and by the time all was over, the coffee and the rolls were cold.

As promised, although not on the day mentioned, Tom showed up. Or I found him on the bed his body covered in welts and whip marks. Where he'd been tied with ropes, there were purple indentations. As brightly as I could I almost shouted, "Have a good time?"
It was apparently difficult to turn his neck. And, after he did, he just stared at me although one eye was blackened.
"Jesus, Amsterdam is everything I heard it was."
"And then some it would appear....Why don't you spend the day in bed, I'll have the masseur come up and, painful as it sounds, get your bones and skin aligned. As I go to my meeting I'll have reception send up some soft food," With that I was gone and just in time or I would have laughed in his face.

Klarn met me for breakfast and as best I could I described the body in my bed. He, too, had a fit of laughter then commented that everything he'd ordered had been done. Everything. By tomorrow, when you go to Frankfurt he'll be improved enough to pack up and get on the train but that's about all.

He asked me if, on my last night in the Hague. he could take me to a restaurant out by the Haystack and, of course I agreed.....Unless, he'd rather just pick up something from a Deli and go to his place to enjoy each other. There was the blooming of a smile and he agreed that, yes, that might be better.

Food from the deli proved to be Dutch East Indian take out with a favorite of mine, Satay con Pinda sauce. I had plans for that sauce beyond the Satay but said nothing. I did, however, look at Klarn, mentally undressed him and applied the sauce where it would do me the most good.

His apartment was large and either Spartan or Minimalist, hard to tell. It was actually comfortable in surprising ways such as what seemed to a table just off the floor, proved to be a massage table that came out of the floor. The bed was heated and touching a button opened a cabinet, within reach of the bed, filled with all sorts of interesting toys. The shower was enormous, easily seated five or six who could enjoy the myriad of nozzles that could concurrently spray hot, medium and cold water. The art was modern save for one full length male nude. The color scheme was white and gray and, dull as that may sound, was very attractive.

Either Klarn hadn't had a good fuck in a while or I was better  than I thought. When I finally finished and drew out, cum still leaking he immediately took the still brimming dick and ate it, licked it until there was nothing left and jacked it just to make sure.
"Thank you" he said quietly, "I knew you would be good and you were. I wish you weren't leaving there are things....things we could do together, things I know about and how to find them. Your Tom got the tourist version, you and I, tied side by each, waiting for what comes next, we could share the agony and then the elation. I want that for us."

Not entirely sure what "us" might mean I didn't press for a definition, just leaned over and pulled his head to my chest. I could hear his heart beat erratically at the thought of what he knew and I did know.  It wasn't much, but I led him into a bit of making out, sort of old fashioned but, for here and now, strangely appropriate.
"I haven't done that in years, you're great at thinking of things right for the moment....and now, I suppose, you have to get dressed and go to meetings? Yes?"
I just nodded. I thought of inviting him to stay where he was, in my bed, but thought better of it.

We showered together, made out some more in the stream of water, peed on each other...the normal things one does in a shower with someone you like. He insisted on shaving me-a real treat and from someone who knew what they were doing. One thing, as he ended he took the shaving blade and made a line that only bled a little down my cheek.
"Our new version of dueling scars from Heidelberg. Look, you can see mine but you have to keep it irrigated, use salt and it will become like this one. Certain men will know you, greet you and your scar will be why. Please, Will, do this for me......" He looked down knowing that he had asked me to deface myself for him and he was ashamed.

I lifted his chin...."Would you like to melt some salt and apply it yourself? Here, now." He almost cried he was so happy. As he mixed the two he said I would not regret  doing this but I would have to see for myself.....

The last things in my cases and left  for someone to take them away to rejoin me at the railroad station where Tom and I would catch the train for Frankfurt. The Hague was the only stop it made  after leaving Amsterdam and it was imperative Tom be there as one only had a couple of minutes to board.

The meetings were successful, perhaps I accomplished some of what I was sent to do. They gave me quite a fine lunch, said they'd arrange to have my things at the station and provide a car from their offices to the station. Which is what happened.

Tom was there, looking pained, but his mountain of luggage and my two cases were at a very specific spot. Promptly, the ICE train pulled in, stopped precisely where we where, our things were loaded and just as my foot left Dutch soil the train pulled out. All our luggage was between me and Tom so I couldn't see where he went and was fiddling about in my  inner pocket to find my assignment when a strong arm reached into the passage and pulled me into a cabin. It was, of course, Klarn.

"We haven't long, I can only stay until the German frontier and then I must get off. I had to see you again." He ran his finger over my cheek which, just then, didn't look like much more than a paper  burn, admittedly in an odd place.
I held him, kissed him and then a bump caused us to fall on the couch.

"Please, Klarn, Please don't say you love me......I might accidentally believe you."
I got a sad smile. We were silent. Out the window the Netherlands looked like what the tourist guides wanted you to think it looked like. It was one place that didn't disappoint, lived up to their own publicity except in this cabin on a train rushing toward Germany and Frankfurt.
"What about Tom?" although I thought I knew the answer.
Klarn did smile. "He has found a most amusing-and might I say hot-traveling companion, all the way to Frankfurt. You might have to have security at the Bahnhof there assist you in removing him. Ask for Herr Muller, I spoke with him a bit earlier As to his visit to 'Tourist Amsterdam', I'll send you both the stills and the video. "

I had a brain wave, "Klarn this train doesn't stop at the border, some one will take my passport...."
"Today it will stop at the border for it is there I must disembark."
Somehow I knew what he said was right but I wanted it to forget and continue on to Frankfurt but I knew that would not happen.

I looked out the window as small towns, farms, roads flashed by.
"I wish you were here in Tulip season."
"So do I." At that I fell in his arms and cried quietly wetting the collar of his overcoat. When I quit that, we sat, almost holding each other but only pressing a hand against a leg, an arm.....How long had we been riding? The train was  slowing and Klarn was on his feet. I didn't want him to say goodbye and he didn't. Momentarily the train came to a full stop, there was a sort of hydraulic wheeze and then we moved on; We were in Germany.

I know Germany and Frankfurt almost as well as I know my own city. Years earlier, when I was at university, I was deeply involved with a man who was on his way to being a Tenor, hopefully at the Metropolitan or La Scala or Teatro Colon. No being a singing waiter for him. When possible I took classes with him all of which proved to be language instruction. Semester after semester, plus some trips to Europe in between, I learned German, French and Italian, the three languages of opera. I have a quick ear and learned them technically and, when I was abroad, that technical ability and large vocabularies turned into very good spoken languages. No one would mistake me for a native speaker but I was included in conversations that went beyond a discussion of the menu. To finish this unfortunate incident in my life, my tenor upscaled to a Baritone and I was left with oddments of sheet music plus the ability to speak three languages plus English and Spanish.

With my eyes closed I could have walked from the Bahnhof down the Konigstrasse to the hotel. Suddenly the passage was filled with Tom and his multitude of whatever was in all those bits and pieces of luggage. I felt my arm taken and was pulled toward the vestibule. The man said, "Muller" and pointed to his cheek as well as pointing to mine. "Quickly, please Herr Doktor. Your friend will follow you."

Rather hastily we walked down the length of the train, out the front door and almost immediately into a Mercedes with a driver. Muller seemed to relax as we pulled away and headed, not for the hotel, but the road along the river. "Do not worry, your friend will be taken to the hotel, he will think you arranged it and, in the lobby, he will meet a 'friend' who will say he remembers him from Amsterdam.

I could only guess what sort of 'friend' Tom might meet and what they might do. Or, maybe it was better to not imagine what they might do; My sexual experience was large and extended over many years, however seeing Tom and what he'd done, was beyond what I wanted or needed to do. Some minor bondage, maybe a little whipping but that was all.

We crossed the Mainz River and went to a park in Sachsenhausen where Muller came around, opened the door and I got out. I knew this park, it was one of the greenswards that I used to think whilst walking. There was a question...."Klarn?"
Muller looked at something I couldn't see but said, "He cannot cross the frontier. I'm sorry. But....Uwe and your friends here are planning a party for you and then there are meetings."

Once again, he ran his thumb down my cheek. "Please, keep this opened for a bit. It's important or Klarn would not have given it to you." I sensed that further questions about it wouldn't be answered or I would only get an evasion so, instead, I asked if we might drive to where the trees formed a tunnel.

Berlin was the capitol but Frankfurt, after so many years, was still the banking and insurance headquarters; My business kept me at the Dresdner bank for the balance of the time we would be there. I did see Tom on a couple of occasions. Brimming with exuberance, he said he wished he could take me with him-I didn't-told me about the man in the lobby, described his leather pants to the point I thought he might soil himself and then was off telling me not to worry about him. Well, that was a promise easy to keep. My only hopes were that A. He be returned to me to go to Paris or B. He was found by the side of a road, the victim of an auto accident. By now, either one was fine with me. Having resolved that, I took a quick shower, shaved, carefully opening the slash, got dressed and went off to meet Uwe, his English wife Daisy and other friends. Pleasant evening and I was in no way surprised when I got back to the suite and found it was empty save for a plastic florist box contain two roses and on the card, "K". Each rose had been cut down the side of the petals, almost as if they'd been dueling.

Tom came through the door as if he'd just run a race. "In the lobby, the cutest little monkey, and he seems to know me." Most of this was not news but supposition.
"He wants to take me someplace.....but I'd have to leave you alone." That hadn't disturbed him thus far.
"Sure, go along, have a good time, just remember we are leaving for Paris in six days, that's Safurday."
He could not have cared less. "Uhmmmm, Paris, Saturday, be at the train station." That being said he planted a quick kiss on my cheek and was out the door to I could only imagine what.

Well, I could probably imagine "what" but preferred not to do so. If I'd been innocent in the Netherlands, this was almost a second home to me and I could easily imagine all sorts of things. One evening there'd been a fashionable dinner for men at a castle. We all sat at one side of the table so, through the large glass window, we could see someone dragged in, put on the rack (old fashioned kind made with ropes and wood) then tortured. That was for appetizers. So could I imagine? Yep, I sure could.

I'd bought my hat and top coat at Herrenglobus a few years ago as well as my very heavy shoes. For all readable intents and purposes, I looked exactly like a very successful German business man, particularly if you caught the slight salute and heel clicking as I went in and out of places I was known. There was, and it took me a day or two to notice it, a certain deference with which I was treated, Okay, I was there to negotiate a multi-billion dollar deal but that shouldn't have brought me anything more than the usual courtesies.

We'd run long, it was dark out, even on the thirtieth floor. I was tired and planned a nice evening with room service, a long bath and early to bed. One of the gentleman, whom I did not know, approached me after most of the others had gone, looked me in the eye then reached up and ran his thumb along my cheek. He turned to leave in such a way that I could see a similar mark on him. In one sense, it was driving me nuts not knowing what I had gotten myself into. And, true, I wanted Klarn there texplain but....why did Muller tell me he could not cross the German frontier? That was odd phrasing, most people would have said, "border"......I chalked it up to a German mannerism I hadn't learned but remembered to use it.

I walked back to the hotel in what had turned from rain to a rain storm. No way in Hell I could have got a taxi and the fresh, if damp, air smelled good. Up the few steps and I was under the canopy where the door was opened by the doorman with the usual welcome back. Next up was the elevator to my floor and......Alberto.

Every floor had one, sometimes two floor butlers and under them many waiters, cleaners etc. His office was positioned so that you couldn't get by it if you'd crawled on the floor so it was best to salute him and hustle on into your room. Not today. He'd noticed it was raining and was after me like a shark going after a surfer.
"Sir, you're wet." No lie there. "Give me your things...." And when he said things, he meant everything that could possibly be even moist. Hat, top coat suit coat, vest, shoes, pants, shirt, tie, socks......within two minutes I was standing there almost naked. But not for long. He produced a wonderful Terry Cloth robe that went almost to my ankles and some slippers made from the same material. Was that enough? Hell no.

"Take a long, warm bath, shower off, then ring me and we'll decide on dinner. You'll need to be thoroughly dried and, yes, I think you'll do better after a good rubdown with the strong Eucalyptus oil, Now, off with you, I want to hear that water running before I leave this room."
It made one understand how English Nannies got their charges to do whatever they were told to do; It was like hearing the voice of ultimate authority and there was no refusing it. And one last thing.
"Smalls, sir, slip them off."  Now I was completely naked save for the robe. All he didn't do was give me a push toward the bathroom and personally start the tub. Had I asked or if he felt I wasn't momentarily competent, he would have gone in and done it.

I hadn't had a bubble bath since? A long time but just then it felt terrific, soft, I could almost feel my skin turning to velvet. There was a rubber thing that you could attach to the tub and lean your head back. Why not? I did and just to really please myself, reached down and made sure my cock and balls were enjoying this as much as I was; They were and some while later, with a slow, relaxing, up and down, I swear I saw bubbles filled with a milky substance that could only come from me. I added more hot water. put my arms on the edge of the tub, closed my eyes and let relaxation flow over me.

That was my plan. I thought I heard something in the sitting room which I assumed was Alberto doing something or other that would benefit me but I was wrong. Tom blew through the door displayed himself by doing a sort of whirl about, stopped and started his mouth.

"Ooooh, isn't this just divine? Don't you want an outfit like this?" Well, no. I had seen things like this on the streets but usually worn by younger men who were obviously on the cruise. He couldn't have had on tighter leather pants, worn so low I feared for his genitals. And when I say tight, the hair on his legs was almost in bas relief. Leather vest, standard issue, almost no shirt save for some bits of cloth that were somewhat like workout shirt. A leather collar and cuffs, both about three inches wide and, he told me, the collar had been soldered on. What fun getting him and his new decoration through security at the airport.

"I'm going away with this great guy and his partner....some sort of castle where all sorts of neat torturing goes on, don't you want to go?"He didn't wait for my answer which he could probably guess. All I could think to say was, "Wear a coat, it's raining....and I certainly hope that leather doesn't shrink or you  will be castrated and garroted." He was gone before I could remind him that there was a plane ride to Paris in his future.

I returned, somewhat distracted, to my bath. But, try as I might, Tom had broken the mood so I hauled myself out of the water, covered with bubbles, reached into the stall and turned on the shower and got in. That, too felt good and so I sat down on the stool supplied for those who just wanted to sit and let the water stream over them. Which was what I wanted.

Alberto was standing there as if by magic; I'd just reached the point where the shower needed to be over. I stepped out and was immediately toweled down with a bath sheet and, when it seemed to have gathered too much moisture, another one. To say I was dried thoroughly is understatement. Only in a Korean bath house had something even approaching this happened but Alberto was better. Even each ball was tenderly held in a sack of toweling whilst my cock lived in a cocoon made from a wash cloth.

When I was somewhat dryer than the Sahara desert, I was escorted, nude, into the sitting room where a massage table had appeared along with more towels and several plastic squirt bottles which contained what ever I was to be rubbed with.
"Start working on your back, sir."

I should have remembered that Eucalyptus oil is very strong, will wake your skin up and make it sing Dixie. However, it was also amazingly relaxing once you got past the initial surprise. (Alberto had changed into the standard whites of a masseur, probably not to get his standard uniform covered in grease and whatever) He was good at rubbing me down as he was at everything he did. I'd once asked him where he'd learned all his talents to which he explained that every hotel he worked at was a little better and he learned something new and that by the time he got to the Palaccio in Estoril, he was known in the trade and pretty much had his choice as to where to go next. He'd selected this one as it had the fewest tourist and the best guests. Originally from Portugal, he was motivated to get out of the slums of Lisbon and this is how he chose to do it.

He was working on my chest and legs when he suggested that I might look a bit better if some of the hair on my chest was removed, especially around my nipples. Also, my haircut needed to have a hard, straight block across the bottom in back so it would just graze the collar on my shirt. I don't remember agreeing but there was Alberto making little cuts on my chest while small bits of hair fell away. My nipples were completely exposed in that no hair from my chest could cover them. Not quite satisfied, he decided to even my sideburns until he dropped the blade and stood back and bowed. Then kneeled.

"Sir, I did not know, I was not told.....a thousand apologies if I have given offense." Somewhat annoyed, I raised myself on my elbows and told, not ask, what the fuck did he mean? He ran his finger down the side of his cheek, meaning, no doubt, the scar on my face.  I tried to minimize the situation.

"How long have I been staying here? How often have you served me, almost, now as if you were my friend so things may have changed, but, for us, in this room, nothing has changed. Yes? Friends?". I held my hand for him to shake but he kissed it instead.

"Alberto, to prove our friendship, would you like to recut the scar, put salt and water in it?"
"It would be my honor, one I never will forget. Thank you sir, you are the greatest gentleman I ever serve."

Carefully he mixed some water and salt. Almost standing at attention he drew the blade down the scar and added the water and salt paste. I thanked him and, again, he said it was an honor.
"Are we friends now?"
"After the honor of administering the cut, I am your servant and your friend. Yes sir. I am your friend and when I'm needed, you only call me and I'll come to you. A man known to me serves a man with a scar and he, too, regards it as a great honor."
Alberto was not the one to question further. Klarn was but he was in the Hague and none of the calls I'm placed to him had been returned. I didn't call his  police office as I assumed that would be a bad idea.

Having got through all that, Alberto returned to finish shaving parts of my chest then had me roll over and with almost geographical precision, cut the straight line on the back of my neck.
"Sir, may I suggest that your chest...is a bit hairy and would look better if it were trimmed, if you like." I said "sure" and he was over my, straight edge in hand making a trim here, a longer pull there, he worked down to my bush which he trimmed and completely shaved my balls. When finished, he held up a mirror and, damn, it looked terrific. You could never tell that what amounted to a pattern had been shaved in.
"Tomorrow, sir, we will put crème on the areas and that will remove the hair root so it will be long in growing back."

"Does Sir require sex before dinner?" and reached for his shirt.
"No and why would you ask? You're not a homosexual...."
His head drooped. "In my line of work one learns to do many things. But for you it would be a privilege to be mounted by a King of the Mountains."
I let that go and encouraged him to finish the shaving and the rubdown, both of which I was enjoying very much and told him so.

"After this, I will shower you and remove the oil, the smell lingers and it doesn't go into the skin as do many oils."
Okay, coach, back to the showers.

By the time all this was over, I was really hungry and not for something elaborate. Alberto took my order, disappeared while I slipped on some loose boxers, a T shirt, some warm slippers, turned on the television and leaned back on the sofa. And went to sleep.

I was awakened by a gentle tap on my shoulder. It was, of course, Alberto. With him there was a small room service table with a great looking steak and a salad, just what I ordered. The rest of the evening belonged to me so I told Alberto that if he was needed I'd call him and, again, thanked him for my redone chest, head and crotch. He seemed disappointed but backed out wishing me a good evening.

Meetings went on, successfully and, suddenly it was Friday, the day before we were scheduled to fly to Paris. Almost on cue he appeared full of what he'd done, what had been done to him and what a great time he'd had. Better than Amsterdam. I asked no questions as I didn't care about the answers only that he understood I wanted him in the hotel all night so that I'd know where he was on the morrow and in time to leave for the airport. He asked if he could invite a "friend" and, reluctantly agreed but with the codicil that if he and his :"friend" played merry hell in the hotel and comments were made, he'd be on his way home, not  Paris, the next day. To be threatening, I added that he knew all I had to do was pick up the phone, ring the airline and, even if he had to be classified as freight, he'd be on his way to Los Angeles. It was pointed out to him that I did not want to be bothered as I had papers to read and sign to be returned on Monday. In the back of my mind was a packet of pictures of him, recently taken in Amsterdam. There was also a video. If Gail ever had difficulty shedding him I felt sure I had something that would be very helpful. Also, they probably had a cash value in the on line porn industry.

For Tom he was almost gentle as we got in the limo to go the short distance to the airport. I couldn't prove it, but he was walking mighty like a man who'd been fucked by a stallion and then had a super doper sized dildo left in him. What did encourage me was that he was docile which said I could get him from Frankfurt to Paris with little or no trouble.

For the ultimate in First Class travel, one needs to see the building that Lufthansa has built just to receive their First Class passengers. About the size of a modest hotel, it contained everything one might want from dining rooms, to swimming pools, rooms for rest, showers or bathtubs, and, need I say this, every kind of German beer. Their idea was to make you comfortable and they succeeded. Toms luggage, or whatever it was, got between us just as Muller showed up to take me away to a private elevator. Beyond First Class there was the VIP section which was apparently, where I belonged. It filled almost a whole floor and had all the amenities with far less people. To a stranger, say a reporter for the New York Times, you would instantly tweak that you should interview all the people. Of course, no reporter was ever going to get in.

Muller handed my hat and coat off to unseen hands, found me a most comfortable leather wing chair by the eighteen foot tall windows, wished me a pleasant journey and....disappeared. It was almost like a revolving door; Muller went out and a manager of the room came in. Welcomed me by name, knew where I was going but....while waiting, what would amuse me? I full meal? A snack? A beverage? I settled on a Spatenbrou which seemed to please him. I leaned back, stretched out my legs and watched the incredible business of one of the busiest airports in the world.

A man was standing beside me. "Doctor? We met at the bank....I was far down the table. I'm Senor Gallinetti from B.A. I'm glad to have this moment to further our acquaintance.

I'm not immune to the charm of South American men and he was one of their best examples. Perfectly cut graying hair, the sort of moustache that few men, apart from Tom Selleck, can sport, beautiful clothes, charm that practically popped from his button holes....and so good looking. A face that was very tan, somewhat wrinkled, probably from the sun on the Pampas.
"I was just going to have a cigarette, dreadful habit, but then.....at home it's less frowned on. Here there's a room for those who enjoy a good cigar or a cigarette. Do you smoke, Doctor?"
"Not for several years although, I must confess, occasionally a good cigar is enticing. Problem here is there's not enough time to truly enjoy one. Go have your cigarette, I'll look forward to some conversation when you return.

The weather which had been nasty as we'd driven from downtown had turned outright menacing. Thick black clouds lowering in the not too distant sky. Lightning.....The Senor returned. "Ah, it looks like we may be here longer than we planned." He proved to be prescient:  one of the senior managers came by, hunkered down and told us that, momentarily, the airport would close down, we could see the storms. He regretted this and hoped it wouldn't be too long, but, just then, the met reports were suggesting at least two hours. possibly longer.

"Might as well get up, get some exercise, find what there might be to do to kill some time." Neither of us wanted a drink or a meal so we just wandered, going down halls that led to showers or rooms for rest, a spa, all of it first class but not very involving.

"Hey, we may have found something." And indeed he had. Where they even found the room for it but there was a gents billiard and pool room. Perfectly done with side seats up from the floor to watch the play. I was dismal at billiards and said so. He laughed and thanked me, it saved him the trouble of saying the same thing. That left pool which we both enjoyed and played. A person appeared who seemed to have authority over the tables and quickly arranged the lighting for a game. We each surrendered our coats, unbuttoned our shirts a bit, rolled up our cuffs, selected a cue and lobbed for first break.

We ran off two games, one each and that seemed a good place to stop. For whatever reason, we sat in the quiet room only lit by the light over the table and throwing a green haze on us. He undid two more buttons, stretched backward, came back to vertical and looked at me. "Of course I could not persuade you to change your destination....BA is the Paris of South America." And smiled a great, generous smile.
"Of course you could just not today and, as it appears outside, no one is going to either Paris, the one in France or yours."

He laughed leaned back again, reached over and undid two of my buttons." I believe we can get a massage then a steam. Can I interest you in joining me?"
I stood up, pulled my shirt from my pants and put my hand on my belt. "Perhaps the massage after the steam." He smiled, finished unbuttoning his shirt, found the senior attendant, told him what we wanted, were escorted there while our jewelry was placed in a safe, our shirts and jackets pressed taken a way to be pressed. Followed. when we removed them, by our trousers.

We gave the steam room and spa attendant the rest of our clothes and he gave us each a lush terry cloth robe, long enough so that on both of us it was at our calves. There were some papery shoes for the few meters to the steam room followed by the man who saw to it that we had what ever we needed. There were showers as well so that after the steam we could get a good scrub and a cold blast to close our pores.

The attendant covered the window from the inside, took our robes to hang just by the door and closed the door.

We curled around each other like a statue. He had great lips and very manipulative hands. "Are we going to have sex?"
"Of course, why not? We both want to." And smiled. On the platform we swirled counter clockwise until each of us had a private cock for our own meal. He was not shaved but trimmed which emphasized a good cock and nice balls. As opposed to porn pictures and videos, we both looked like well built men but nothing that would scare  field animals.

Our hands reached around and began the process of opening each ass. His were impulsive, soft, interested in going in. " Will you take me first? I'm very horny, it's been a long time." I continued working on his cock, special attention to his head. A finger in him to find his prostate and his body spasmed and turned each way. I knew he was ready but pinched his cock closing the tube through which his sperm would come. I only did that for a moment then let him free pressing on his prostate on the same time. He groaned, writhed for a moment, pulled me around and kissed me so that he could taste himself. I massaged him a bit then began to position him as I wanted him, how he would best take my cock and enjoy it.

I rose above him, took my cock in my hand, surveyed my prey, squeezed my nuts then leaned over to just introduce the head of my stalk to his waiting hole. Slowly I slipped in reaching in front of me, under his chest and found his nipples. "You should pierce these, get some bull rings, something from the Pampas." I thought I heard him say that if I would be there with him, he would.

Time to spring the lock that held the best parts of him, the area under his prostate where I could force him to hold me in his ring while I rabbit fucked him for a bit. His clutch relaxed so I pulled out but plun.ged back in, it was meant to be painful. aware of what he was getting, waiting for what I'd do next. I could feel my organ stiffen and  engorge itself. I knew he was feeling that it would soon spew into him and, with my other hand I held his cock, waiting for him to spew. We got it right, did it at the same time. I lay in him for some little time until our breathing had slowed.

"Again?"
"Perhaps we should check the weather, we'd hate to have to take out to take off."
He laughed, pulled me to him and kissed me. "You are of course correct. A pleasure deferred is a pleasure more fully enjoyed. So you will come to the Argentine"
"Only if you promise to fuck me where I can see and hear Iguassu."
"You have won a promise."
We sat for a while, each of us using the shower to skim off the sweat of sex. "Glad to have met you...again. Glad I came to the meeting, I almost didn't you know."
I said nothing.
"Come, let me wash you." There were sponges sanitarily wrapped as well as liquid and cake soap also wrapped.

We each took a sponge, got it to full foam and slowly, gently began to soap the other. There was bottle of very good shampoo which we poured into each others hands then used them to wash our hair. While we did every thing thoroughly, we were aware that our point in the steam and the heat was past. As soon as we were completely rinsed, he turned off the shower and turned on the one marked 'cold'.
We stood it or less than two minutes then escaped to the dressing room where our robes were waiting. Wearing the robe was like wearing a great, thick towel. By holding each other, we could do a fair job of drying down. Slipping out of them, we took up bath sheets and finished up. Wrapping them around us, we found the basins and the attendant who offered to have us shaved but we preferred to do it ourselves. There's something intimate about standing next to the man you've just fucked and shaving; While it's not as intimate as the act just concluded, it's a pleasant coda.

Clean and dry, we took fresh towels to wrap up in then padded into the room where there were comfortable chairs, a bar and a television. The story was the storm which was still pummeling Frankfurt. The attendant said that no decision had been made on opening the airport so....if we wanted to recline and nap, please do so, he'd wake us. Seemed a good idea and so we did. As I made myself comfortable I happened to look at him and he winked.

Dressed and back in our chairs, a senior manager came with, as he called it, unfortunate news. While they fully expected some flights to begin operations soon, the flight to Buenos Aires had been cancelled and my flight to Paris might leave just before midnight. Lufty doesn't leave things unrepaired. He was to be given a suite at the hotel-no name, just for First Class passengers only-on the property and I would take the ICE train to Paris which left in about 90 minutes. There was one further matter. My traveling companion had created a bit of a problem and was now in the jail on the airport property. Alas, he wouldn't be allowed to travel with me.

The Senor had a solution. Why shouldn't I share his room, certainly there must be room for two men then in the morning, we could made a decision about how to get to Paris and he'd take the same flight to Argentina only the following day. As to Tom? I'm sure he was fed adequate meals and jail at the airport was probably nothing like, say, San Quentin, Sing Sing or Alcatraz. The manager did have one further piece of information; My traveling companion could not travel with me as he'd be manacled and with a uniformed officer until the French border was reached where crazy Otto would be replaced by Lucky Pierre for the rest of the journey. Could he fly? Unfortunately, no. I could and in Paris the matter would be sorted out.

I knew just enough about Tom and his tastes to realize this wasn't going to be the hardship the government imagined rather, to Tom, just an extension of play time only more real.

That took care of that.

Dinner was next up and, since he knew them, I let him select the Argentine wines for dinner. If we'd been in B.A. and ordered a steak, we'd have been served something the size of a football boot but as tender as the head of a cock and almost as bloody when a knife was drawn though it. By his standards, we were having an early dinner-we sat down at night and finished a bit before midnight. For me, given one thing and Tom I was ready to go to bed. Well, I was ready to remove my clothes and get in bed. The rain had stopped and it was a pleasant walk of less than a meter to the hotel where we were expected.

We stood on opposite sides of the bed, undressing at the same time, our cocks rising, hardening, waiting. There was only dim light in the room, but it was enough. We got under the sheets and moved toward each other.
"You have beautiful hair, I hope mine will turn that way."
"What if it falls out first?"
"Then I'll shave it, only sensible thing to do."
"Here, put your head on my shoulder, I like you, you know"
"Thank you, it's reciprocal."
"Have you a lover?"
"No, he died."
He was quiet. "Could you have killed him?"
"Yes, you've been listening to rumors again, but as you've asked, yes, certainly I could have killed him."
"But you didn't."
"Nope. I believe you owe me a fuck...."
"I thought that promise was to be paid at Iguassu?"
"Yes, but you can never decide when you're horny. Laying here, by you, thinking about the good Argentine red.....Looking at you, I'm horny."
He smiled and started to roll me on my stomach.

He reflected someone who has not had the opportunity to have much gay sex. He was tender and careful and caressed me with one arm, talked dirty to me in my ear, and made sure he was in good and deep. Then it was my turn to give him what I hoped would be fulfilling. As with most men who can be power bottoms, I used the tube that was my ass to begin to squeeze him. I knew how to make my muscle ring to grab onto him and make it impossible for his to move. He moaned, partly in pain, partly in surprise and partly because he knew this would be a good fuck.

I slid my hand around and got one of his nipples. "Definitely needs to be pierced, I'll be there when it's done, pick out the hardware to go in you. My pleasure as you are my pleasure."
His cock was getting close to as hard it was going to get. He was rolling which was a good sign that he was ready to shoot. I gave him a couple of deep, hard drives and was gone. I could feel the warmth of his sperm and could feel his body withdraw from excitement to the thrill of conquest. I lay there, holding on to him, getting him ready for what he wasn't expecting, his second coming.

He was getting tense, sweaty, he wasn't used to fucking someone and finding he was being held hostage in the person he was fucking. It took a bit but he gradually got hard and his breathing told me he was getting close to ejaculation. Playing with his nipple, squeezing it hard seemed to do it for him. There was a warm feeling inside me, not like the first time but his body told me....he'd enjoyed it.. I let him drop to be exactly on top of me and gradually let him pull himself out. And roll on his back beside me.

I put my head on his chest and lapped, cat like, at the sweat that had pooled above his sternum. He put his hands over my head, leaned up a bit and kissed my forehead. "You......are amazing. So calm, placid on the outside but that was...like nothing I've ever had."
"Well, the good news is I've promised to come to Argentina so this wasn't the last time, just the first."

We both rested then got up, showered, together and went back to bed which was slightly moist. We didn't care. He took me in his arms, and we both went to sleep.

The next morning brought Herr Muller at an hour I would have preferred him not to call. This was business-of a sort-and so we sat down, he laid out some papers and began. "Herr Doktor, this is very embarrassing but...the Federal Government of Germany has declared your friend Persona non Grata and, once he enters France he cannot return." That was no problem, he hadn't planned to return. "Further, the government of France will only give him the equivalent of a five day transit visa and then he must leave the country.'
"Please, Herr Muller, know how much I've appreciated your assistance-I'll miss your steady hand making arrangement once I'm in Paris...."
"Oh, Doktor, one Monsieur Flambo will take over and meet you wherever you arrive. Might I ask how you've decided to go?"
"Senor Gallinetti and I have some small business matters which we can conclude now that we have this extra time. I'd thought to take a flight around four in the afternoon? Is that possible? I knew it was but I was giving him the look of someone needed which, in fact, he was. That I hadn't seen him, doesn't mean he hadn't done a lot of very necessary work so I could while away the time fucking and being fucked plus having a very fine dinner.
"Yes, that's easily done. What time will you be at the terminal. I certainly wish you a Bon Voyage."
Bowing to both of us he left.

"I wish I had one of him in every city I need to visit."
" You may, wait and see what this French person does" He leaned back, his robe fell open and I could see the cock, balls and fur I'd come to appreciate. "May I do something?"
"I'm sure you can, just what is it?"
He walked to me, his robe falling to the floor. "I want to increase the slash on your face."
"I would be honored."
I dropped my robe on a chair, took his hand and went with him to the bathroom. He pulled out his shaving kit, removed the straight razor, tested it then turned to me and slowly drew in down where the scar had slightly granulated but now was open and bleeding a bit,

"What will I do when there's no one to perform that ritual...for it is a ritual isn't it."
" Of a sort." He let the blood run down my cheek, around my chin and onto my neck. Taking a cold wetted cloth, he wiped up the blood then looked for the salt which he also carried with him. Mixed with water and then covered with two plasters, it was the result of a shaving accident.
"When you come to B A that will be healed....although for memories sake I may be tempted....."

Since I had no idea what the significance of it was, I tried to smile and give nothing away.
"Back to bed?"
" For some pointless conversation and who knows....?
I followed him and got in on his side with him right beside me. First thing was to form a sort of Yin and Yang-not easy for two big men and then let our hands wander.

It was still early, before eight and neither of us had anything to do until around four. We could have a nap, probably a good idea, and then what?
"Go back to the First Class building and have one of everything? Full body massage, sauna, hair cut, shave, lunch, pool, whatever else they've got which we've not found.
"Lets see what time it is when we wake up."  Snuggling together in a cool room with a warm man.....it was most pleasant.

We were more tired than we thought. I woke before him to find it was nearly noon. Not that importance but it cut into our tour of services on offer. Room Service delivered a sort of selection of breakfast and luncheon items as well as a bottle of an Argentine Red I remembered he'd ordered the previous evening and then ducked under the covers to wake him with a blow job. It was appreciated.
The room service tray was pushed into the bed room and we ate like swine, not bothering with utensils, sometimes pushing the other down and eating from their chest or crotch. Using a cock to spread butter or jam then licking it clean. A leisurely meal washed down with the good red wine.

"You are lucky, dinner in Paris and I'll dine alone and maybe it won't be good."
"Speaking of which, probably need to get headed in that direction. We can take the back door and go straight upstairs but....shower, shave and I'd rather not be hurried..
"May I join you? I promise to make sure you're nice and clean all over.
I took him by his cock and pulled him toward the bathroom.

Herr Muller was there to hand fly me, and of necessity the Senor, through everything and take us upstairs. His flight left in ninety minute, mine in somewhat less but being what you might call a "local" flight, I had some distance to walk-not that I expected to walk it, doubtless Muller and a cart of some sort would scoot me there.

"Our usual seats seem to be vacant."
"Pool, lets go to the pool table for a quick game."
He smiled and we walked that way. The same attendant, the same preparations but this time we only removed our jackets. The rack lay unbroken while we sat, in the gloom on the third row up of spectators seats. He leaned against me. "It's a long flight to Argentina".
"Yes, I've made it, not from here but New York, Sydney....."
"I won't ask you to change your mind."
"A good idea, I hate refusing people. Particularly when there's an itch there to be scratched."
He quietly kissed my cheek. "May I touch you...."
"Please, as much as I'd like it, no." He drew me to him, his head on my shoulder. Fingering the scar I heard his breathing increase, there was a certain heat in it.

"Lets surprise Muller....I'll meet him downstairs. Your bird is right there, stay here, have a Pisco Sour." I made a signal with my hand which produced my coat and hat. We were standing behind our chairs. He reached for me, the Abrazzo, I felt his tongue quickly lick the slash, the two kisses, the final hand shake and I turned a way.

It was an ugly approach to de Gaulle. Someone in Met hadn't read their tea leaves or the radar screens correctly and we were given a good bouncing. If you weren't used to flying, this could be upsetting but I was used to flying and just looked at the window. We held for an hour then another and finally the captain announced we'd been allowed into the pattern for approach and would land shortly.

Flambo was inside the boarding arm waiting for me. Proper greetings, cart at the entrance to the gate and we were off. Small talk, he told me I could claim Tom, if I wished at a small jail with a better than average cells. I was handed, with seals and ribbons, Tom's five day transit visa that made it clear he must be gone, or at least across their border, by 18:00 hours on Thursday. I asked if he could be put on a day time flight on United or American to Los Angeles and I was told it would be done. Also, as a convenience to me, the government would forego the formalities and he would be delivered-his word, delivered-to the hotel and to my authority. There were papers for that as well.

I was staying at the Lancaster, not a well known tourist hotel but very comfortable. The floor butler there, one Francois, asked for my suit and coat saying they would be cleaned and returned during the night. (There was a short hall from the door to the suite which had a closet.) There was a note from the management welcoming me and, on a tall table, two sterling silver roses that had a slice chased in their bloom. At the bottom was one sharpenend thorn and beside them, a salt cellar.

It was much later than I planned to arrive so ordered a simple meal with some excellent Argentine Wine.

Sleep came easily wakened by the sound of chains and a knock on the bedroom door. Without concerning myself as to my nudity, I opened it, received a polite tip of the hat and the announcement that their prisoner was now returned to me. I acknowledged my receipt of the papers, he handed me a key, Tom was put in an arm chair, manacled to it in five places. His head was down and he looked far less than the man who wanted me to admire his new outfit. He was in German prisoner clothes and had clearly been beaten although I suspect that had something to do with his arrest in Frankfurt.

He looked at me. "Will? Please Will, I, I....."
I was idly holding my cock which was straightening out, rather like a key to be put in a lock.
With my legs spread in front of him, I had but one word, "Suck". He looked shocked. This had never been a component of our relationship, he jerked away. I slapped him across his face, grabbed his hair and pulled his head toward me. It was painful as he was chained and they didn't allow much freedom of motion.

Slowly he leaned forward, as far as he could go, and began to eat me, starting with the head and working on down. I put one of my feet in his crotch, just under his cock, which was slack, and over his nuts. With my cock in my mouth his scream was muffled. I shoved more in to him, surely he knew how to deep throat.

He did. After I'd come once, I put my foot on the ground, picked up the key and sat in a chair opposite him. "There's a side of me that wants to know exactly what happened at the Frankfurt Airport but I'll have a tape of it plus the reports from all the agencies so your version means nothing."
"Will, please, please, I'm your friend I...." Shame I wasn't wearing a jock or boxers, I'd have removed them and stuffed them in his mouth. Sitting there I could see which locks I could unlock and still have him secure but just able to move. Well shuffle.

"Tom, you've had everything you wanted this trip. I've seen the videos of Amsterdam, Frankfurt but there will be no fun and games in Paris. Now get up, move to the bed and lay down, face up."

After the incident at the Frankfurt airport I'd asked Muller to find some things I wanted and, of course, he did. I took out a hank of rope and  tied his arms so he couldn't writhe....too much. There was a chair to push against his dangling legs which made a poor man's spread eagle. I did pick up a pair of my used boxers, gagged him and sealed them In with a roll of electric tape.

"Your cock has gotten into a lot of trouble and caused me great embarrassment. You will remember this was a business trip and you were allowed along so long as you did what you were told to do. I let you off your leash because I had assurances that you'd be well taken care of. Indeed, I was solicited to leave you in Amsterdam a few days more, they hadn't finished with you. In the end you would have had half your dick cut off and one ball removed. All surgically. I have some pictures of men, tourists, to whom this was done. "

I pulled out a small metal contraption that looked like an open work mushroom cap with a long steel tube leading from the center of the mushroom. "Know what this is?" He looked like he knew, based on what all he'd done and had done to him, he should know.
This is a penis plug with a drilled hole so you can piss and come but not you nor anyone can play with your cock. If you try and pull it out, you'll find that it has a very small, very delicate mechanism that will cause spikes to go a very short distance into your urethra but, unless you know how to make them retract, there they'll stay."

I grabbed his cock, got it stiff-Jesus he was a slut-and began to slide the pipe inside his meat. Only went about two inches but that was enough. Put some surgical glue around the head and then wrapped the mushroom and the bars descending from it with silver tape. There was only the hole when I was done.

"Roll over". He did. "Given where you been, what you've done and what was done to you, I'm almost tempted to give you an enema before I fuck you for the first time. Condoms were made to be used on men like you and I found this one that has small metal balls built in so as it slides in, you'll get that feeling. I've got another one that very slightly slices you until you bleed but I'm saving that until just before you leave for the airport.

I snapped the one with the little balls on my cock, squirted some mentholated lube in him-through the cock, it wouldn't get on my dick and burn like hell, then spread my legs, pointed my stalk and almost fell into him as an entrance. Through the fabric I could hear him scream. Just what I wanted. This was no love fest, I drilled him as if I were cutting a hole in ice to go fishing. In, out, in out, deerper and deeper. Tears were coming from his eyes. Good. That's when I leaned about, never losing my stroke and picked up a very small cat o nine tails. No plastic, no rubber, just solid leather with a handle. The tails were no more than ten inches long but used harshly and in straight lines across his back, red appeared almost immediately but that wasn't enough, I wanted him to have stripes, ones that would last for some little while. This wasn't the first flogging I planned for him but it was a good start.

While I was wielding my cat, I came on him and went right on, ignoring the agony of a cock overworked and not wanting to go again. Gradually it got the idea and with a few strong, deep strokes, I shot again.

Next to do was call Flambo and hope he could make some arrangements about Tom and, it turned out, he was more than happy to oblige. I left some orders, I could hear him smile, and we rung off. Back to Tom. "Okay, you've got a baby sitter coming for you. One thing I promised Gail was that you would see Paris. And you will. Every fucking sight. Then, after that, you'll have a tour of nightlife in Paris. Oh, and I will personally see that you get on the plane to leave for Los Angeles. End of your trip and my nightmare. Have a great time in the city of lights."

The days were quick and right on schedule.

The only friends I had in Paris were an expat couple from Melbourne. Knowing how visitors can be dreaded, I arranged to take them some place they'd like to go, in or around the city. We ended up at Malmaison, the residence of the former Empress Josephine. She wanted to go a bit early to see the gardens in late fall-a mistake, the gardens looked more like the grounds of an unkempt cemetery then royal gardens. Lindsay, her husband, and I had spared ourselves the grand tour of weeds and mulching in favour of a very pleasant tap room associated with the place we were to dine. Played darts, the bar games, had a good time until Lissa appeared looking like a waif, but in very smart clothing who'd just discovered that high heels and gardens going aren't a good mix.

We didn't exactly get uproariously drunk, that would be an offense to the excellent chef, but there were a number of wine bottles emptied. I'd arranged for a car and driver so, not meaning to, we slept most of the way back into town. The next day I got a note, hand delivered to the hotel, from Lissa accusing me of being a vile seducer but thanks for the lovely time; Sometime in Melbourne, they'd get even.

The next day started with a warm beer which sounds awful but is one of the surer cures for low level hangovers. I was tempted to call them in a bright and cheery voice but wasn't sure I had a bright and cheery voice.

It was the day before Tom was to say goodbye to Europe, probably forever. A few strings must have been pulled as he would be told not to return to France. Business meetings all day, dinner with some of those attending and then back to the hotel where I found Tom bound and gagged in a chair in my sitting room. For once, on return, he didn't look as if anything too violent had happened which was just as well as I didn't want Gail to think that I'd done anything to him. Which I hadn't. In general he looked as if he needed a mercy killing and, since it was the last night, I let him loose telling him, I didn't want to hear about anything except the tourist highlights of Paris.

He slowly turned around and there on his back, from his crack to his neck was an amazing tattoo of the Eiffel Tower. Something not every tourist would take home. I looked closely. "There's some damn fine work here, don't know much about ink but your lines, the shading, top quality. I'm a bit surprised, didn't think you liked ink". He started to cry and dropped his pants. His cock had been made into a cross between the flag of France and the Stars and Stripes. Very patriotic.

I wondered if he might like a drink, a strong one, so, courtesy the mini bar, handed him a double Scotch on a rock. He looked at me as if to get my approval.

"Sure, drink it down, you can't do anything more and nothing can be done to you unless....there's something you'd like to go back and see or experience." His silence suggested there wasn't.
"Will? Do you hate me?"
"Nope, I'm just disgusted by you. From minute one you did everything you said you wouldn't, not only was that embarrassing to me but cost you, I don't know what. I only hope that you got what you wanted, it was what you thought it would be...."
"I can't go home like this."
"Of course you can, every tourist brings home souvenirs, the good thing is there'll be no duty to pay on it." Didn't cheer him up.

I told him to go have a good shower, his clothes were in the bedroom and while he did that, I would order dinner. A good French dinner for his last night at sea. As it were.

Eventually he reappeared, looking better and, of course, covered. I was working at a desk, my half glasses on the tip of my nose, a cashmere sweater and some good flannel slacks plus some suede house shoes.
"You're a very handsome man, Will. Very. Any man would be proud to have you at his side, I know I would."
"That bridge we've crossed. Go home, give Gail a divorce, try and be a good father and when you want sex, do it out of town. San Francisco is an hour by plane." He was standing behind me, his big hands on my equally big shoulders.
"Will, one last time...." I whirled around and knocked him to the floor.
"Jesus, you never learn do you. Good thing I was here or you might have jumped the room service waiter and I'd have to clean up that mess. You want me? You want to have sex with me? For God's sake why?"

"Because....you're clean and I need to....to debase myself to you."
"Debase yourself to me? Where did you pick up that line? after Amsterdam? That wasn't debasing? I've seen the video and the still photos. Doubtless they're already on the internet by now, already flew across the ocean. But it was what you wanted, you came bouncing in told me you'd be gone but you'd be back. Just in time to take the train and, I might add, the way you looked, the rope burns, the whipping marks, I wondered if we could get you on a train and to Frankfurt. And what the fuck happened there? I don't know why I'm asking, I'll see it all, in color and probably HD." Still crying and on his knees he crawled away and tucked himself in a corner. The next time I got up I dropped a throw over him.

Room service arrived and laid out a very good looking meal, just what I'd ordered. Well, for two. After the waiter bowed his way out, I snapped my fingers, pointed to a place on the floor beside me and waited until he crawled over. Every few bits, I'd hold something in my hand for him to eat. I finally put a plate on the floor but no eating utensils.

When I stood up I told him he could have whatever remained on the table and might sit on the chair. I resumed working at the desk and paid no attention to him. I did hear the rattle of the trolley as he pushed it out the door. Not knowing what to do, he sat on a chair and watched me work. Eventually I snapped my fingers again, indicated he was to sit under the desk and, when he got there, I took off my pants and pointed at my dick.

He seemed touchingly grateful and, besides, he gave great blow jobs. After the first one and although my glasses had fallen off I was clinging to the chair, sweating, I pulled off my sweater and held his head to my dick. I demanded to be edged and blown again. It took longer but I finally blew but held his head, there would be a third round whether I could stand it or not. My knees were bent, my feet were behind me, the toes fanned out. My hair was streaming with sweat that coursed through the hair on my chest, ran down to my abdomen then onto the little bit of cock that was out and onto him where it dripped on the floor.

I collapsed after the third time, waved him away and just sat, sort of, in the chair feeling as empty yet fulfilled as I'd ever felt. Even if I'd been desperate to fuck him, there was no way. Just then I wasn't sure how I could stand, move to the bedroom and fall on the bed. He came to me with cool cloths, wiped my body as best he could with me sitting there then picked me up and got me onto the bed. I knew it was coming, should have resisted it but wanted it, the final act. Tom had a big cock and all that sucking had made him hot and very hard. He probed my opening with his finger, first one, then two then three...I was waiting and it came, his whole fist slowly creeping into me. No stopping, just a determined thrust.

I hated it, I wanted it, I loved it. I pushed my butt back, accepting him, helping him. He put a twist on his arm which got every single nerve in my canal. Only thing left, my perineum and he'd soon be there.

The pleasure was driving me insane, I couldn't take it, I wanted more. One finger began to press the very thin skin that separated him from the last thing to torture me with ecstasy. We were locked together but it was up to him to release both of us. My collapsed body told him we were at an end. Slowly he pulled out then fell on top of me kissing my neck and licking the sweat.

When I woke up it was morning. Tom and I were both naked, covered with the salt that comes when sweat dries. How long had we slept? He moved first, turned me on my back, got off the bed and I heard water running. He gave me a form of bed bath that soaked their sheets but I was fairly certain if wet sheets were the only damage I caused, there would be no mention.

I tried to get up or sit up or move but I wasn't there yet. He picked up the phone ordered coffee, continental breakfast for two....told them to just leave it in the sitting room.
"Satisfied? I was in Amsterdam, wanted to share it with you."
I turned my head to look at him. "Want to finish the job? I think I have one small load left....."
He tried to conceal a smile but moved his head toward my crotch, licking me as he went. He made contact and did nothing but tried to gather the curled, limp organ in his mouth. Fingers worked my nuts and, after some little while, there was movement. He had succeeded, I was getting slowly hard. He tried to put his tongue In my piss hole and lifted the length of the rest of the flesh with his lip. It felt good to be someplace warm, welcoming, He meant to take it slow and long and pull every last drop of precursor to life from me. Just what I wanted.

Distantly I heard the breakfast tray delivered but was too involved in feeling pleasure to care. His spit was getting in the hair around my meat, his tongue was almost making a hangman's noose  around my cock for the proof I was a man. He would hang me and swallow me. I closed my eyes, felt the trapdoor under my feet fall open and that's when I shot.

I had meant to take him to the airport if only to make sure he got on the plane. However, in my exhausted condition, I called Flambo, explained my situation and did he have suggestions? He did. He said the French version of "Leave it to me" and so I did. All I had to do was make sure Tom was dressed at one pm and after that, my time would be my own.

Fortunately Continental Breakfasts are usually eaten cold but who cared? I'd been so physically used, mentally taxed that I didn't give a damn, it was food. Some how the coffee was still reasonably hot and so I sat there, looking at a post card view of Paris, checking the very handsome clock on the mantle and felt life returning. I told Tom he had to be ready at One as someone was coming to drive him to the airport. If he was disappointed I wasn't going, he didn't show it and got his packages and bundles in the living room by just after noon then plunked himself down on a love seat, dressed more or less like normal people, and we waited.

"Will, uhm, I really did have a good time and I know you had a lot to do with it."
"Did you get a very, very nice gift for Gail? Something that will get you in the front door?" He produced a wrapped box that I recognized as being from Faberge and figured if that wasn't good enough, then Gail needed to rethink things.

They were a bit early. Or I should say M. Flambo was. We had a brief conversation, he checked the luggage, the ticket and then two more men joined him. Tow was whirled around, cuffed, gagged and removed from the room. Flambo said they'd keep him in the jail at de Gaulle until the plane left, uncuff him just before he was brought to the plane and was there anything else I needed just then?

Still stark naked, I shook his hand, did the double air kiss, said I'd be in touch.
"Wiil you go back to the Netherlands?"
"Possibly, there's a conference in Milan....." He bowed his slight bow and closed the door behind him.

I had previously sent Gail a message telling her when and what time and left it to her as to whether to meet him or not.

One thing which was a good, long warm shower to sluice off the excesses of the past several hours, got well dried and went to bed.

Twilight anywhere can be good looking but in Paris.....you have to see it. Somewhere during my sleep Tom was turned over to a flag carrier of the United States and was somewhere over the Atlantic. It was the last I ever hoped to see of him. Proving I was better, I found a robe in the bathroom, put it on, left the lights off and watched the room grow dark. Color left, shades of gray and black and soon only the light from the window spilled any illumination. I thought about dinner realizing that one could never bother room service too much so picked up the phone, had a pleasant conversation with the Chef de Cuisine, explained my exhausted caused by excessive sex-this is France why wouldn't they understand?-and got a very cozy response. Yes, he knew precisely the meal. Oh, and only red wine and certainly no fish. He seemed rather taken with the project which boded well.

In the dark I went to the bathroom, turned on one light, took out my straight razor and opened the slash which was beginning to seem permanent. Perhaps I'd give it a day or two before opening it and see what emerged.

I did put on some clothes, simple pull on shirt, some pants, barefoot also turned on a very few lamps. It was pleasant dim in the rooms, the sort of dim that you'd want if you were just checking to see how big your black eye had gotten. I had to make some decisions, for the first time since I'd flown out of Los Angeles, decisions that were only necessary for me. I thought of Klarn and knew I would go back to him....eventually. What I was already dreading was having to leave him again.

Dinner arrived which was a sort of a festival in blood. Meat was seared but served almost chilly on the interior. Some sort of warm beet soup, Mussels and a bottle of red wine. That was dinner and, as I ate it, I realized, it was just what I wanted. Called the chef, offered my compliments and was invited to the Chef's table the next evening giving me a reason to stay in Paris one day longer.

The first day I had no commitments, no one with which to concern myself.....I could go out, pretend to be an old fashioned Boulevadier. just walk, see whatever came in front of me. I'd seen the sights of Paris but even now, when most of the tourists had gone away, there wasn't any one that called to me to come back. In truth, I wanted to do something for myself, something frivolous, perhaps even something expensive which implied shopping. I started at Fauchon for a coffee and the best French pastries in the world. They had cases of good things, the best, fat stemmed White Asparagus, Macaroons, all the luxury food you might want. I sent some things home, and to Gail, thanked them and walked out to the Place Madeleine. Turned off that and just walked.

What better way to relax and think than under a hot towel in a barber's chair before the blade shave and the massage? I turned off the boulevard and decided to walk until I found one. Two blocks away there was a sign set on the pavement that advertised a full service barber around the corner. I turned, found the very efficient, clean looking shop and went in. The barber took my coat, hung it on a hanger, took my suit coat and hung it on a hanger than asked what I wished. What I wanted was....everything. I explained that I had a day to myself, I'd been in meetings for days and this day was wholly for myself. That I spoke reasonably fluent French probably helped but the gentleman smiled, suggested I sit in his chair and we could begin. To avoid the problems with water, he asked if I would mind removing my shirt. Of course not. He took that, carefully hung it up along with my tie, reclined the chair and in a very soothing voice said that he hoped he could satisfy.

It was almost an elegant shop, one in which he obviously took great pride, more modeled on a gents barbershop in London. Hence the paneling, leather covered furniture, the hunting prints, a discreet list of prices and himself. Tight fitted vest, white shirt, good tie tucked under the placket, nicely cut hair, pleasant face, good lips and eyes, direct, focused on their work.

He inspected me, ran his hands through my hair....."German work, yes, definitely. That ugly straight line, I know why but, with Monsieur's permission, I can set it right. (I thought of Alberto and his work and was glad he wasn't about to hear what was being said.)

First was a general wetting with warm water and a sponge. He added some sort of cream and worked that into my face and neck then another layer of something good smelling, like a forest. Big lot of that. The first hot towel, the second and third with the fourth wound in the traditional place, leaving my nose open. While that opened my pores my shoulders and part way down my arms got a good massage, he had my head flip down and worked on the back of my neck. Time to change the towels. Some new stuff spread on me, almost mentholated but not quite, a different smell, too. That was worked in and hot towels were again applied. He had a pause while I baked and enjoyed the leisurely luxury of it.

Towels removed and I found he'd changed into a long sleeved T shirt with the name of the shop on it as well as his name, Pierre. (What else in Paris, France?) I assumed he was the owner but found out this was a family shop, his father, now almost retired but still, Saturdays only, took care of a few old customers. He seemed almost sad when he told me he had no children and so....when he retired...well, maybe a nephew....I wished that for him as well.

Time for the shave. A blade was presented to me for my approval, which it got, then to making the thick foam with a brush in a mug.
This was a barber who knew how to do it right. The first layer of lather was allowed to sit, covered with hot towels and then removed while the next lathering, the important lathering was applied. Working carefully, I could not even feel the blade, all I could see was a blur of him and moving arms. He stood back, felt my face, worked a new mug of lather, put that on and, in those places that did not meet his very high standards, he returned to hunt each follicle down. Then he was satisfied, wiped my face clean, looked for things like black heads-there were none-and stood back to observe.

Monsieur, before I cut your hair may I suggest that the hair on your chest should be clippered a bit, some outlining done....you are a fine looking man with a fine chest, not shaved which some men do, very masculine but a little work......
Didn't take a moment to agree. I had in the past "man scaped" myself but doing it on your own, no matter what the videos show you, is less than successful so I just let it grow back.

"Bon". He took a pair of large clippers, slipped a guard over them and carefully went over my whole chest. Looking down, as best one can, it didn't look shaved, just smooth. Next with his straight razor he cleaned up the edges, put less hair around my nipples and worked on down until he was approaching my belt.

I took the lead by undoing my pants, he took them, waited a moment, while I slipped out of my underwear which he carefully folded and put on a shelf. The clippers again but with a new guard. Now the fur was shorter but blended perfectly with the path of hair that descended from my chest. He meticulously removed all the hair that covered my cock, clippered my nuts and then put hot towels over my chest and crotch.

While I was being warmed below, he leaned the rest of me back into a shampooing bowl. A first wetting with some sort of oil produced no foam but a great head massage. Then the shampoo, some sort of conditioner and, as do the best barber he cut, well, trimmed my hair wet. As with everything he'd done, nothing major but a shifting towards a more masculine me although no one had ever suggested I looked less than masculine. It was shortened a bit and, something I'd never had, a hard part shaved in. Blown dry, combed and nothing, no goo, no spray, he explained that natural looking hair was the best look for a man. He called it "wash and wear" hair and I absolutely agreed.

All the towels were removed, leaving me naked but utterly relaxed. He stood back, stepped forward, raised the back of the chair, lowered the leg rest, stepped back again, asked if I would mind standing and turning. I swear I heard him almost yell, "Aha". He had found some hair that needed attention. First, that little spot of hair that many men have just above their ass crack and some general furriness, not much but offensive to him, that had to be dealt with.

From a wall, a massage table came out and was secured to subtle depressions in the floor. He covered it with a sheet, asked that I hop up, face down with my head in the ring and we'd take care of that matter. I had never been waxed in all my life but now I was. I can see how if you were a bear back there it might be quite painful, but for my modest soft stubble, I'd hurt myself more trying tools at the hardware store. While the wax set, he massaged the back of my legs and, wonder of wonder, did a bit of shiatsu on my feet. While I was in a state of bliss, he ripped off the wax, put something-I was beyond caring what-on my back, rubbed it in, but a couple of towels over me and suggested I nap for a few moments. Lights were lowered and, by damn, I did drop off.

As there was no part of the body left untouched, we'd reached the end. The quick brushing with a soft brush, my clothes restored to me and, sadly, for both of us possibly, it was time to go. Perhaps to prolong the pleasure-he took great pride in his work and nothing pleased him more than a well satisfied customer, he offered a snifter of Brandy. There was no bill, a sum was mentioned, I doubled it which I handed to him with my card. I received one in exchange. Blinds were opened, lights were turned on, it was time to go. With a very polite bow, he opened the door for me, hoped I might return and I was out on the street but pleasantly changed.

Later, at the hotel, Flambo was there, waiting for me. His first comment was about how well I looked. I thanked him and asked if there was something he needed. I was handed a box after which he turned and left. I thought I knew what might be in it but changed clothes, something indoors, noting I still felt great from my afternoon of being groomed-perhaps I should enter the third at Longchamps-and generally relaxed, had another Brandy, this time a Calvados, and opened the box.

The war of the Roses continued. This time there were three and under that, a ticket for a luxury seat on the train to the Haag. No date, but it could easily be filled in. I called Flambo, asked him to come by in the morning and then to send one rose to Klarn, slashed on two sides.

Two days later I left for the Netherlands. Some things were different. I'd bought a great set of very heavy strapping leather luggage which would, I was assured and believed, stop bullets. The obvious, what the barber had done and, I found, true to what he said, all it needed was a quick shampooing and it fell into place. We glided out of Paris and rapidly accelerated across the French country side, made on stop at Brussels and then onto the Haag.

He was there, looking happy, well turned out, offered me the usual hug and kiss that almost isn't a kiss and we walked from the station.

"Walk to the hotel?"
We did and, right on cue, it began to snow, the beautiful sort, large soft, slow falling flakes. The sort that stay on your shoulders and brim of your hat. "It's a fine thing to have you back. You were missed."
"By you?"
I could see him almost smile.
"Yes, by me. Very much by me. I heard, of course about the rest....."
"I'd prefer we not bother with that topic, I'm not here as a tourist anxious to tell a friend what I did and saw.'
"While you're here, would you have some instruction in Dutch? Not by me, I have yet to teach my cat to get down in any language."
"Certainly. I'll leave it to you to arrange it."
"You look very stylish, tres chic, Paris agreed with you."

We were at the hotel where, no surprise,  I was warmly greeted and Klarn was almost bowed to. No bothering to check in, just up to a larger suite than last time but with a surprising view of a canal. There was an arrangement of roses, each slashed. He turned my face to him and smiled.

"Only a few more.....and the scar will have set." He was removing my clothes until I was naked where upon he led me to the bed, laid me on it, looked at me, began to undress himself and lay down beside me. "Do you need to return to California soon?"
"Eventually."
"That's not soon, but...eventually."
"Yes, it is." I rolled over, put one arm around his body, drew him to me and began to make love. Nothing aggressive, just a few licks, kisses, a hand here, there. It would take us a long time but we were both experience, very experienced and knew the prize was worth the effort.

I like the way he mounted me. Subtle, determined, loving. His cock was made for fucking and I cannot explain what I just wrote but it's true. Great shaped cock, expanded, made it easy to deep throat him and as able to get as hard as most men I've ever known. Through the night we alternately used each other as we wished. When sleep came, both of us were perfectly satisfied and, I knew it, almost in love. I wondered if he could be in love? Totally, to the exception of not just others, but things. It was a non-starting concern for I knew that my gentle Dutchman would love me as he found out how.

We showered the next morning followed by his ritual of slowing drawing the straight razor down my face then licking the blood. He left to return to being an inspector and, I found out, my Dutch instructor would be with me at ten.

A very nice lady, surprisingly dressed in a stylish mode that isn't typical of Dutch women, presented herself and the lesson began. At the end, she still had her composure but in my hands, the Dutch language had suffered. Badly. I have a good ear, spoke several languages but Dutch....might as well have been Urdu. She promised that, the next time I'd be surprised at how much I remembered. In one sense she was right, I would be surprised, shocked, really.

Klarn showed up with a suitcase which he unpacked into the drawers and closet. "You don't mind, I hope, I'm working on something that makes it better for me if I'm in the city. How did the lesson go?"
"Badly." He laughed. Apparently he and the lady were in cahoots as he said that I'd be surprised at what I'd remember.
The snow had piled up a bit, making it almost fun to walk in. Klarn took me to a restaurant that no tourist would ever find but one at which he was instantly welcomed. Only men were there and several of them made it a point to present their bow and compliments. I was introduced a Doktor from overseas, a close personal friend of his. With that, they bowed to me, introduced themselves and then departed. Several of them noticed, discreetly, the scar on my cheek and, I could tell, that was exciting some comment.

"Many of these men work for me, they will always identify themselves to you, show you respect, if there is something needed, they will see what can be done."
"I don't want that. If they want to be friends, then fine, but I don't want anyone toadying to me because of whom I know, with whom I am....I do appreciate what you and they are offering, but it's a bit more than I want, than I can feel comfortable." I put down my napkin and stood up. "Lets go back to the hotel."
He was beside me in a minute, if I wanted to go back to the hotel, then we would. "Is it too far to walk?"
"The snow....."
"Fuck the snow, I just want some clear air and, Klarn, I want you." We stopped in front of a shop. He put his arms around me.
"Can I make you understand about how my life is? I'm trapped by it, I cannot go back and not be Klarn, Inspector General."
I started to walk, my long legs moving me quickly away from...what?" He was beside me in an instant, whirled me around and there, in the light, in the snow, on the street, kissed me. "I cannot lose you. Please Will, please"
I looked for a cab but, as if by magic, a cruiser painted in the bright blue and white of the Dutch police pulled up. Klarn pushed me into the back seat and followed calling the name of the hotel to the driver.

It was only moments away and he barely could keep up with me as I ran through the side doors to the lobby. The elevator was empty, pushed the button for my floor but just as the doors were closing, he stopped them, got in and tried to hold me. I turned to the back of the car until I knew we were there, brushed by him, fumbled the key....but this hand went over mine. Taking the key he calmly opened the door, escorted me through it, closed it, locked it. The room was dark. I stood as far into the room as inertia took me. Quietly, gently, he took my top coat, hung it up and returned to me.

"Will, what I want is you as my man, my lover, my partner....maybe you don't want me, maybe you do but there's a wedge...." We sat on a sofa, he pulled my head on to his shoulder and kept an arm around my back, patting me.
"You have to tell me.....Please".

I had no tears left. Leaning back and looking out a window to a streetlight, "He was my lover and partner of many years then he died and since then....."
"How?"
"Plane crash, he was a Captain. It wasn't his fault the NTSB ruled that maintenance was to blame, he was exonerated completely. His family did not care for me, never acknowledged my existence, I wasn't even allowed to attend the memorial service. That's all there is to tell you."
He said nothing but continued to hold me.
"Sometimes I see a montage of our lives, beautiful home, successful men, generally accepted, we each had interesting, involving careers-he was the Captain, one of them, who was an acceptance Pilot for the line when new planes were delivered."

There was silence, the sort of silence that is perhaps going to hurt someone when it's broken.

"So. It's not a matter of you don't love me, it's that you can't love me."
"I can't love you as much as you want me to and as much as I want to love  you."
"You care?"
"Yes, I came back didn't I? "

In the dark it was easier to talk about Bob and back then and how I'd loved him. But it broke my soul to know that this must hurt Klarn, one of the best men I'd ever known, whom, maybe, I could love but this was all very soon, very fast. As if I had a plane to catch, we just didn't know when it was leaving.

"Will you spend the night? I mean, sleep with me?"
"Just that? Sleep with you?"
" IF or when....we'll spend a lot of nights just sleeping, sex every night and you'd be calling into the station or wherever and I'd just lay in bed building up strength for the next night."
I could sense him chuckle.
"Yes, I would love to sleep with you, just us, nestled together when it's winter and far apart, the windows open when it's summer."
"I love your home, it suits both of us, I think. I can see us, naked, on the sheet, light streaming in, perhaps one reaches for the other, just to make sure they're there."

"Look, as much as I love you and need you, I always want you, all of you. Everyone has memories, cannot avoid those but some memories need to die much as he people in them." I heard him take a deep breath. "Why don't you fly home in some days, go to Los Angeles, look at your home, think. We can talk everyday once we get the time difference worked out."
"One of us is probably always going to be in bed....."

"Would you go with me?"
"No, I don't want part of your memories to be me in both places, just here. But.......you know I'll be here when you decide to....come home."

I stayed until a week after Christmas. After California, a real Christmas Card Christmas with snow and trees and people having their cars and bicycles pulled from the canals. I'd moved to his flat, we decorated it, or he did. I was surprised at how old fashioned it looked. A fully decorated tree, lights, we spent one whole evening decorating it. 

I did go back to the restaurant and met some of the men who could not have been more accepting and, after that, good friends, some of them amusing, many came to the flat for a series of Christmas parties. Klarn had a gift for each and not the same thing. I'd put no little thought into what to give him and finally found-well, I asked one of the men from the restaurant-where to find a good pornographic photographer. In a leather bound book, were all manner of pictures of me varying from the artfully composed to the raunchy, sticking a dildo up my ass, my cock dripping cum....not the book to put on the coffee table. It was the best Christmas in, well, a very long time. 

Klarn gave me a magnificent watch that told time in two places already set to the West Coast and the Netherlands. 

We'd cleaned up after Christmas, got the needles from the carpet, all the lights, bits and pieces of Christmas put away....when I got out my luggage.

He tried not to look at it as if it were a snarling, dangerous animal that had crept into his lounge.

The night before I left we were in bed making a slow, meaningful love when he said....sleeping with you...You know I love you."
I said nothing but pulled him to me, held him, kissed him......I think he knew what I was trying to say.

The same train station as the one I'd left from for Frankfurt which was again my destination. I'd fly from there to California and try and pick up my life with the clear idea that I had another home. He couldn't come to the station and I was grateful he didn't. Two of his men to whom I'd grown close did and were going to travel with me to Germany. I was beyond thankful for their presence, their cheery talk, stories of Christmases gone so bad the police had to be summoned. The trip, not very long, seemed shorter with them. Herr Muller met us, seemed like an old friend. I introduced the young officers. He had orders from the Haag, they were to stay with me until the plane left the next day. I wondered how that might work itself out but they told me that they were lovers and this was a mini-vacation to them. I should have known Klarn would assign someone compatible.

They came up to my suite the next morning in their Dutch dress uniforms to escort me to the airport. As Muller got me through immigration and departure, they shook my hand, saluted as the door to the elevator closed. 

We flew the Polar Route to California and because we were going West, the sun never set. Leaving Frankfurt around one, we came over the fence at LAX about five. It was usual Lufthansa superb service and, for once, I accepted their offer to make my seat into a bed, put on their pajamas and crawled in. Some people closed their windows, some did not. I am accustomed to sleeping in very dark, very cool rooms so the most I can say is that I got a nap or two. 

I'd arranged for a car to pick me up, take me home and, if necessary, haul me to a grocery store to pick up some basics. I'd had a service seeing after the place in my absence and, when I walked in, it was just as the day that I walked out, even a well stocked fridge. Fighting jet lag, I called no one and made myself stay up to something approximating my usual bed time. The next two days were a bit grim but I survived and finally was back on California time. It had been winter when I left the Netherlands and though the locals were complaining of the cold, it seemed warm to me. My pool is heated so, stark naked, I'd walk across my terrace and dive in. 

The first Monday after I was home I went to the office who were stunned to see me. They'd had no notice so my coming through the doors caused confusion. Jeff, my secretary, almost wept before bringing in enough mail, most of it disposable, but all of it having to be looked at. That's how he and I spent the day so for a "Thank You" to him and his partner Brett, I asked them to come to my home for dinner and a swim on Saturday. Just spend the day and then the night. 

Eventually word of my return got around and calls started to come to me with invitations, curiosity as to why I'd been so long in returning, the usual that I knew to expect. To fend off the most aggressive of inviters I told them that this was sort of a brief stop over as I had business in South America and was going there. (Country of destination on request.

Jeff and Brett had some understanding of what was on my mind and under consideration. They became almost house guests and their youth, their liveliness and, yes, often their ridiculousness went a long way to divert me. Endlessly helpful, they were my pool boys, my greens keepers, vacuumers, dusters and general cleaner upper. Did they ever sleep with me? The first time Brett was looking for something and found me in tears, thinking of Bob and Klarn, in my library. Worried, he and Jeff waited until I'd gone to bed and then slid in telling me they were worried about my crying. Which set me off again. Having two warm bodies, sympathetic all over the place, okay, got me hard. They noticed and...they got hard. Before Jeff met Brett and after Bob's death, when I seemed depressed Jeff had crept under my desk and gave me a sympathy blow job. 

This first night....a Friday.....I'm not sure you'd call it a Three Way but let us say it was a mutual exchange of many things. I did love them as you love children so was surprised to find they had considerable affection for me. Thereafter finding three of us in my bed was not unusual. It was that having someone beside me that turned it. I never forgot Klarn, we spoke on the phone often enough, but I missed his physical presence, not just in bed but coming in and calling to me or the two of us going for a walk. I had one thing to do and then I was I was back to the Netherlands. Just in time for Tulip Time.

It was a rough flight possibly because most of it was around or near the Andes and the winds plus updrafts plus down drafts they could produce.  Only the day before I left for Buenos Aires did I send a note to the Senor that I was coming. A harder note was to Klarn saying I was going.  Apparently the message got through as Gallinetti and crowd were at Ezeiza to meet and greet me. No bother with things such as customs and immigration and some got into baggage handling and just took mine from the cart. Driving into the city with "Paco" as he liked to be called was an E ticket ride but then based on the traffic around us, we were being almost cautious. Of course there was no thought of my staying at a hotel when he had a large home in the city and a larger one several hundred miles into the Pampa. There was a guest room and, nominally, that was where I was staying.  

The first thing, which he could understand, was to do something about my exhaustion; It's about the same distance from Germany as it is from Los Angeles, I'd just had to put up with a grim flight. He understood. He had his cook make up some sort of drink which, in looking at it, could have been thrown together by the witches in Macbeth save that this didn't boil or bubble. He was very encouraging and with him there-I wondered if he should be holding a bucket-down it went. Nothing came up and, amazingly, rather more quickly than I might have expected I did feel better. Next was a good shower after which a massage then bed. In the back of my mind I felt that some of these activities were not to be done solo. In the large shower room I confirmed that as we stripped together.

I didn't come to Argentina to see the sights, I'd previously done that. To be honest with myself, I'd come to see one man to verify that the decision I'd made was correct. In the shower, tired as I was, I welcomed Paco to taste my tang, to feel my butt to scrub me clean then dry me and carried me to bed. He had the presence of mind to realize that to have more fun later, I had to rest now. In his big bed, in a cool room with a warm man I slept very well.

We spent the next day reasonably quietly...if you consider sitting at a café on the Nuevo de Julio relaxing. The sixteen lanes, plus the enormous parks that formed the center were never quiet. Completely different from Paris, Argentines were effusive, amusing, and all of it to the background of the tango. We went home, napped and around nine set out for a walking dinner. You could dine out every night in BA and never eat at the same place twice. Restaurants opened and closed like clams. The idea was to find a glass of wine here or there, a Brandy, some small plate of something good....Paco and I went out to a park on the estuary to a place called "El Gato Pescado" for a fish course then back into the city for a steak, the national food. Walk, see friends, have a coffee, walk some more, sit, walk, talk....home was around three am then to bed until eleven the next morning.  Of course going to bed did not mean going to sleep, it meant having a variety of sexual pleasures that allowed sleep around the time the sun was coming up.

I was listing to starboard, slightly, later that morning or day when I found him on his terrace, fully bathed and shaved and pouring out coffee. He laughed and apologized. "I forget you've flown a very long way and last night....."
"Added to my jet lag. Although, you are always a pleasure, I think I've still got some of you in me."
"Would you like me to eat it out? Take back what is rightfully mine."
Through my deeply tinted sunglasses-great for high altitude flying-he looked ready to do it. That was when I looked about at high rise apartment building in the immediate vicinity and it was impossible to believe that all the neighbors never, ever looked out to see what was going on in the neighborhood. That he had a pool was a magnet for attention.
"Uh, maybe not here, not now." And pointed at the various buildings.
"What? Them? I'm their best entertainment, it's unusual for me to be here in a robe, not everyone is unhappy to see me and, what can they do? Call the police? What have I done? " To prove his point he dropped his robe and dove into the pool. I followed him but my dive was more a matter of being on the edge and tipping over. 

He came up behind me, already getting hard and suggested he make another deposit. We weren't in the deep end-there wasn't one-so treading water wasn't necessary.  Given that, and, after all, he was my host so I took him. Leaning against his pleasantly furred chest, even wet, was a good sensation. It was sunny and he was warm. With one arm around me, the other reached for my stiffy, it was a pleasant moment. So relaxing, so good to feel a man in me just before I stuck him. 

When I woke I was by the pool, sun tan lotion on me and Paco, still stark naked, reclining on a chaise lounge. If it wasn't the picture of domesticity, it was a very good situation. Seeing that I was returning to consciousness, he knelt beside me, rolled me over and applied lotion to my front side. 

He stretched out, looked at me as man does when he has a question.
"Why are you here?"
"You promised to get your nipples pierced and I promised to be here when you did."
"Ah, yes, and that's a promise to enforce."
"Yep, I do. Next time we go out."
He excused himself and with no one to speak with I drifted back to sleep.

I was in his arms my next round of wakedness. "You will get sunburned and flying with a sunburn is hell."
It was instinctual, I put my arms around his chest and hoped we had a good long way to walk. Water all around me, a shower, he was going to bath me. Stayed awake so that I could do him and almost did.

It was nice to be clean, dry, on very white cool sheets with him beside me. The sun was at the perfect angle to force the French blinds to glow but not emit much heat. I wanted to roll on my side but he held me, leaned over, kissed me. "I have a treat for us, they'll be here shortly, I hope you'll be pleased. At moments while I never think of you as my son, I do regard you as a younger version of someone I would love to have if....they were older."
"I could punch you for that......show me something I can't do just because you have a few years on me....."
"You cannot grow old with me. A great sorrow but it's the truth." He turned my head toward him. "Besides, there is another man for you add, to be honest, you're here to make sure you haven't made a mistake. You haven't. From what I know, he loves you very much and you will eventually love him. Am I right?"

I rolled over and sat on the edge of the bed. I wanted to acknowledge he was right but I also needed him to know that my affection for him was real, genuine and he hadn't been a test to see what I should do. Behind me there was the sound of someone coming into the room.
"Ah, he's here, my treat."

I looked around and saw a young man, very young actually, who looked more like some sort of odd ball street person. Hair that was caught up in one braid that went below his waist, At the openings of his long sleeved shirt there were tattoos, a ring in his nose....and he knew Paco?
"My surprise! For both of us! The finest piercer in Buenos Aires, only for men and only in precious metals."
"Great, you deserve the best!"
"We deserve the best. You, me, nipples, pierced, a souvenir of your visit."
"Paco.....I hadn't....."
"Siéntese en la silla, ponga sus manos detrás de su cuello y saque su cofre."
"He wants you....."
"I know fucking well what he wants and I'll go it. Souvenir of you."
As the man wished, I sat in the chair, laced my fingers behind my neck and stuck out my chest. He held before me a velvet box that contained two barbell shaped pieces of jewelry.
"I thought we'd look better in that shape than with hoops. Of course if you want to change it...."
"No, this your gift to me and I was always taught to be pleased by what is meant to please."
The kid/man carefully wiped my nipples with antiseptic, took a tool, rather like a caliper, measured from side to each, made dots, held up the shining gold bar to show me, I smiled, put it down and picked up a large needle, generally known as a spinal needle. 

He was good and, yes, it was somewhat painful. Unlike the young who, one supposes, get this sort of thing on a whim, I knew what to expect and it wasn't that bad. He did the other side, then removed the piercing needles but followed them in with the gold which had a small screw on the end to which he put in a ball.
"Bravo, Senor, tu es un hombre bravo."

"Your turn." Paco sat down, assumed the position and it was only moments before we both sported the gleaming gold.
"Happy?"
"Yeah and I'm glad you tricked me into it. I like it. Wish the gentleman could come with me......"
Paco smiled his great, South American smile, "Well, you could always come here with....whomever if that's what you had in mind"
"Actually, I have two in mind and I'll rely on you to get them everything you know this city can offer. Now, frankly, I'd like a Pisco Sour."
They were immediately part of me, aside from the pain that would go away. We were told to rotate them as often as possible and, with that, he left leaving two additional pair of stainless steel which he suggested we use during the healing period.

The pointless, pleasant life in BA gave no reason to leave. Paco knew a wealth of amusing interesting people and, of course, we still went out virtually every night for a drink, some part of dinner; The only change had been that I either left him or he came home with me before the night turned to morning. I had quietly had Brett and Jeff fly to Amsterdam to set up an office, giving them a name who might help in the event they needed help. I didn't wonder if they'd called him, I was certain of it.

It rained one day and even though Palermo Park looked beautiful in the rain, it was a sign that it was time to move on. Paco was sorry but understood and knew that I'd come back either alone or with some one. Reservations were made and then we were at Ezeiza again, as usual not bothering with customs and immigration. He was surprised that I was taking Air France to Paris but assumed I wanted to make a sneak attack by crossing the Maginot line going the other way. Big hug, big kiss, box slipped in the pocket of my overcoat and we were backing out, turning forward and, after the usual confusion on the runways, lifted off for Paris.

Very early one morning I surprised the best barber in the world, asked for his day, the full skein of his talents and allowed myself the luxury of enjoying every second of it. He commented on my deep tan, the gold bars in my nipples but, otherwise set to work getting rid of the aura of Argentina and turning me back to a proper European. 

Two days later Brett and Jeff met me at the train station in the Haag full of questions, only some of which I answered. They commented on how different I looked, the tan, the haircut....no mention of Klarn, whether they'd contacted him or not. (My money said that they had but realized not to mention it.) I shooed them onto the next train back to down, hailed a cab and went to my usual hotel. Reservations were waiting for me, my usual suite. Up stairs I took a long showered, shaved, washed my teeth and, very well dried, got into bed. And waited. 

I don't know what time it was when I heard the door to the sitting room open then the soft sounds of a man undressing. He got into bed with me, felt around and ran his finger down my scar and pulled closer. Only one word from me...."Forever". He embraced me more deeply,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

Author's notes. Some of you, if you read it all and certainly I hope you did may wonder....how much of this is real? About 60% although it's a compilation of several trips abroad. Tom is a real person, the barber is real, the hotels, etc are all real. Paco is not although some of the things I've done in Buenos Aires all.  Klarn is based on two men I knew-rather well-in Oslo and Helsinki. The time line for this actually covers about 20 years. My ex pat friends are real (names changed) as is the excursion to Malmaison.

Did I get my nipples pierced in Buenos Aires? No, there done in the USA.

And, no, I don't sleep with every man with whom I have contact, just a small percentage and I've enjoyed them,

I hope you've enjoyed this, I enjoyed the memories it brought back and writing about them.

PJ