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9. Chapter 9 From A Summer Love

Mark Arbour%s's Photo   Mark Arbour, 05 Jan 2011

September 20, 1991

        I think there's a point where it makes sense to give up on love, and I'd reached that point.  I’d tried with Lou and gotten burned, I'd tried with JP and ended up alone, and I'd tried to start a relationship with Max and gotten dumped.  I stared in the mirror, at my face, at my body.  I'm a good looking guy, I'm smart, I'm rich as hell, why am I having these problems with men?  Maybe I was just bored.  Maybe when school started on Monday I'd get back into the swing of things. 

        The doorbell rang, breaking into my thoughts.  Maybe it was Max.  Maybe he missed me and decided to come back for another round.  Fat chance of that.  It had been almost a week since he'd blown me off.  I opened the door without really thinking.

        “Hello Marcel.”

        “Lou,” I said, shocked.  How the fuck did he find me here?  He stood there staring at me.  God, he looked good, with his ripped jeans and his tank top, showing off his nicely bulging biceps.

        “Glad to see me?”  he asked, with a coquettish tilt of his head.

        “No.  Not really,” I said honestly.

        “Marcel, Marcel,” he said, tsking his tongue.  “You hurt my feelings.” 

        “That's impossible Lou.  You have no feelings,” I said rudely.  “What do you want?” 

        “I came to see you,” he whined.

        “That's bullshit.  Cut the crap.  What do you want?”  I was determined that this time would be different, that he wouldn't get to me this time. 

        “You are not even going to invite me in?  To see the condo that Stefan bought you?”  Was there a twinge of jealousy there?  I motioned him in.  

        He wandered around the living room and kitchen, acting at home.  “So what do you want, Lou?  What this time?  More money?” 

        “I wanted to see you, that's all.  Nothing more,” he said as sincerely as he could, which meant he was lying. 

        “Well, you've seen me.  Now go back to where you came from.”  I sighed, knowing I couldn't keep on being this rude to him, knowing that he'd outlast me.

        “I do not have anywhere to go, at least not for a few days.  I'm here with the circuit.  There's a weekend party at the J-Bar.”  He hadn't changed a bit.  Going from city to city with a bunch of hot gay guys, tweaking out on drugs, and fucking everyone he could.  “I need to crash with you until Monday.  Can I do that?  That's all I want.” 

        He moved up and put his arms around me, giving me his look, the look that always melted me.  “You can stay here until Monday, and NO LONGER,” I said firmly.  Then his lips were on mine.  Damn he was a good kisser.

        “Thanks baby.  We have to get ready.  The party starts soon, and I need to eat something first.” 

        “I'm not going to your fucking party,” I said adamantly.

        “Well, my party is in a bar.  You do go to bars do you not?  Or have you become one of those fundamentalist dickheads?”  Typical Lou.  Vary from nice to mean in a second. 

        “You know Lou, you were not such an asshole before you started doing drugs every fucking day,” I said.  He got in my face but I stood my ground.  The days were gone where he could match me physically, and he seemed to get that. 

        “I do not need a lesson in morals or health from you.  All I wanted was a place to crash for me and a few friends.” 

        “No fucking way Lou.  You can stay here, but your skanky friends can find somewhere else to crash.  You got that?”  I was pissed now.

        “Oh come on Marcel, you'll like them,” he whined.

        “Get the fuck out!” I yelled.  This was how it always started.  The creeping effect. 

        “Alright alright.  I'm sorry.  Just me.” 

        “You know what Lou?  Here's what I will do.  I will go down to the bar with you, and I will give you some cash, and then I do not ever want to see you again.  Ever.  Is that a deal?” 

        “How much cash?” he asked.  Sleazeball.

        “A thousand bucks.  Deal?” 

        He grinned.  “Deal.  Want to take a shower together for old time's sake?”  

        “No, I do not.  We leave in half an hour.  You're not ready, I kick you out.”  Suddenly I felt empowered, in charge, and I liked it.  “This way,” I said, leading him to the guest bathroom. 

        I headed back to my own room and took a quick shower and shaved, threw on some cologne, and found some tight, slutty bar clothes.  It had been a while since I'd been out to a club.  Could be fun. 

        We took the elevator down to the first floor and I stopped by the concierge desk.  “You see this man?” I said, pointing to Lou.  The concierge nodded.  “You see him in this building again, call the cops.”  He nodded, and Lou looked at me horrified.

        “You do not have to be such an asshole,” he said.

        “Let's review Lou.  Last time you came to see me in Boston you stole all the money I had in the house, forged a check from my bank account, and even ripped off the watch Greg gave me when I graduated.  You're lucky I did not have you locked away for check fraud.  They could deport your sorry ass!  So do not fuck with me!”  I was yelling at him as we stood in front of the condo.

        “I'm sorry Marcel, I really...”

        “Shut the fuck up.  I do not want to hear more lies.  You are sorry.  You are sorry that you burned a bridge, and that you pissed me off and screwed me over bad enough that you cannot tap into me anymore.  That's all you are sorry about.”  I turned away from him and hailed a cab. 

        We hopped into the cab; both of us pissed off, and sat there sullenly as we headed to the bar.  “I need to get some food,” he said.

        “I already ate.”  I pulled out my wallet and handed him the cash, the reserve that I kept around.  I still had some money for tonight, but not as much as I wanted, but I knew better than to go to an ATM with Lou around. 

        “Thanks Marcel,” he said.  Now he was being nice, and that was scary, because that just might work.  We pulled up to the bar and there was a diner next to it.  He looked at me and raised an eyebrow, inviting me to join him in his own weird way.  It looked like the bar had a restaurant too, but I guess he wanted to save some money by hitting the diner instead. 

        “Alright, fine, let's get something to eat.”  We grabbed a booth and ordered some food that promised to be nasty, but ended up being pretty good.  “So what have you been doing since I saw you in Boston?” 

        “Well, I follow the circuit around and enjoy life, and every once in a while I manage to land a job modeling,” he said, making it sound benign.

        “You mean you party until you are so burned out and broke you cannot see straight, then you sober up long enough to model for a while and build up some cash, then you sink back into debauchery.”  The words were callous, but I said them with a smile.

        “That is another way to put it,” he said, flashing his killer smile at me.

        “And what happens when you are too old to model, or you kill so many brain cells you are not coherent anymore?” I asked.

        “That will not happen.  I will always be beautiful.  You think I am ugly?”  He was flirting.  Damn.  That was as dangerous as when he was nice.

        “No Lou, you are beautiful.  But you cannot beat nature.”  Aging was a fact of life. 

        “Well Marcel, we will see about that.  In the meantime, while I am young and popular, I am going to enjoy myself.  When I am old, I will at least have my memories.”  He made living for the moment into an art form. 

        We walked out and I spotted an ATM machine next to the bar.  “I will be right back,” I said, making sure he stayed away from me.  He'd peek at my number, steal my ATM card, and clean out my account otherwise.  I got $800, as much as it would give me, and headed back to the bar.  “Have you been here before?” I asked him.

        “No.  It is supposed to be the best club in Chicago though.  Especially if you have a VIP pass.”  That probably cost money, and I wasn't going to buy him one of those. 

        There were two bouncers outside with a line of guys waiting to get in.  Lou went to the front of the line.  “We're here with the party,” he said, standing really close to the bouncer and looking over his shoulder. 

        “Name?”  he asked.

        “Louis-Charles,” Lou said, “and this is my friend, Marcel.” 

        “You French?” the bouncer asked curiously.

        “Oui and I kiss that way too,” he said, actually getting a grin from the guy.  He looked at me, eying me up and down, and I found the attention was pretty hot.  It was nice to be appreciated. 

        “Alright, you're in.  $10 cover,” he said, holding out his hand.  Lou looked at me, expecting me to pay, but I just stared back at him, making him fork over the $20.  If we'd eaten at the restaurant, we probably could have gotten in for free.  Another bad decision Lou, I thought. 

        “Thanks,” I said to the bouncer, running my hand along his leg as I passed by him.  We walked into the large foyer.  There was a large double door to the restaurant on the left, and two bathrooms on the right.  I figured Lou would go in there to score some drugs, but he didn't.  I could feel the pulse of loud music, but the sound of it was muted.  He moved through to another door and opened it up and then we were in the actual bar area.  Now the music was blasting loudly, so loud we couldn't hear ourselves talk.  We walked in and headed to the bar and ordered a couple of beers.  There was a large bar area and it was packed. 

        I scanned the crowd and found that even in my tight jeans and tank top I was seriously overdressed.  There were guys walking around wearing nothing but thongs, and there on the dance floor guys were dancing stark naked.  It was like a toy chest for gay boys.  Lou nudged me and we moved through the bar and out onto the patio.  Here the music was muted, and you could actually talk.  Lou headed over to a crowd of stunningly handsome guys and greeted them with affection.  His posse, I guess.

        “Guys, this is my old friend from France, Marcel,” he said, introducing me.  “Marcel, this is Jason, Tony, Teddie, and Skip.”  Jason was tall with dark brown hair and classic preppy looks.  “Hey Marcel,” he said in a deep masculine voice.  “Nice to meet you.”  This guy had to be a top.  Tony was a big beefy guy, had to be Italian, who shook my hand firmly and nodded. 

        Teddie moved up to Lou and put his arm around him in a possessive gesture.  Good luck with that, I thought.  “Hi Teddie,” I said.  He shook my hand with a grip that felt like wet noodles, giving me the heebie-jeebies.  I hated that, absolutely hated that.  “Hello,” he said arrogantly.  “So you are the famous Marcel.”  He was incredibly effeminate, and spoke with a pronounced lisp. 

        “Evidently,” I said icily.  We glared at each other, and I had an overwhelming desire to piss him off.  I moved up to Lou and kissed him passionately, a mistake because I remembered how good he was. 

        I broke the kiss and got a knowing grin from Lou, while Teddie stared daggers at me.  I realized that I'd missed Skip.  He was a cute guy, short and blond, but just as effeminate and seemingly just as bitchy as Teddie.  “Some of your friends are pretty cool,” I said, giving Teddie a condescending look.  I saw Jason smirk.  “I'm going to get another beer.” 

        I wandered back into the bar and checked out the dance floor.  There was a staircase in the corner by the entry with a red rope blocking entry, and a big bouncer standing there shirtless.  That must be the VIP entrance.  The staircase wound behind the DJ booth, presumably to give the VIP members a chance to get priority requests in.  I looked above the DJ booth and saw a solid mirrored wall.  That must be one way glass, so VIPs could watch the action, but the dancers couldn't see them.  The dance floor itself was huge, with multiple levels and televisions all over the place showing videos.  I hadn't danced in a while, and I felt the urge overtaking me. 

        I headed back to the bar and grabbed a seat at the end, next to a guy who looked like he was straight out of the '70s.  A 40 year old version of John Travolta, still fit, with a polyester suit sporting huge lapels, and an open shiny shirt with gold chains that seemed to intertwine with his huge bush of chest hair. 

        “Hey,” I said to him in a friendly manner.  He just nodded to me and stared at the dance floor, almost longingly.  “I'm Marcel.” 

        He looked at me oddly.  “Bruno,” he said.  “You're new here.” 

        I smiled at him, my full illuminating smile.  “My first time.  Nice place.  Is that the VIP area over there?”

        He nodded.  “You got to pay some bucks and get the owner to approve you to make it up there.  Or you got to prance around and hope a member likes you and invites you up.” 

        “Who's the owner?” I asked. 

        He got a mischievous grin.  “Maybe you'll run into him later.” 

        “You want to dance?” I asked.  Now he looked shocked.

        “With me?  I don't dance to this crap.”  He gave me a scathing look.

        “Do not go anywhere,” I said.  I stood up and took off my shirt, putting it on the bar stool.  I saw his eyes take in my body, but I was no big deal in this den of pretty boys.  Still, the attention was flattering.  I walked over to the DJ booth.  He smiled at me. 

        “What can I play for you precious?” 

        “I want to dance with that guy at the bar.  Play me some disco.”  I slipped him $10.

        “You're going to dance with Bruno?  Keep your money.” 

        I headed back to Bruno and stood next to him.  The music changed now, the rhythm changed, and the initial beat of “Staying Alive” began pounding through the speakers.  He looked up at me with a strange expression, mostly sadness.  “Come on Bruno, show me what you got,” I said, holding out my hand to him. 

        He got up slowly, looking really nervous.  This was really bothering him, and I didn't know why.  He led me out onto the dance floor and the crowd parted for us.  Who was this guy Bruno, who everyone seemed to know?” 

        He took me into the disco starting position and flipped me out, putting his right hand into the air in the classic disco pose.  The floor below us moved.  It must be one of those suspended floors, or one on ball bearings or something.  Pretty cool.  I watched his moves and matched them.  Then he started moving, and boy could he move.  I learned disco back in France when I was a teenager as part of a school dancing class.  I was lucky to be blessed with a sense of rhythm and the muscle control to dance like a black man, or so my friends told me. 

        He twirled me like a top then brought me in, dipping me, and I looked up at him and smiled, happy to see the joy in his eyes.  He was totally in charge, tossing me everywhere, spinning, pivoting; I was working up a real sweat.  It was a blast.  I could dance with this guy all night long.  It seemed like the song ended way too soon, and then we were there, standing, staring at each other, and everyone was clapping.  I bowed to him, and he bowed back. 

        “You are one hell of a dancer Bruno,” I said. 

        “Thanks Marcel.  It's been a while.”  I heard Wham's “Wake me up” start to pulse.

        “You know how to jitterbug?” I asked.  He nodded.  I pulled him in again, only this time I took the lead, and led him on a wild ride.  He didn't miss a single step, from the shoulder slide to the reverse turn.  But he was out of breath when we were done.  I followed him back to the bar and he turned to me, grabbed me, and pulled me into a hug.  Then he broke that long enough to plant a massive lip lock on me.  The feeling I got from his kiss, the most overwhelming emotion, was desperation.  This was a man who was hurting, who needed someone, so I responded readily.  Not that it was a challenge.  He was a good kisser, and the taste of Marlboros on his breath added to his sex appeal in a strange way.  He broke the kiss and looked at me, then got nervous. 

        “I'm sorry about that.  I have to go.”  He almost ran away, heading to the back of the bar and to a set of stairs that led down to the basement.  I followed him down, watching him as he muscled his way past the servers and waiters.  This was evidently the service area.  He charged into an office and slammed the door but I caught it before it latched and followed him in, and then closed it behind us.  “Leave me alone,” he said, tears flowing down his face. 

        I walked up to him and put my arms around him.  I recognized pain.  He fought me for a bit, and then yielded, relaxing into me.  I stroked his hair, his head, while he cried on my shoulder.  I looked around the room and there were pictures everywhere, pictures of him and another guy.  They were so young and handsome.  The other guy was short, thin, and blond; he reminded me of JP.  It dawned on me, all of a sudden, that this was Bruno's bar.  He was the owner, and this was his office. 

        He pulled away from me and I kissed away his tears, still stroking my hand through his thick hair, then I moved back to his lips for another one of his fantastic tobacco-laced kisses.  I felt his tongue return to wrestle with mine, and then I felt his hard cock pressing against mine.  Suddenly he stiffened, his whole body stiffened, with a new resolve, and I knew immediately what was going to happen.  He was going to fuck me unless I stopped him. 

        I felt his hands on my ass, kneading my cheeks roughly, urgently, while his hard cock thrust against mine, separated only by my jeans and his pants.  I reached down and unbuttoned my jeans and pushed them down, letting him feel my skin.  Now his grasp was more urgent still.  I reached over and unzipped his zipper and pulled out his dick.  He was a big boy, about seven inches, close to my size, but thicker. 

        “I'm gonna fuck you,” he growled in my ear as he turned me around.

        “Bruno, please go slow, OK?”  I asked gently.

        “You a top?” he asked, disappointed. 

        I smiled and kissed him again, then nodded.  “But not right now.  Right now, I want you to fuck me with your big dick, just go easy on me at first, alright?”  He got a huge grin and dropped to his knees.  I felt his tongue on my hole, probing me, rimming me, and I gave into the feeling.  Then he stopped and I felt lubed fingers probing me, stretching me.  There was the sound of a tear, the condom package opening, and then he bent me over his desk and moved up behind me.

        I felt his big dick push in and I cringed.  I wasn't used to this, and it hurt like hell.  I forced myself to breath deeply and relax, willed my ring to loosen and let him in.  I felt his hands on my ass, stroking my cheeks lovingly, and then one reached around and played with my limp dick, sparking some life back into it.  Slowly he pushed his way in, then out, then in again, then out.  The third time he thrust in, I was ready for him.  I moved so he slammed into my prostate and that made me moan, and made my ass relax and open up for him. 

        “Yeah, you like that now, don't you?” he asked me roughly as he began to pound me. 

        “Yes,” I said.  I was barely able to talk I was so breathless.  He started really fucking me now, a fuck filled with a strange mixture of desperate need, love, and roughness.  It was fucking awesome.  I just relaxed, completely submitting to him.  When he moved me, I moved.  When he stroked me, I responded. 

        He pulled out of me and flipped me over onto my back, pausing to suck my dick for a few minutes, bringing me close to the edge.  Then he stood up and slammed his dick back into me.  I reached up and grabbed his head, forcing him to bend over and kiss me.  I wrapped my arms around his back, making him hold both of us up while he kissed me.  Finally, out of breath, I let him go, and started stroking my dick.  He grunted loudly and slammed into me hard and long as he started to cum, and it only took a few strokes to bring my orgasm on as well. 

        When he was done he stood there over me, smiling, his dick still buried in my ass, and traced my cum with his fingers, spreading it around my abdomen.  Then he slowly pulled out of me and grabbed some napkins and wiped me off. 

        “Who are you?” he said, as if I was sent here just to seduce him.

        “I told you my name is Marcel.  I came down here with a guy I know.” 

        “A friend?”  he asked.

        “Not anymore.”  I got irritated at his attitude and grabbed my pants, pulling them up and buttoning them.  “I'm sorry if I was a disappointment.  I had a good time.” 

        He grabbed my shoulder firmly.  “I had a great time.  It's just that most young guys aren't into guys like me unless they want something.  You're different.  Unique.” 

        I turned to him and kissed him again.  “I got what I wanted from you on the dance floor.  The rest was just a bonus.”  He nodded and smiled.  “You seemed to need me.” 

        “Yeah, I guess I did.  Can't say I haven't gotten laid a lot, but I can say it hasn't been like that.” 

        “So what's the deal?  Why the disco clothes?  And the pain, I can see it in your eyes.” 

        He swallowed sadly and picked up a picture.  “My man, Jay,” he said, pointing at the young blond in the picture.  “We were so happy, so in love.  He died two years ago.  AIDS.  Somehow he ended up positive and I ended up negative.  I wear this to remind me of him, to remember our glory days in the 1970s.”

        “And you named the bar after him,” I observed.  He nodded.  “That's a really touching story.  You know what you have to do?” 

        “What?  Forget about him?”  He got belligerent.

        “No.  You must never forget him.  But you must find someone else to love.  Someone like you, you have so much to give.  There is a guy out there somewhere who deserves that.”  I looked at the picture of him and Jay.  “He looks like the kind of guy who would say the same thing.” 

        “He is.  He was,” he said sadly.  “He did.” 

        “Then let us go back upstairs and try to find that man for you,” I said with a smile. 

        “Wait, I got something for you,” he said, and went over to his desk and pulled out a card.  “Here,” he said, handing it to me.

        “What's this?”

        “It's a VIP card.  You're pretty important, in my opinion.”  I kissed him again. 

        “Thanks Bruno.  I did not want to come out tonight, but I’m glad I did.  I made a nice friend.”  Then we headed back upstairs to the pulsing dance floor.  My shirt was long gone, but I didn't really care.  I decided to take advantage of my VIP card and check out the upstairs.  I headed over to the stairs and showed my card to the handsome, shirtless bouncer.

        “You new here?” he asked.

        “I am.  I'm Marcel,” I said, shaking his hand.  He had a nice firm hand shake with calloused hands.  He had a day job too. 

        “I'm Jake.  Go on up.”  I gave him my slutty look.  Getting fucked by Bruno hadn't sated my desire; it had just made me hornier.  I got up to the second floor and took in the VIP area.  If the bar downstairs was cool, it was nothing compared to this part of the bar.  It had a small dance area with some hot young guys dancing nude, along with some older members, who weren't.  There was posh seating with a view through the one way mirrors onto the main dance floor below.  On the back side of the area, there were a number of private high walled rooms, some with booths, some with couches, and a few with cushy mats on the floor.  I watched in amazement as one of the waiters pushed a button to lower one of the walls between two areas, making it into a bigger room for a large party. 

        “Well hello there handsome,” said an older guy, probably in his 50's.  He had a beer belly, receding gray hair, and a big bulging nose that was red at the tip.  I liked him at first sight.  “I'm Boyd.” 

        “I'm Marcel.  Nice to meet you Boyd.” 

        “The pleasure is all mine,” he said with a leer.

        “That may very well be,” I said, teasing him. 

        He laughed a deep laugh.  The guy reminded me a lot of Santa.  “You danced with Bruno.” 

        “I did.  It was a blast.  He's a great dancer.” 

        “He is,” Boyd told me.  “Only we haven't seen him dance since Jay died.” 

        I stared at him, dumbfounded.  No wonder it was such a big deal.  No wonder people clapped.  “I wonder why he danced with me.” 

        Boyd ran his fingers up my chest and tweaked my nipple until I slapped his hand away playfully and gave him a fake reproving look.  “Because you asked him.” 

        I looked down at the dance floor and saw Bruno dancing with another guy.  I guess all it took was one person to get him started.  How cool.  “I feel like I got his cherry, and now he's the town slut,” I said to Boyd.  He broke out into his big belly laugh again. 

        I looked around the dance floor and saw Lou dancing with Teddie.  Lou was distracted though.  He was looking for me.  I smiled.  Inasmuch as he could, he really did care about me.  I headed back downstairs to the dance floor and worked my way over to him, pushing Teddie out of the way rudely.

        “Hey Marcel,” he said.  “Where'd you go?” 

        “The VIP club,” I said, pointing to the cordoned off stairs. 

        “You move quickly,” he said with a smile, and danced closer, grinding his body against mine.  I inhaled his smell, remembered his feel, and felt myself melting into him all over again.  The tempo changed and it was a slow song I hadn't heard before.  I wrapped my arms around Lou and locked lips with him.  I heard an exasperated sigh behind me as Teddie stormed off.  “Let's get out of here,” Lou said to me.

        “Now?  It's early?”  I was stunned.

        “I want to be with you Marcel.  Let's go back to your place.  Please?”  Fuck. I felt my resolution melt away, and knew that I'd lost another battle with Lou.  I took his hand and led him out of the bar and hailed a cab back to the condo. 


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