Travel blog 6 days before Christmas: Strasbourg à nouveau

For reasons I say that this contains fiction, any persons or places seemingly referenced is purely coincidental. Viewer discretion is advised. Also, some of these words are links to things, give them a click to see where they go.

I feel like, I'm at a point in thought right now where I'm like; "As soon as I am able, I will take a chunk of cash and build some sort of mud-stone-terracotta mansion out in the middle of a blazing hot secluded desert. Near some river I'll plant a moringa tree and a mango tree and survive off of meditation, yoga, books, fish, mangos, and greens for the rest of my life in peace and seclusion." Because right now, running away from the "problem" of life seems to be a more effective method for peace than trying to derive some formula to solve for it. There are too many variables, you see. People often say something along the lines of "life is hard" or its a "bitch", and then moments later, shrug their shoulders and say "but hey that's life." No, that's not something I can just accept. And to that point, obviously there are knee jerk and gross solutions like suicidality or homicide. But seeing as how I dislike the psych ward and also how I have no plans of becoming a slave in prison, I'd rather some other options. But what other options are there? and to what problems am I speaking of exactly? 

I came to Europe to visit my favorite city in the world; Strasbourg, specifically, to visit Les Bains municipaux. A massive and quite ancient building that serves as a pool, sauna, steam room, and massage parlor all wrapped into one. Around this time last year I climbed a slippery wall and laid myself in the window frame, on the cill-stool, of one of the massive oval windows in the steam room. There's a thick distance between the actual glass of the window and where the wall begins to shape into a hole around it. There, like a concrete tiled hammock, the warm glass of the window against my right shoulder, and an injurous fall worth of empty space to my left, I slipped in and out of consciousness. The steam, a most perfect blanket, while the fog obfuscated my dangerous rule breaking. I kept that memory in mind for a years worth of growth and stress running up and down Boston, working at a hospital, getting my heart broken by Austin, and then entangled with Derek's. And then, during the last inning of the year; back to New York for a Maritime graduate program turned undergrad second bachelors.

And now, France for winter break. Here, on my "ex-boyfriends couch" not my words, Derek he's just a friend! I type out the morals learned from the tough conversation we had last night. I was thinking about filming it, you know? I think It would have been cool, mysterious, aesthetically pleasing, a little smoky, a little dark. I had the angles in mind and everything, the camera would have been behind his head allowing only a view of his, am I allowed to say cute?- Black curls. Yellow subtitles running along the bottom of the screen translating and following along our conversation in French. But I decided against it. For as many things that I have chosen to alchemize into fuel for some delusional ideation of becoming an influencer, this I appreciated to be a little too real, a little too sacred to turn into a production. 

It's almost as if God, the universe, has this modus operandi of showing you what your biggest fear is and then bringing that fear right to your doorstep in the next chapter of your life. It seems like the proximal exposure to whatever the fear is burns away some version of you that needed to die in order for the rest of you to continue to evolve and move on. For weeks leading up to my return to France I feared. I feared to the point of nausea at  the possibility that me and this guy, Lionel, had changed irreconcilably. That those memories we shared of cuddling together in the jacuzzi, of him catching me while I was cold and lost in the city, of dancing with him to luna llena. Would be just that, memories. And of course those fears were in some ways confirmed.

He had aged. This past year had been hard on him, maybe it was hard on all of us. He had matured, developed a cough, a little more grey in his beard, a little less meat in his arms. He had become more matter-of-fact about the things that he wanted and the things that he didn't and unfortunately I didn't make the cut. Unsurprisingly though, anything about "us" wasn't going to be realistic from the get go. Difference in age, difference in culture, distance, language. But he said none of those things were the reason why we wouldn't work out. He said he no longer felt the sparkle that we shared from last year if he had ever felt it at all. He said that he was getting older and didn't want to waste time. He had steadied himself and was ok with being single while he waited to find another sparkle, someone who made his heart flutter yet also checked off all his boxes and needs. I had just been someone he was curious about. He apologized. I apologized to him too, for using him as a goal, for putting that pressure on him. Not all of them but, a few too  many of my reasons for refining my French, desire to move to France, and  desire to become an engineer in France was so that I could "earn" a place by his side. I thought if I had performed enough tricks I could dazzle anyone I set my eyes on. He told me maybe it works like that in the movies but not for him. 

So, I am beginning to appreciate that the writers of my life have just taken me through a Christmas special filler episode. Wherein I delete my Grindr account, make real connections with real French people around a charcuterie board of white wine-garlic-infused-oysters, hand out meals on a volunteering day to les gens sdf (sans domicile fixé), realize and confess my selfishness, and get rewarded with some pretty good sex. Lets unpack.

So its the 22nd now, 3 days ago, Friday we broke our fast together like in the picture above. Him with bread and jams, me with writing and contemplation. He left for work and I stayed behind to catch some more Zs and shower before heading out myself. I think it was an easy day, I walked around, munched, went to go visit another old friend from last year, Fred. He looked so good, didn't age at all over the past year, in fact, he had gotten his left ear pierced! For context, he kind of looks like a shorter and skinnier version of Robert Downey Jr. After we got caught up to speed at the Asian restaurant that he introduced me to last year, he invited me back to his place to smoke. There are a lot of details that I'm skipping over while I was there at Fred's house. He rolled up a Gaza strip and sat in my lap. Connected to his fancy full room speaker system, Asian arts and calligraphy lined along his walls, his Spotify account played the most eclectic unheard of and chill rock music you can imagine. He looks good for his age, he's heard quite a lot of music in his life. I played for him America's newest attempt at opera; Rosalia's Berghain. He followed up with a few recommendations that sounded similar- of the same genre, but blew me and Rosalia a ways away out of the water. It was a nice moment, a great exchange of energy. it always is. 

Leaving Fred's apartment buzzed as hell I wandered the city. I checked my WhatsApp, Lionel had sent me his location, but he was super far, like the other side of the city far. I put the phone down and shrugged, "If I see him I see him" and I wandered some more. Time did something strange and I checked my phone again. By random chance I ended up walking right onto the street he had sent me the address location for. I'm not sure if I can call it fate but, I'm also not sure that I can say my French is good enough to have subconsciously navigated there without using gps and while under the influence. Quai des Bateliers. He met me in the street and led me down a back alley way into an opening surrounded on all sides by buildings; a church, a brick road, a tree. There, on a patch of soil in front of some compost bins.  What was going on? A seance? A ritual? Are those Oysters? The table that he and his friends had set up came up only about as high as our shins, and on it was an assortment of savory snacks; pumpernickel brown bread, cheeses, champagne,  white wine, oysters, olives. Oh my God and they were all such chill people! they blasted me with questions about America and what I was doing in France, spirituality, politics, I'm pleased to say my French was decent enough to keep up. They're all social workers and were somewhat impressed when I mentioned that I was once the president of a Lions club international chapter at my last university campus. We connected on Linkedin and they invited me to attend the community volunteering event that was happening the next day. 

Ok so by now I am well ivré(drunk). The snacks wrapped up and Lionel and I headed back home on foot. I felt good, I felt like I had just won some points in his eyes. I met his friends and I didn't completely embarrass him, right? He seemed happy while walking with me, we chatted some more before deciding to stop at another bar. I had my first stout; a dark, syrupy, sweet, concoction that reminded me of cough syrup. Kind of nasty not going to lie. Unprovoked, Lionel started divulging to me the tea and drama between the  coworkers that I had just met in the park. Who was sleeping with who, who is kind of a bitch tout ça. Lionel opted for a tall glass of beer that he couldn't finish. After a certain point he looked at me and made a sad face like he was tired and wanted to go home. I downed my beer and the remaining half of his. His face was flush red. I left some notes on the table for our bill. When I moved to stand from my chair I felt a pretty combination of vertigo and dizziness. I wanted to go one way, and for a split second my body didn't listen. That was a first. I collected my Lionel and we headed home.

My buzz continued to grow as we walked onwards, I felt so silly, and my strides felt effortless. I think around now is when I texted Flanders. 

I was drunk enough to send that without thinking about it, I wanted to also say how badly I wanted to fuck him and then blame that on the alcohol later. But I decided I wasn't drunk enough to allow myself to get away with that. Was I horny? Damn I guess I was. Something about alcohol bro I never knew but; when I  tell you I was at attention soldier!  Lionel and I fell over each other getting into the house. Keying open the front door, kicking off our shoes, disrobing...these events smeared together like a dream. Before knowing anything else- on that couch, we were kissing like 2 seals fighting over a grape.

I directed him to lie his chest and stomach on the cushion of the couch with his knees touching the floor. I pivoted behind him, kneeled down... and yes I ate his groceries, leave me alone, I'm grown. Okay? It was nice. And honestly, it turned me on to a different level to hear those soft and vulnerable whimpers coming from a macho bearded guy, I guess I was doing something right. I eased back, halfway stood up, lined up for entry, and began to push. He was tight, too tight. Instead of sliding into him I caused the couch to inch forward. I eased back to try again, a hand on his hip, I pressed again, this time he yelped a bit and I stopped forcing. This wasn't going to happen tonight. Kissed and rubbed his back. 

"Desolé, ca va?"

"Oui ca va" 

We headed to bed.

I didn't sleep at all bro, I don't know how people do this, party then head into work the very next day. I tossed and turned, felt chills, dizziness, sudden wake ups from his snoring. I finally settled into a state of somewhat comfortability and his alarm goes off! He snoozed it before turning over to face me. Morning breath kisses. Fantastic. It was 8, he had to be there at 9. When the alarm rang again it interrupted us. He disarmed it, kissed me again, and rolled out of bed. He told me I could sleep in for a while. The event wouldn't be starting until 1. 

Coming back to consciousness I checked my phone, I had to get going. Outside, the city hustled and bustled- a cool and crisp bright day shocked my senses awake. My hair was still a little wet from my shower. I was headed to la musée moderne. The event would be happening there.

As I approached I began to appreciate the scope of the event. A bit of anxiety colored my regret; how many people would I have to talk to? How much small talk? How many awkward stares because of my non-native French and Rastafarian hair beeds? "God why the fuck did I sign up to work during my vacation?" But I was here, and I was determined to work to try and prove something to Lionel, that I could keep up, that I could be the partner that he could depend on. And put me to work they did.

At my station I was sandwiched between a silent type guy from the Congo on my left, he was hot but did not want to talk to me. And a sweetheart French grandmother on my right, she kept things light during those moments I wished I were someplace else. I thought I would be more or less useless but my heart lifted with a little bit of joy every time a tourist came through looking for snacks with an English tongue. They directed them all my way, that's not to say all my clients were English speaking though. Mentally I started to experience calculus 2 levels of fatigue from switching back and forth between English and French. I hadn't slept much and they kept us on our feet for hours. In my ear all day; German, English, French, Russian, with Moroccan and Georgian music playing in the background.  All the while Lionel kept on his feet floating around us. He switched between different stations. helping us out at ours handing out snacks then directing tourists with directions. he spoke 3 different languages and kept a smile on his face the entire time. He even gave a speech! All without a single drop of coffee, rum, not a sniff of cocaine, nor puff of weed. This wasn't his job by the way, he was volunteering as an organizer.

By night fall I was exhausted, but no one else seemed to tire or slow, so I puffed up my chest and tried to deconstruct one or two more white tents than everyone else, I had to carry one or two more lead weight anchors back to the truck than everyone else. I stepped to commands obediently and quickly, even if I didn't totally understand what was said in French I used context clues from those around me to figure it out. This wasn't supposed to be about me, I'm here to be a good worker. I wasn't an ignorant and lazy American and I felt I had to prove it. Mostly because Lionel was watching but everyone was judging silently, they had to have been. 

By the end I got a  pat on the back from everyone, thanking me for the work. Lionel met with me and thanked me for coming, he said he would meet me back at the house after he parked the white van. With his hand still on my shoulder, I saw his  green eyes sparkle under the sepia street lights. I wanted to kiss him right there in that moment so badly, right there in front of everyone. But his energy told me not now. We walked and talked for a bit.

"Tu as trouvé un endroit pour la nuit?"

He was asking if I had found a place to stay for this night, his nephews were coming over and he wanted to spend some time with them.

"I'll try the hostel at the edge of town, auberge jeunesse"

"Did you call them yet to make sure they have space?"

"Pas encore mais I will"

"It's ok if you don't find something you can come back with us still"

"Ok"

"À plus"

A job well done after a days worth of selflessness and a bit of recognition from the most beautiful man in the world. Life is good. But, something was beginning to weigh on my heart. After stopping back at his place to grab a backpack of pyjamas- I thought on it some more on the way to the hostel. What was it? 

"Prochaine arrêt porte du Rhin"

This stop was the closest to the hostel and it would still be a long cold walk. I remembered this place from last year, it had kept me sheltered on an emergency occasion or two. 60$ a night, with free breakfast if you're smart. I had money now though, an extra 10$ and breakfast would be guaranteed. With my newly received room key I unlocked my door. No one else in the hostel dorm room yet, I had the space to myself to devour a leftover flamenkuche from the event. Unpacking my bag I had a cup tiramisu, a chocolate muffin, and a bubbly mineral water. I oft tended to believe that the quality of meal I was eating was a measure of care God was taking over me. Even while sleeping in humble conditions, I was still eating good.

Lying in bed after the meal, I mulled over those feelings again. I was feeling some kind of sadness, guilt? remorse? Embarrassment? For being wrong. But wrong about what? For assuming too much, for biting off more than I could chew. For thinking I was the center of everyone's universe, for thinking I would be the center of his. Everything started to hit me. How could I ever hope to be his partner? Did I have it in me to offer meaningful guidance in the face of his coworker drama at the bar? Did I have it in me to keep up with his volunteering events? Did I misstep by coming to this hostel instead of meeting his nephews? God gave me the opportunity to meet this man's friends, to witness his career, and to even see his family.  Was this life one that I could handle stepping into? Could I help raise children?! Even if I could get with the program, would it be a stretch to get accustomed to? would it come naturally?

By 2 am I was awoken from my sleep by newly checked in roommates. Their French slang and accents heavy. "Wesh" and "meuf" every other word. They sparked up cigarettes in the room and cracked the window. The  second hand nicotine constricted my blood vessels and sped my heart. I started thinking again, my eyes hidden behind my bonnet. 

Morning. From my bunk bed I peaked over to my left at sleeping half-naked bodies wrapped in and out of blankets in beds throughout the room. More people than I expected but not as naked as I'd hoped. 8:20 on my phone; breakfast ended at 10. I rolled over back to sleep. Awake again. I looked over, some bodies had vanished, one was upright in his bed, his back to me. I checked my phone again, 9:35, I dressed. Normally the breakfast here is gross, unless you know how to dress it up. I grabbed one of the stacked grey plastic trays and laid it on the metal lip of the buffet station. sliding it along while grabbing plates of ham, and scooping piles of powdered eggs. One trick I learned; split the dry rolls they give you, butter it, and place the sad slices of cheese and ham inside. scoop a spoonful of egg in there too and throw it all in the microwave for a bit. I'm telling you its not bad. That with a cafe mocha, and some frosted flakes with soy milk. I was almost beginning to forget my fatigue and discomfort from lack of a decent shower.

I headed back to my room to gather my things, though my wallet and passport never left my side. That guy was still there, sitting on his bed, it must of been a rougher night for him than me. No shirt on, red underwear, cute guy- he looked sort of out of it. I guess hearing the zipper of my packed bag shook him from his trance. He finally began to put a shirt on as I was walking out the door. I hesitated for a second at the doorframe to contemplate whether I should ask him some unnecessary question. partly to gauge whether or not he were ok, partly to flirt. Instead I glanced over my shoulder at my bed once more to make sure I had everything, once sure- I was gone.  

It was a long walk back to tram, I stopped to rest on a rock and take some inventory with myself. Some existential questions crept back in. From my boulder-seat I stared at the Rhine River separating France from Germany.

"Time still feels like its speeding up as I get older. Just a moment ago I was still at the hostel, and it feels like just a moment before then I was still volunteering at that event. I said I would return to Europe and in a blink, poof I've returned. What if my life flashes before my eyes and one day I wake up an old man. Or worse. Is there any hindsight from death? Any perspective at all? God- if life were some spiritual prison like the Gnostics say, why do I assume clues on how to get out would be found in Youtube videos? No more gurus, no more internet personalities, no more conspiracies. If I want to study magic, existentialism, history...if I want to figure out what's what in this subjective human experience, then I'll do it, but really, for myself. When I get back to America I promise to read more, for me, not for anyone else. I can do this. This past semester showed me what a little discipline can do. I'll push further."

I pressed on. 

"Actually, let me look for a library or cafe to study at right now"

By now it was getting close to mid-day, Lionel said he would be finished with his nephews by 2pm, I thought I'd give him more time. I took the tram to the universite de strasbourg biblioteque. Upon approach I tugged at a door, locked, then another, also locked. It was sunday. Right, google map hours would be inaccurate. I checked maps for an open cafe near by, found one, walked to it, also closed. Lovely. Close by there was some cafe de travaille, posted on the window were the prices of admission,  you could pay 10 Euros per hour to work or 30 Euros for the entire day. With my pack on my back I was beginning to get cold and exhausted. I pressed on. The movie theater! Arriving at the cinema vox I ordered a cafe long and found a seat to charge my laptop. I watched a lecture purporting to explain how to die and not reincarnate back. In passing moments I absentmindedly checked a few gay hook up sites. By now it was around 4pm. I texted Lionel, he wasn't happy.

We should meet he said, somewhere in the city. I asked if I could stop back at his place to put my bag down but he said I should have done that 2 hours ago when we agreed to meet at 2pm. I protested a bit, he insisted, so alright, I went with the flow. "Where are we meeting?". 

 

Walking to the commercial center, he sighed and shook his head when we met eyes. Yes he was smiling and being playful, but he was a little more stiff than usual. 

"Is there anywhere that you want to go?"

I had no place particularly in mind but I didn't want to be the girlfriend who can't decide on where to eat. I thought genuinely for a few seconds while we walked. Jeez, what would I want to see?  

"could we check out a spice market?" 

I thought walking through halls of colorful and pretty smelling teas and powders sounded like a good idea.

"Sure. And on the way we can go through some markets."

 He seemed a little more stiff and quiet than usual, he wasn't making a lot of eye contact and his energy was radiating obligated tour guide and not lover. What was wrong? I didn't want to probe directly. Maybe he read my mind:

"You know I saw you on lespompeurs maybe you forgot I have you on my favorites"

He was talking about that gay hookup app, I felt my back tighten up and my stomach pained. I wasn't hiding anything- but all of a sudden I felt the need to be honest about everything. I love this person and he thinks I'm lying or something, I couldn't have it. 

"I wanted to talk about that"

"ok. so talk about it" It was cold and he said it without breaking his forward gaze while we walked.

"I think the reason why I have been sort of down today is because I was looking for fulfillment in things that used to make me happy but now don't anymore."

He chuckle huffed

"I was walking around the city looking for guys and I couldn't find any. I would refresh then look away, then come back and refresh, and every time I did I just got more and more frustrated"

He looked at me again finally

"I understand."

We rounded a street corner and weaved through walkers, he continued:

"I think part of it is because those apps sell the idea that hooking up is always quick and easy. I've been there before" 

Did I lie? No. I mean, it was true that I was scrolling through the apps, and it was true that doing so was frustrating me. But, not because I wasn't getting any bites, babe I get bites- ok? hello!? It was more so because I didn't want those guys. Or, at least, I didn't want what they wanted from me. Not anymore. My prize was walking right beside me. And sure, maybe I also skipped over mentioning the deep, super-deep, spiritual and existential stuff. One moment of vulnerability at a time. Anyway I had more to say:

"And I know you were with your nephews I didn't want to seem, comment je peux dire, 'clingy?' tu connais ce mot? Like- I wanted to give you space"

"Okay I understand that but I am an adult you can just ask me- if i say I need space I will tell you. And we agreed to meet at 2pm."

"T'as raison"

He was right. We continued walking, at least now the apparent weight between us had subsided. We approached what looked like an old gothic church. Winding stone steps led us up to a second level. A foyer had been set up with a table of polite snacks and teas before the entrance into a larger room. It looked like a conference but for art and knickknacks. More than a dozen fold out tables arrayed with clay pots and homemade jewelry, some stations had homemade woolen mittens and hats, others paintings and abstract drawings. God I love French people, a load of sophisticated and professional hippies I swear. We floated together some and then separated, drawing us each to our own individual interests. Lionel likes to shop and spend money. Taurus things. Yeah maybe that's when the idea of him becoming my sugar baby came to mind, even though he's older, would that make him my sugar baby daddy? I make the money, and then I give it to him to spend, it makes him happy and he has good taste, and I love to see him happy.  

I made it back out towards the entrance/exit of the conference, back at the foyer, I had to haggle for tea and a slice of pumpkin cake, they didn't do tap to pay and I didn't have enough euro coins in my pocket. Where was Lionel? peaking back inside the event I saw him stopped by a clay pot table, we made eye contact and he waved me over. I approached. He was speaking with a woman he attends a dance class with. I made an effort to subdue a flash of jealousy. Lionel was too popular in this town for me not to work on that. She was pretty, kind, and a brilliant artist. She broke the ice by giving me a demonstration of the dances she and Lionel do together in class. That was funny. I bought a vase to show support- also because, maybe I've been living too selfishly for a while to realize the joy of gift getting for others as a fun hobby. I don't know, as I lowered my phone to pay my scarcity mindset was telling me splurging in a foreign country was a good way to get stranded. She gave me her card and Instagram. We said our goodbyes and headed out. 

We repeated like this for 2 or 3 more shops. I tried to keep up as best I could in terms of spending. I told you, he likes to shop. Rounding out our night we made our way to the town center festival to get some warm mulled wine. Though things had gotten better, there was still this sense- maybe i was worrying too much, this sense that he was still subtly frustrated with something. He had mentioned at some point that he wanted a partner and not a responsibility to take care of. I remembered that while looking at his back in this crowded festival of people, he was going to pay for my mulled wine. I stepped up to the counter beside him. He was surprised.

"You want to pay?" 

"just practicing my French" I said with a smile. 

He returned the smile and lowered his credit card. With warmed wines in hand we stepped away from the counter. Like stones in a river, we split the crowd moving around us. We paused to try our wines, made eye contact and switched cups. 

"Yours is better" I said

"Yours is more traditional, I added whiskey to mine" 

"Now I feel happy" I announced 

we giggled.

he said "And soon you will be drunk"

we giggled again.

We had both successfully lightened up. We floated around the rest of the festival together. Thematically It was a mix of medieval Europe and folk-technopop. River dance violins mixed with synth base 808s corralled under a tent full of dance. Outside there was a placard sign leaned against a desk buttressing an open laptop. The sign read... God what did it say in French? I don't remember, probably because I didn't read it. I had gotten the gist immediately. Enter your name on the computer and it would appear in the circuit of appearing and disappearing names projected onto the side of a grand tudor house nearby. Cool right? I entered "Lionel". I paused to think, and then of course, I entered "Given Awareness" and "Viridian Plexus".       

Still floating amidst the festivities, one of Lionel's friends that I had met at the park made a B-line for us, maybe he was a little drunk but he hugged Lionel first and did that French two cheek kiss thing, he did the same with me. Damn I can't lie that was good. I remember his bright pink lips closing in, and his stubble bristle against my own. I wouldn't mind that again.

They started catching up a bit in French, he was quite the ladies man. he had brought another chick to the festival, a different one than the coworker he was already messing around with that was among us at the park. Yeah he was the subject of some of the gossip Lionel had spilled at the bar.

We made our way back to the house. Back at Lionel's place, cuddling on the couch. I drew circles on the bottom of his feet held in my lap. I reached over his legs and grabbed my phone with one hand. Maybe it was the wine but it was around then that I posted this:

 

I looked at that beautiful man, and I apologized, he asked for what? I looked at the ceiling and hesitated, unsure of what or how to say anything next. I hesitated for a while, he looked at me genuinely with bated breath. 

"because you're so healthy"

"I'm not perfect you know"

"You are"

He flipped over and rested his head on my chest. 

"I'm not, I have my things too"

he held me. I didn't have many days left before my departure. 

"What do you want us to do? Do you want me to eat the space cake?"

And the tears came, he was so effortlessly selfless and I don't think it was an act. He had healthy boundaries; look at how he confronted me gently over seeing me on the hookup sites, how he is on such good terms with so many friends in the community, how he delights in shopping for presents for others.

He heard the hitches in my chest, he looked at me and told me to go take a shower

"you will feel better"

I rose

"and try not to overthink!"

Yeah the shower did help, I realized just how much I had been scratching my scalp absent-mindedly over the day. I didn't really shower at the hostel, not the most attractive bathroom. I sudsed and lathered my braids, let the hot water massage my face and muscles. Okay yeah I did feel better after that. I put on a fresh hoodie and walked out without anything else on. I rounded the couch and sat in a chair facing it. 

"feel better?"

"Oui"

I grabbed the chair and scooted closer to the couch. I traced my fingers along his legs. He said something but I don't think he really knew what he was saying. As soon as it was my turn to respond to whatever it was that he said, he lifted a leg over my knee to press his foot against my exposed parts. For as kind and gentle as he was, he certainly had another side, a side that was hungry for me. He motioned for me to stand and come towards him. How do I write about these next parts without getting too smutty? God he's such a fucking slut, i mean he's not- of course he's an angel, my angel. But, bent over his head, my hands braced against the back of the couch. He had this way of fucking looking up at me while he sucked me. I could tell he liked tasting my dick. We shifted positions, he sat up some and I straddled him. With his head against the back of the couch I forced more of myself down his throat. I loved to see him choke but I loved him enough to let him breathe. Having his arms resting on my thighs his hands explored my stomach and chest. When he needed a breath he would tap lightly. Okay, enough of that. I leaned up slightly to cache his arms under my thighs. now with his limbs sandwiched under me I was in control. And I enjoyed pushing the envelope. I liked to stay planted far enough back until his eyes began to communicate panic, I'd pull back, he'd gasp for air. Forward again, and I would stay there until he began to try and free his arms, then again i backed off. I'd repeat, like a cowboy riding his asphyxiating bronco. Some sets later and his face was red, his eyes teary. I pulled out of his throat and leaned down to kiss him. though he was weak and out of breath, we kissed passionately. I leaned back slightly.

"open your mouth"

He did. I love my obedient bitch. I spat right in his mouth, and told him to swallow. Learned that trick from Derek. I backed out of the straddle and made my way towards the bedroom. He ripped his shirt off and followed suit like a puppy. In the bed we kissed. rolled around and kissed some more. I feel like we humans kiss as a direct means of exchanging biological information, when you see two people kissing they're engaged in a most intimate conversation. When it came to me and Lionel, in that moment, it was like I wanted to know everything about him and everything he had to say. Without missing a beat he grabbed my hand and directed it to his parts, but further back. Oh ok, I could tell what he was asking for. We disconnected, without saying any words, he flipped onto his stomach. I reached for the lube on the night stand.

"You know I think its still a little early"

The confused English statement genuinely made me giggle. I was laughing with a hard dick, healthy intimacy is such a beautiful thing. 

"Quoi? what? what do you mean?"

"Shouldn't you get it ready a little? spit or fingers or something"

I was beginning to understand, still trying to control my laughter- but, I understood. He was afraid. Not really a big deal for me I mean, do you know how many times I've been fucked in my life? Its just a dick. 

"Don't be selfish" he teased 

we both laughed

"T'as peur?"   

"Oui" 

I flicked open the lube tube and squeezed some wetness over a few fingers. Two fingers to start, middle and my ring. He squirmed and made some noises I didn't think a bearded man like him had the register to reach. Maybe I am a little sadistic but, the knowledge that he was in some pain was doing something really good for me.  I added a third finger, my index. Oh he gasped. I took the third out and put it back in. I twisted and turned my fingers, and spread them out inside him like I was signaling the number 3. He writhed and winced. I took them all out and lined up for entry.  I gelled myself down, he breathed heavy in anticipation. Against his petit exit, I pressed forward. His little French ring capitulated so easily, just like the armistice of June 22 1940. He grunted into his pillow and shook as I slid deeper into his warm and buttery territory. Feeling him open up around me, envelop me, invite me in. There aren't enough good words in the language. Even while frozen motionless, he was breathing erratically, struggling to accommodate me. I flared myself and he gasped. I leaned over his back, and bit his earlobe, and did it again and again and again. I was in the studio making beats with this man as my instrument. When I leaned back up I went to work.

Standing in his bathroom I washed my dick in his sink. Gay sex can be grizzly business, I felt so accomplished. I hadn't topped a guy in a while. As I was leaving the bathroom He called out to me.

"Are you coming to bed? Fucker" 

A million dollar grin spread across my face. 

"Yes. I. am."

The previous nights when we slept we sort of kept our respective distances, some excuse he had mentioned about getting too hot during the night. This night we slept like 2 inseparable spoons. He fell asleep in my arms, I felt like there wasn't any other place in the world I'd rather be. 

There is one last chapter I am skipping here, not sure if I should write it, on our last night together, at a French restaurant, we had an argument... and it got heated. And I loved every moment of that public drama. Should I write it? Maybe it is the case that I enjoy how, after you fuck a guy they become more emotionally involved with you. Maybe I am the drama. Ugh, scratch arguing in public with a French guy while eating snails and foie gras off my bucket list.