One for the Gods (The Peter & Charlie Trilogy) (11 page)

“Well, aren’t you the cocky one,” Charlie said. “Did I do that to you, or were you thinking of Peter?” He looked Jean-Claude in the eye.

“No. You,” he murmured. Jean-Claude’s eyes were yearning for him now. He saw the throb of his heart become visible beneath his breast, his lips parting. He looked at the body and felt its lush physical appeal. There would be some perverse pleasure in it, in being where Peter had been.

He was wrenched by a tearing conflict of desires—a rage to hut and humiliate both Peter and his lover, a longing to be away from here, a stirring of the old thirst, long forgotten, to see beyond the face, to possess a stranger and discover an intimate inunguarded, satisfied eyes.

Jean-Claude swayed toward him in anticipation of a kiss and his hand moved up his thigh. Charlie pushed him away and stood slowly and pulled his shirt over his head. He kicked off his sandals. How long had it been since he had stripped for a stranger? Milly had been the last. Milly had been with him when Peter’s telegram had arrived, announcing catastrophe. He stood for a moment looking down at Jean-Claude, seeing Milly, sweet Milly, funny Milly, slim and willowy, every hair removed from his body, except for a neatly shaped pubic patch, for the drag act he did when he could get an engagement. Charlie unfastened his shorts and let them drop to the floor. His sex stretched the silken pouch he wore against his skin.

“Come here. Let me see,” Jean-Claude begged, his eyes on it.

Charlie moved back to the side of the bed. “Help yourself.” He put his hands on his hips while Jean-Claude pulled the pouch down. His sex curved out heavily in front of him, partly aroused not by Jean-Claude but by associations with the past. Jean-Claude lunged across the bed and dropped his feet to the floor and took it in his mouth. Let him work for it, Charlie thought. These preliminaries were the greatest obstacle to carrying out his intentions; he still wasn’t sure that he could function with Jean-Claude. He felt the stimulation of his mouth beginning to have an effect and thought of Milly insisting on seeing him with an erection before he would go to bed with him. Milly had been a bellboy in a hotel where Charlie had spent a night in sexual sport. Everything had become sex by then. Milly had appeared in response to Charlie’s request for valet service. He was wearing glasses, but his velvet, almost beardless skin was stretched taut over finely modeled bones and his slim, trim body was appealing in his tight uniform. Charlie had casually let his robe fall open while giving his instructions. He was wearing nothing under it. In a few minutes, Milly was back. Charlie answered his knock and he slipped swiftly into the room.

“If you’ll forgive me for putting it so bluntly, sir,” Milly had said without ado, “would you let me look at your cock again?” His face was impassive and his gaze level.

Charlie had burst out laughing at the unexpectedness of it and at the neat, precise manner in which he had phrased his request. “Again?” he asked.

“Yes, sir. I’m aware of the favor you were doing me just now, but it threw me off balance at the time. You might say I was blinded. If I’m correct in supposing that you were inviting me to bed, it’s most important for me to see if you satisfy my extravagant requirements. It’s an obsession, sir.”

Charlie laughed again, amused at the stateliness of his speaking style. “I don’t see how you can tell anything unless I have an erection.”

“Couldn’t that be managed, sir?”

(Remembering the absurdly challenging moment still excited him; he could feel things happening as Jean-Claude’s mouth continued its efforts.)

“How?” he had demanded. “With me just standing here and you staring at me like an owl?”

“I’m sorry about the glasses, sir. In private, I don’t wear them. I don’t know whether it shows yet, but I’m getting an erection. I would be delighted if I had the same effect on you.”

Charlie’s eyes dropped to the tight pants. They had developed a strong jut. “You do.” He pulled open his robe again and let it drop off him. “That’ll give you a rough idea,” he said. There was a brief silence. Charlie saw the jut of the tight trousers grow more pronounced.

“My word,” the boy breathed at last. “I can’t imagine why anyone would hesitate to display that. I’m nothing much in your department, but I have a very pretty ass.”

“Very. I hope I pass the test.”

“Oh, goodness, sir. You must forgive me. I feel like a complete idiot.”

Thoughts of Milly afterward, when he had discarded the speech pattern he had invented for his job and had chatted happily in his arms, helped him now with Jean-Claude. He was being coaxed into erection. He remembered Milly’s laughter at the moment of climax, laughter of joyful abandonment, and the final surge came that left him fully aroused at last. Jean-Claude released him with a gasp. “I can’t any more. It’s so enormous.”

“Peter can,” Charlie said harshly. “Never mind. We’ve had enough of that.”

“But look,” Jean-Claude held it upright against Charlie’s body. “It goes up almost to your chest.”

Charlie pulled his hands away and gripped it at the base and whipped it back and forth across his face. “I can beat you with it, too.”

“Aie!”
Jean-Claude cried out with delight. “It’s so hard. It hurts.”

“You’re damn right.”

“You’re like a bull.” Jean-Claude gazed spellbound. “I didn’t know a man could be so big. It is terrifying and thrilling. Peter is not like that. Do you think I can take it all inside me?”

“I’m sure of it. You strike me as a boy who was born for cock, the bigger the better.”

Jean-Claude smiled with smug satisfaction. “I think I’m finding out that you are right. But you will be gentle?”

“With you?” He looked at him coldly and saw a little shiver of anticipation run over the boy. He picked up the lubricant and held it out. “You’d better get yourself ready.”

“But I have already.”

“Then put some on me. Not too much. I want you to feel this.” He waited while Jean-Claude open-mouthed with lust, caressed it onto him, feeling all his muscles tensing for the assault. He would annihilate him and leave him screaming for more. Jean-Claude would never know another day’s peace as long as he lived. Now.

He knocked the tube out of his hand and seized his hair and flung him over. He pulled him up more onto the bed and knelt over him, straddling him, and guided his sex between his buttocks. Jean-Claude cried out as he entered him, but his body strained up to take him. Charlie thrust savagely into him, encountering the obstruction he knew and expected. His knowledge of anatomy was slight, but there was always a point that had to be passed before his sex could move freely within his partner. It was a moment for caution and restraint, but he exercised neither now. He drew back and thrust harder and Jean-Claude cried out again. He continued the savage pressure and Jean-Claude screamed as he felt himself break through the barrier and plunge into him.

“You are so big,” Jean-Claude sobbed.

“You don’t have it all yet.” He grappled with Jean-Claude’s hips to complete the penetration.

“Bigger even than you look,” Jean-Claude cried.

Charlie made another hard thrust and he felt all of his sex take possession. He rested briefly, waiting for Jean-Claude’s sobs to subside. He withdrew slowly while a wail swelled in Jean-Claude’s throat. He forced a long, uninterrupted entry and took possession again.

“You are a bull raping me,” Jean-Claude shouted ecstatically.

Charlie liked the classical reference. He sat back on his heels, pulling the boy’s hips to him. His body sprawled before him, his arms flung out in total surrender. “There. You’ve got it all. You like it, don’t you?”

“Oh, God. You have torn me apart. You are a great steel sword. You will kill me.”

“You just wish I would.” He worked the hips with his hands so that Jean-Claude rode his sex, impaled on it. Charlie sat back and let himself be used. Feet beat on his back. Jean-Claude began to babble in French, reiterating the word
“amour.”
Sure. Love. Love to him was a big cock up his ass. Jean-Claude began to moan in rhythmic accompaniment to the movement of his hips. In a moment, the moans became shouts and suddenly his whole body was convulsed with an orgasm.

“Oh come! Come into me. Come!” he shouted.

Charlie flung himself down on him and drove hard into him until the boy was sobbing again and he had completed his rape with his orgasm.

He tore himself out of him and went to the bathroom he had seen through an open door. He found a shower stall. He washed himself blindly, thinking of the sobbing boy he had left on the bed. He could do anything with him now. His slave. The word aroused memories. Tony, the hustler with the Botticelli angel’s face, who claimed to be the best cocksucker in town. Tony had been his first betrayal of Peter, as Milly had been his last. He hadn’t attempted to keep count of how many there had been in between. Tony had never been taken in Charlie’s way, but had asked for it.

“Jeez,” he had sighed when it was over. “I wouldn’t let most guys. I feel like your slave.”

“How so?”

“Jesus. The way you’re built. When you were inside me, Christ. If a guy can let you do that, he’s got to be your slave.”

And for a while he did belong to Charlie in a way. He let Charlie arrange his hair more simply. He let Charlie teach him how to dress. He suggested bringing other boys to Charlie for “some nutty sex” as a precaution against falling in love. “It’s no good for a faggot to fall in love. At least, not this faggot. A hustler’s got to be free. I’d get a bang out of watching you fuck other guys. We could try it all different ways.”

That had been the beginning of what Charlie remembered as a sort of delirium of sex.

He stood under the shower and called Jean-Claude’s name. He appeared in a moment and stood gazing at him, his eyes full of tearful awe. He stepped forward and seized Charlie and put his mouth on his. Charlie drew back and slapped his face hard. “If I want you to kiss me, I’ll let you know.”

“Yes,
mon amour,”
he murmured. “You’re so overwhelming. Next time, I won’t come so quickly. I want it to go on and on. I’ve looked at you often, but I never imagined it could be like that. I can still feel you all inside me. It hurts. I will never want anybody but you.”

Charlie smiled up at him. “Unless you find somebody bigger.”

“That’s not possible.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t be too sure about that. I’ve seen some that would amaze you.” He lifted his fist. “How would you like something like that in you?”

Jean-Claude’s lips parted. “Please,
mon amour.
I want to think only of you.”

“Not Peter?”

“Oh, no. I didn’t know. He was the first. I didn’t know it could be like that.”

Charlie pushed him under the shower and soaped the lush body thoroughly. He pulled him out and handed him a towel. Jean-Claude let himself be handled like a child. They dried themselves, Jean-Claude’s eyes unwaveringly on him.

“You’re wonderful to look at. You look so strong.”

“I’m strong enough,” Charlie said. Whips would be the next item on the agenda. An idea occurred to him. He went to the washbasin and found a razor. “Come here.”

Jean-Claude moved promptly to him. “What are you doing?”

Charlie rubbed a little soap on the straggle of hair on Jean-Claude’s chest and, with a few strokes of the razor, removed it. He wiped the chest with a towel. “There. You look like a statue. Statues don’t have hair. Come on.” He lifted an arm and began to soap the armpit.

He tried to pull his arm away. “Not there. People will see. They’ll laugh at me.”

“Don’t be silly. Of course they’ll see. You’ll start a new fashion.”

He made no further protest and Charlie went to work with the razor. As he did so, he thought of Milly’s hairless body, Milly, dead all these years. Millard Potowski. Killed in action. Charlie’s name and address had been found among his papers, requesting that he be notified. He had often wondered what sort of performance he had chosen to give as a soldier. Whatever it had been, he must have entered into it enthusiastically, to the point of dying. When he had completed the armpits, he held both arms up and studied the effect. “Great. Now you look the way you ought to look. Your body shouldn’t be all cluttered up with hair. Come here.” He would put his mark on him everywhere before he left him. He sat on the edge of the bidet and pulled Jean-Claude to him. When the boy realized what he was up to, he drew back hastily. “Oh, no. Not there. You mustn’t.”

“It’ll make your cock look much bigger. You’re a big guy. You ought to look big all over.”

“But I’ll look ridiculous.”

“Who’s going to see you?” He looked into Jean-Claude’s eyes. After a moment’s resistance, the boy acquiesced. He stood docilely while Charlie soaped him. His sex began to lengthen under his touch. Charlie paused in his chore and stroked it erect. “There. It’s easier to handle like this. I don’t want to cut it off.”

“I don’t care as long as I have yours.”

Charlie went to work with the razor. He was amazed by the effect he was creating as the blur of hair was removed. It gave a startling naked prominence to the genitalia. The soaring sex with the two spheres drawn up close against the base looked like some sort of futuristic missile, as if it was about to take off from the body. The hair had anchored it. When he was finished, he sprang up and moved away to study his handiwork. The body as sexual mechanism was nakedly revealed, superb yet oddly repellent. Charlie felt a little flush of satisfaction. “You’re quite a sight.”