by Young
Dubois led me into one of the cages and locked the door behind him. He vociferated over the loud disco music, “Young, dance like a thunderous wind in an impending storm. Move like rhythmic clouds blustering through seductive forces.” With that statement, he disappeared into the audience, leaving me to my own devices.
My heart drummed a mile a minute. I, not used, to being caged like a captive bird, was frantically looking for my guardian for some assurance. Instead, a sea of unfamiliar faces spurred me to begin. My eyes turned towards Sébastien and Gil, the other dancers who, like me, were confined in gilded cages.
These two catamites were already gyrating and grinding their lithe bodies to the rhythmic flow of the up-tempo disco beat. As stiffened as I was, an alluring voice from a young female singer on the DJ platform stirred me to writhe like a coiling cobra to the hypnotizing spell of a snake charmer. At the time, I had no idea this artist would go on to become the infamous 1970s Disco Queen Donna Summer. Back in 1967, she was performing in West Germany, where Guy, the DJ spinner for the Paris Carousel, convinced Mademoiselle LaDonna Adrian Gaines (a.k.a. Donna Summer) to entertain the men at the ‘G’ A go-go party. This disco Superstar’s sensual and sultry voice had snared this dancing boy into an intrinsic dance euphoria. As soon as my hips started to sway to the pulsating beat, I’d morphed from trepidation to jubilation. With eyes closed, I drank my fill of a realm where nothing mattered except my sensual gyrations.
As I knelt to thrust my heaving pelvis to the throbbing cadence of ‘Your Love Keeps Lifting Me Higher and Higher,’ hands reached to tug at my short shorts. They fell seductively around my pelvic bone, rousing the boisterous men to yank them off while the older men stuffed francs into the elastic band of my bikini trucks. As my dancing became heated and uninhibited, so did the hands reaching to grab at my person. Invigorated by this rambunctious display of immodesty, I was at once mortified and energized. I stripped down to my G-string while wiggling my naked buttocks in full view of the maddening crowd. The mature men were tantalized to embed handfuls of pecuniary gratuity into my already overstuffed pouch.
While we almost naked caged boys were busy grinding, gyrating and swivelling to whistling catcalls of ‘take it off,’ some of the less inhibited revellers were already brazenly pulverizing each other on the dance floor. Before long, naked bodies were wriggling everywhere I turned. Lecherous hands reached into the cages to grope the provocateurs. They hoped that their gratuities were sufficient to buy them a debaucherous tryst with the dancer in question.
Where is My Valet?
As much as I enjoyed losing myself to my trance-like exuberance, I was also glad to be caged like a rare unobtainable fledgling. After all, my metier of teasing and titillation was simply that – nothing more, nothing less.
My nonstop rollicking had left me dehydrated. I desperately needed refreshment. I scanned the room for my beloved guardian. He was nowhere in sight.
When Dubois arrived to wrap a terry robe over my naked body and lead me to his boudoir, I was glad that my assignment was over. The ballroom and the other recreational rooms had transformed into bacchanalian chambers where wriggling, writhing and copulating bodies in varied unbridled positions were laid bare for all to partake. As intrigued as I was by this unreserved arousal, I was happy to be escorted to my teacher’s private chamber.
After quenching my thirst and taking a hot bath, I’d relaxed considerably. I laid my head on my professor’s lap as he ran his sensual fingers through my jet-black hair, sending me to purr like a kitten. Before I could ask after my Valet, Alain uttered, “There is someone who would like to spend time with you.”
I looked at him. “This special person came to me to request a private audience from you. Would you like to meet him?”
“Who is he?” I queried curiously.
Dubois replied smilingly, “You’ll recognize him if you agree to meet with him.”
“What kind of a private audience is he expecting from me?” I pressed.
“That will be between the two of you. I’m only acting as his spokesperson,” my teacher razzed.
I questioned, “What does he look like?”
“If you are curious to find out what he looks like, go meet him,” the Frenchman answered. “I’m your acting chaperone to this meeting.”
“Where is my Valet?” I asked.
“You’ll see him soon enough. Now, do you want to meet your admirer?”
The Mystery Admirer
My teacher and I headed down the long corridor to a quiet room and into a darkened den. The smell of Montecristo permeated the confines of this antiquated chamber. Ringlets of cigar smoke filtered up its expansive ceiling. The man was turned with his back to Alain and me.
He instructed, “Come over here, boy!”
I looked at my escort for a response. He motioned me over to the person. I obeyed. I could not see the man’s features in the fading twilight, except that he wore an unbuttoned dress shirt with an untied tie dangling on either side of his hairy chest. Below, he was naked. The outline of his throbbing plumpness wooed me to suckle its pulsating brazenness. He reached to draw me onto his bobbing thickness. Dubois nodded for me to do as told.
Kneeling between the stranger’s legs, I lapped at his bulbousness, savouring the stickiness dripping onto my curling tongue. He held my head securely with his hands as he plunged his hardness down my open throat. I choked from this sudden onslaught. His unrelenting grip held me enthroned within the depths of his person. Although a sense of fear traversed my body, I was also beguiled by his sadistic dominance. His mastery over my youthfulness stirred in me a yearning to be governed by his authoritative stance. As much as I detested his haughty superiority, I found myself submitting to his demands. At one point, I tried staving off this marauder’s advances – in retaliation to my defiance, he jabbed his length deeper into my oral cavity until I craved for air. Only then did he pull my head away from his broadness before jabbing it back into my gaping throat. Controlling my cranium, he bounced my bobbing head back and forth in rapid succession, as if my reoccupation was to do his bidding.
Aroused by my obdurate resistance, he lifted me onto his lap before spreading my legs apart to straddle his thumping groin. His manly hands spread my butt cheeks apart, while his fingers twitted my anal opening, tempting me to resist his commanding empathy. He spat a wad of saliva onto his fingers and jabbed them into my pining hollow, teasing and rotating my opening, arousing me to heights of ecstatic wantonness. My heaving torso convulsed onto his massive shoulders. He took this opportunity to plunge his drumming organ fully into my yearning crevice. As swiftly as he had ploughed inside my core, he lifted me up, plucking his leaking head around my slit, tormenting me to implore his rod be buried into my fissure again. The further I defied his injunction, the more he succoured his bulbousness around my longing orifice, tantalizing me to ride his masculinity as I had performed my gyrating motions within the gilded cage not so long ago.
I leaned to kiss his luscious mouth as his insistent tongue jabbed into every cleft of my cavernous depth. His maleness intoxicated me, sending shivers up and down my spine. He mandated my submission as much as I desired his forcefulness. We were playing a treacherous game of lustful ardour that would no doubt end with disastrous consequences. Yet we were caught up in the moment of libidinous passion, a sadomasochistic carnality that defies sense and sensibilities – a moment in time I now wish had not transpired had I known what was to occur after our fervent copulation.
His mighty impaler felt blissful. It transported me back to Ludwig’s Arabian, who had flown me like a thunderous lightning into the expansiveness of the great Sahara. Here, I was jouncing on my assailant’s ferociousness. Our heated obsession only served to insulate us from the frosty chill that had sparkled its final glow in the fading light.
Alain’s intense stare stood guard as I rode the mystery man. Dubois’ handsomeness ignited in me a hunger I knew could never be quenched. He was forever the untouchable, the seducer
I could never attain but in that brief, seething second; he, like Nikee made love to me without laying a finger on my person. These indefensible emotions threw me over the edge. I clutched unflinchingly at my libertine’s hairy chest. Quivering jets of my blossoming orgasm blasted onto the authoritarian’s hairy musculature as our lips stayed locked in an unyielding French kiss.
His breathlessness gave way to fanatical moans. I clenched my anal sphincter against his palpitating deliriousness. My salacious perfervidity together with his lurid prurience propelled his firing viscidity into the depths of my craving crevasse. We froze motionless as our lingering passion ploddingly transformed into an affectionate embrace.
Only then did my mystery admirer relinquish control and release this caged nightingale to whence it came. My arresting tutor deposited me back in the boudoir I shared with my lover, Valet and chaperone. I had yet to discover the identity of my sexual prowler. That could wait for another day.
Chapter Thirteen
Saints & Sinners
“Many of the insights of the saint stem from his experience as a sinner.”
Eric Hoffer
2014
Continuation of Andy’s message
On a different note, this is how I remember Baron Pierre’s 1967 ‘G’ A-go-go soiree. Like you, I had no idea where the busload of young bucks and sassy striplings had come from. All I knew was that I was tempted to bed a number of them. ☺ Hence, I asked Dubois to watch you during and after your go-go performance. Yet somehow, your professor neglected to tell me that he had presented you to a mystery admirer, who tailgated us all the way to London and Daltonbury Hall after your encounter. He would have abducted you to god only knows where if I hadn’t told him to back off.
December 27th 1967
I was fast asleep when Andy returned to our chamber. The exhausting go-go dance performance, the endless Yuletide festivities and the invigorating lovemaking with the stranger had worn me to a frazzle.
The hazy winter’s sunlight shone its warmth on my face the following morning when I awoke to my lover’s arms draped across my naked torso. Andy’s handsome face looked so serene next to me. I did not want to wake my chaperone. After a leisurely shower, I ventured below stairs. I had not eaten much the evening before, and I was famished.
Naked bodies laid in undisturbed slumber within the ballroom and various recreational rooms and along the corridors. Several partiers were still going at it. Obviously, their need for sexual debauchery remained unquenched. Discreet moans and groans emanated as I trailed towards the buffet table. I headed to the quiet conservatory to enjoy my plate of comestible goodies.
Conversation with The Baron
As soon as I took my first bite, a hand tapped my shoulder. I jumped.
I turned around to find the baron standing next to me. Food dribbled from the corner of my mouth. “Sorry, Young, I didn’t mean to startle you,” he apologized.
I chomped down a mouthful of food before answering. “Good morning, sir, it’s not a problem. I didn’t know you were in the conservatory. I was lost in the tranquillity of the wintery scape.”
He sat beside me before he resumed, “Are you and your chaperone enjoying Chateau Rouge?”
“Very much so, sir. Thank you for…” before I could finish my sentence, he complimented, “Young man, you’re an excellent dancer.” He paused before continuing, “Will you dance for me in private?”
I was surprised. I knew that his lover, Sébastien, would not welcome this unfaithful solicitation from his sugar daddy. It was one thing to embark on an orgiastic adventure together, but quite another to conduct secret trysts without the other’s knowledge.
Neither of us spoke for a couple of seconds, until I stammered a reply: “Sébastien is also an excellent dancer. I’m sure he’ll happily perform for you in private.”
Pierre gave me a seductive grin before replying, “Ahh! But I’d like the both of you to give me an intimate presentation.” His riposte was more of a command than a request.
I was hoping my Valet would suddenly appear to counter on my behalf, but I knew I had to make my own decision. I expressed, “I’m not sure if there will be time to substantiate your request. Andy and I are leaving for London this afternoon.”
He stated, “I’ll be in London for the New Year. We’ll cross paths again before long.”
I expressed my surprise, saying, “Sir, I thought you were spending the New Year here?”
“What makes you think that?” he voiced amusingly. “I have business in the city, and a few friends live there. Where in London are you staying?”
“In Mayfair, with my uncle,” I replied.
“I’ll be at Claridges for a week. We’ll have dinner,” my host said casually before departing the green house. “By the way, did you enjoy your rendezvous with—” before he could finish, the aristocrat had disappeared. Andy breezed into the hot house looking for me. I was left only to guess whom the baron was referring.
Journey to London
After a fun-filled week at Chateau Rouge, I was glad to return to London to ring in 1968 in the company of Uncle James. We had not seen each other for a while and I was looking forward to filling him in on all that had transpired at the Quwah and more.
Our travelling companion Dr. Fahrib took this opportunity to speak with Andy and me. “Young, the Enlightened Oracle Society confirmed my membership.”
Before the sheik could resume, Andy chimed, “Congratulations, Doctor!” as he extended his hand to shake the Arab’s. Fahrib leaned over to my chaperone and me and gave us nose rubs.
“You’re assigned to my household when you return.” He appeared to be at a loss for words before he added, “I’ll consult P to see if I can get Dubois to be your temporary tutor when you come to لصقر في دن (The Falcon’s Den) in Amsterdam.”
“Amsterdam!” Andy exclaimed.
“The Falcon’s Den?” I iterated in astonishment before I questioned, “I thought Assalamu Alaikum (Peace be with you) was the name of your home?”
“Yes, Amsterdam. For the time being, the two of you will be stationed at The Falcon’s Den, my private townhouse – until the correct moment to break the news to my wives that you guys are under my care. They have no idea I’m amassing a harem. I’ll introduce you as my friends when I’m ready to relocate you to Sharjah. This is a delicate situation, and I’d like to handle it with discretion,” the Arab declared.
My Valet evinced, “That’s fine, sir. We’ll be delighted to assist you in any way and anywhere. That’s what we do as E.R.O.S. recruits.”
“That’s splendid!” Fahrib exclaimed. “Your school will fill you in with the details when I’m ready to receive you. Meanwhile, enjoy your New Year with your uncle. Contact me at Claridges, and we can meet for dinner. If your uncle is available, I’d like to meet him, too.”
I blurted, “That will be wonderful. I’m sure Uncle James will be delighted to meet you, sir. He’s a senior member of the Enlightened Royal Oracle Society, and he can help get you on your feet as a new member.”
“I didn’t know your uncle was involved with E.R.O.S.,” the Arab exclaimed.
Andy chirped instantaneously, “I’m positive that His Highness and the Arabian members will provide you with much information about the society.”
Fahrib said smilingly, “That’s true, but it’s nothing like gaining insight from a seasoned senior member such as Young’s uncle.”
I interjected before my chaperone could respond, “When I see Uncle James, I’ll inform him of your wishes. Can we call you, sir, to organise a dinner?”
“Contact me at Claridges. I’ll be in the city for a week.”
Uncle James’ chauffeur was already waiting for Andy and me at Heathrow Airport when we landed. Off we zoomed in my uncle’s silver Rolls Royce into London’s fading wintery light.
2014
Andy’s message continues
You know, Young, before you came along, the other students I chaperoned were mere duties to me. Li
fe with them was much simpler. When you came into the picture, it became more difficult for me to separate the sex act and the intimate relationship we shared. I would often end up at an emotional crossroads when you were summoned to perform sexual duties. No matter how I told myself that you were merely performing a sexual favour and that love doesn’t enter into that equation, an acrid taste plagued me, even when I busied myself with passionate projects while waiting for you to complete your tasks. These negativities ate at my core, challenging my sanity and begging me to snatch you away from the sexual situations. A part of me wanted to possess you rather than permit you to come into your own. Yet as soon as I saw you, happy and bouncing into view, my levelheadedness and sound judgement would return. Once again, I could wrap you in my arms and surround you with my love. Although I may have seemed composed, those were indeed trying times. I had to restrain my irrationality so I wouldn’t jeopardise our E.R.O.S. statuses. Like you, I was also pushing the green-eyed monster back into its abysmal lair. Reflecting on those experiences, I’m surprised I managed to constrain myself. Don’t misunderstand me, I’m grateful for my Bahriji training and E.R.O.S. experiences – without them, I would not have been as strong or resilient.
I remember Eric Hoffer, the American moral and social philosopher, who wrote, “Many of the insights of the saint stem from his experience as a sinner.” Though I don’t consider E.R.O.S. recruits and members sinners, I think our experiences were, in a way, saintly – were they not?
Well, young one (you will always be my ‘young one’), I’ll message you again. For now I bid you au revoir mon ami. I’ll be in touch.
Love,
Andy
PART TWO