by Young
I believe if I had remained under your care, I would have walked in your shadow. I would not have come into my own. But the love we shared will always abide in my spirit, even if we are oceans apart. I’m sure that when the opportunity arises, we will be reunited – if not in this lifetime, in another. We will continue where we left off.
As you put it at The Falcon’s Den, “In my life’s education, unconditional love was taught me by The Enlightened Royal Oracle Society.”
1968
Breakfast at The Falcon’s Den
I was astonished to find my Quwah teacher, Monsieur Alain Dubois, engrossed in an animated conversation with my Valet, Zac Christiansen. Andy and Albert had not appeared in the open-air courtyard where our group had assembled for breakfast. I was delighted to see my ex-tutor. We exchanged customary French greetings, with kisses on both cheeks, before he said, “It’s great to be here. I love Amsterdam as much as I love Paris.”
I chirped excitedly, “What brings you to this part of the world, sir?”
He smiled cheerfully, “I’m on loan as your temporary tutor until your appointed teacher is ready to work in Sharjah. He’s waiting for Dr. Henderson to supply him with the approved documents.”
I exclaimed, “Oh my god! I forgot to give you the envelope Professor Henderson asked me to pass to you. I’ll go and get it now.” I dashed upstairs.
As I passed by a second floor bedroom, I heard groaning from within. Before I could stop myself, my inquisitiveness took hold. I peeped through the keyhole. I’d expected to find Andy and his charge in the midst of passion. Instead, I was astonished to witness a man and a woman copulating. Since the man’s backside was facing the door, I couldn’t make out who they were. Within my limited periphery was the man’s sexy buttocks gyrating against a naked female. Her outstretched hands held firmly against the frame of a large French window overlooking the Herengracht.
Mesmerized by this display of eroticism, I continued spying. The woman’s blond mane cascaded seductively over her bare shoulders, concealing her face as the libertine pounded her assertively. Her ecstatic cries were muffled by the man’s hairy arms as she bit into his macho grip. Like a raging stallion, he rode her frenziedly, slapping her buttocks with his bare hands as if racing a horse toward the finish line.
I was startled by a hand on my shoulder. I lost my balance and tumbled backwards onto the floor. Andy laughed before lifting me to a standing position. “What in heavens are you peeping at? You’re supposed to be downstairs, having breakfast,” he reprimanded. “Stop being a nosey bugger and come down with me.” He held onto my collar and steered me down the stairs.
I struggled to run in the opposite direction. His muscular hands lifted me and draped me onto his broad shoulders. I struggled to be free, while trying to be quiet. I explained that I had to retrieve a document for Zac upstairs, but my captor refused to hear my plea. Instead, he slapped my butt playfully to get me to shut up. He carried me to the courtyard before plonking me onto a chair next to my Valet. Before I could adjust my clothes to run back upstairs, he had placed both hands firmly on my shoulders in the event I would escape his clutches. He announced, “I caught this peeping tom spying through a keyhole on the second floor.”
I protested, but the men laughed.
“Who were you spying on, you rascal?” Zac tickled me to make me confess.
“Stop! Stop! I don’t know who they are,” I wiggled skittishly.
“Boys! Stop causing a racket. You’ll wake the entire neighbourhood. The sheik won’t be happy with your appalling behaviours,” Dubois commanded sternly.
No sooner had our rambunctiousness ceased than my teacher resumed, “Where is Albert? We’ll be starting morning tutorials in an hour. He better be at the library for his lesson.”
Andy chimed, “He’s on his way. I’ll make sure he’s in class.”
This incidental commotion had me forgetting to retrieve the package for Zac.
A Field Trip
In the library, I was elated when Monsieur Dubois announced, “We are going on a field trip to an art museum today. Now that we are under the auspices of Sheik Fahrib, we must use our time wisely in this art metropolis. The first museum we are visiting…” he trailed off as Sheik Fahrib’s private secretary and art historian, Jabril Zev Saliba, entered. He declared, “We are going to the famous Museum Het Rembrandthuis, otherwise known as The Rembrandt House Museum.”
Professor Dubois added, “If you haven’t already met, this is Meneer Jabril Zev Saliba.” He paused. “This man is an accomplished art scholar. He is also our guide. You’ll learn much from him, not only about the history of art but also the rich cultural aspects of The Netherlands’ civic life.
“Now, boys, grab your jackets and coats. We’re heading out the door this very minute,” he pronounced.
Museum Het Rembrandthuis
“Not far from the Chinese Quarter and immediately behind the Red Light District, in direct proximity of the Waterlooplein, is the Rembrandt House,” Jabril vociferated as we bicycled to the museum.
The six of us had rented 3 double-seaters from a nearby shop close to our residence. Our guide and Dubois led the way on one bike while Andy and Albert shared another. Zac sat at the helm and I at the back on our bicycle built for two. Since I had never ridden on one of these, I had difficulty balancing when we commenced. But soon, we were merrily whizzing along the busy streets, meandering around the numerous pedestrians who were out shopping on that beautiful spring day.
I was beguiled by the enchanting shop-houses, captivating cafes, and appetizing eateries along the narrow cobblestone streets of this historical canal city. I would have liked to be on foot exploring the many facets of this Netherlandic metropolis, but the joyride was exhilarating. It was an experience I would never forget.
In front of us stood the majestic Dutch painter’s former residence, now one of Holland’s historical landmarks - the Rembrandt House. I noticed the number 1606 painted in gold on the façade of this building before my teacher announced, “This house was built in 1606, but the artist did not purchase this property until the year 1639. Here he lived and worked until his bankruptcy in 1656, when all his belongings went on the auction block.”
The art historian added, “It wasn’t until 1906, during the Rembrandt Year, that the Rembrandt foundation purchased his former residence and converted it into a museum.
“It took three years of restoration before this venue was officially opened to the public. The interior is an identical reconstruction of Rembrandt’s original rooms and workshop, where during the prime of his life, he ran the largest painting studio in Holland. There are more than two hundred and fifty of the master’s rare prints and etchings on display, together with the tools he used and the graphic techniques he applied.”
Inside, what fascinated me most were the intricate etchings on the walls. Rembrandt’s attention to detail, together with the techniques he used to create light and shadow, enthralled me as they had art lovers throughout the centuries. Jabril wasted no time in giving us a history of the artist’s life.
While he was busy holding court, Zac stood next to me and whispered, “What was this morning’s commotion?”
I did not answer until we walked to an adjacent chamber. Only then did I murmur as we trailed behind our entourage, “Andy caught me red-handed while I was witnessing something provocative through a keyhole.”
“What did you see?” my chaperone asked.
I gave him a sly grin. I did not reply until he started tickling me jestingly. I shrieked to avoid my Valet’s playful foray. Heads turned our direction. Dubois stared at us as if we had committed a heinous crime. I immediately hushed as if nothing extraordinary had transpired.
This time around, Zac and I walked several paces behind our entourage. As we admired the legendary artworks, we had a chance to susurrate. I began, “Do you have any idea who is sharing the second floor with Albert and Andy?”
“I believe your teacher is in the adjoining ro
om, and across from them is Jabril’s chamber. Tell me which keyhole you were peeping through!” he sniggered.
I gave him a mischievous wink. “Have a guess?”
“Ohh, I see! What did you see, you little devil?” he pressed. He was about to tickle me again when I squirmed away in time to avoid his hand.
“I’ll tell you if you promise to keep it a secret,” I uttered.
Our guide was next to us before I could retract my sentence. “What secret are you going to tell your Valet?” he chirped.
Caught off guard, I did not know how to react. I avoided his glance skittishly. The Levantine gave me a roguish grin before he remarked nonchalantly, “So, it was you making a racket outside my room this morning while I was practicing my esoteric coitus interruptus.”
Both my Valet and I stared at the art scholar, amazed that he would be so forward. My puzzled look must have given me away. He added mischievously, “If you would like to know the meaning of ‘esoteric coitus interruptus,’ come to my chamber this evening after dinner. I will enlighten you guys about my regular ritual.”
Before either of us could question the guide, he had disappeared to join Monsieur Dubois, who was now admiring a famous etching, titled The Circumcision.
Continuation of my Email to Andy
Andy, your love and guidance was beyond what any Freshman or Junior could expect from a big brother or Valet. Even though you were Albert’s chaperone at Sheik Fahrib’s household, I did not feel neglected. In fact, having Albert in our midst not only enhanced our relationship but also taught me to curb my jealousy.
The rapport between the three of us helped to strengthen my unconditional love for you. This experience drew a path for my open-mindedness to future relationships.
I quote you, my ex-Valet – “In my life’s education, unconditional love was taught me by The Enlightened Royal Oracle Society.”
Love,
Young.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Coitus Interruptus
“Coitus Interruptus is an ice cream sundae, with the marvellous toppings spewed all over except within the container itself.”
Zac R. Christiansen
1968
At Restaurant D’Vijff Vlieghen
That evening after our museum outing, Sheik Fabrib hosted a welcome dinner for the E.R.O.S. recruits at the Restaurant D’Vijff Vlieghen. On the elegant menu’s cover were the words – Restaurant D’Vijff Vlieghen: A Culinary Museum. This historical eatery, located at the Spui in the heart of Amsterdam, occupied five 17th century houses. This establishment was founded by Nicolaas Kroese in 1939. It started life as a public house where guests enjoyed fine French and Hungarian wines with a generous dose of Amstel beer. Under the auspices of Mother Hendrina, an Amsterdammer, the bar transformed into a popular eatery. Kroese appeared on Broadway with a seventeenth-century cage and its inhabitants of five copper flies in 1948, drawing the attention of the American media with his unconventional Public Relations talent. Numerous celebrities, the likes of Walt Disney, Danny Kaye, Orson Welles, Anne Baxter, Ester Williams, Kirk Douglas, and Mick Jagger flocked to dine at his establishment when in Amsterdam.
True to form, this historical eatery treated us to a scrumptious Dutch cuisine. Our dinner conversation soon turned to our day’s outing at the museum.
Dr. Fahrib inquired, “How was your day at the Canal City?”
Dubois replied without hesitation, “Very educational, sir. I’ll be taking the boys to visit more museums during our time here. Would you like to join us on our field trips, sir?”
Before the Sheik could reply, his private secretary commented, “I’m attending a Sotheby’s private estate sales auction in a couple of days. Would you like to attend?”
“I’ll come. Maybe the boys would like to tag along?” the doctor turned to my tutor for a response.
Andy and Zac jumped in to reply. “It’s very kind of you to include us, sir. I, for one, would love to attend,” Andy declared, only to be seconded by Zac and me. The only person who didn’t show any interest was Albert.
As our dinner progressed, Fahrib whispered, “Come to my chambers at eleven tonight.”
I nodded.
At Fahrib’s Chambers
Zac accompanied me to the doctor’s rooftop chambers at the appointed hour. I was surprised to find Meneer Jabril and a blond woman already situated in the lounge. She was the female I had seen through the Levantine’s keyhole that morning. Jabril took no initiative to introduce us. Instead he directed us to the adjoining room. Through the sliding glass doors, I recognized the doctor’s silhouette in the exterior Jacuzzi. He waved for us to join him. Without a word, our guide disrobed, indicating we do the same. Fahrib motioned for me to sit by him. Zac sat on his other side, thus leaving Jabril and the blonde opposite us.
Jabril wasted no time caressing the woman, fondling her voluptuous breasts, and leaning to suckle her pointy nipples. I sat transfixed. The Levantine and his lover never kissed. As quickly as he had commenced foreplay, he turned her on her belly, lifted her to a doggie position and penetrated her. Holding her wrists on the wet tiles, he ploughed her furiously before titillating her vagina with his engorged cockhead. He was pleasuring himself rather than making love to her. She begged for all of him, but to no avail. Her supplications were rewarded with a succession of rapid pounding before he returned to his cocky stance. He paid little attention to her desires, seeking only his personal enjoyment and satisfaction.
My libido was entranced by Jabril’s torturous mind play. I yearned to understand the psychology behind the man’s sadism.
I felt Fahrib’s hand fondling my erection. He stroked my Valet’s throbbing hardness with his other. Mirroring his masturbatory actions, I massaged his stiffness, while Zac teased my Master’s hairy knobbles with his fingers.
I buried my face against my Master’s wet, furry pectorals, nibbling at his protrusions and savouring every turf of his masculinity. He lifted his hands above his head when I enshrouded my face in his fuzzy armpits. All the while, I remained a voyeur of the intercourse playing out opposite us.
My Master, Zac and I bonded in a 3-way kiss. Like mating serpents, we coiled our twirling tongues in passionate fervency. Before long, Zac spewed his passion into the bubbling aqua while I straddled my Master’s face, feeding him my adolescence. He, enchanted by my boyish amorousness, suckled my length until I could no longer withhold my rapturous ardour. I showered onto his face as his probing fingers within my anal orifice urged more of me onto his bearded chin. I rotated my bulbousness around his cheeks, nose and forehead. My lascivious actions drove him to squirt his abundance onto the undulating swell. Our floating deposits whirled around the bubbling flow before merging with the currents of time immortal.
As I submerged into the cleansing, effervescent water, the Levantine emitted his call of the wild. He ejaculated onto the female’s back. By the time he gathered his equilibrium his gooey thickness had slid off her back, joining the remains of our profusions into liquid timelessness.
Jabril handed the woman a towel as she dressed. She disappeared as miraculously as she had appeared with the Levantine in tow. No words were exchanged until the art historian reappeared in our midst. By then, the three of us had dried and donned the luxurious silk robes that the sheik had provided.
A male servant handed me a cup of hot chocolate and glasses of red wine to my Master, Jabril and Zac. As soon as the help departed, the Levantine let out a sigh of relief. He had accomplished that evening’s ritualistic task of coitus interruptus.
Temporary Methods
He announced proudly to Zac and me, “This evening, I’ve demonstrated coitus interruptus to the both of you.”
We stared at the Levantine, confused. The doctor snickered at his secretary’s statement, as if taking part in a private conspiracy.
“Jabril mentioned to me earlier that you didn’t understand the meaning of coitus interruptus. Rather than providing a verbal explanation, we decided to give a demonstra
tion,” our host explained.
Zac and I looked at the men agape. The Levantine smiled lasciviously before adding, “In layman’s terms, coitus interruptus, otherwise known as the rejected sexual intercourse, is the withdrawal or pull-out method.
“In heterosexual terms, it is a form of birth control in which a man, during intercourse, withdraws his penis from a woman’s vagina prior to orgasm. Ejaculating outside her orifice and directing his semen away from the vagina is an effort to avoid insemination.”
Dr. Fahib added, “And in homosexual terms, the medical community believe that by cumming outside of the anal and oral orifices, the majority of venereal diseases can be avoided.”
Zac questioned, “Is this clinically proven to be true?”
“Although this theory is widely accepted by many physicians, I am a sceptic. In my own medical research, only inconclusive evidence suggests that the transmission of venereal diseases can be avoided by practising coitus interruptus,” the doctor expressed seriously.
My Valet asked, “Is contraception allowed in the Islamic faith?” He stammered, as if to retract what he had just said: “What I’m asking is - is contraception - that is, preventing a female from becoming pregnant - allowed in Islam? I’m just curious.”
Although the sheik was temporarily taken aback by my guardian’s straightforwardness, he answered, “That’s a tough question, Zac.” He paused before continuing, “You see, there are fundamentally two methods of contraception, or what we medical professionals term as family planning.