He wanted security. Having a certain amount of money or property guaranteed that. Now that he had a place to live that was paid for, and enough money in his safe to last him for many years, he was not interested in adding to it in order to own nicer things or to move up in the social hierarchy. If status had mattered, he would have kept the fine clothes given to him by Jean Luc. He also would have asked for a studio inside of Paris. The last thing he wanted was to fit in with the bourgeois or the gentry. For Gastien, that would be brain numbing.
He would paint portraits to make sure that he did not use the money in the safe for drinking, drugs, or entertainment. That would also allow him to eat at restaurants a lot instead of cooking. Sometimes, though, he would indeed cook and then spend the evening reading.
An artist through and through, there was not room for anything that complicated his life. Gastien wanted to spend his time making love to the color (as he referred to painting) and pursuing pleasure. Being a landlord would have caused him stress and unhappiness, so instead he made his best ami secure.
Gastien lived very much inside of himself most of the time. While he enjoyed going out with amis, and loved being with women for short periods of time, he burnt out quickly. The need to be alone with his thoughts was strong. Idle chatter irritated him in a very short while. There were too many thoughts in his head that he wanted to listen to. He was odd, he knew that; but he was finally at peace with that fact. There was comfort and joy in being as quirky as his mind dictated him to be. As the years went by his dress and home would reflect that.
In Montmartre being different was not only acceptable, but looked up to. Gastien had chosen well when he decided to come to the village on the butte. There he was free to not only explore all possibilities in painting, but also in his own style of dress and actions.
Although he would party, alter his mind with liquor or drugs, and sometimes stay out until it was almost time to get up, this was not the way he spent the majority of his evenings. Many evenings he ate at home alone. Sometimes he would eat with Mic or another artist in a small restaurant, going home afterward to read. On those nights he would be in bed by nine or ten.
Other times he talked art and ideas with Mic or other artists. There were lots of lively discussions at his studio, usually while everyone painted. To be sure, sometimes they added absinthe and drugs to the evening, but he did not always indulge – other than a little hashish.
Because of the many beatings he had endured growing up, Gastien had pain throughout his body. His hip bothered him a lot, the result of the brutal gang rape. Being hit and kicked around as a child also caused some permanent pain. The hashish took that away. Some days were worse than others. If he did not hurt much at all he did not use hash. However, a pain free day was rare.
This day and the next few were spent with both men getting set up in their homes and studios. Gastien made a wooden sign painted with a yellow background that announced “Peinture de Gastien” in large, black cursive that he hung outside above the large front window. Later, it would simply come to be known by patrons as “Studio G”.
Gastien received a letter from Nath that week, along with a few photos of his daughter on her first birthday. Nath expressed her concern and sadness about his state of mind when he had written the last letter. She wondered if he was feeling healed, and assured him that he should feel free to write about whatever he needed to in order to find peace.
Things were fine there, Nath said, and she was happy. Still, she did miss him and always looked forward to his letters. At the end she told him once again that she loved him. He would make sure to write to her later that week, so that she would know that he was feeling much better now. It would be left at that. No one would ever find out what had taken place if he had could help it.
Dinner at Cassie and Vic’s was a success, with everyone hitting it off. Gastien tried some absinthe that night, liking it very much. They showed him how to start a cube of sugar on fire while it sat on the spoon above the glass; then dump it in the liquor to put it out.
They had a great night of conversation and laughs. Plans were made for when it would be best to plant herbs in Gastien’s back yard. Gastien also got a stash of his beloved “black”.
That was the start of a long friendship between all of them, but most particularly Cassie and Gastien. They found in each other a person who met each of their needs in a way that did not involve the pressure of sex. She could nurture him, while he could do things for her and Vic that required the strength of a man. The two of them would end up having lunch together quite often.
VII
Gastien quickly settled into a happy routine. He would rise early naturally at about 6 o’clock. After a visit to the privy he would dress, stuff his messy hair under a beret, and walk to the bakery down the street for some kind of croissant or breakfast bread to bring home. Next, the coffee making process would be completed; then a shave. It was best to do that before he took any hits of hash!
He would then have his coffee and breakfast bread with a fruit. After that, Gastien would practice fencing moves for an hour. If it was nice enough outside, he would do it in his back yard. During the few months that it was too cold, he practiced indoors. Many days the pain in his body made Gastien less than enthusiastic about fencing, but he knew that if he lost his flexibility his pain would get worse.
While he fenced, large pots of water were coming to a boil on the coal stove. Those would be transferred to his tub and more water boiled. Once fencing was completed, Gastien would add enough cold from the pump to make a nice bath.
He would first wash his hair, if needed, then scrub and soak. During his soak he would drink some more coffee, taking a few hits of hash. Later he would figure out a way to have an extremely large pot made with a spigot that he attached a hose to, allowing him to run the hot water into the tub. This saved him the hassle of transferring by hand and possibly burning himself in the process.
It was unusual for anyone to bathe daily, almost unheard of during this period in history. In fact, many did not even bathe once a week. Daily bathing was a necessity for Gastien. He would feel dirty his whole life. It was a combination of feeling like he smelled of the farm, his stink while he lived on the streets, and the way he allowed his body to be used by Jean Luc and the other men.
Sometimes he could still smell the whorish scent he wore during that time, no matter how long he soaked. Gastien dearly loved sex, yet he felt that he reeked of sex most of the time. When amis would tease him about smelling of chatte, they would mean it as a joke; however, he always took it literally in his mind, even though he knew consciously that they were joking.
Unfortunately, no one lives through the different abuses that Gastien did and walks away undamaged. Oddly enough, one thing women loved about him was how good he smelled. He never could believe that they meant it. As soon as he was around a group of people he wondered if they could smell the sex and dirt on him.
Once dressed, Gastien was ready to make love to the color. The first couple of weeks he painted for his own pleasure. Realizing that it would take a while for patrons to come, he had asked Jean Luc to tell people that he would open the first of October. That gave him time to get his studio and home in order, plus time to paint some things he wanted to do first.
The first painting he worked on was Azure. It was a huge painting of the sea at L’Estaque. He painted it while having the gigantic canvas either propped on a wall or laid out on the floor. When it was finished, he had Mic and another artist help him hang it from the ceiling with hooks. He climbed the scaffold and got the hooks screwed into the ceiling, while Mic steadied the wobbly scaffolding. The other ami handed him what he needed.
When it was done, it was a canvas that looked like a solid wall of wet, blue water cascading down, out the canvas and spilling toward the floor. He did this by making bois durci. Wiring and strong glue were then used to attach the falling water to the painting.
When people walked in and looked up it
appeared that water was going to hit them in the head. The blue hues and the foam looked so authentic that they swore they could smell the sea. Most people ducked when they first saw it. This was definitely not a painting that people in the nineteenth century would have in their homes, but they were impressed by the impact of it all the same. Gastien knew it was a success every time someone ducked. He did not care if anyone would want to own it. It was not for sale, anyway; it was for him.
People started stopping by about a week before October, seeing from the street that there was something interesting going on in Peinture de Gastien. Gastien did not have a huge inventory of paintings for sale, as he would very rarely sell a painting that was not a portrait. He knew going in that what he was doing would not be widely accepted. He resigned himself to doing enough portraits to earn fun money. Portraits would get people in to see his work. Reaction was his reward in regard to his personal work, not sales.
Mic worked most days outside at Place du Tertre and other areas. Once winter came he was upstairs painting, where it was warm. During those winter months Mic would hear Gastien entertaining in his bed over the lunch hour. As Mic ate his lunch he would smile to himself. If Gastien was saying non to anyone it would surprise Mic, as busy as those bedsprings seemed to be! He also realized that Gastien had not lied. The women did usually moan or cry out in pleasure.
Mic himself was in love again, this time with a woman named Sabine. She worked during the day, but had moved in with Mic in November. So far, they were getting along, but it had only been a couple of weeks. Already she was making noises about wanting Mic to find a job and start a family with her.
VIII
Gastien left them alone, as he did not want to be the cause of breaking them up. Sometimes Mic would come down and go out with Gastien anyway. Otherwise, when Gastien wanted to go out, he went to Au Lapin Agile or other favorite places alone, meeting up with other artists.
He usually did not bring women home at night, as he took care of that need with his patrons. Even if Mic would not believe it, he had turned down quite a few offers from various women.
Regardless, Gastien soon had many women he had chosen to use his “other” brush on. Some visited him a few times after their portrait was finished. He slept with each of them as often as he desired, then moved on.
They referred to themselves as “Gastien’s Girls”, proud that they had not been turned down. The women were pleasured, he was sated; and he could concentrate on his art. The last thing he wanted was to listen to another person chattering while he tried to paint during the day.
Sometimes though, when Gastien got high and the situation presented itself, he did end up having sex with a grisette or two. Sex was wonderful when he was wasted. During those times, he allowed himself to just be taken to one grisette's home or another. Once there, two or three would make love to him while he floated. He lasted for hours, enjoying the sensation of their mouths and bodies all over him.
He also made the mistake of “dating” local women a few different times. That always ended up a disaster. No matter how clear he was that he only wanted a good time and sex, they always pressed for an exclusive relationship and commitment. Then they would be angry when he walked away. He decided he had been right about single women. It would be best to avoid any more situations where he actually took a woman out and courted her before bedding her.
If he was a slow learner regarding this, an unfortunate experience in the 9th one evening helped speed his decision along regarding single females. Mic had broken up with Sabine, something he would be doing several times over the next six months before finally ending it. He and Gastien decided to go along with a group of amis into the city to dance.
Gastien was drunk, met a young girl at the dance, and went home with her. She was as drunk as he and very young, tasting freedom for the first time. He at least had the good sense to ask the guys to come and get him in an hour, after giving them the address. They would come by in a carriage and head home.
The two of them arrived at her apartment and managed to stumble into bed. As he started to enter her, the fact that she was a virgin became obvious. He moved back, angry.
“Why didn’t you tell me you had not done this before? I am not interested in being your first! What in the world are you thinking, getting drunk and bringing a strange man home to break you in?” he asked angrily.
She drunkenly insisted it was fine.
“Non, please, I am ready! I like you. Mon Dieu, you are gorgeous. Please! I really want this!”
“Non, I don’t think so! This is not who I am.”
He tried to get up.
She wrapped her legs around him, pushing against him. “Please! I find you so handsome. I want you to be the first.”
Drunk, he had no more discipline to call on. He decided to take her. She, of course, thought it meant a whole lot more than it did. An hour later, he was dressed and pulling on his boots, hoping she was passed out.
As he opened the door, she called out, “Wait! I don’t even know your name!”
He shut the door and hurried to the carriage and his amis. This was not supposed to happen! He did not want a needy woman clinging to him. As he climbed into the carriage, she stood at the door.
“Wait! What is your name?” she cried loudly.
His amis looked at him and grimaced.
Gastien turned and looked at her coldly. “Pardon me?”
“What is your name?” she asked again.
He simply replied, “Missing.”
She looked puzzled. “Your name is Missing?”
“Exactly.”
Then he shut the door of the carriage and they left. His amis got a good laugh out of it, but Gastien did not find it humorous. He banged his head against the back seat cushion several times in frustration.
“Just get me out of here as quickly as possible. Merde!”
She had not indicated at all that she was a virgin by her actions. Damn it, he did not mean to break a heart! But, he reasoned, she got what she asked for when she brought him home and kept insisting. She had no claims on him.
He just hoped she did not get pregnant. That would be unfortunate for her first time. Women, though, gave permission to get them pregnant by opening their legs. If they did not know how to minimize that from happening, he could not help it. Thank God he had not brought her to his studio!
Why did single women have to be so ignorant? Why couldn’t they understand what “I just want a good time tonight” meant? It almost seemed like they wanted the drama. Well, he didn’t! That was exactly why he usually took care of his sexual needs during his painting sessions.
He sighed. If it was not for sex, he really did not see a reason for associating with most young women. They could be so inane in their constant blathering about the most mundane things, and they always – ALWAYS – wanted to change you. If they did not like how you already were, why did they spread their thighs for you in the first place? Maybe not having a bite gave them less sense. Something was the matter with them. That was for sure.
IX
Several years were spent in this manner. Gastien was really enjoying his life, except for the nights that he would have the rape nightmare. He had even found someone to do his laundry and clean his studio once a week for a small fee, which he was happy to pay. He hated doing laundry. Washing the huge floor he liked even less. It really hurt his knees and hip. His life was a simple one, but pleasant and peaceful. Life had never been this good for Gastien until he moved to Montmartre.
He was now 23, with hair down to his mid back and chest. Gastien usually wore it pulled back with a leather strap, unless he was going out. He needed it out of the way when painting. It was much easier to deal with at this length because of being able to pull it back and out of his eyes. No one else wore their hair like this, but he did have beautiful very dark brown, almost black hair that curled a little on the ends. Women loved running their hands through it. They invariably pulled the leather strap off when
having sex with him, so that they could luxuriate in it. Thankfully, it was thick and did not snarl easily.
Montmartre was a conglomeration of odd people from all over the world and they brought their fashions with them. Because most were poor, there were many second hand shops filled with clothing from all different countries. Gastien could have cared less about how men were supposed to dress in 1879. He bought what caught his eye. Sometimes he had on flowing silk oriental trousers and shirts with flowing sleeves. Other times, he would wear a striped top and men’s capris, going barefoot or in sandals. This was definitely not what men in Paris were wearing in the nineteenth century! Gastien did not know where the capris came from, but they were cool in the hotter weather and looked good on his tall, slender body.
He also owned some interesting hats, although mostly he went bareheaded just because men were not supposed to. When he wore a beret, it was set way back and at an angle, perched so far off his head it appeared to be ready to fall at any moment. He attached it with women’s hatpins. He always wore the ruby ring and had others that he wore at times, too. One day on a lark, he had his right ear pierced and bought a decent sized gold hoop for it.
Sometimes he carried a tote on his shoulder that held his hash if he was going out. He did not want a purse, but some of his clothes did not have a good area in which to keep hash and money. He liked to screw with people’s minds, too. Why should men only look a certain way? He played with his image all of the time, coming up with some truly outlandish outfits.
However, the outfits always looked good by the time they were put together on him. He did not wear women’s clothing. He just wore clothes from other countries and put them together in unusual ways. Gastien had no desire to be a transvestite, but he did like to push the fashion envelope. Many times, though, he wore a simple pair of trousers and a peasant shirt with a v-neck, along with boots or sandals, as the weather dictated.
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