“And you could have had me, all along. Well, now’s your chance to make up for all that lost time,” Marc told him. “Go for it!”
They kissed furiously, biting at each other’s lips and driving their tongues deeply from mouth to mouth. Sensing that the other married man was the passive type who hesitated to make the first move, Marc reached for Renaud’s cock. It was already pulsing with excitement, and despite Renaud’s slight drunkenness from the wine he had consumed, it grew solid in moments when his neighbor played with it.
“I want to suck you,” Renaud blurted out. “Oh, Marc, I want to suck your cock!” He pushed against Marc’s bare chest to urge him to get on the bed and lie there on his back, but Marc resisted.
“No, not yet. I want to suck yours first. Trust me,” Marc boasted. “I’m very good at it. Let me prove it to you—”
In his turn, he silently urged Renaud to lie flat on his back on the mattress. Then Marc clambered up onto the bed, where he scrambled in between the other guy’s legs and stroked his thighs. Renaud felt his dick quivering, jerking fitfully up and down from his belly. First, Marc’s warm hands caressed it, and then his equally warm and sensuous mouth began to kiss its way up the insides of Renaud’s thighs. Renaud’s stomach lurched involuntarily with a guilty tension when Marc’s tongue touched his balls and began to lick them with long, wet strokes. Renaud’s breath grew more ragged as the other man’s mouth worked its way steadily higher, until he was licking the base of Renaud’s turgid penis. Marc’s tongue moved higher up the length of the cock, his tongue rubbing it like a metronome swaying from side to side on the shaft. When his lips reached the tip, he began to tease Renaud’s tool with the end of his tongue, making it jump higher from his belly until it stood up far enough for Marc easily to capture it with his lips.
“Oh,” Renaud groaned, as the handsome stud’s wet mouth went down on his cock. “Oh, my God!” An indescribable erotic joy suddenly seemed to flood through his entire body. Those warm, moist lips were moving slowly up and down on him, taking his cock right to the base. Each stroke made his horny prick swell harder, until it felt like a bar of burning iron sliding in and out of Marc’s hot, hard-sucking mouth.
Renaud’s hips began to move in unison with the steady downward thrusts of Marc’s mouth, driving Renaud’s cock far into the depths of the other guy’s hot, tight throat. Renaud had never dreamed that anything like this would ever take place between him and his good-looking neighbor, or that it would be this good if, by some miracle, it did happen. The reality now hit him like a body blow, making him breathless. Renaud arched his head up from the mattress and he looked down at the bobbing head which was working on his cock. He saw Marc’s disheveled mane of silky chestnut hair, his handsome face, and his well-muscled naked body.
“Oh, my God,” Renaud repeated, in disbelief. His hands gripped and squeezed Marc’s shoulders. “Suck it, Marc. Please suck it for me. Oh, suck my cock!” He almost wept with pleasure and gratitude. “I need it so bad!”
He felt the sperm pressure building up inside him, and his hips drove up harder, more urgently. Marc must have felt it, too, because suddenly his oral strokes became frantic, his tongue wildly licking every accessible inch of Renaud’s dick to make it shoot.
“Oh, fuck! I’m going to come!” Renaud moaned. He didn’t want the blow job to end so soon, but he was helpless to prevent his orgasm. His head tilted back, his whole body tensed—and his tormented cock shot off inside the other man’s mouth. The violence of his ejaculation made Marc pull back, but only for an instant. Then Marc continued to suck as passionately as ever, greedily gathering every drop of the hot fluid which Renaud was squirting into his mouth and down his throat. When Renaud’s prick did stop shooting, Marc slowly pulled his mouth off it and swallowed the semen. Then he lay down beside Renaud and took him into his arms.
“I believe you needed that. Not that I didn’t enjoy it, too. Good sex,” Marc murmured.
“The best,” Renaud agreed.
“Good enough to sell you on this whole idea of bisexuality?”
“What do you think?”
Renaud hugged Marc’s head down to his, and he kissed Marc hard on the mouth. His hands rubbed restlessly up and down Marc’s strong, naked shoulders, feeling the muscles in them ripple under the skin. Their bodies ground hotly together. When the kiss was broken, Marc rolled Renaud onto his back—and this time the other guy didn’t resist.
“I haven’t come yet,” Marc pointed out.
“I know you haven’t. What you do want to do?”
“I want your ass.” Marc reached for the box of rubbers and the lube.
Renaud swallowed, hard, in apprehension. “All right. But you’re hung so big, Marc. You’re going to have to go easy on me, at first.”
“Don’t you worry,” Marc promised, as he began to unroll a condom down over his thick, throbbing dick. “Before I’m done with you, you’re going to be begging for it—begging for more. They always do.”
Chapter Five: The Office Boy
Marc congratulated himself.
At first, he’d feared that his neighbor, Renaud, represented a potential threat to him. But Marc had managed to deflect that possibility. Renaud was infatuated with him, and Marc was perfectly willing to take advantage of the fact. Renaud would keep his mouth shut about Marc’s extramarital activities—as long as Marc continued to have sex with him. Marc was willing. Like a lot of married men who fooled around with other men on the sly, Renaud was good in bed—uninhibited, and enthusiastic. Having an outlet for his needs right next door was a real convenience, Marc realized.
And so, for at least a week, Marc was content. He felt no urge to seek out any other sex partners.
He concentrated on his work. Even down at the office, though, there were distractions and temptations. Marc had always made it his strict policy not to fool around with any of the guys he worked with, no matter how attractive they were. Some of these coworkers of his were openly gay, of course. Others were closeted, as was Marc himself, although his usual reliable instincts in such matters told him which ones fell into that category.
Recently, the management had hired a new office boy, named Jean-Paul. It was an entry-level position, of course, and accordingly his duties were menial. He delivered the interoffice mail, did filing, made photocopies and replenished the copy machines when they need to be reloaded with paper, and he went on runs to fetch takeout coffee, sandwiches, and pastries—that sort of thing.
At first, Marc barely took notice of the lad. But gradually he began to realize that Jean-Paul was the alert, energetic type, who seemed ambitious enough, and also willing to please. He was a good-looking youngster, too, with a hot little body which his clothes couldn’t conceal.
The problem, from Marc’s perspective, was that Jean-Paul was so damn young—just turned twenty. Marc had his personal prejudices. He liked his men to be butch, which usually required a certain degree of maturity. Jean-Paul was attractive, but he still had a look of boyish innocence about him, which to Marc telegraphed a clear warning—namely, danger ahead, jailbait alert! Look, but don’t touch!
There was no doubt in Marc’s mind that Jean-Paul was gay. He’d often caught the new office boy looking at him with admiration and desire. Jean-Paul was too young to have learned how to disguise his proclivities.
Marc assumed that the kid had a boyfriend his own age, and that the two of them no doubt fucked like jackrabbits.
I wonder what it’s like, Marc speculated, not without a touch of envy, to be young and openly gay … to just live your life, and not have to hide. To do whatever you want, and not give a damn about what anybody else thinks?
Well, I’ve made my choice. I’ve made my bed, as they say, and now I’m going to have to lie in it. I can’t complain too much, though. I have my chances, every now and then, to lie in it alongside some hot guy!
It was almost quitting time at work late one afternoon, when the intercom on Marc’s desk came to life.
“
Monsieur Remy?” Elise asked.
“Yes, Elise?”
“Madame Remy is on the phone.”
“Put her through right away. Oh, and you can go home, Elise. I won’t need you any more today.”
“Thank you, monsieur.”
Marc picked up the phone on his desk.
“Hello, darling,” he said.
“So I caught you. I was afraid you might have already left,” Ghislaine said.
“I was almost on my way out the door.”
“And so am I. You’re on your own this evening, remember.”
“Am I? I don’t remember.”
Ghislaine laughed. “Which is why I thought I’d better call and remind you. I have my book club tonight.”
“Oh, that.”
“Don’t you dare make fun, Marc. This time we’re holding the meeting at Angelique’s house. We’re going to order something to be delivered, and while we eat we’re going to sit around and discuss this month’s book. And it’s really interesting. It’s a love story.”
“And how much actual discussion of this fictional love story is likely to take place—as opposed to a lot of girl talk about fashion, husbands, boyfriends, and real-life romantic intrigues?”
“Marc, you are so cynical! Shame on you. Well, you’re going to have to make your own dinner, unless you want to stop somewhere on your way home. I did the grocery shopping this afternoon. So there’s plenty of food on hand. Including all the things you like.”
“I’m sure I won’t starve. Enjoy your evening. I’ll see you later.”
“I’ll try not to be too late.”
They rang off.
Marc’s lips curled into a rueful smile as he got his things together and prepared to leave his office. Ghislaine had told him about her book club night, of course, and well ahead of time. But Marc did tend to be absent-minded about appointments and social engagements which did not involve him directly.
If only I’d remembered, he chastised himself. A few hours free this evening … I could have made some plans, arranged something. Ah, well. I’ll be smarter, next time.
As one of the company’s executives, he had his own reserved parking space. He got into his car and pulled out into the street. Warily, he placed himself on the lookout, ready to react to any typical Marseille driver who thought of traffic signals as mere suggestions, rather than rigid warnings to be obeyed.
Finding himself stopped in traffic beside a bus stop, Marc turned his head and glanced at the people who were waiting. Among them was none other than Jean-Paul.
Marc pressed the button to lower the passenger side window.
“Hey there, Jean-Paul,” he called out.
The office boy grinned at him. “Oh, hi.”
“Hop in,” Marc said. “Come on,” he added, when Jean-Paul hesitated. “Let me give you a lift.”
Jean-Paul got into the car, and Marc pulled back into the traffic. He closed the window.
“That air conditioning sure feels good,” Jean-Paul remarked.
“Yes, it was a hot day. Are you on your way home?” Marc asked.
“Yes.”
“Tell me where you live, and I’ll drop you off.”
“It’s too far out of your way.”
“How do you know what my way is?”
“Everybody at work knows where you live. In a fancy villa on top of the hill in Périer, with a view of the city and the sea,” Jean-Paul said, referring to one of the more exclusive districts of Marseille.
“It’s hardly a villa,” Marc protested. “It’s an old house. A nice old house, I admit, with high ceilings—and small rooms. With a modernized kitchen and plumbing, thank God.”
“I live north of the city. Almost as far as Sèptemes-les Vallons. Which isn’t just a question of distance. It’s a whole other world.”
“Well, I’m in no hurry to get home tonight. I don’t mind swinging by there.”
“Lucky you, that you have the option of just swinging by there, as opposed to living there. If you really don’t mind slumming … then thank you very much.”
“You’re entirely welcome, Jean-Paul.”
“You’re going to have to turn right at the next light. And then head north.”
“Got it. Don’t you have a car?” Marc asked.
“On my salary?”
“Sorry. I suppose the question was insensitive of me.”
“Feel free to recommend me for a raise.”
“What are you willing to do to earn it?”
“You might be surprised.”
Marc had meant his question as a joke. But Jean-Paul had jumped right in, with more than a hint of innuendo in his voice and manner.
Before Marc could react with words, though, his passenger asked, “Are you sure I’m not taking you out of your way? Aren’t you in a hurry to get home to your wife?”
“She’s got an engagement this evening. I have some time to kill. And driving relaxes me. Tell me when to turn.”
“No, stay on this street for the time being. We’ve still got a way to go.”
“Do you live at home with your parents?”
“God, no!”
Marc chuckled. “You like to be out on your own—independent—is that it?”
“Yeah. Who doesn’t?”
“Do you have a roommate?”
“No. My dump is barely big enough for one person, let alone two. But it’s cheap. And it looks it.”
“When I was your age, and first starting out … I always had roommates.”
“I suppose that could be nice, having another guy around, to keep you company, and to watch your back. Assuming the two of you get along together. But wasn’t it—”
“What?”
“Wasn’t it kind of awkward, when you wanted to bring somebody home for sex?”
“Um, not necessarily, in my experience. These things have a way of working themselves out.”
“I wish I knew your secret. God, look at this hole,” Jean-Paul exclaimed.
They had reached the outskirts of the city, where the neighborhoods tended to deteriorate in quality.
“I’ve seen much worse, here in Marseille. Garbage stacked up and rotting in the streets, because of sanitation worker strikes … and refuse actually being burned in the streets.”
“But everything’s so ugly and dirty,” Jean-Paul lamented. “So depressing. Maybe you can stand it, because you’re just driving through it. You don’t have to live here, twenty-four seven. You can drive back to Périer. I’m embarrassed, because I’m subjecting you to this. I should’ve just taken the bus.”
“I wish you’d stop apologizing. And what do you think of me, anyway—that I’m some sort of a prissy, stuck-up queen?” Too late, Marc realized that he’d let slip that word queen, with all it implied. “I can remember living in a neighborhood that made this one look downright gentrified.”
Jean-Paul was smiling at him. “But I bet you didn’t live there for long.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“You managed to better yourself,” the office boy suggested. “By one means or another.”
“Absolutely.”
“Turn left up ahead,” Jean-Paul instructed Marc. “We’re almost there.”
Soon, following Jean-Paul’s directions, Marc found himself negotiating a labyrinth of narrow streets, between tall, monolithic apartments of recent construction—and uniformly drab, unimaginative design.
“Would you like to come up and see how the other half lives?” Jean-Paul asked.
“I would.”
“Pull over there. It’ll be safe to leave your car there. For now. Maybe not overnight. But I’m not inviting you to spend the night.”
Marc wondered exactly what Jean-Paul was inviting him to his place for. But he said nothing as he parked the car and followed Jean-Paul into one of the buildings.
They rode the elevator to the top floor.
“These are the penthouses,” Jean-Paul joked, leading Marc down a dimly-lit hallway. “I have what
the management describes as a ‘luxury studio.’ What’s luxurious about it is that I have a real bed, instead of a pull-out. Oh, and the fact that through the windows you can see a sliver of the sky, as opposed to the wall of the building next door.”
He let Marc in.
The studio apartment was a long, narrow rectangular space. The two windows did indeed reveal a sliver of the sky, still a vivid clear blue, with sunset several hours away. There was a kitchenette at one end, a bed at the other, and, between them, two battered old second- or third-hand leather armchairs flanking a small table. Two doors in the wall opposite the windows presumably opened onto a closet and the bathroom.
Jean-Paul kept the place tidy, Marc observed. The bed was made, with a quilted cotton coverlet spread over it. There were no dirty dishes in the sink.
“It’s warm in here, isn’t it?” Jean-Paul asked.
“A little.”
Jean-Paul switched on a box fan, set on the floor. “There. That’ll get some air circulating. Why don’t you give me your jacket? I’ll hang it up, so it won’t get wrinkled.”
“Very well, thanks.”
“Would you like some coffee?”
“I would, as a matter of fact.”
“Sit,” Jean-Paul urged, indicating the armchairs. “I’ll have it ready in a minute. Loosen your tie. Take off your shoes. Take off anything you damn well want to, in fact,” he teased Marc.
Marc grinned. “Is this going to be that sort of a visit?”
Jean-Paul shrugged. “That’s entirely up to you.” With his back turned to Marc, he was burying himself with the coffee things. He had the kind of aluminum Italian drip maker which brewed coffee quickly and efficiently, and he set this on one of the stove’s burners. “What’s the matter? I’m not your type?”
Interesting that he takes for granted I’m gay, or bi, Marc thought. I thought I was better at hiding it!
He saw no reason to prevaricate.
“I don’t believe in office romances, as a rule,” he said. “Having an affair with someone you work with—that can get awkward.”
“I’m sure it can. But who was talking about romance or an affair? Two guys can have sex with each other, and no harm done. No strings attached.”
His Secret Sins Page 6
