Guillaume Bacharene
bacharene@gmail.com
This story is a bit of fact and fiction although based on some key actual details. Some names have been changed for privacy protection purposes. The mixture of fact and fiction is what good writing is all about in my view. And, one has to write, above all, for the reader. A writer is an agent or channel to get the words right and tell a wonderful story to which readers can relate.
My romance with the US goes back to the early 1980s. While there are exceptions as there are all over the world, I was totally seduced by the general niceness of people and especially, the beautiful, confident and sexy men who were totally enthralled by my accent and my brain. But also, it was the genuine openness and way they expressed thoughts and feelings. I had never had my ego so exquisitely massaged the same way ever. So, I am 1.80m tall, worked out and had what others described as "model looks" to the extent that when I was doing my first masters degree I had been offered a modelling contract with a major fashion house in Paris. I thought about it all, the money and travel, but figured I had too many brains to be treated like a glorified clothes' horse and as some superficial entity with "the looks" but nothing else. Added to that was what I saw as bullshit "glamour". I turned it down to pursue an academic career instead.
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My US Lecture Tour and Master Classes - Part Five
It was 1983 and I was to have four weeks in the US doing a series of lectures and master classes based one some research I had done. It doesn't really matter what is was all about now but it was held to be extremely important. It was an offer that came out of nowhere really. Sometimes, the powers that be of the universe seem to have a plan for us. This was to be no exception. I was able to negotiate really generous terms with a week in Honolulu on the way and then sessions in San Francisco, Chicago, New York, Washington DC, New Orleans, Los Angeles and San Diego.
I indicated earlier about my first touch with America being the most amazingly good thing for one's ego. In each of these cities I was to have an experience, which could read like a romance novel. It was heady and all culminated some years later with me meeting the big love of my life, a beautiful American. After 30 years we are still together. But that's another complete story I might also tell one day!
Washington DC
As the capital of the nation, Washington DC has always had a certain cachet, blessed as it is with the halls of power on many fronts both real and imagined. And power, both real and imagined, attracts many, like the proverbial bees to a honeypot, each with their own motivations. Regardless and not being on any power trip, I was looking forward to a few cultural highlights - the Smithsonian, National Gallery and a few others but had vowed to keep right away from the usual such as the Capitol and Lincoln Memorial. I ended up in a cute hotel in Georgetown and as it turned out, all was handy to my venues and, there were restaurants and bars in the area. At one local bar I even got chatting to a guy who just came over and said I looked lonely and then ended up inviting me to a party of Ronald Reagan staffers. So, that was an interesting experience. Whatever Reagan's politics were, he apparently employed lots of gays.
However, the most amazing experience of my Washington stay happened at one of my presentation lectures. Now, as a teacher, lecturer and presenter on top of one's game, one has to develop supreme skills of communication and presentation. This includes not only absolute knowledge and confidence about one's subject matter but also the ability to make everything and every moment interesting for an audience and to make each person feel you are speaking directly to them. So, this means inclusive eye contact, roving around the room, voice articulation and modulation and, absolutely no reading from a paper. You have to speak as if you were having a personal conversation with each and every person present because that is in fact what you are doing. Reading from a paper puts even the most interested to sleep in 2 minutes. And, anecdotes, jokes and stories add a human side, especially important when there is something dry and unsexy on the subject side. In some ways, people are there from interest but that is not enough. One has to have them leave with a sense of triumph, fulfilment and revelation.
So, after the introductions, which are always glowing and flattering and done by a senior university official or academic, there's a great expectation that one perform and perform well. I was prepared and of course, had already done the series four times. I wasn't cocky about it because every audience is different but I was confident. And, American audiences I had discovered were always so appreciative and nice.
As I began, my eyes raked around the lecture theatre. It was a tiered affair and I figured there were somewhere between 200-300 people present. Such a lecture theatre makes it easier in fact to establish links with all present. Although most are too far away to realise it, when one looks in their general direction, it becomes personalised and one is in fact relating to blocks of people who all feel a very personal connection back. You see them as a block; they see you as relating directly to them as individuals. It was then I noticed him sitting right in the front row to the right. He was blonde, very good looking in the classic American way and about which I have spoken already on many occasions in this series and will again. But, while others in the room were dressed in muted, sensible colours, he stood out in a red, open-necked shirt and a cobalt blue sweater with dark grey pants, grey socks and black leather shoes. He was like a colour beacon and each pass of the room started there and returned there. He was a great visual clue to aid audience inclusion. Every time I looked his way, his eyes were fixed upon me and he smiled and nodded.
At the end of the session, which ran for 90 minutes with a 10 minute comfort break in the middle and 15 minutes for questions, there was the usual throng of people wanting to say thanks, make comments and requests or to ask more questions. I was adept at doing these. But I noticed the blond guy waiting patiently on the perimeters. Eventually, all those wanting to ask questions or whatever left and I was gathering my things together. My hosts were busy packing up as well. He approached. Thank you Professor, that was most enlightening, spell binding. He held out his hand.
"Allow me to introduce myself. I'm Markus and I wanted to say that was over and above the best presentation I have ever heard, anywhere, and, if you don't have plans, I wanted to invite you to have coffee or something stronger. I have some things I'd love to raise with you but of course, only if and even when it would or might suit." He handed me an embossed card: 'Markus Monte Leone Divola, Director of Marketing, Import Divola' it said simply and gave a telephone number.
Now usually, after such an event, there would be official drinks and dinner somewhere, however, since this occasion started at 8:30pm I had asked if any such official events could be held over until later in the program. So, effectively I was a free agent and Markus was certainly a good reason to say yes, merely on looks alone. Close up, he was another vision to behold. I decided he was around 26 or so. He turned out to be 28 as I was to discover later.
He then excused himself, retrieved a large navy coat and returned. I liked his confident manner I decided instantly.
"Markus, thank you. That is incredibly sweet of you to say so and actually, as is turns out I am completely free as of this moment. And, I am Guillaume, as you know but I am here as "Doctor" and not "Professor". We shook hands again." His hands looked like those of a pianist; immaculate, beautiful. I also noticed the Patek-Philippe with the lapis lazuli face and gold casing and hands.
His face lit up.
"Great. Now, there are places around but I have a suggestion. My family imports and roasts the best coffee in America and my apartment is close by. Why don't we go there?"
"Well, Markus, I am totally in your hands." It wasn't in any was a double-entendre. He smiled anyway.
As it turned out, Markus had his car right outside. Although he lived close by and was a doctoral student, he had been to a family business meeting at HQ on the city fringes and didn't have time to park his car and then walk the 10 minutes or so to the venue. Of course, I did a double take: the car just had to be a red Ferrari. It was pure sex on wheels, the smell of the leather alone acting like an aphrodisiac.
The car barely had a chance to utter a snarl and we were at the entrance to Markus' garage in a block with an indeterminate number of apartments, but very sleek and modern with steel screens. The electric security door went up as the car purred away. I had already decided Markus exuded class from every pore and it was effortless. He parked in a large space where there were also storage lockers and we got out. The push of a button brought down another security screen and the car was secured.
Markus lived on the 7th floor, not only the top floor but also the penthouse. The entire place was like an Italian design catalogue and display. I couldn't help myself. As we entered via a huge pivoting door, operatic arias played softly in the background.
"Markus, this is really beautiful. I am looking at everything in wonder."
"Let's just say that I want for nothing and everything has to be the very best Italian. I frequently have to host client and prospective client events here and also, the Italian Embassy uses it a lot. It is really a showcase for Italy and although it is really mine, I share it. Having said that, I work hard promoting my family coffee business and looking after marketing and PR and so I guess, this and other things are the material and lifestyle rewards. Come."
Markus took my by the elbow and ushered me through the large sliding doors to the external terrace. It was huge with potted palms and a profusion of other exotic plants, including 3m coffee plants, which I recognised as part of my family in Tahiti grew coffee. The view over the city was incredible. Washington is low-slung anyway and well laid out but I remember especially its lights at night with great affection. We came back inside. As I was looking up at a large fishtail palm, Markus anticipated my next question:
"All these plants have to be stored away in a winter hothouse we have otherwise the Washington winter would be deadly. They have to be craned up and down."
"I am so glad I accepted your invitation, Markus. This is a real feast for an artist's eyes!"
"So you are an artist as well, Guillaume?"
"Well, yes, but I do appreciate beautiful things, beautiful design and the skills required to set it all out and together. You clearly have a real flair."
"Thank you Guillaume. But I am being a terrible host. What can I offer you? I can certainly offer you the best coffee but equally, I have a selection of champagne. I certainly think your performance tonight calls for champagne as well! I do have the Italian version of course but I prefer Pol Roger."
I had to smile. He noticed and did an open-armed shrug.
"Where would we French and Italians be without arms and facial expressions! We'd be mute!"
"Well Markus, you guessed my preferred champagne. However, I would dearly love to sample what I presume to be the foundation of the family business and your personal success."
"Go make yourself comfortable over in the alcove, Guillaume."
Well, the alcove was an under-statement and full blown. It was a U-shaped area, which could seat 40 on beautifully upholstered sofas in a grey-blue fabric, with sleek glass and stainless steel tables separating them. The fittings, linen drapes, paintings and drawings and lights were set off with small sculptures and some beautiful Roman terracotta figurines in frozen gestures.
I heard an espresso machine spark and splutter into life and the aroma of coffee bathed the entire space, as large as it was. Then Markus arrived with the Pol Roger and two double espressos set out on a plain silver tray with a platter of Speculoos. I adore Speculoos.
"As you are a gentleman of class, Guillaume, I didn't bother to ask: I made a double espresso for you, assuming that would be appropriate."
I replied: "The class act is yours, Markus, and you certainly have the stage for it. This is totally magical. The other thing is you have classical American good looks and yet you are Italian."
It was actually rather weird. I began to feel as if I had known Markus forever. Then I took a sip of the espresso. It was like a honeyed crema concoction, which raced around my senses. Markus looked at me intently. It was heavenly coffee.
"I can see why your family business is such a success. This is quite simply sublime, Markus, really beyond words." He smiled and offered a simple thank you.
"Since you are French, Guillaume, I am going to ask you to do me the honour and attend to the Pol Roger." I did. I had chosen a place at the end of the alcove so Markus was seated at right angles to me, knees almost touching. I stood up and eased out the cork and the Pol Roger gave that very subtle, gasping breath out as it came back to the living world from that of the champagne dream world in waiting. As I poured I said to Markus:
"What did you want to ask me, Markus? I have been the recipient of your kind hospitality for a while in this beautiful setting, your home, and the reason for this has been pushed aside. Not that I am complaining."
Markus smiled.
"Well I do have some questions but I must confess, Guillaume, I had an ulterior motive. I had this inexplicable urge to spend time with you, alone. I simply cannot explain it. I am pleased but also was rather surprised, you accepted."
I switched into 'business first' mode. Markus put his questions as we sipped Pol Roger, which had a habit for me on this trip of opening interesting doors. I answered each in sequence. It turned out that Markus was doing research in a similar field and it was all about the modelling of expert decision-making as part of artificial intelligence. Of course, most would choke with utter boredom but that is what research is all about; making today what will be the system tomorrow and, it is all intensely boring until it does its main stream normality thing. I was well used to it all over the world. Of course, I wanted urgently to ask Markus in depth about his ulterior motive but first, wanted to know about his name.
"I wanted to ask why, as an Italian, you are Markus and not Marco?"
Markus smiled:
"You really are on top of everything, Guillaume: I am so impressed. Simple answer, Guillaume. My mother is German and her father, my German grandfather, is Markus. Monte Leone is an old family name on my Dad's side of course."
I smiled.
"You and me are both a bit of a genetic fruit salad, Markus except, perhaps yours is a simple fruit salad whereas mine is full of exotic fruits of which most have never heard a thing and would be loathe to taste."
I looked into his eyes. The Pol Roger was working its magic.
"And so, Markus, to your ulterior motive. I am intrigued."
"Allora," Markus began in Italian then switched to English, "I sat there listening spell bound as you spoke but undressing you totally with my eyes and imagination. I can't explain it. Your voice and entire persona were a real turn-on."
I thought for a moment, not wanting to sound like a psychiatrist.
"Have you had much experience, sexually? Is this actually normal for you?"
Markus laughed. I thought aloud:
"Whatever normal is anyway, Markus!"
"With two Italian grandmothers constantly trying to marry me off, my life is full of options, none of which I want to exercise! My Dad is far less Italian in that regard, having grown up in America and my mother is very matter-of-fact. She wants me to find love with no family strings and obligations. When she and my Dad met and married, they had to elope as neither family wanted it to happen. It was all about the war and terrible history and memories."
"Well, Markus, I am very flattered that you both hung on my every word at the lecture but also that you undressed me all evening. Now you have me alone, feeling wonderful in your incredible home, what do you have in mind? You might notice I am not exactly running out the door in panic!"
Markus said nothing but stood up, took my Pol Roger, set it down and then kneeled in front of me. I opened my legs wider. He came in close, all blonde, flawless and deep blue eyes. Taking my hands in his, he kissed each in turn. He looked into my eyes. I closed them and his lips brushed against mine. I kissed him back, hugging him close. Now, I am a sucker for nice smelling hair and Markus smelled of lemons and limes. If I had not been hooked already, I certainly was at that moment.
He settled, between my legs, his back towards me, and leaned back, and his arms over my upper thighs as if I were the throne of his empire and I was the 'Leone' of his middle name. I leaned forward and kissed him. We were a good fit even at that odd angle. I massaged his hair and scalp, all silky smooth. It was yet another moment of perfection.
We finished the Pol Roger and Markus removed the debris, leaving the Speculoos. I ate four. Markus disappeared for a while and then came back, dimming all the lights. Silently he took my hand and we went into his inner sanctuary. Off his bedroom, which was total designer chic, was a bathroom and yet another terrace although this was small, very private and dominated by a hot tub, pulsing with life. Markus kissed me and began to undress me. I did the same to him. Within moments we saw each other naked in the semi darkness. He was slightly taller than me but we were very similar in other ways. He took my hand and led me to the hot tub. At first, it seemed far too hot but then my body adjusted. Nearby was a tray with a pitcher of iced water and more Pol Roger in an ice bucket. Markus handed me a glass of water and then settled back, snuggling into my side. His hand began to massage my thigh. My cock was hard in an instant. He leaned back on my shoulder and we kissed. Then Markus found my raging cock.
"We are both atypical, you and me he said: we are both circumcised."
In the reduced light hadn't noticed he was although normally I would have.
"Have you got Jewish ancestors, Guillaume?"
"Not that I know of Markus. Arab neither. All the men in my family have always been circumcised on both sides. You?"
"We are the same. I don't really know if it was because I was born in America where it is so routine or again because there is Jewish blood."
Markus and I jerked each other off, slowly and sensuously within the warm embrace of his hot tub, kissing and caressing like crazy. We then retired to his huge walk-in shower, all sleek stainless steel, glass and grey-black, small-format tiles. I had discovered Markus loved to kiss. So did I so, once we brushed our teeth we spent hours merely doing that; kissing and caressing. One certainly gets to know a partner's body that way and also, where their hot buttons are. We also both liked to be sucked off and so, within a matter of hours, we had discovered a rare sexual balance.
When I awoke, Markus was already up and the smell of coffee and croissants permeated the entire apartment. At the bottom of the bed was a white bathrobe. I got up and put it on and went into the bathroom, splashing cold water on my face. Separate heated towel rails said 'Mine' and 'Yours' so there was no crisis about which to use.
Markus smiled when I emerged into the kitchen.
"Buon giorno bello, bonjour."
We hugged and kissed. A table for two was set most elegantly on the terrace.
Over breakfast he said:
"I want you to move in here for your stay. We can go get your things later."
So, I did. I took over the kitchen cooking wonderful dinners in a beautiful kitchen, which had everything. We went out to dinner once to a very classy restaurant although afterwards, Markus said:
"That used to be my top restaurant. With you cooking such amazing food, Guillaume, that's all changed!"
When I had time to reflect afterwards, we had an interesting relationship. It was not at all possessive and clinging but a balance of intellect, companionship and sensual sex. In some ways, it was perfect but we also knew, it was finite. We were both on different trajectories although we knew we would be friends forever.
Epilogue:
Over the years thereafter I saw a lot of Markus. Our pathways crossed frequently around the world and so there were a few trysts in exotic locations. He eventually married saying that the grandmothers persistence paid off and they got their wishes. His wife was a glamorous Sicilian from a noble family whose passions were doing lunch with friends and shopping. I didn't really like her and neither did he but, it was an arrangement which worked. Most sadly, however, Markus was killed in a terrible auto accident caused by a speeding drunken driver, while on a business trip to Milan. He was 36.