In the following story, all of the characters are totally fictive and the setting is real. For whomever it would be illegal, immoral or prohibited for any other reason whatsoever to read a story about love between two young men is kindly requested to refrain from continuing. A free picture album illustrating this story (pdf) is available upon request at marin.giustinian@laposte.net. This being said, I hope you enjoy the tale.
ONCE UPON A RIVER
by Marin Giustinian
The Loire River, the longest in France, is the only untamed, natural waterway left in Europe. Thibault Duval, a young Cajun-American expat, was an artist, painting mostly the riverscapes in which he had lived alone. His floating home was an old, authentic 'toue', the traditional flat-bottom barge with a cabin on it, used on the Loire since the Vikings were there some ten centuries ago.
The toue usually has the cabin near the stern where a long sweep does the job of a rudder. A single mast with a large square sail could propel it even upstream with a stiff wind. Maybe also, the toue was the ancestor of the Louisiana shanty boat which, up until the middle of the 1900's still plied the waters of the bayous and rivers of the Mississippi basin.
Whatever, when Thibault came to France, a year and a half ago, he immediately fell in love with the Loire River and the toue. He was lucky enough to find one for sale in fair shape. He bought it, equipped it with a dependable outboard which could take him just about anywhere the river allowed... the water level varying drastically from one season to the other. He fixed the interior to suit his very frugal tastes : wood stove, comfortable double bed, trunks, a table and chair, rudimentary galley, cupboard and water barrel. In the light of the large front window, he placed his other chair and his easel. He baptized his toue "Ondin", the masculin water spirit of Gallic mythology. He was glad to live that way, satisfying a kind of compelling drive to roam on untamed waters, flowing through nature in the gentle landscape of the heart of France.
For the past year, he had been wandering from island to island, village to village, up and down the river on the stretch between Langeais and Angers. He learned to identify its islands, currents and shores and finally chose the very small town of Montsoreau to be his home port. He sought refuge there when the winter's ice and flooding waters made it dangerous to be at anchor. For Thibault, winter had its charm. He found a certain beauty in the fog, the whirlpools and the occasional snow, working inside on his paintings, beside a glowing wood stove. It was a big change from his mild Louisiana bayou. He loved the little town and above all a certain little restaurant-bar, Chez Pierrot.
So now, let's begin the story. The late September morning was warm and sunny. Thibault warmed up his motor, lifted anchor and left around nine to go to another island he knew. Its abundance of its driftwood scattered on the sand and snagged in the underbrush was good for replenishing his stock of firewood. Once the shore of the island was well in sight, he saw a bright red tent on the beach... but no canoe, nor kayak.
"Weird," he mused to himself as he anchored. He threw his gloves, bow saw and saw horse in his inflatable rowboat and crossed the little breach of shallows to the sandy beach. As he slid ashore, a young, lanky, shaggy guy, Daan van Elberg, bolted out of the tent shouting, "Hello, hello! I need your help!"
Daan ran up to him."Do you speak English?"
"Yes. What's wrong?"
"My kayak washed away and I'm stuck here! Help me -- please!"
There was a slight trace of a foreign accent in his English.
"All my belongings are in it..."
Strange situation, Thibault thought. The guy's look was a bit weird too. Long, dirty blond hair, snarled halfway down his back, falling on his shoulders, covering his brow. He had scanty patches of face hair instead of honest whiskers on his cheeks, chin and upper lip. The clothes he wore were something between post-hippy and garish, fake Peruvian new-age synthetics. Hard to tell his age... Could be 18 as well as 25. Thibault thought he was probably on drugs to let himself get in such a predicament.
"Sure, I'll be glad to help you, but tell me exactly what happened. Where are you from? What are you doing on the river? What have you been smoking?"
"What? -- Ha! Oh, yes, I understand -- but first of all, could you give me some water? I'm dying of thirst and I didn't dare drink the river water with the nuclear plant upstream and all..."
Thibault pulled his rowboat back into the water, "Get in. I've water and something to eat in my houseboat."
A few minutes later, still in silence, they climbed aboard Ondin and went into the cabin.
"Want a pastry? I've got some coffee... It's still warm. Interested?"
"Great! Thank you a lot! By the way, I'm Daan van Elberg. I'm from Amsterdam."
"As for me, I'm Thibault Duval. I'm from Louisiana but now I live over here on my boat. My ancestors were from this part of France. So tell me, what are you doing here? How did you get stranded?"
"I was on my way to spend a week on the river, in nature, just to hear the OM of the water."
"The what?" asked Thibault as he drew up his other chair.
"The OM. It's the primal sound of the universe. The Buddha said he heard it while meditating by the Ganges and..."
"Are you sure you're not on drugs, Daan? You sound like it."
"No, I'm just terribly stressed for the time being. I spent a horrible night, worrying."
He sounded sincere.
"I'm sorry. It's just that it's really weird to come across a guy in your situation, especially out here."
As he was devouring the pastry, Daan explained that he had rented a kayak in Brehemont, about twenty kilometers upstream and had left with his rucksack, some food and a tent. As night was falling, he beached, barely pulling his kayak up on shore. While he was pitching his tent, a gust of wind or a wavelet or, as he insinuated, a water spirit, wanting to challenge his capacities and beliefs, pushed his kayak into the stream, leaving him just with his tent and the clothes he had on. All the rest, phone, money, credit card, sleeping bag, water, food, everything went drifting downstream.
"I spent the night shivering on the plastic ground cloth of the tent. I could hear voices..."
He seemed to be like a forlorn alien from another planet...
"Okay, voices, a river spirit. You know, the name of this boat is Ondin. That's what we call some of the pagan river spirits here, Ondin, Ondine, Naiad, Sprite! Maybe that's why I came here... it could have been the boat's idea! Ha!"
"Do you think so? Really?"
"I'm teasing you, Daan! Let's get the urgencies over with!"
Thibault took out his iPhone and looked up the kayak renter's number in Brehemont. He called and reported the accident saying that there was no injury and that he was taking care of Mr. van Elberg. Then he called the police to report Daan's problem too.
"Do you know who to call to have your credit card blocked? Do you have a passport or an extra identity card somewhere?"
"My mom can handle all that, Thibault. She always does! Can I call her?"
"Sure, here's the phone."
Thibault took a better look at Daan while he spoke to his mother. It amused him to think that the strange creature he had onboard was also a poor, little 'Mama's boy' alien. He looked like he could be really handsome if he didn't have all that wild hair on his head, falling on his face. Only if he didn't wear such horrible clothes. Thank God he had no visible piercings or tatoos.
The conversation in Dutch between Daan and his mother, of which he understood nothing, seemed a bit laborious. At some point, Daan asked, "Thibault? Where can I have my passport and a credit card sent by Fedex? Could you give me a postal address?"
"Sure."
He then jotted it down so that Daan could dictate it to his mother. Daan also jotted down the code of one of his mother's credit card that she was going to send.
"She says I should get my passport and a credit card here day after tomorrow, Thibault."
"Well so you're my guest until then! Welcome aboard if you want to stay! If not, maybe I can arrange something more comfortable in town for you. As you like."
"I'd love to share Ondin with you, if you really don't mind! I am so sincerely grateful! I don't know how I can thank you enough!"
"Well since you're staying, how about helping me get the wood chore over with. That's what I came here to do anyhow."
"With pleasure!"
As they were gathering the wood, Daan asked him, "How did you end up on the Loire River, coming from Louisiana?"
"We'll talk about that later, if you don't mind. Okay?"
Daan looked a bit dismayed by the way Thibault snapped his reply, so he just smiled and simply said, "Okay..."
They had gathered wood all morning long and a nice pile waited on the beach to be sawn into pieces for the stove. The sun was high and the last beams of summer persisted to shine in the clear autumn sky. They both stripped off their shirts. Daan's long hair clung to his sweaty back and fell on his equally wet brow.
"Hungry?" asked Thibault as he wiped his own damp face.
"Starved!" replied Daan, smiling, pulling his hair back.
They enjoyed lunch and after it was over, as they were washing the bowls in the river, Thibault asked, "Daan, what's that thing about listening to the river. I'm curious."
"If you want to now, I'd be happy to try to tell you."
"Go ahead."
"What do you know about Indian philosophy? I mean Indian from India and not Indian as you call the first Americans..."
"Nearly nothing."
"Well, I'll try to be concise and simple. First of all there's prana. Prana refers to energy, life, or breath. It's the universal sea of energy that infuses and vitalizes all matter. So, every atom, molecule, and cell is an extension of prana, just as waves are extensions of the sea that moves beneath them."
"Ease up there! That's already a bit deep! I've got to wrap my mind around that some..."
"Want me to go on?"
"Go!"
"Prana is also the power that flows in all living forms and performs vital functions. It's the 'life-force' in nature, in us, in the planet, in the river, in the planet, throughout the universe... Prana is also used to refer to breath. Our breathing is deeper when our energy is awakened, like in sex or in running for instance. Prana is understandable as an experience more than a concept."
"I'm starting to catch on..."
"So now I'm getting around to what I said about listening to the river. The syllable OM is the song of prana, the 'cosmic sound' or 'mystical syllable' or 'affirmation to something divine'. Listen!"
Daan took a deep breath and suddenly his whole body seemed to resonate with the deep throated hum, A-U-Mmmm. Thibault was quite impressed!
"Well, in the book about the Buddha, Siddhartha, Hermann Hesse wrote that the Buddha heard this sound in the flowing of the sacred river, the Ganges. There are other sacred rivers. The Nile was considered sacred. There was even a ceremony wherein the high priest of the Pharaoh of Egypt had to to masturbate him, in the presence of his court, until he spilt his semen in the river so its waters could be fertile. In America, the first populations called the Mississippi, the Father of the Waters and it was sacred to them."
"That I know!"
"Maybe the Loire is sacred too... Who knows? Am I going to fast?"
"No, I'm hanging on."
"OM can be thought of as the sound of God. I've studied Hesse's book. The river is a central symbol, representing unity and the eternity of all things in the universe, the very image of prana. The river flows, passes, never stopping and yet it is always there."
Daan went on like a storyteller.
"When the young prince, Siddhartha, realized that, when he lived the experience of hearing the chant of the river, he was then able to attain enlightenment and become the Buddha. He heard the river laugh and he listened and heard more. He listened. The river softly sang in many voices. Siddhartha looked into the water, and images appeared to him in the moving water : his father appeared, lonely, mourning for his son ; he himself appeared, lonely, he also being tied with the bondage of yearning to his distant son ; his friend of love appeared, lonely as well, greedily rushing along the burning course of his youth, each one heading for his goal, each one obsessed by the goal, each one suffering. The river sang with a voice of suffering, longingly it sang, longingly, it flowed towards its goal, sadly its voice sang. But when he listened better, the river sang of freedom, of love, of joy... Note that the river doesn't bestow enlightenment in and of itself--it only helps direct the thoughts of he who is ready to listen. The Loire is a natural river. One of the last ones we have in Europe. That's why I came to hear the OM."
"I've got to let all that sink in. Let's go saw wood now!"
He grabbed his bowsaw and sawhorse.
"Let me do that, Thibault," insisted Daan.
"Okay, I'm gonna fish for tonight's supper. I know of a nice river bank, not far from here, where we can cook out. That way we won't stink up the boat cabin."
"You mean you're going to catch our dinner now?"
"Yes, I am!"
Thibault fetched his rod, dug up some bait and waded into the water. Daan sawed the wood. He kept an eye on Thibault. When he was satisfied by his catch, he strung the fish and tied them to the rowboat. He came over to Daan and said, "Let me finish the sawing. You're going to get blisters. You can load the rowboat and take the wood over to Ondin and stash it in the bow lockers. Can you clean the fish and put them in the cooler too?"
"Yes I can! I'm your man!"
Thibault was really upset about Daan's stringy hair and didn't understand why. He usually didn't care about how others look. He even visualized Daan after a good shave. He sighed, saying to himself, "What a shame... but, let the man be, since it's his choice... but it's a shame to waste beauty like that anyhow."
Daan gutted and cleaned the fish. The wood was all sawn and neatly stowed in the lockers. Thibault tied up the little rowboat alongside Ondin, started the motor and downstream they headed to their next anchorage. While they were underway, Thibault said, "I'm sort of a loner and I prefer nature to town quays... If you don't mind, we'll also spend the night at anchor by the tree lined shore we're going to."
"Sounds great to me."
Daan looked around the cabin as they cruised. He stopped before several of the paintings on the wall and an unfinished one on the easel. Then he sided up to Thibault, asking, "Tell me, are you the painter of all these pictures in here? They are absolutely beautiful!"
"Yes I am. So you like them?"
"A lot! They're like windows on the river!"
"That's what they are."
As they had the beach in sight, Thibault interrupted, saying, "Listen, when we get to the shore over there, we can clean up and then cook ourselves a good supper on the beach with the fish, ash potatoes, wine and all. Tomorrow we'll go into town and get supplies. I'll also line up the reception of your Fedex."
They arrived, beached, securing the boat and then Thibault said, "I'm going to heat up some water for us to wash. We're both a bit ripe from the wood chore. Don't want to stink up our bed. Ha!"
The sun was still high enough for them to strip and wash out on the front deck. They were both naked when Thibault mentioned the fact that he wondered how Daan looked if his hair was shorter, brushed back and his face shaved.
"You know, Thibault, I thought about asking you another favor. While I was sawing, I said to myself, since you rescued me, since you helped me, maybe it was a sign. From a cosmic point of view, my kayak drifting away was not an accident. It told me I had to rid myself of my belongings, my ideas, my habits, my... my everything! I then realized that I had to rid myself of this mass of tangles on my head, make my face new again. Here I stand naked in front of you and ask you to please cut my hair and shave my face. Please!"
Thibault was really taken aback! He thought to himself that if he's gone that far with the fellow, he could do that too. In fact he was even touched by the guy's request, pled with such heartfelt sincerity.
"Sure, Daan. Let's get off of Ondin and stand in the water to do it. We'll just let your dead hair float away in the current."
Daan beamed, jumped overboard on the sand and stood ankle deep in the river's chilly waters. Thibault followed with the shears.
"I'm not a barber, Daan. I'll just chunk away at your hair, not too short and let nature and a good shampoo take care of the styling."
"That's wonderful! Just let nature take over!"
Thibault grabbed fistfuls of the longer hair, cut and tossed the locks in the lazy current at the river's edge. As they spread and sank, Daan looked down at them with pensive, dreamy eyes.
"With every wad of hair you cut, I feel lighter, Thibault. What's happening is so meaningful for me."
"Don't move. I don't want to take off an ear while I'm at it!"
The slanting light englobed the boys in a sheath of gold. The down of their bodies seemed to glow in a kind of sunset incandescence reflected on the water. Thibault was very absorbed by the mission he was accomplishing. Daan stood immobile as his hair fell, revealing the beauty of his shoulders, long neck and high forehead. He was simply gorgeous.
"There! That's done! With a good shampoo, you'll look like a full fledged Ondin, a real god! I'll lend you my brush to finish untangling. Now the face... Let's get back onboard. I'll fetch some hot water."
They climbed back onboard. Thibault handed him a brush and Daan just stood there silent, brushing his hair away from his face as it dried, giggling to himself like a kid."
Thibault returned with a bucket of steaming water, asked Daan to sit on the gunwale. He gently washed Daan's face leaving it wet.
"Don't move anymore. You're going to get the shave of a lifetime!"
Paying great attention, he then went about doing the job. Once he had shaved and washed off the foam, he stood back and exclaimed! "Good God, you're downright beautiful!"
"If you say so, I'll believe you! I really owe you, Thibault," he said as he rubbed his face.
"Well, now you shave me! Beside you, I feel like a bum! Turnabout's fair play!"
"Okay."
The intimacy of shaving made them both very much erect. Without commenting their state of arousal at all, they continued the grooming by washing each other. Thibault shampooed Daan and Daan scrubbed Thibault's back. Quite naturally, they went on soaping one another and when it got down to taking care of cocks and balls, they simply enjoyed fondling and being fondled, making it seem just as natural as washing arms and legs. They cleaned asses, tended to the slightest fold of the flesh, even pulling the foreskin back. Once soaped up all over, they dumped the hot water on their heads, rinsed and toweled down. Thibault said, "Come on in. We're about the same size. We'll see what kind of clothes I can lend you."
The transformation of Daan was quite spectacular. Thibault's transformation was visible too, but his, other than his shave, was much deeper inside. The way he felt, 'relooking' Daan, caring for him, cleansing him deeper than just the hair and skin, made him gleam. He kept on thinking about the fact that he had never felt what he was feeling now. It was a feeling, something between brotherliness and lust, aesthetic admiration and simply caring for someone, something which he had never experienced in all his life. He thought back about his boy scout days and the priest ranting on about the sins of the flesh as he patted the butts of the kids. He thought how stupid it was for them to have to hide to pee and all the other perverted things that went into a boy's up-bringing in the prudish, middle class, white society of Louisiana. If the priest could have seen them naked, bathing each other, Thibault was sure he would have had an attack -- or either an orgasm!
Daan pulled on a plain white T-shirt and went commando in a pair of cut-offs Thibault lent him.
"There, you look great, Daan!"
"I feel great too. You make me feel... How can I say? You make me feel like I'm brand new."
"You are, Daan. That you are! Now let's light the fire and get the supper underway!"
"Is that your phone ringing?"
Thibault answered, "Halo, oui... Hold on please. It's for you, maybe it's your mother."
This time the phone conversation was brief and Daan was completely reassured. He told Thibault that his mother had handled everything and that his papers and credit card should arrive by Fedex at the indicated address without delay.
"I guess I'm going to have to live off of your generosity for another day... I'm sorry..."
"Sorry for what! It's only normal to help you. Look, we're having fun and you really did a good job with the wood. You'd help me if I needed it wouldn't you?" interrupted Thibault.
"For you, Thibault, I think I'd do just about anything!"
Thibault blushed saying, "I'm going to light the fire for the fish and potatoes. There's some apples in the cupboard and there's some Vouvray in the cooler. Open up a bottle. We can enjoy a glass while we grill."
The dinner was a great success! They sat by the fire as it shed its warmth in the twilight. They were finishing the wine when Daan said, almost in a whisper, "Thanks to you, Thibault, I feel like a new person! The river took away my things, and you finished its work by making me even lighter! I really needed it! In fact, we've been together only for... for not even a full day and you've become very important for me in many ways, in my heart, in my head too. And to top it off this dinner by the river, simple and succulent! It was the best banquet I've ever had!"
"Don't exagerate! It's the wine talking," jested Thibault, "but, you know, I've enjoyed today too... and thanks to you, I doubled my stock of firewood! I do enjoy being alone... but with you, it's like discovering a part of myself that I didn't even know about. You too have given me mixed, sweet feelings, sort of like the warmth of coals you blow on after adding some kindling, just when the fire catches on. I don't know what I mean by that, but who cares! Ha! I'm going to do what I just said right now!"
Thibault tossed a few branches on the coals and blew on them, making the branches ignite, bursting into flame. They then looked at each other with a certain, unmistakable smile. The light of the fire danced on their faces. You could almost see the warmth glowing between them.
"I want to say just one more thing, Thibault. You've made me discover the power of concern! You expressed your concern for me and it made me melt ; it turned my insides upside down. I've never felt concern like you've made me feel. No ego, no possessiveness, just... just genuine concern."
"You'd never felt it with your parents, a brother, a sister, a friend?"
"My mother raised me alone. She conceived me in Nepal and when she found out that I was on the way, she flew back to Holland, never knowing who the father could be. I might be half anything for that matter... My grandparents helped us and we never suffered from lack. My mother never gave up her new-age, hippy outlook on life, just like her father. But she only took care of herself. I had no brothers, no sisters... no man in the house, no real friends in class, no concern."
"I see."
"Thibault, tell me about you. Please. Are you really real or am I just dreaming you exist?"
"About me? Well, yes I'm real! Ha! This isn't a dream!"
Thibault thought a minute or two and then decided to confess.
He looked straight in Daan's eyes, saying, "I had an overdose of concern, but not the free kind of concern you're talking about. In fact, it wasn't concern... it was either possessive curiosity or psychotic worry. Everybody tried to pry into my world, which I must admit was rather secret. I enjoyed being alone... still do... but I had to get out of Louisiana, out of the USA! I was starting to suffocate in the stench of today's America! There are too many toxic people in power doing too many toxic things. Anyhow, I'm a loner because I guess, as a kid, I had to defend my own territory being the runt of a litter of five."
"Family! My God, I've always dreamt of belonging to a family, to share my stuff, wear my brothers' old clothes, always have a mate available to play with or to console you."
"Maybe family reality is not always what you're dreaming about. The world I grew up in is very conservative, pious and hypocritically strict. Blind Republicans, as I call them. I'm a natural born rebel but I can't change their invasive world. I'm non-conformist, anti-Catholic, liberal, democratic socialist and don't put my nose into other people's business. I was always told I had to be like this or like that, like them! My father wanted me to go into banking like him. My brothers obeyed him. I said no. I was born an artist and an artist I shall die, even if it means, as my father claims, starving to death! He had the gall to tell me, 'Boy, you gotta shape up or ship out!' So, since he was the boss, I shipped out. My mother never said anything, my brothers and sisters rejected me... Still hurts! Let's change subjects, if you don't mind!"
"Sure... I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pry. I didn't mean to hurt you, Thibault..."
"No problem!"
"So do you manage to live off of your paintings?"
"As you saw, I'm no Van Gogh, Matisse nor Picasso. I enjoy the beauty I've chosen to live in. It's my refuge and my revenge. The Loire's riverscapes, its light, its seasons keep me constantly inspired. They soothe me too. I don't strive to become famous. I sell well in gift shops and galleries for tourists. I don't even exist on the art market. I've never been on that kind of an ego trip and it's not now that I'm starting!"
"You're wonderful. That's true creativity. You don't paint for glory but for the beauty you want to share and have it available for everybody! Your humble approach to things, to your endeavors, to yourself, it honors you. I'm proud to know you. Me, I'm so involved in my own navel, soul-searching, wondering who I am, that I don't give a second thought to creating or even making my own living. My great-grandfather was one of the founders of the Royal Dutch Shell Oil Company. My hippy grandfather inherited stocks galore and stays high all day long. Instead of giving love, he smothers me with financial security. He's never worked a day in his life and never had a son. His only daughter, my mother, thrives on making decisions for me. Goodness gracious, you are SO different from me and yet..."
"And yet what?"
Daan looks a bit confused, blushed and then stuttered, "Nothing... I forgot what I was going to say -- It's a great evening, isn't it?"
Thibault laughed, raised his glass and replied, "That it is, my friend! Let's open another bottle. What do you say?"
"One more bottle? Cool! I'll put some more wood on the fire."
When Daan sat back down, he was so close to Thibault that their shoulders touched. They sipped their Vouvray in silence, staring into the fire, listening to the night. Indeed, the river seemed to murmur like a whisper beneath the song of a distant night bird, the splash of a nervous fish, the echo of a distant train. They leaned in more, one against the other.
"Daan, since we're sharing the same bed, I hope you don't mind me sleeping in the nude?" whispered Thibault, looking at his feet.
"Not if you don't mind having me naked beside you too..."
As they left the warmth of the fire, the chill of the season, coming in off the waters, made them shiver. Daan shoved some sand on the coals as Thibault gathered the empty bottle and glasses.
The moon lit the cabin just enough for them to undress without lighting the oil lamp. They scampered in bed together and grabbed each other, pulling the covers up as they snuggled, giggling like naughty schoolboys.
"This is a great change from last night when I was blue with the cold, all by myself, on the ground!"
Thibault just hummed his contentment as he nudged even more, entangling his legs with Daan's, surprising himself, as a new, instinctive drive to merge made him writhe and yawn, stretching, then caressing his bedmate's velvet back, running his fingers through silken hair.
Daan offered no resistance to the flood of tingling sensations overwhelming his senses. The warmth, the strength of Thibault's insistence, the scent of their scents mixing into a new and singular fragrance shortened his breath. Daan couldn't refrain an imperative crave to lick, to kiss, to drown in the heat of Thibault's neck, his rampant hand running frantically from tit to rock hard cock.
Thibault melted, then yielded in return to Daan's eagerness. He smothered Daan's mouth with his kisses as their tongues danced together, mixing their slithering salivas. Thibault slinked down Daan's chest, nibbling his tits, licking his navel, inhaling his musk.
Up to this point Thibault was conditioned by the fact that his only erotic experience had been with women. But this time, something totally new happened. Instead of a slit and clitoris in the hairy bun of a cunt, Thibault met a perfectly beautiful, throbbing, leaking cock, straining out of its nest of curls.
His reaction was immediate, something akin to worship or adoration. A sudden thirst spurred him on as he savored the scent of penis and the warmth of vibrant, delicate skin. The drive to fuse into sameness took over. Daan's dick, elegantly crowned by a gleaming plum bulb, surrounded by its thin collar of foreskin, was irresistible. Thibault engulfed it, swallowed it, licked it, paying drooling homage to it as Daan trembled, writhing in the thralls of an increasing surge of new sensations, quivering on the very verge of ecstasy.
His only sexual activity was jacking off, often in a kind of mechanical frenzy, totally devoid of any tenderness for himself. He jerked his cock only when he had to relieve the discomfort of his horniness. Here, he was discovering a whole new dimension of male sensuality, something up to then unknown and only vaguely dreamt of without being understood.
He shivered as every cell of his body was yearning to fill Thibault with the orgasmic offering of his deepest essence, his entire being, his most intimate self. He fisted Thibault's hair, gripped his neck, clawing his shoulders, straining to spew as Thibault sucked, overwhelmed by a slobbering craze to quench his throaty thirst.
Thibault tormented Daan's asshole. One finger, then two, bathed in spit and Daan's own precum, found the boy's prostate. He sucked harder and harder as he poked deeper and deeper, firing Daan's screaming orgasm. Thibault drank, moaning, swallowing Daan's semen, reveling as it gushed.
Abandoned to his own bliss, Daan hardly felt it when Thibault flipped him over. Thibault's cock, slick with mixed spit and cum, entered Daan's ass. It slid inside him with just the perfect tighteness. Only several frantic stabs sufficed for Thibault to arch, buck and scream his own savage orgasm, as his cock, buried deep in Daan's thrashing flesh, spewed its fiery offring. He collapsed, gasped, panting as if on the verge of fainting. Daan slid out from under Thibault, then clung to him, both sweating, sobbing and laughing, sighing, kissing, falling, flying on the wings of lust into the unknown dawn of rising love.
"You're my very first lover. You released the tiger sleeping in me, Thibault! Bless you!"
"I never knew making love could be so explosive! Never did any girl make me feel like that! I'm lost because finding you has made me find myself..."
Sunlight flooded the cabin, bathing both entwined, naked bodies in a soft golden glow. Daan still had Thibault's cock in his hand as he stirred, waking up. He opened his sleepy eyes and smiled looking into his mate's admiring gaze.
"Good morning, Daan..."
"Good morning to you too, dearest Thibault. It's the most beautiful morning in the world, but..."
"But what?"
"But I've really got to pee!"
"If you'd let go of me, I could go too!"
They had fun fencing with their piss streams, glistening in the rising sun as both shivered in the early morning chill. Rushing back inside, they leapt in bed, huddling together. Playfully, Daan dove under the comforter and took Thibault's half-hard dick in his mouth, kneading his buttocks, sucking like a starving babe. He gave Thibault no respite.
As Daan sucked and jacked him, Thibault writhed, his cock throbbed under the twirling assault of Daan's excited tongue. His rapid reward was a series of creamy outbursts of Thibault's deepest relief. Daan's rigid cock, abundantly anointed with its own precum pushed up as Thibault spread his spit on it.
He then shuffled up, straddling Daan. He seized Daan's dick and sat straight down on it, vacuuming it deep into his bowels in one decided movement. Daan gasped and pushed. He grabbed Thibault by the neck and pulled him down to his face, kissing him greedily! His perfect, long, gleaming cock frantically pumped in and out of Thibault's loins. Then suddenly he arched, his erection exploding, over and over again, as they both broke out laughing. Thibault eased off of Daan's softening penis as his ass leaked a tiny puddle of sweat and semen.
"Love can be messy, can't it?" whispered Thibault, a totally ravished smile covering his face.
"I could care less! I love it, but if you could get off of me, I'll go light the fire and brew us some coffee."
The sex they created and shared together was mutual commitment, a signature sealing a deal, acknowledging bonds that still had to be defined but which were definitely steadfast, if not in words, at least in their hearts.
As they ate breakfast, they both admitted that the bonding of their flesh and fluids was a big first for both of them : first man to man sex for Thibault, first sex at all for Daan. They both felt and confessed that their life had henceforth changed. Embellished by the love they made, it had become unbelievably rich with meaning.
Thibault had never felt committed by enjoying a passing fuck with passing girls, out for a fun fuck too. This was something different. It wasn't the man in woman experience... which can also be charming, fun, beautiful and all. It was for them almost something mystical, a mind shattering experience of total selfness without selfishness, males in fusion, melding into sameness, the ultimate bond, the total awakening to self-awareness, the evident promise of something simply glorious.
"Daan, I feel for you like I've never felt for anybody... I don't know how to cope with it in my head. Do you understand what I mean?"
"No, I don't understand what you mean. All I understand is that I discovered myself in so many ways with you that I feel like I'm now a part of you... No, that's not it... I feel like you're a part of me. Well, I feel like it's both! If neither you nor me say NO to what we've created, if we just keep on saying YES, then we'll watch it grow... or dwindle. Let our prana do the job! Let's just be gentle with each other and let it happen, whatever it be."
"Daan, you're right! Let it happen! I don't want to feel in charge. I don't want to let you be in charge over me either. I'm starting to understand that we can be in charge of our treasure together, just the way we are now. After all, we do use the same toothbrush! Ha!"
Daan simply reached over and took Thibault's hand. Thibault beamed and then exclaimed, "Let's go to town!"
They both felt light, almost giddy as they lifted anchor and headed to the little port of Montsoreau. Thibault used this town's quay as 'home port' for shopping and shelter from the dangers of winter. Overlooking the Loire, there was a small, family sized café-restaurant on the street along the levee. It was run by an elderly gentleman, a widower named Pierre. Thibault cherished him. Chez Pierrot was the name of the place. It was his second home, second table as well as his postal address. He felt secure with Pierre.
"Bonjour mon grand! Viens que je t'embrasse!" exclaimed Pierre as they walked in.
They shared a good, strong French hug. Then Thibault introduced Daan, telling him of his adventure. Pierre laughed!
"La Loire est pire qu'une femme. Plus elle est belle, plus elle est garce!" declared Pierre, "n'ai-je pas raison, Thibault?"
"C'est parfaitement vrai!" replied Thibault, laughing.
"Pierre says that the Loire is worse than a woman... More she's beautiful, more she's a bitch!"
"I totally agree... the Loire stole my belongings but it gave me you!" he said, hugging Thibault by the shoulder.
Thibault smiled, nodded and translated for Pierre.
Pierre shuffled over to the bar, stating, "Il est bien beau ton petit copain! Je vois qu'il est un bon compagnon pour toi!"
Thibault blushed, looking a bit bashful. Daan immediately inquired, "What did he say?"
"He said you were really handsome and that he can see you're a good companion for me..."
"He's one hundred percent right!" replied Daan, winking at Pierre.
They enjoyed their coffees. Thibault told Pierre about the Fedex arriving most likely the next day. He simply replied, 'no problem'. Then he asked if he had a picture or two for him to put on the wall and sell. He replied that they'd be back for lunch and that he'd bring them up then.
They went for an idle stroll around the village, did some shopping at the grocery store and bought food and wine for several days. After stocking it all on Ondin, Thibault took two pictures for Pierre to exhibit and returned to Chez Pierrot for a delicious lunch. Pierre kept on raving about how great Thibault's painting was, about what a great twosome they made and that it was high time Thibault stopped being such a loner. He went on asserting that a couple of guys together was less complicated than having a woman around, always ending up bossing.
Once back in the boat, Thibault suggested, "Daan, let's spend the night at the quay here. If your Fedex comes in we'll be there to receive it and see where we go from there."
"Good thinking. That way we can even indulge again in a dinner at Pierre's. This time on me -- I'll reimburse you when I go to the ATM with my credit card. It's strange... I've been hungry all day long!"
"It must be the sex!"
"That's what I think too. Ha!"
Thibault's phone rang. It was the police saying that the kayak had been found empty and that the rental company was going to come and fetch it. They wanted to know if Monsieur van Elberg wanted to come and declare the loss for them to start the procedure of investigation, etc. They said no and thank you.
"Thibault, could you call the kayak people and tell them to keep the deposit I left. What's gone is gone!"
"Sure! You are really quite clear about all that... I like where you stand with yourself, Daan."
"I'm just obeying the river."
"That's what I thought. Listen, this afternoon, I've got to do some framing. Since it's a beautiful Indian summer afternoon, you can enjoy visiting around, if you want."
"No, I want to help you here! I'm good with my hands..."
It was around 10:00 PM when, well wined and dined and just as close close together as an ass and its shirttail, they stepped onto the boat, went inside, lit the oil lamp, stoked the stove with some more wood and began washing up.
"French cooking amazes me! Do you know how to cook? I'm useless in a kitchen!" exclaimed Daan.
"I'm not bad with creole cooking. It's spicy and I like it that way, too."
"In Holland we have good spice cooking from Indonesia. I love it hot!"
"I noticed that in bed. Ha!"
"I like hot sex, too!"
That certain gleam shone in their eyes as a hush fell between them.
"I think I love your, Daan," whispered Thibault.
"I know I love you, Thibault! I know it as well as I know my own name," replied Daan as he blew out the lamp. They eased in bed, kissing ever so softly.
In the still of the night, there wasn't a breath of wind nor a wavelet on the waters. However, the boat kept on rocking as its passengers kept on rollicking and laughing in the warm love bed they shared once more.
Daan and Thibault took their time getting up and were still lazing around by mid-morning when Pierre came trotting down to the boat.
"Debout dedans! Parresseux vauriens! Lettre pour le hollandais!" he shouted out.
"Daan, your Fedex has arrived."
They rushed out and jumped ashore to greet Pierre. Just behind Pierre stood a young delivery man who handed the small manila envelope over to Daan, telling him to sign the receipt.
"Les gars! Il est tard! Il faut se remuer un peu!" exclaimed Pierre as the delivery boy returned to his van.
"He says we're lazy and we should get busy!" Thibault translated for Daan as they went back onboard.
"He's right! I must get some cash, buy clothes -- well, in a word, get back to normal. Where do you think I can do that?" asked Daan.
"I hope you're not in a hurry to leave me..."
"Nooooo! I didn't mean that. It's just that I want to stay with you and no longer be a burden."
"Burden? Since when is love a burden? You're no burden! But I know what you feel. Listen, the best thing for us to do is to go to Saumur. I've got to deliver some pictures in a shop there and you can find all you need in town. We'll take it easy going downstream. It's only about an hour or so from here. We'll tie up for lunch and then go do our stuff."
"Great by me!"
On the way, Thibault brought up the big question.
"What are your plans for now, Daan?"
"They depend on you."
"How's that?"
Daan looked frustrated! Almost peeved.
"How's that? My God! I'll turn the fucking question around. What are YOUR plans, Thibault?"
Thibault took a deep breath and calmly responded to Daan's outbreak. He enunciated word by word, "I. Do. Not. Want. You. To. Go. Away. Is that clear? I want us to try... No! I don't want to TRY, I want us to MAKE our encounter become a miracle! You're a miracle, Daan! You're the miracle in my life! Of that, I'm sure! My plans? I plan on living my life with you."
Daan was wept with joy as he grabbed Thibault, smothering him with kisses galore... Thibault kissed back when he suddenly screamed!
"My God a sandbar!"
They avoided running aground by a hair -- but they made it, just like they did for the rest of their lives.
EPILOGUE
Daan had a few things to settle in Amsterdam before moving in with Thibault. They tied up in La Bohalle and took the train to Angers. He and Daan kissed in the middle of the Angers train station, right there, in front of God and everybody. A little old lady, tilting her head in their direction, smiled as she hurried by. Yes, they were very beautiful!
"I know we've talked about it, but please do come back as soon as you can, Daan. I'll be here waiting for you."
"I'll need a week at the most. Less if I can. I love you, Thibault!"
"I love you, Daan. Bon voyage!"
Daan called Thibault every day. Daan's mother and grandfather gave him their blessings saying they'd come down for a visit in the spring. After only five days, he called telling Thibault he'd be arriving at 6:00 PM the following day.
Thibault was there. They returned to their boat in La Bohalle. Daan had very few belongings with him. The most important were his brushes and inks for painting on silk. He gave two silk T-shirts, each with a very bold monograph or symbol painted on the chest, to Thibault.
"My God they're beautiful, Daan!"
"They're my gift to you, man!"
"We are really going to celebrate tonight! I have champagne!"
"It's you I want to drink!"
"Okay, so we'll recycle the champagne and drink each other while we make love in all the human ways possible, all night long! What do you say to that?"
"Oh my God! WOW!"
During the winter in Montsoreau, they both worked hard ; Thibault doing his riverscapes and even a few nudes. Daan sewing his very elegant, hand painted, raw silk T-shirts.
Sure, the river can be a bitch... but so what! Whatever be the season, our two river rats bathed in the shared prana of their merging. They glowed in the Loire's incomparable beauty, its light, its eternal surge of flowing waters, like the swell of semen it inspires. The river is endless, wild and gentle. So be it their love.
Beauty engenders beauty ; love engenders love. The river passes and yet it is always there, whispering its unspoken wisdom directly to the hearts of those who are simply unburdened enough to hear and heed.
A free picture album illustrating this story (pdf) is available upon request at marin.giustinian@laposte.net.