[For all of you who have encouraged me with feedback, I hope you enjoy this recollection of a trip I made to France in the off-season one year, many years ago. If you do – or don't – I continue to welcome your feedback – allanbinnj@gmail.com is always available for your welcome commentary. And also, please make a donation to nifty.org if you are able to, in recognition of the site's convenience and entertainment value. –Al]
"Monsieur. Monsieur! Un moment, s'il vous plait, Monsieur? MONSIEUR!"
I heard the deep French voice behind me, assuming it was calling for someone else in the crowd. A player, maybe, as so many who were out in the earlier rounds had been in the stands for the finals. A reporter, perhaps attempting to get a comment on the record-breaking win or just on the match itself.
"Meestair Dreezahn, seulement un moment?" The voice was so close behind me.
Obviously it was my name, but should I play like I hadn't heard and just keep going with the crowd? I could easily move faster through, far easier than a running play through a field clogged with defensive backs. But, no, though the prospect of avoiding and just getting back to my hotel was appealing, that wasn't me.
I stopped abruptly and turned as a well put together, handsome, dark-haired man close to my height collided into my chest. He had enough muscle on his impressive frame that I took a few steps back from the impact, my hands on his biceps to steady him. NICE biceps, by the way. And more than just handsome, as I got a better look at him as we both regained our footing.
He was babbling "Desoles" and "sohrees", and I finally said, in hopes of getting us moving again, "Can we just speak English, please? My French is abominable!"
"Ah, mais oui – er, sohree, yays," he granted and smiled.
He was clearly French, I thought, and then I realized maybe he wasn't at all, maybe he was just speaking French since we were in Paris. I certainly wouldn't know the difference from his accent. Why is it that so few Americans, comparatively, speak multiple languages when so many Europeans did? Maybe it's because the European countries are so close together and so many, whereas the US is –
My thoughts were cut off by him asking me in actually better English than before, or I was getting used to his asking me, "I saw you in the stands. You are my favorite of American footballers! Do you play tennis also, or are you just enjoying the matches?"
People were streaming around us still, so I suggested we get out of the way a bit and get ourselves to the side where we could talk. He suggested he could get us to a café, which I thought would no doubt be very crowded, but I had no better suggestion, so I agreed and followed him.
In fact, two blocks we walked, all the while he was giving me a tour guide's commentary on the area, the buildings outside the stadium complex and a considerable interspersing of commentary on the museum inside the stadium complex, currently about to start construction. I'd thought when he said café that we'd head to the bar inside the complex; I didn't mind the walk, though, certainly didn't mind leaving the crowds behind. And I wouldn't have had a chance to interject my objection anyway; he just went on with his narration.
When we got to the café he asked me if it was acceptable, and when I said that it was fine, we took a table outside. In no time we had orders in for mineral water for me and coffee for him, and he asked if I minded if he smoked. "Yes, I do," I told him matter-of-factly.
"Ah, Americayns, so healthy, non?" he asked me with a broad smile.
"You look pretty healthy yourself," I responded reflexively, taking in his broad and built chest, corded arms and muscular legs, which he was graciously showing by wearing short-legged walking shorts. "It would be a shame to ruin the inside while the outside shows so well," I added.
"You flatter me," he responded, grinning and putting away his cigarettes into a pocket of his shorts. I could swear the crotch was fuller than it had been.
He saw me looking at his crotch, and he met my eyes and held them, smiling. I knew I shouldn't because this guy knew who I was after all, but I was getting ideas, and so was my own crotch area. What gay man wouldn't? He was, in fact, tall, broad-shouldered like a water polo player or surfer, built of lean but tight muscle, narrow-waisted and thick-thighed, a combination which caused my balls to flood my brain with thoughts, which, in turn, flooded my cock with blood.
He was smiling at me with a rather more purpose-promising smile, and I was pretty sure I was giving him much the same smile. I still didn't know if he wanted to interview me or what; and the thought dampened my desire.
"I am Henri Messier, Monsieur Dreezahn" he said, holding out his big hand.
I took it and felt electricity in his strong, hot grip. "Todd, please. May I call you Henri?" I asked.
His smile broadened, and his grip held. "Yes, please, Todd."
His pronunciation was somewhere between Todd and toad, but I couldn't have cared if he called me "asshole" at that point. "So, Henri . . . " I said at length.
Henri let go of my hand self-consciously. "Alors, oui, yes." But he didn't say any more.
I waited for him, but he was looking down at the table. "Henri, did you want to interview me?" I asked.
Henri looked perplexed at first, then he broke into a grin and laughed. "Ah, you are used to people stopping you to interview you. I see now." He was still chuckling, his dark eyes dancing invitingly with delight.
"Well, usually what happens is that they ask me for an interview or an autograph; one or the other," I told him flatly. "That's the men. The women, well, they often ask for very different things . . . " I trailed off, and I felt a blush come up on me.
"Not the men?" he asked quickly.
"Not very often, no," I answered, carefully choosing my words.
Henri looked pensive, still holding my gaze. "If they did?" he finally asked, his look full of intent again.
I smiled and raised an eyebrow. "Well, it depends on the man, sare-tane-mont," answered, holding his gaze and giving my lips a good workout on my last baby-French syllable.
In response, Henri let his tongue trace his upper lip slowly, his mouth open just wide enough for me to see it. And my cock jumped in response, as my heart beat faster.
It had been a while since I'd enjoyed the company of a naked man in my private time. Too long. After we won the Super Bowl, I'd celebrated with the guys and then had disappeared for three days celebrating in my own particular way. That was over four months before, and in between there had been the blowjob here or the quickie fuck there, but nothing more than that – quickly cumming then going.
Maybe I was reading Henri wrong, though he certainly didn't have to invite me for coffee to have come on to me quickly if all he wanted was a quick suck or fuck session. No, I could sense he had more in mind. And damn was I hot for it and hot for him particularly.
I looked pointedly at his coffee and then took my water and drained my glass and capped the bottle. His eyes, now burning into mine with undisguised desire, told me he got the message, and he took out some money from his pocket. I reached over and clamped my hand onto his thickly muscled forearm, feeling again the electricity jolt through me. "I'll get it," I said, not generous but, rather, showing who was to be in charge, if there had been any doubt.
Henri's body had reacted to my touch, also, and I'd felt the shiver when my palm and fingers made contact with his hairy forearm. I intended to feel a lot more of those before I'd seen the last of him. He said, simply, "Merci," and made no attempt to take his arm from my hold. I couldn't take my hand away right away. Instead I gripped him tighter and saw his eyes flutter just a little, probably not as much as I could get them to do later, when we were alone.
My cock was rock hard in my shorts, and there would be no way to hide my boner when we got up from the table. I looked over at Henri's crotch and saw basically the same – a beautifully-sized pipe-shape running from his crotch across his thigh, up toward his waist. FUCK! This wasn't helping me cool down any for the trip to my hotel.
"Your touch," he said hoarsely, and I was about to apologize for leaving my hand clasped on his arm for so long when he finished. "Strong and like a man. So good!"
THAT caused a huge jump in my crotch! "I will touch all of you before long," I promised, my voice low, barely a rasp.
Henri's skin reacted to my words as did his eyes, this time fluttering and rolling back momentarily, his breath catching. "You have been my desire for many – for long now," he said, his voice equally thick.
I had fucked few fans. Usually my hookups were far more anonymous – bars usually, internet gay bulletin boards sometimes and new (I thought) one gay online site where you could chat with guys by city category. I wondered what the turn of the millennium would bring as far as the internet went – the online hookup potential was so good on the real-time site, even though sometimes the guy who showed up wasn't what he had said he was.
I mused on that last thought. I never said who/what I was – I was always just in town on business and NEVER went online at home in my city for fear of the exposure. Actually the most of the men I hooked up with from the internet, either the bulletin board posting or the real-time contact, didn't know who I was when they saw me anyway. Guess it was true – most gay men aren't into football.
"You are having thoughts against?" Henri asked me, breaking my thoughts.
I realized my mind had gone adrift. I also realized my cock had relaxed to semi-hard or even less now. Startling Henri, I jumped out of my chair and said, "NON!" with my most exaggerated poorly-French enunciation.
Henri looked startled indeed. "Non, you are not going to do what we –" he asked tentatively.
I threw my head back and laughed loud enough to cause the few other early evening patrons of the café and the servers to look our way. "THAT," I said loud and then leaned down over him so my face was close enough that I could see the details of his beautiful dark brown irises, "Would be very bad thinking, Henri, if it had been my thinking. Let's go . . . NOW!" I ordered.
He was out of his chair in a flash, grinning, and I threw way too many French francs on the table, and together we headed away from the café. I was going to hail a cab when Henri pulled my arm and leaned in. "My flat is very close," he told me. "Perhaps it would be better there than where you are staying, where they perhaps know you?"
I clamped my arm on his shoulders around his neck and pulled him against me. "You, Henri, are a very considerate man indeed. Lead the way."
Henri's flat was indeed close by. Less than five minutes later he was unlocking the outer door of an old building which looked rather grand. As we passed inside, I saw the other end of the foyer we were in had glass doors as well and looked like they led to a fairly vast courtyard garden. "We go up the escaliers, non?" he was asking me, leading me to the right to a grand staircase opposite an ancient looking elevator with an open cage. I followed him up the staircase, thinking the cage elevator would have been fun.
My regret over the elevator vanished when I looked up and had a beautiful view of an amazing ass outlined in his shorts. I lagged another step behind his pace just to get a better view, and my cock signaled its appreciation a bit painfully in my suddenly tight shorts again.
We exited the staircase, which after the first floor had wound around the center foyer up, making me think, incongruously, of the Guggenheim Museum in New York City, which I had visited for the first time about a year ago. We were on what I'd call the fourth floor, but I saw a door numbered 301 and remembered that the Europeans called the second story the first floor.
302 was Henri's set of old, heavy, tall double entry doors, and he made quick work of the two locks on the door. Inside, he walked ahead through a very narrow but long hall and into a room which, when it opened to me as I arrived into it, was breathtaking. It looked like a sitting room from a palace, the furnishings were so exquisite and plentiful. Likewise the wall art, two rows of paintings on the tall walls opposite a wall of glass doors to those funny balcony-looking things that were so close to the building you couldn't step out.
As my gaze swung around the vast room, taking in its details, I came upon a particularly interesting one. Henri, standing across the room by another hallway off the sitting room, standing facing me – waiting for me. He'd undone the buttons of the very plain button-down Oxford shirt he'd been wearing and had pulled out the shirttails. His torso was breathtaking – slight olive complexion, obviously not tanned and perfectly chiseled, as if he was a statue of the perfect man. His eight-pack was particularly impressive, fully visible under his slab pecs, the dark fur on his pecs and abs looking like the soft medium-length, straightish fur that tantalized me, particularly where it disappeared down behind his loose-waisted shorts.
"You like?" he asked with a devilish grin.
I took purposeful steps around the room toward him, pulling my own polo shirt over my head as I went. "Oh yes, I like very much." Henri didn't move, just watched, his eyes going wider as I'd stripped off my shirt. I'd slung it casually over my shoulder, which I knew would also let him see my flexed bicep.
When I got within ten strides of him I reached with my other hand and unbuckled my belt and was unbuttoning the waist button on my shorts when I got to him. Henri reached out and took my hand and pulled it away. "Mine to do," he said and unzipped my shorts.
Standing there, in that obscenely richly appointed room, we were face to face, chest to chest, Henri's knuckles brushing my bare skin and then running down my boxer briefs as he unzipped me. I was close enough to inhale him, and I loved the smell of him – earthy, his sweat not too strong but strong enough to ignite my nuts to a burn. I inhaled deeply, and just as my head spun a bit from the excitement of the increased scent, his hand gently reached in and cupped my balls. "Mmmmmmmmmmmmm," I exclaimed. As I let out my sigh of appreciation for his touch, the low rumble of his own exclamation broke through into my awareness, further stoking my arousal.
Henri's hand was big and fully held my balls. His thumb was rubbing my shaft and head, and it was quickly getting to where he wouldn't be able to reach because my cock was fattening fast enough and about to be at full mast. "You Amayreecanes are beeg, like zay zay," he murmured appreciatively, his accent thicker again. Or maybe his accent wasn't thicker, and I was just hearing it again, my brain being slowly but surely short-circuited by the blood flow downward.
I sucked in a loud, gasping breath when Henri got a good grip on my balls and added his other hand, gripping my cockshaft as well. Oh GOD I needed this!
"Mmmmmm, so big," he growled. I saw he was smiling – more a leer than a smile, actually – and his nostrils were flared. His scent was stronger – endorphins? I wondered, though briefly, because holding a thought other than that I wanted to fuck this hot Gallic stud's brains out.
I reached out and roughly grabbed the back of Henri's head by his short hair and yanked his head back, evoking a gasp from him. I went into his neck, below his prominent Adam's apple, and I bit him and sucked hard, eliciting another gasp. I pulled away and said, "I want to FUCK you, Henri."
He gripped me tighter, sending sparks through my entire body. "OUI!" he moaned. "FOKE me good!"
His accent, his scent, his touch and now his taste combined to set my burners on blast furnace. "NOW!" I said, almost a shout. And in case he didn't get the message, I put both my hands down the back of his shorts, inside his briefs, and caught his opening with my two middle fingers and rubbed and pushed.
"Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm," Henri moaned, and he pushed his ass back into my fingers, forcing himself open despite the dry chafe.
Only he wasn't dry inside – far from it. He was wet and slick and hot, and his mancunt was tight around my fingertips and made my cock throb and leak in his hand.
Henri moaned and massaged his fuckhole on my fingertips, and his hand rubbed and smeared my cockhead with my precum. It all drove me crazy with the need to be inside him, and I pulled him against me by my grip on his hole. I shoved my fingers in deeper, and he gasped and moaned. "Je veux. J'ai besoin."
I thought I knew enough to say he wanted it, but I wasn't sure of the words and hoped he was saying he wanted my cock. I was surely going to fuck him silly, so hopefully that was it or one of us was going end the evening less than thrilled.
I pushed my face against his and bit his neck below his ear. I felt his entire body shudder against me. "If you don't take me to your bedroom now," I rasped into his ear, "I will shove you over that exceptionally expensive looking table there and fuck you right here."
"Vee are alone, but zo many more pozeeseeones vee can have don my bed," he growled back.
Henri pulled me by my cock down the hall past more doors than I would have thought would be there. We finally got to double doors at the end, and he flung them open and pulled me on into another palatial room, more windows, more vastness, more gilded, rococo furnishings but, importantly, a huge bed with posts that had to be about fifteen feet tall and had a ornately patterned canopy that might have been from Versailles once upon a time.
Once I saw our destination, in a quick motion I stooped, ripping Henri's hands from my cock and balls, butted into his lower mid-section, and, with my fingers still up his ass, got him over my shoulder in a fireman's carry with a loud groan – he was a BIG hunk of prime beef! We lumbered across the room that way, and when we got to his bed I wondered if we should take back what looked like a rich silk spread, but I disengaged my fingers from inside him and flung him down on the bed. They obviously don't make them like that anymore – the bed neither creaked nor moved despite having the better part of two hundred pounds of about-to-be-fucked man thrown down HARD on it.
"Get your fucking clothes off!" I roared, shoving my shorts and boxer briefs down. Henri scrambled to yank off his already-open shirt and get his shorts open and kicking his shoes off. I just stood there, watching as he ripped off his socks before he got back to getting his shorts off. My cock was jutting out toward him obscenely, waving about with my heaving breaths. And as I enjoyed the rippling of his arms, chest, ab and leg muscles, I watched a large glob of precum emerge from my angry purple cockhead and then drop in a long thick thread until it broke free and plopped downward. I couldn't take my eyes off Henri to see it land on the floor.
Henri finally got his shorts open and was wriggling out of them, further enhancing the ripples of his exquisite muscles, but my attention was drawn to his own fuckpole protruding from the waist of his skimpy briefs. I generally didn't like the briefest briefs, as the Europeans seemed to favor. But Henri's fur went to fuzz and then went to surround the base of a thick, long, straight-as-an-arrow cock that complemented his long, muscular body perfectly. And his foreskin, still stretched over his fat cockhead, outlined the perfection of its shape.
His briefs hit me in the face after he'd launched them at me. I'd still been staring at his cock and salivating after he got them off and hadn't seen it coming. But my reflexes were still good, and I snatched them up before they fell and put the crotch of them over my face and inhaled deeply of his scent. "Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm," I groaned, desire flaring up inside me hotter even than before.
As I looked at Henri watching me, he pulled his legs back and hooked his elbows behind his knees and fully exposed his fur-surrounded rosebud to me. I couldn't wait and dove at him, burying my face in that musky paradise.
"FOOOOOOOOKE!" he growled, which made me even hotter for his fuckhole.
I rubbed my face against his buttcheeks and up and down his crack and then loosed my tongue on his hole, exacting a long moan from him "AAAAAAAAAAAAAHhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh." When my tongue pushed at his already-wet rosebud and went inside him, easily, he then gripped it with his assmuscle, and I almost came with the thought of how that mancunt would feel gripping my fuckrod.
GOD I loved the musky smell and manly taste of him. My nuts were boiling, and every urge in me was to SHOVE my cock inside him, deep and rough, so I could fuck him hard and long and until I ejected my seed into him, marking him, making him mine, if only for that moment.
Henri writhed and made many sounds – some of them might have been words I didn't understand – and I was absolutely clear that he wanted me inside him. His balls were hanging on my face, and I sucked and licked them when I could tear my tongue and mouth away from his crack and hole.
And then suddenly something snapped inside me, and I had no more time, couldn't be unmated with him, had to be IN him NOW. I was on my knees and had my cockhead shoved against his hole faster than I realized, certainly faster than he'd expected. I looked down at him and saw him, panting, expectant. "DOO EEET!" he shouted.
I did. I shoved HARD and split him open with my huge cockhead. His cry was loud and plaintiff, but it dissolved into a long moan of passion, and my momentary stop ended with another HARD shove, and then he was shouting again, and I was balls-deep in him, feeling his fuckchute spasm around me. He let his heels go and groped at my ass. "FOKE ME, TODE! PLEEEEEEZE!"
I began pumping into and out of him, and he moaned, "OHHHHHHHHHHHhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!" in time with my thrusts. His fuckchute was gripping my cock and milking it as I was thrusting – amazing he could do it with my fat cock stretching him WIDE and plunging DEEP into him.
I grabbed his ankles and pulled them high and wide and began to slam into him harder, faster. My balls were smacking against his ass hard enough to jolt me with the pain, and that just stoked me more.
And Henri was stoked, too, apparently, who, the harder I fucked him the harder he fucked back onto my pistoning fuckrod.
"OH FUCK YEAH!" I cried and fucked him all the harder. I ground into him and found his spot, and he jolted and cried out louder. Having found it, I worked it, slamming into his pleasure point over and over, each time feeling his body spasm and jolt, his cuntmuscles squeezing me all the harder.
"Ahhhhhh, Toad, aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa," he cried out, and then he suddenly was bucking hard under me and his cock was erupting in forceful blasts of long, thick cum, some splatting on his face, some over into his hair and beyond, all leaving the long white ropes over his darkly furred musculature.
It was too hot for me to hold back any more, and my body filled with the force of my own explosion. "OH HOLY FUCCCCCCCCCCCCCKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK!!!" I shouted, with the last bit of control I had, that being my jaw and lips to enunciate that. My entire body erupted, and I SLAMMED INTO Henri like a madman, my seed blasting hard from my nuts out my cock, spasms contorting me around the anchor of my cock in his hole.
Henri growled something as I came – I have no idea what and only barely heard it – my body was out of my control, and my head was spinning from an orgasm of such explosive force that I thought I might have ruptured my nuts! I was unsteady on my knees and against his raised, spread legs and my groin braced against his ass, and I was teetering like I was drunk. I finally teetered too far and fell sideways, and Henri scrambled to grab me before I toppled over the side of the bed, and I plopped down on my side next to him and rolled onto my back gasping for air, with the room still swirling like I was drunk.
As I sucked in breaths, the pungent aroma of his musk and our sex didn't help stabilize my head at all, just kept my nuts boiling and my head pounding with the endorphin rush. "Peut-etre un petit d'eau," I heard him say and was aware he was getting off the bed, and I thought he'd taken exception with something and said `DOH!' at the end. Maybe he didn't think I should have filled him with my seed? I knew I shouldn't have – but hell we were in the moment and he almost forced me to!
Then Henri returned with two big bottles of water and held them both out to me over the bed. "Votre plaisir, Toad," he said, and I realized one was sparkling and one was still. My eyes, however, went back to his hot, furred torso, glistening with sweat and striped with his cumropes. FUCK he was HOT! My cock, which had been flagging began to raise again.
Henri gestured with the bottles, and I forced myself to reach for the nearest and took it, still gazing longingly at his body. The second I did he unscrewed the other bottle – the sparkling – and chugged half of the big bottle easily. I realized my limited coherence might be the onset of dehydration, and I forced myself to turn to the water. I did a sit-up to get up as I unscrewed my own bottle, and Henri stopped drinking and made a long, low moan as he watched me. "What?" I asked, the bottle halfway to my mouth and suspended in mid-air as I watched his smoldering eyes.
"Votre . . . emmmmmm . . . AHHHHBS!" he said, obviously glad to have come up with the word.
I smiled self-consciously. "Parlez-vous SMOKIN HOT yourself?" I grinned through a laugh and then took a long draw on my water.
Henri looked at me and seemed to be mouthing `smokin' and I helped him out, also reaching out and pulling him down with me, amid some splashing from his bottle as he plopped down onto the bed again. "HOT!" I said, loud in the annoying way of people thinking if they raise their voice to someone who speaks a different language, they'll understand better. "You," I said, rubbing his hot, hard, furry, scummy torso with the heel of my hand, "Are HOT!"
Henri grinned. "You, aussi – HOT!" he said, rubbing from my leg, over my nuts and cock and up my torso as he did.
`Hot' was more like hote, the first syllable of hotel, and it made me laugh. Henri laughed with me and drained his water as I did mine. "Merci," I said, sounding more like a hick trying to sound sophisticated than anything.
Henri took my bottle and put both of ours on a table next to the bed and then turned back, with his attention on my semi-hard cock. He reached out and stroked it, almost reverentially. "Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm!" he intoned deeply and turned his eyes back to mine, leaving his hand caressing my cock as it hardened to readiness rapidly.
"Yeah?" I asked.
"Yeeeh," he said, with a dirty grin.
TO BE CONTINUED . . . . .
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