Guillaume Bacharene
bacharene@gmail.com
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Village Life - Part III: Fireman Marc's New Life
Very quickly, Marc had become part of my life, as unexpected as it all was. When he had time off he would come to the house and `make love to my books' and I would make love to Marc. I realised how much I liked having him around and knew also that he had discovered a new reality in his life.
One afternoon he came to the house for the duration. I had made dinner but also some terrine to go with fresh crusty bread from the boulangerie. We went up to the terrace where I had some ros wine chilled.
Marc always fell into my arms when he arrived and no matter what he wore he always looked amazing. He had a real and innate sense of style, which is common amongst many French men. While I organised the terrine and wine glasses, he browsed the library for another couple of books. He had been working his way through 12,000 of them.
So, Marc opened the ros, a local and regional specialty and came and nestled in my arms, as he always did, handing me a glass. I really liked his affection. I looked at him and smiled. He cocked his head and said,
Alors?' So, what's up?'
I fed him a bit of bread with terrine.
`A delicacy from the Gods, as always Guillaume.' He repeated,
`Alors?'
I said `I've been thinking and realise how much you have become part of my life.'
Marc sipped his wine.
Me too,' he replied. I've fallen in love with you, totally, completely and I am so happy.'
I thought for a moment.
`Marc, at your age, this is all very new and as happy as I am for you to feel that way, I am a lot older than you and I was thinking that perhaps we need to find you somebody closer in age to you.'
His jaw dropped and he gave a snort, a `Marc snort' as I had called it.
`So, why would I want somebody younger, boring, stupid, untalented and all else negative fucking up my life, Guillaume? I want you in my life and I don't care or think about the difference in age. I love you for what you are and all I have and will learn from you? You are the full deal, Guillaume so enough of that talk!'
He was looking especially handsome dressed in a Sapeurs Pompiers Polo-shirt and jeans with boots. He screwed up his nose.
And, I have something to ask you,' he continued. The other day I discovered that one of the other firemen is gay. His name is Toby and he has a boyfriend called Match, who is also a fireman in Carcassonne.'
Very unusual names for French guys,' I responded. And, the question is, Marc?'
`I would like them to come and meet you over one of your amazing dinners, OK?'
I thought for a moment. `Perhaps you could invite them and they could stay over in the guest suite? I will leave it up to you to organise since I have nothing taking me away. Arrange it to suit yourselves and let me know.'
So, it was duly arranged for three weeks later. I asked Marc to determine if there was anything they couldn't and didn't eat, although that really is a silly question for most French people unless they have a fad diet, an allergy or some nasty memory from childhood. As it turned out, Toby was lactose intolerant so it in fact proved a very sensible thing to ask.
I decided to make another terrine with pine nuts, wild mountain herbs and autumn cpes gathered from my secret place on La Montagne Noire. I also made a tomato, basil and seared potato salad with red cabbage; slow-cooked turkey slivers with garlic, ginger and shallots and saffron rice. Dessert would be pear Clafoutis with a swirl of vanilla bean mascarpone and yoghurt cream. Marc knew I would make a special effort and I did.
Marc showed me photos on his iPhone of Toby and Match. Toby looked early thirties, swarthy and solid while Match was twenties, blonde and athletic looking. However, showing the unreliability of photos, when both arrived to be welcomed by Marc and ushered into the house, I barely recognised either. Marc made introductions and I immediately had to figure out what to do with a 12 pack of beer, a selection of Blanquette de Limoux, Minervois reds and various AOC ros and white wines. In fact, Match was very tall and Toby not much shorter. Marc took them to the guest suite while I sorted things out in the wine cellar and took the terrine and bread up to the terrace with a bottle of Blanquette. Eventually, they all appeared.
Match looked like a Pacific surfer boy and in fact had lived in LA for three years where his father was French consul. His English was almost California perfect. Toby's family was from Barcelona and he spoke Catalan and Occitan as well as Spanish and French. He was much leaner than his photo had suggested. They sat together, holding hands and obviously in love. Marc came and sat next to me his hand protectively on my upper thigh.
It wasn't that surprising to learn that Match had a degree in environmental science and Toby had trained as a mechanic. The Sapeurs Pompiers had certainly scored a great deal once again.
Cin cin, les gars!' Marc offered. Cheers guys!'
Match offered profuse thanks for the invitation.
`We are treating this as our honeymoon,' Guillaume. Obviously we have to be careful in not revealing too much at work. The Sapeurs Pompiers can still be a bit anti-gay. And, Marc has told us about you and how brilliant you are at everything, a citizen of the world. He didn't say how handsome you were.'
I blushed. Marc squeezed my thigh and gave me an affectionate kiss under the ear.
Well, dinner was a triumph. Marc looked after the music and chatted to Toby while Match and I sorted out the problems of France and the world. We all retired to bed around 11:00pm. Marc was elated.
Such a brilliant evening, Guillaume. Thank you.' He snuggled close. I loved that affectionate, little boy' quality about him where his enthusiasm was so positive and all-embracing. I kissed him. He pushed back the covers and lay on top of me. I held him close feeling his cock hard against me. By now, Marc was in every way the best at every sexual event but his kisses and caresses always drove me wild. I couldn't get enough.
I kissed him and gently raked my fingers over his buns and then trailed down into his silken ass crack. It was a prelude for Marc to lube my cock and expertly impale himself. I was fucking him but in fact, he was making love to my cock and, my cock making love to him, while our kisses and caresses completed a whole-of-body-and person' synergy. I could induce an orgasm in Marc or more accurately, he could induce an orgasm himself by linking with my body and cock and controlling how he transported us both to a rare place of deep pleasure. I hesitate now to say ultimate' because Marc, as a maestro, always had something new to unleash. For me it was always intense seeing his erect and pulsing cock, drooling pre cum all over my body and then, his copious amounts of cum when he finally could stand the intensity no longer, created this swirl of sensual perfume, pheromones and a sense of completion. Marc effectively stamped his presence in our part of the world. I, meantime, was happy to be a key part of the successful formula.
In the house, all else was silent. Whatever honeymoon antics were being performed in the guest suite, it was at the rear of the house and the 1 metre thick stone walls and tight-seal doors, kept everything personal, intimate and private. This is how love should be.
(If you liked this story, please let me know. Any and all feedback and suggestions are welcome: bacharene@gmail.com)