Not long after Andre and I began dating, an enemy, told him that I worked as a prostitute. When he asked me about this, my initial reaction was to deny it, but I didn't. Denial would have been a fool's errand, as several people in the art community knew of my activities, plus I trolled the patrons for clients.
As we talked, I struggled to discern his reaction. I came to the incorrect conclusion that he was revolted by my endeavor, but couldn't admit it. He asked that I inform him when I had a date and I agreed to do so.
I'll admit that I backtracked on that commitment, I told him the next time I saw a client and his reaction was a surprise, for it wasn't my actions that revolted him, but his own feelings of pleasure at the thought of other men having sex with me. This knowledge unsettled me and when added to my fears that seeing other men professionally would eventually come between us, I kept quiet if an assignation took place while I was traveling or didn't interfere with something that we planned.
Andre and I had intended to catch some music on a Saturday evening when a long time client asked to see me, a request I accepted. That morning, I called Andre and told him of my plans and he asked me to come out to his loft for the afternoon. A tone in his voice, told me that I needed to accept his invitation, despite the hassle it would create in preparing for my date. So I placed my things in a bag and with Wags, drove to his place.
We spent the afternoon making love. By that time we had both become more comfortable with his kink, that had gone beyond him knowing I was with another, to watching me with others. We were a sick couple. He asked me about the gentleman, I made something up and Andre concocted an elaborate fantasy, which he shared with me as we laid on his pallet.
Andre's loft was either freezing or overheated, that day it was like a dry sauna and we opened a window to moderate the temperature. In the late afternoon, while nude, I made us a small dinner, Andre enjoyed my being naked around the loft or my apartment, it was also something I enjoyed.
During the time we knew each other, Andre had done much to improve his loft as a living environment. He had hung clear plastic sheets from the ceiling to isolate the dust from the work space and put vinyl flooring throughout the living space and cleaned the place regularly, so I no longer felt the grit under my feet or had them turn black if I walked barefoot. There was an old floor sink along one wall that had a drain, he had turned that into a shower, which was more convenient and cleaner than the communal one off the hall.
He sat on the floor, Wags' head in his lap, and watched me as I showered and dressed. As we waited for Ahmad, my driver, he told me that he planned to meet friends at a café that we frequent and I agreed to meet him there when I finished. My phone rang it was Abdel, Ahmad's brother who would drive me, he was waiting. Andre, negotiated the service elevator for me, but stayed in the building as I went out onto the loading dock. Abdel, was parked at the end, out of the car, waiting by the door. Where, Ahmad is tall, slender and quiet, Abdel is a fire plug of a man and irreverent. Ahmad would never allude to my job, but Abdel would with a wink or a sly nod . But like Ahmad he is very responsible.
To my surprise, my client chose to see me at his home in Marne-la-Coquette, a western suburb, rather than a hotel in the city. When we were together he explained that with his family away and the house staff having the weekend off, he felt our meeting their would be more discreet. Andre's loft and Marne-la-Coquette is about 30 minutes and thousands of Euros of income apart, with the only thing in common with these two residences is the height of the ceilings. The home is set in the middle of a large, walled lot off a quiet street. The house itself is a contemporary take on a classic French chateau, many would consider it beautiful, though it is not to my taste and most would agree that it is ostentatious.
He saw us coming up the drive and was waiting at the door. After I was inside, Abdel drove off and would return at 11 for me. I wan't offered a tour of the house and he led me to his library on the left, off the entry. It was a large room, garden doors on two sides, his desk, placed at one end. On an interior wall was a large fireplace with a couch and a pair of upholstered chairs arranged around it.
He had me sit on the couch, dark leather with buttons, very 'clubish,' upon which I'd soon be kneeling with my elbows perched on the back while he buggered me. For now I was offered a cognac and we chatted briefly. He is a public person and I was aware of his recent activities, so I asked about them, which he did, without ever addressing the point of my question. This completed we proceeded to the purpose of my visit.
Abdel was waiting by the car when I came out. The ride back was uneventful, but I experienced the ennui that has followed the final dates with my clients. The smokers were standing in front of the café, really a dive bar, where I was to meet Andre. As I exited the car, a couple of guys who recognized me shouted friendly taunts, then a stranger called me a slut and demanded that I suck him. A confrontation brewed among the smokers as I entered.
Inside I scanned the room for Andre, but he saw me first and his eyes shown with an intensity that I seldom saw. He came up to me and as we hugged, he whispered in English, "I'm going to rape you." He meant ravish, his limited vocabulary had failed him, but no matter, I planned to enjoy it.