Memoirs of a Gigolo Volume Eight Page 2

  My personal favourite is when we are face to face. There’s usually an argument about who gets to be on top.

  I like to be on top. He thinks it’s his right to be on top because I’m such a fucking girl about admitting that I love him and only him.

  Because he failed me with the Chalet Girl I get to be on top.

  Elon lies back on the bed.

  If I want to be on top then I can do all the work.

  We learned the hard way to buy only unscented lotion. It’s that or we both walk around smelling like lilacs.

  It’s snowing outside.

  When I’m on top of Elon I can see out the window over my bed.

  We kiss as we rub together.

  There is no rush.

  Neither of us are particularly keen to get to the slopes.

  It’s really snowing hard.

  I watch his face as he climaxes.

  We switch positions.

  He rolls me on my back.

  He touches me as he kisses me.

  He rolls me onto my stomach.

  Instead of lotion he takes the lube we have hidden in the nightstand.

  His thumb massages my anus.

  Please. He kisses me on the cheek.

  No.

  He massages a little deeper.

  Please. He kisses me on the mouth.

  No.

  Please just once and if I don’t like it he’ll never ask again.

  He slides a finger into me.

  Will he use a lot of lube?

  He’ll use the whole tube.

  Will he be really gentle?

  Yes. He swears he’ll be as gentle as he can be.

  It’s not like he’s done it before. Does he actually know what he’s doing?

  He’ll figure it out.

  I’d prefer he not figure it out on me.

  Like I was going to figure it out on the Chalet Girl?

  Good point. Lots of lube and if I tell him to stop he has to stop.

  He loves me. He’s so happy I’m his first.

  He kisses my shoulders. He kisses my neck. He puts on a condom.

  I get nervous. But there’s something about the way that he touches me that is comforting.

  He really does care for me. He doesn’t want to hurt me.

  Penetration comes slowly.

  I don’t think he’s in an inch when he stops.

  I can’t imagine how this feels. I really can’t.

  I know how it feels from my end. No pun intended.

  What is it like?

  Honestly, pretty awesome.

  I don’t think either of us can breathe properly.

  He’s going to keep moving. Okay?

  Okay.

  He slides deeper into me.

  A sound comes out of me. Sort of a cry and a sigh.

  He stops. Am I okay?

  Good. Good. It’s all good. Don’t stop.

  There is the moment when he’s in me as far as he can go.

  We stay like this for a very long time.

  He holds my shoulders in his hands and rests his head on the pillow next to mine.

  This is better than he could have ever imagined.

  I have no complaints.

  He wraps his hand around my cock and strokes me.

  And it has just gotten that much better.

  I ejaculate all over the clean sheets the Chalet Girl went to the trouble to change. That’s what she gets for laughing at me.

  Elon begins to move inside of me.

  Slow movements that rock with his breath.

  The movements and his breath gain momentum.

  When he climaxes he lets out a cry from deep inside.

  He falls on my back. I can feel the sweat on him mingling with mine.

  He loves me. He does. I know he loves me don’t I?

  Yes. I know he loves me.

  He slides out of me. He gets up and goes to the bathroom.

  I stare at the ceiling then roll onto my stomach. I’m ready to fall asleep.

  He comes back into the bedroom wrapped in his robe and stands next to the bed at the window.

  I’m really fucking hot with my ass in the air.

  His words are like music. I’m seduced by his poetry.

  Do I want to do it again?

  Can he give me five minutes?

  He can give me ten.

  My ass kind of hurts.

  Did he hurt me?

  Not so much as I think it would have hurt no matter what.

  But I liked it right?

  I did. Penetration is awesome.

  My parents.

  What?

  My parents are coming.

  Huh?

  My parents are coming up the path.

  He’s lying.

  He’s not lying.

  I push up just enough to see my parents approach.

  Elon – ever the astute observer comments – They’re necking.

  Do they ever stop? Honestly. He’d think they would have reached an age in which they’d start acting their ages.

  Which are?

  Uhhh… Let’s see… Mum’s thirty… four? I think. And Dad’s forty. That I do know. Remember that party mum had for him?

  The one in Tunisia we weren’t invited to?

  That would be the one.

  So what’s the plan? Do we hide out and pretend we’re not here assuming they’ve come back to shag and they’ll be too busy to notice us soon enough?

  Could he not talk about my parents like that?

  Elon snorts. I live in a fantasy world. It’s a wonder my father bothers with trousers.

  Still my mother he’s talking about.

  Maybe just like a silk dressing gown. And a cravat. My dad could rock an outfit like that.

  At least my parents are still married.

  His parents are married.

  To each other.

  When the door to my parent’s bedroom opens and closes.

  We can hear the lock engage.

  Tea? I get up from the bed and start dressing.

  Do I think the Chalet Girl has any more of that apple cake?

  I hope so.

  He can’t be certain, but he thinks my parents are fucking.

  Could he please not press his ear to the wall?

  Actually he is certain. They are fucking.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The Library is My New Home

  I’m camped in the library. This is my new home. I’ve taken to holding court here. Mrs. Gresham keeps brining me cups of tea. I consider having her bring me a bucket to pee in so I really don’t have to move at all.

  My phone rings.

  The Latin Pop Star.

  Am I okay?

  I’m fucking pissed off.

  Who the fuck is that woman?

  Parvati? I was going to marry her.

  Why?

  Honestly? Mostly for the money.

  Bullshit. Meet him in Toronto. He’ll be my sugar daddy.

  He cannot even begin to know how tempted I am at that moment.

  So?

  I have to go to my Cousin Margaret’s wedding.

  This he understands. Family is important. After?

  I’ll call him. I’ll probably come to meet him.

  Good. He misses me.

  Same.

  My phone rings again.

  The real housewives of London.

  Darling! The three speak in unison.

  What happened?

  Where am I?

  Can they come and nurse me back to health?

  I laugh. I’m fine. So much the better for their call.

  They have a pitcher of icy cold martinis for me when I’m back in the pink.

  I cannot wait.

  My phone rings again.

  The Psychiatrist.

  Am I okay?

  I don’t know. Are we talking physically or mentally?

  Both.

  Every sound makes me jump.

  I dream about getting kicked in the guts.
r />   I’m afraid.

  Sounds like I have PTSD.

  Isn’t that a bit exaggerated? It’s not like I’m returning from fighting the Prussians in the trenches.

  No. Sounds like PTSD to her. Promise her I’m going to talk to someone about this.

  Other than her?

  Yes.

  I’ll see what I can do.

  That’s not actually good enough. This is something I need to address. I need to talk to someone that I can trust. A professional.

  I’ll find someone to talk to. I promise.

  If she sends me the name of a friend do I promise I’ll call?

  I’ll call. I promise.

  She’ll send me that number. I can call her while I’m getting an appointment sorted out. I’m not alone.

  I hang up the phone.

  I telephone Mistress Jennifer.

  Am I bothering her?

  No.

  A friend told me I should talk to someone I trust.

  She agrees. She is someone I can trust. Am I okay?

  This is the first question that every person asks me.

  And?

  I’m fine. I’m confused. I feel disoriented and lost. Most of all I hurt. Mentally and physically.

  Do I remember what we talked about?

  Yes.

  Just focus on that and my path will reveal itself.

  I’m trying.

  What does she always tell me?

  Rome wasn’t built in a day.

  Exactly.

  I’m curled up in the corner of the leather couch in front of the fireplace when Elon makes his presence known.

  Where is my mother?

  Driving with Sanjay and the rest of them. Do I know how slow that man drives? He couldn’t take it anymore. He left them eating his dust.

  He hands me a stack of newspapers.

  Have I seen this?

  Yes. I’ve seen it.

  Fuck.

  Did he seriously just drive from London to bring me a bunch of newspapers?

  Ehhh… more or less. He felt a pressing need to get out of town. Harvey had gone into crisis mode and it was easier just to play along.

  Marcus walks into the library. All blond and American.

  I have a feeling I know why Elon wanted to get out of London. Best to keep ones lovers in two different locations.

  I’m not certain what to say, so I decide to stick with everyone’s health and the weather.

  Olga comes into the room like a tornado.

  Elon sort of smiles. He brought Olga with him.

  Based on her reaction, one would think I had just returned from a year in the trenches missing two limbs and most of my marbles.

  There is weeping alternating with the cursing.

  Mrs. Gresham and Aunt Maisie come running in.

  They thought I was being attacked.

  In a way I am.

  Olga smells like violets and apple shampoo.

  I’ve missed her.

  Everyone gives us privacy.

  I don’t know how long we sit together in front of the fire, but it’s long enough for my world to feel right again.

  Why didn’t I lie to her? Her fingers trace the lines of my wounds on my face.

  I didn’t want her to worry.

  She’s going to have Parvati killed.

  From almost anyone else I would assume she was using hyperbole. With Olga it’s best to be cautious.

  No. Do not have Parvati killed.

  Hmmm… Can she have her beaten?

  No. Do not have Parvati beaten.

  She gets up from my lap. She needs to make a call.

  I do not want to know.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Chalet Girl

  Davos Switzerland is where the Chalet Girl has apple cake and tea.

  She still thinks I’m adorable.

  She wants to know what the two of us have been up to.

  Fucking. Elon is a poet.

  Were we? She gives me a wink.

  Elon puts his hand on my shoulder. I’m still sort of a virgin. Sure she doesn’t want to make a man out of me.

  I take my tea and go into the sitting room.

  My family returns. The slopes are closed because of the conditions. It’s a blizzard and no one is going anywhere.

  We all start to get on each other’s nerves by tea.

  My parents appear in time for dinner.

  My grandmother makes no comment. She doesn’t need to. The look she gives my mother says it all.

  The blizzard nearly buries us.

  I go into the kitchen at the wrong moment and find my dad talking to the Chalet Girl.

  I hate that he’s so handsome and that the Chalet Girl has so clearly noticed.

  I hate it even more that they’re laughing and that they laugh louder when I appear.

  Pictionary nearly gets bloody when my grandmother and my mother are on the same team.

  I glare at my father a lot.

  He just grins. Every once in a while he ruffles my hair. More than once he gives me a bear hug. If he’s trying to make me look like an infant in front of the Chalet Girl.

  My grandmother orders us all to bed early.

  Elon presses his ear to the wall.

  He thinks my parents are fucking again. He admires my father’s stamina. He hopes when he’s as old as he is that he still has some snap in his turtle. Speaking of his turtle …

  Leave me alone. He can snap his own turtle.

  I pull my blanket over my head.

  I fall asleep in about two seconds.

  I don’t wake when the bedroom door opens.

  I do wake when there are hands on me.

  I think it’s Elon looking for more.

  Go snap his own turtle. I’m ass hurts.

  The dulcet tones of the Chalet Girl whisper in my ear.

  She thought I wanted this.

  My hands grasp a naked body that is distinctly not Elon’s. Much softer and far less angular. Perfectly lovely. And breasts. I don’t even know what to do with them, I just know I never want to let go.

  Elon’s nightstand light turns on.

  I’m certain I look like a deer in the headlights.

  What the fuck? Oh. He turns off the light.

  The Chalet Girl doesn’t scurry away.

  Elon joins us.

  I’m not certain I can take this without my head exploding.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Love is Overrated

  For mum’s arrival I pull myself up from the couch and make myself as presentable as possible.

  I consider putting a bag over my head.

  I shoo Olga away when she comes at me with the foundation and powder.

  She arrives with Sanjay, Uncle Harvey, and Aunt Lucy.

  She puts her hand over her mouth when she sees me.

  I hug her so she can’t look at me.

  I’m fine really. It looks much worse than it is.

  We go as a group to the library.

  I want a moment alone with mum.

  Everyone leaves except for Olga.

  Olga?

  What?

  Does she mind?

  She doesn’t mind at all. It’s a good idea we sit and talk about what happened.

  I’d like some time alone with my mother.

  Without her? Why? What do I need to say to my mother that I can’t say in front of her? If we’re going to be a couple then we shouldn’t have to have secret conversations. I’ve already lied to her enough. She’s staying. No more talk without her around. She can’t trust me. Until she can trust me she’s not going anywhere and I’m not going anywhere that we’re not together.

  My mother points to the door. Olga. Leave.

  But…

  No. She will have a conversation with her son without Olga present.

  But…

  Olga. She understands. She was young, in love, and rather foolish when she was about her age. She also made unreasonable demands and had unreasonable expectations that seemed perfectl
y acceptable at the time. Now she needs to go so that we can have a private conversation.

  But… why can’t she stay? Why do there have to be secrets? What do we have to say that she can’t be part of?

  No. Olga needs to leave. We’re going to have a chat without her. Stop being such a baby. Because she is being a baby.

  My mother is harder to bully than I am.

  Oliver …

  I want to talk to my mother alone. Stop being so difficult. It makes it hard to love her when she’s so demanding.

  Olga stomps off in a huff.

  My mother sighs.

  She is going to tell me something she never thought she would say. She actually feels some level of empathy for my grandmother.

  I nearly fall off my chair.

  She does. She really does. When she was Olga’s age she was Olga. She refused to let my father have a minute alone with my grandmother. Mostly because she assumed, probably correctly, that my grandmother would slice her to ribbons.

  But she likes Olga.

  Yes. She likes Olga. Olga is sweet. She is very young and very sweet. Olga is deeply kind and deeply caring. She is also very young.

  She’s not that young.

  Emotionally immature.

  That I cannot argue with. I would like it if she could grow up a little.

  Give it time. Eventually she grew up. Maybe a little life experience will help. One suggestion if I’m interested.

  I like that she doesn’t give me unsolicited advice.

  My grandmother used to give her unsolicited advice all of the time. It drove her insane. She’s learned to ask before she offers. So?

  Shoot.

  Don’t get her pregnant. She has that look of a woman that will do just about anything to hold on to her man.

  Nah…

  Trust her. She knows that look. She saw it in her own eyes when my grandparents were actively trying to get my father to date anyone other than her.

  Is that why she got pregnant with me?

  Yes. She’s sorry. But I am old enough to know the truth. She wasn’t ready to be a mother when she became a mother. She understands that now. She also understands that her immaturity she caused me a lot of pain. She could have been a better mother. Olga is not ready to be a mother. Everything is still just a touch too much all about her.

  So use a condom?

  That sums it up. She’s absolutely certain that someday Olga will be a wonderful mother. She just needs to get over her insecurities first. Grow up a little. So. That sorted. Please do tell her about this riding accident.

  Yeah… I lied.

  Really? The newspapers pretty much confirmed this. Why did I lie to her?