A gay story: Mason and Sam Story – Pt. 01 MASON AND SAM STORY – PART I
NOTE 1: This is a work of fiction entirely imagined by the author. Although the name of some of the places referenced in this story is real, the companies, people and events are pure fiction.
NOTE 2: This is a multiple narrators story. This story gives life to three main characters, thus ensuring that more aspects of the story become visible from their different points of view. In addition, a neutral, independent narrator presents the characters, paints the mood, defines the situations, and provides background information, only as required, and as an introduction to a chapter. The characters tell the story as they see it and feel it.
Special thanks to a volunteer in Literotica.com’s Volunteer Editors program, neuroparenthetical, for his great editing work on this story, patience, and professional advice.
There are certainly some mistakes that may still pop up. Those, without a doubt, are my responsibility.
© Copyright 2023 WhiteBeard50 – All rights reserved
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Chapter 1
Seattle, Friday, April 12.
Mason, a tall, strong, and muscular man, with a manhood to match, gets out of the shower and grabs a large, white, fluffy towel to dry himself. Today is a very special day. Two scenes are scheduled starting this morning at ten. The first one will show Mason making love with an older porn star who wants his last performance to be with the biggest porn star of the moment.
The second one puts him with a young man he’s never heard of. Gus told him nothing about the young fellow. Normally, he avoids doing scenes with young, inexperienced men–especially unknown individuals. Gus had to work very hard to convince him.
Anyway, he’ll be on vacation right after that second video is done. Weeks ago, after a long exchange of text messages, his dad, during a break in a meeting at NATO headquarters in Brussels, sent him this message: Perhaps, son, it’s time for you to make a move. Your life is worth so much more. Go back to your studies and your painting. You. Are. So. Talented. Go to McGill U. in Montréal. Great arts program. That’s the perfect city for you. Got to go. Love you. Dad.
Mason’s last scene of the day, later that morning.
Gus, my stage director and best friend, takes his headphone set off and waits for the scene to end. Thankfully, it’s the last scene of both the day and the week. I’m holding the hips of this young blond man with a perfectly tanned body who’s bouncing up and down on my thick cock. He moans, groans, growls, and purrs as he gets closer and closer to his orgasm–or whatever he thinks it is. With his tinny, high-pitched voice, he cries my name over and over, and then there it is. His cock jets out a couple of streams of his hot white juice. He pants heavily and falls onto my chest, drenched with sweat. I fake it all along. I’m tired of these sex clips of me and whoever wants to ride my dick being filmed with this constant crowd of drooling voyeurs looking on. I almost refused to act in this scene. This guy looks more like a teenager than an adult. Greg had a fit, but I insisted that he get confirmation of his age. I’m sure as hell not going to get caught fucking a minor. Greg had to make a few calls. He’s really pissed. We are two hours behind schedule. Not my problem.
Gus indicates to the cameraman to stop with his usual throat-cutting sign. “Okay, everybody. Good job. Thank you.” His low voice carries to every corner of the studio’s large space. It’s a kind of cold and drafty one-story building located in the industrial park northwest of King County International Airport.
Gus tells the blond kid to get to the showers, then looks at me with his thick, dark eyebrows raised just a tad. I guess he didn’t like what he saw. He remains silent while I watch the blond guy dashing for the bathroom, his bum swinging like a little girl’s. I get up with my limp cock flapping between my thighs as I walk towards the shower. Gus’s mean stare is enough to stop me. He’s angry at me.
“I’ve seen better performances from you. Editing will fix it. Christ, Mason, I know you’re tired of all this, and I understand, but… Forget it…” He hesitates, then simply says, “Have a good vacation, my friend. You deserve it.”
After a quick wash, I dry myself and get dressed. I’m in a hurry. I need to catch a plane for Vancouver, and then a transfer to Montreal. It’ll be a long, boring flight of nearly 6 hours. I should be in Montreal around 9:30 p.m., more or less.
Just before I leave, Greg, the producer, says to me, “See you Monday, Mason. Good job, by the way.”
Good job? Really? Was he watching or was he picking his nose? The little blond guy was faking it; I was faking it. I suppose he’ll see it when they edit the clip.
“I’m off for the next two weeks, Greg. You forgot?”
“Christ, that’s right. Okay, see you in two weeks.”
He doesn’t know I’m going to Montréal, let alone to buy a new apartment. I’m moving there for good. The company producing my sex clips in Toronto sold its shares to a Seattle group two years ago. My contract, which is based on a certain number of clips, ends soon. I’ve got less than half a dozen to go. I think. Better ask my agent. Then I retire from the porn industry. I’ve made enough money and, thanks to my lawyer–one of my dad’s friends–I will continue receiving royalties for as long as my clips are viewed on the internet.
I’m really excited about being accepted into McGill University’s Master of Arts – Architectural History program. So is my dad, for me. I think that I will also take painting lessons. I want to get back into it. I was quite good at it. I’ll see to that after I settle down in Montreal. I have an appointment tomorrow morning to view a brand-new building still under construction. It’s a high-end condo project in Old Montréal designed by a young architect named Sam Morel. I look forward to meeting him. My agent, Louis, says that I will definitely love him–that he’s both brilliant and friendly. Louis provided him with my financial information and informed him about my university plans. Apparently, the young man was more impressed by my studies than my financials.
*** *** ***
Meanwhile at the other end of the country in Montréal.
While Mason snoozes in his comfortable business-class seat on his way to Montréal, Sam, the young architect, prepares a folder containing pertinent information about the project. He knows about his client’s line of work. It wasn’t too difficult to find out what kind of movies Mr. Howard was involved in, but Sam isn’t bothered by his career choices. His references are good. The verification made by their usual agency showed that he is a respectable citizen. He lives alone. His involvement in local charities in Seattle is impressive, as are his monetary contributions. Sam sends the folder to Mason’s email, then leaves for his favourite restaurant, Lucille’s.
Seven p.m., Sam dines at Lucille’s.
The restaurant is nearly full when I get there, after a five-minute walk in the cold evening wind. As always, Lucille has reserved the small table in the far corner by the window with a view of the dock where the big cruise ships moor. In April, though, there’s no such big boat in the old port.
Lucille, who’s occupied with a client, winks at me pointing to the table with an almost imperceptible move of her head. I wink back and walk over. Pierre, the old waiter, welcomes me with his usual smile, which never touches his eyes. He’s been doing this job for forever. Perhaps a change of decor would do him some good. His service is usually polite and impeccable, but he seems to have a bug up his ass tonight.
“Good evening, Mr. Morel,” he says tartly. “Would you like the menu?”
“No thanks, Pierre. It’s nice to see you too.” My reply is served cold, like his welcome. “I’ll have the pea soup, the salmon with wild rice and your delicious chef’s salad. Please.”
“Something to drink, perhaps?” Pierre knows I don’t drink, but he’s got to go through his routine. My reply is a simple shake of the head. This dance is finished, I hope to convey.
“Thank you, Mr. Morel. I’ll be back with your soup momentarily.”
“Thank you, Pierre.” I feel annoyance filtering into my attitude and voice. What’s wrong with him?
My cell is buzzing. I pick it up and notice that a close friend is in town and would like to see me tonight. I reply that it will be my pleasure. He replies: Same hotel, of course. Nine okay with you? I text back that it’s perfect. My whole being vibrates–not just my cock–at the thought of being with him tonight. He’s such a gentleman–the perfect lover. I like him.
Pierre stands next to me with the bowl of steaming pea soup, waiting for me to finish my conversation. I’m sure he read everything that appeared on my phone. He ceremoniously sets the bowl down in front of me.
“Thanks, Pierre,” I tell him unceremoniously, supported by a disapproving look.
I can see that Lucille saw what just happened. I’m afraid Pierre will get an earful. Not surprisingly, the rest of the service is performed by a new waitress, young and beautiful, with the most charming smile.
Satiated, I place my large, white napkin full of crumbs on the table, get up, and put my spring coat on. Lucille approaches with a serious look on her face.
“I apologize for Pierre’s attitude. He will never do your service again, and should he repeat such a poor performance, he’s been warned. Supper is on the house, Sam.” She sounds angry but in control.
“Oh, no. You don’t have to pay for his rudeness. I insist, Lucille. Put it on my tab, as usual. Dinner was otherwise perfect.”
“Thank you, Sam,” she says with a sigh of relief. “How was Alex?”
“She was great. Her smile more than makes up for the little things she missed. I left her a generous tip.”
I bend down, kiss Lucille on both cheeks, and bid her good night.
I walk rapidly towards Reg’s hotel, eager to see my travelling part-time lover. He’s a big older fellow–a grizzly of a man. I don’t even know what he does for a living. He’s highly educated, cultivated, well-mannered, and so damn good in bed. We never talk much, actually. I’m a little bit late so I text him as I’m almost jogging. His hotel is on Saint-Vincent Street, next to place Jacques-Cartier. An expensive place. Reg gets the same suite every time he comes into town. Something tells me he’s some big important dude.
“Bonsoir. Would you inform Mr. Rothermeare that Sam Morel is here to see him?”
He calls the suite and tells him that I’m here. He listens, hangs up, and tells me, “Mr. Rothermeare asks that you join him in his suite,” the front desk clerk says most politely and formally. “Six-oh-one, sir.”
“Thank you, Stephen.” I’ve never seen this one before. Fortunately, they wear badges with their names on them.
The door is open but just a crack. I knock and it opens a little more. I enter and close the door. I hear the musical click; it locks automatically. Reg walks out of his bedroom dressed in the hotel’s complimentary, thick, white, terry cloth robe. He stands behind the couch next to a superb credenza where a bottle of champagne bathes in a silver ice bucket with a crystal bowl filled with locally made chocolates. He’s smiling at me, with his open robe exposing his already hard love shaft. Man! I love big, hairy men like him.
“My little Sam,” he says in his low sexy voice. “I missed you.” “Come, I don’t want to waste a minute.”
With his index, he signs me to approach him. Lust screams out of his smile.
We kiss, lips munching mostly, with a little tongue for good measure, until his full lips swallow mine one by one, starting with the top one and then the bottom. He sucks them into his mouth where his tongue treats them as the most delicious candy it’s ever had.
“You need a shower, young man,” he says, his nose sniffing my day’s worth of hard labour. “But first, let’s have a glass of this fine nectar.”
I don’t drink, except when I meet Reg–always here, every three or four months, for the past four years. The champagne is fabulous, as are the chocolates. I can’t resist. He wants to know how my projects are going, how I feel, and do I have a steady boyfriend. To the latter, I respond that he is my only boyfriend. I never bombard him with questions. I sensed a long time ago his reticence to talk about what he does, or who he is for that matter.
So, we head for the shower–a huge glassed-in affair with multiple showerheads and jets coming out of the marble wall. We play under the hot water for a short time. We soap, rinse, and dry off, then he drags me to a huge bed–larger than a king-size, and the most comfortable one I’ve ever slept in.
The gas fireplace is on; soft instrumental music is playing. Reg dims the light, as always. He’s impatient tonight. He gets into bed and pulls me to him.
Lying down face to face, he murmurs, “I missed you, Sam. I’ve been busy travelling around and, finally, I was able to get away.”
He bends over and kisses me. He rolls on his back and pulls me on top of him at the same time. Our lips meet again. This is a kiss with a purpose. It’s slow, deep, and meaningful. His big hands are floating over my hairy back and ass. We roll again and he gets on top of me, kissing me all over my face, neck, shoulders, chest, and nipples.
“I want you now, Sam.” Like always, in bed, he only whispers.
He wedges his thighs under my legs. I grab my knees and pull them higher. His cock, dripping with lots of precum, penetrates me slowly, never stopping. He’s a big man with a big, thick tool. He stops when he feels his huge sack touching my ass. He waits for me to adjust. He lowers himself so his head rests next to mine. I hear him breathe slowly and he starts to roll his rump. The long, slow movements of his cock inside my love canal send waves of pleasure throughout my body.
He’s tense tonight. I don’t know what’s the matter with him. I can feel the tension in his neck and shoulders. He suddenly accelerates. In short order, he’s on the verge of coming, and shoots his load deep inside me without warning. His body relaxes, and he raises himself with his arms. He’s embarrassed. Nevertheless, he looks me in the eyes.
“I’m so sorry, Sam.” He seems to plead for forgiveness. “I don’t know what got into me.”
He softly takes his manhood out of me and rolls onto his back. I get close to him. On my side, I pull his head towards me, and I gently kiss him on the lips. He’s got something on his mind.
“You never ask me any question.” His eyes move around my face. His hand follows the eyes. It’s done with a tenderness he’s never shown me before. “That’s one of a million reasons I love you, Sam.”
I’m speechless. It is such an unexpected declaration of love. He smiles at my reaction, but it’s a deeply sad smile. Now I’m completely confused.
His hand is still gently touching my face when he says, “I don’t even know if you love me. You’re, by far, the best lover I have ever had. I’m sorry to say I’ve had quite a few–women and men. You get me. You know my every little tickle and what sends me to lust heaven. You’re intelligent, interesting, cultivated, and I must say a tad opinionated. I love to argue with you. With you, Sam, I can be an ordinary man. I can just be me, a simple guy who’s so much in love with you.”
He remains silent for a long moment. I don’t say a word. I’m seriously moved. I know he loves me, but this is serious. He’s not finished. Here comes the sad part. I think.
“I work for an important family in England. I’ve got obligations that can’t be ignored. I constantly travelled the world, discretely representing that family for decades. Now, I’m being called back home. Summoned, is more like it. I don’t know when or if I’ll be back in Montréal, Sam. It all depends on what happens next.” The last sentence is barely audible.
He breathes deeply, locks his eyes with mine and says, “So, Sam. My lovely Sam. Please make love to me.”
I start to say something, but he stops me by putting his index finger on my mouth. “No. Don’t.”
I sit up and lean over him with my eyes searching his. He loves me. It’s there. I see it, feel it, and share it. He’s looking straight back at me, seeing the same thing, and smiles, content. I lower myself to his furry chest, kiss his rigid right nipple, and move up to his sexy, sensual lips. I feel the big guy relaxing and getting into the mood. He starts kissing me back. For a few more moments we enjoy the tongue play, and the lips nibbling.
“Let me please you,” I whisper into his ear. “Just let yourself go, my big grizzly.”
With my bearded chin, I caress his large, strong chest covered by long, dark-brown and grey hair. My nose furrows deeper into the thick forest, and my tongue finds the left nipple, big, hard and ready. I suck, lick, and munch it until I hear my lover moan with pleasure. His hands softly rub my shoulders. His breathing deepens, and he’s now completely at my mercy. I continue down his rising and falling belly while I delicately pass one hand on his left hip. He jerks. He’s ticklish, right there, and I do it again. He grunts. I like that masculine, virile sound; it comes from deep within him.
My nose is now deep in his groin. My tongue licks the base of his thick, hard, enormous cock. My lips run along the love shaft with my tongue swirling, and when I reach the top, I gently kiss the magnificent, engorged knob. I sweep my tongue around it and then let the tip of my tongue go all around the sensitive edge of the glans. Reg moans loudly. I know this is one of his weaknesses: his knob. I keep on playing with it, mouthing the whole thing with my wet tongue swirling around it. He umms, aaahs, and purrs, and I relentlessly pursue my loving ministration.
Then, slowly, methodically, I take the monster into my mouth until it almost touches my uvula. My tongue and my cheek go to work. I lustily suck his cock; I move it in and out of my mouth, pressing my lips on the shaft just before the knob comes out. Reg goes wild when I do this. I repeat this until he starts squirming and telling me to stop. I don’t. I take all I can of his throbbing penis into my mouth and suck hard and move up fast, squeezing the knob as it comes out. The result is spectacular. My big, beautiful grizzly bear explodes. Damn! The first jet flies at least five feet away. Three more powerful bombs of juice come flying out, followed by a few less spectacular lava flows.
Reg’s out of breath, panting and eyeing me with a mean, lusty desire. I’m in for quite a joy ride, which is exactly what I want. He’s still grunting his low, vibrating sound. His eyes are deadlocked on me. I lay on his chest and start kissing him around the mouth, the neck, and the shoulders while he embraces me with his hairy, muscular arms. My mouth finds his and a passionate dance starts. Lips, and tongues, lick and suck with passion. His mitt-sized hands rub my back, and particularly my ass, with vigour.
Then, Reg gently rolls me onto the bed, and says, “Let me make love to you, my sweet Sammy.”
He’s on all fours on top of me, kissing, licking, and sucking from my neck to my groin. He loves my furry chest. He spends a lot of time on my nipples, where his tongue laps at and, wets them, and then his plump lips gently suck each one. His nose plays on my belly and finds itself in my thick, bushy groin.
His tongue licks around my hard, throbbing shaft and laps my knob. He sucks on it and swallows it delivering it to his wanting tongue. Ah! Gawd! It’s so good. He takes my cock in his warm and sensuous mouth, inch by inch until his nose and chin disappear in my pubic hair. Ummm! He sucks my dick–sometimes slow, sometimes fast, but always relentlessly, until I come hard deep inside of his mouth. He keeps my cock in his warm, wet, and magnificent mouth for a little while, sucking gently until every drop of my man juice disappears into his throat and beyond.
I’m breathless. My heart slows down; my eyes close. I’m still under the incredible spell of Reg’s expert fellatio. He slips on top of me, kisses me on the mouth, neck, and ears, and murmurs with his lips glued to my ear, “I want you, Sammy.”
I feel his big cock, dripping with precum, teasing my rosebud. I want it so bad. I bring my legs up, knees folded to my chest. There it is: my honey pot exposed, willing, and waiting for that big, hard, expert manhood to enter and inflame my love canal.
“Oh! Yeah! Reg.” I’m pleading with him. “Umm, more, please. All the way.” I’m so hot with desire. He’s penetrating me ever so slowly, with his eyes dead set on mine. I look straight back at him. I tell him in a commanding voice, “Please, Reg. I want you.”
He obliges me. Ummm! That is so good. His big, strong, grizzly body rubs mine as he moves that great ass of his in and out of my man pussy. His bum moves from side to side, circles around my ass while pumping his hard, wet cock in and out of me. Sometimes, his manhood comes completely out of me and then quickly charges right back in. Aaah! Man! That’s so dam good! I want more. He delivers more. He’s relentless. This big, vigorous, virile man can make love like no one else I’ve ever had sex with.
I’m a solid guy myself, and I, too, can last a long time–can ball a long time, and can come multiple times in the same long lovemaking. We’re so well-matched for sex. I feel there’s a lot more between us, though.
“I’m coming, Reg.” I’m panting. My orgasm is near, very near. I lose control. Reg keeps pumping my ass and, bang… Aaaah! Three explosive shots of cum lube our bellies. My cock is stuck in our hairy forests. Reg keeps me under control as I’m squirming and twisting with intense pleasure. My brain is fried. He’s still pumping, but much slower now. I’m coming down and getting better control of my body.
Then, his body tenses. He’s coming. I accelerate the movements of my pelvis and I squeeze his big cock when it penetrates me completely. He huffs and puffs, grunts and growls, and purrs a long, vibrating sound. His cock fires so many times, deep inside of me, that I lose count. I’m still pumping and squeezing, and Reg’s face is dripping with sex sweat, but then his muscles relax. His orgasm becalms him completely. His head rests in the crook of my neck. His big body lies on me. I hold him tightly with my arms around his back, and we lay there, exhausted, happy, and satiated.
Reg remains inside of me for a few more moments. I relish those moments when I can feel him deep inside of me. I quickly get hard again. I rhythmically contract my ass around his manhood; he reacts immediately. His monstrous cock wakes up. The dance continues. We start slowly, but we rapidly lose control, and fuck like two teenage boys in a hurry to come. I love that, sometimes. I love that spontaneous, crazy, furious, vigorous fuck. It lasts a few minutes, and then we both explode again. We’re wet, hot, exhausted, and content. We lay quietly savouring the ecstasy, and each other’s affectionate embrace.
He’s still in me, and I repeat the same delicious ass contractions. I feel his cock pressed by the walls of my love canal. I feel it come alive again. He starts pumping in and out, again. This dance is slow, sensuous, and erotic, and it nearly drives me insane. Lust is in total control. We surrender to its will.
In the middle of the night, Reg is soundly sleeping on his side, facing me. I can’t sleep. This was the most extraordinary night we’ve had together. I’m still shaken up by Reg’s declaration. What I thought was just a fun occasional physical relationship with a wonderful man I know nothing about is suddenly so much more. I remember when I got his message. A nice, warm feeling ran through my entire being. He’s so different from my two or three other sex buddies, none of whom I’ve seen in over a year now. Frankly, I don’t miss them. I have Reg, and I do love him. With a heavy heart, I kiss him on the forehead. I fear that I may never see him again. I slowly get up and I leave a note on the night table, next to his gold Rolex watch: I do love you. Your Sammy.
*** *** ***
Chapter 2
Old Montréal, Saturday, April 13.
It’s a beautiful April morning. A fresh cool breeze from the vigorous Saint-Lawrence River spreads its marine perfume into the streets of Old Montréal. Mason slept like a baby at the same hotel where Sam’s friend is staying. They each occupy a penthouse suite–the ones right next to each other, as a matter of fact, unbeknownst to either them or Sam.
Sam left the hotel in the middle of the night mulling over and over again what his companion has confided to him. Once home, he sat in his easy chair and listened to soft music until morning. He left home around seven a.m. for what he refers to as “the project”. He has a visitor interested in buying a condo in one of the buildings. If the body is there, nicely presented and ready for the show, the mind is preoccupied with Reg’s fate and would prefer to be with him on the plane to London.
Mason meets Sam.
Breakfast is excellent. The portion is generous, and the coffee is top-notch. I leave the hotel, which is located near the main square called Place Jacques-Cartier. On my way out, I bump into a big guy who’s also leaving. He seems in a hurry. He disappears into the hotel’s limousine.
It’s early morning, so the streets are calm in this part of Montréal. At this time of year, tourists do not abound. There’s no traffic, and no people, but plenty of sunshine and coolish breeze. The project I’m going to inspect is roughly a fifteen-minute walk from the hotel, through the old town. It looks like they’ve replaced all the ugly black-top with cobblestones, which matches perfectly the very old stone houses. Walking through the streets closely bordered by stone houses that are over three hundred years old is magical. It’s like walking back in time. It’s so European.
The cool weather makes the walk easier; I have to hasten my rhythm if I don’t want to be late. I turn on St-Pierre Street and there it is. The construction site takes up a large, squarish piece of land, where four independent building structures are up, but at different stages of completion. The one on the project’s southwest corner is the most advanced.
I’m surprised to see that a bunch of people are at work this morning. They are working on the stonework covering the building. Curiously, that facade is not along the street, but on the opposite wall. I follow the pathway leading to a side entrance to the building, where a young man is discussing something with one of the workers. He sees me coming and waves at me to join him. That must be Sam. Who else could it be?
The young man shakes hands with whomever he was talking to and walks towards me. He’s a stunningly beautiful young man, with auburn hair, a thick but nicely trimmed beard, and a mustache. Eyebrows the same colour as his hair cover clear brown eyes that are separated by a perfectly straight and narrow nose. Lips are just plump enough, the kind you want to kiss and lick. Nice strong body in perfect condition. I like the tight blue jeans with a white shirt under a warm-looking dark grey cardigan sweater and his black sneakers.
“Good morning. You must be Mr. Howard. I’m Sam, and I’m very pleased to meet you.”
A nice, warm, baritone voice welcomes me. It takes me a second or two to react. Sam notices it. We shake hands. It’s a nice, firm handshake–not a competition between two alphas.
“Good morning, Sam. Please call me Mason. I’m pleased to meet you, too.” I smile at him; I can’t take my eyes off him. “I’m surprised to see people at work on a Saturday morning.” I gesture at the men. They appear to be working hard, not just milling about.
“The contractor wants to accelerate the work. He’s got a lot of projects on his agenda for this summer. So, I’m rather pleased. It means that we will finish this building ahead of schedule. I’ll show you what it will look like. We have a large model of the entire project inside. Please, come in. It’s warmer inside and I have nice hot coffee, croissants, and other goodies ready for you. Sorry for the mess. Make sure to stay on this temporary sidewalk.”
That voice, with its slight French accent, beguiles me. He’s a charming young man. Anyway, I walk with him inside the building. We turn left at the junction of the first corridor. A little further and we enter the entrance hall. It’s not one of those vast, cold, two-story spaces; it’s designed for humans, not giants. The space, empty at the moment and not completely finished, boasts that model he mentioned, and it’s huge. It’s easy to imagine that the place will be warm and welcoming, judging from the scaled 3D plan. The main entrance is built at a forty-five-degree angle as an extension of the square building itself. Its structure is massive.
Sam explains that the four buildings will support a glass roof covering the whole central space and the alleys between the buildings of the project. A state-of-the-art, ultra-thin membrane of photovoltaic[i] cells will be installed on that glass roof. That new technology will be tested for the first time here. The research and development arm of Hydro-Québec has developed the concept and all the technical stuff, and the sheet is being produced in a top-secret facility here in Montréal. Once installed, the glass will take on a pale grey colour, which will help regulate the temperature. The membrane will be virtually invisible.
“We’re in this building,” he says, motioning to a part of the model, “and the apartment located on the top floor on this corner is still available.” Sam pauses with a questioning look on his face.
“Looks like the best location to me,” I answer after a second. “Can I see the plan, please?” I try to sound very business-like. I’m mesmerized by him.
“Certainly. Please, follow me.”
I follow him to another display. 3D models of all the plans are shown here. Sam presses a button on the edge of the table; a screen whirs out. With his finger, he taps here and there. A 3D plan appears on the screen. It looks so real, that I could believe they had filmed a fully furnished, life-size model. It’s a two-bedroom apartment model with a loft crowned by a full-size skylight.
Sam is looking at me, smiling at my surprise and amazement. He continues his demonstration of the different points of view. I’m very close to him. I can smell the light scent of his cologne. I can feel his warmth. For a moment there, I thought I would kiss him.
Sam suddenly brings me back to reality when he asks me, “Would you like to visit the unit? It’s not finished, though.”
“What?” I say dumbly, still under his spell. “Euh! Visit? Oh yes. Please!” Christ! How stupid must I look!
We take one of the three elevators, glassed on three sides, and ride up. The elevators are four feet apart. They’re like three square tubes built into the main stairwell. The staircase flanks it on three sides at least eight feet away. It’s magnificent. It’s made of highly polished black granite with a black iron-wrought banister. It responds to voice commands. The ride is fast and quiet. The elevator doors open, and, what a surprise! A giant, pentagonal skylight covers the entire hallway, matching its unusual shape. It cannot be seen from the stairwell. A nice, cloudless blue sky with the sun rising welcomes us as we step out of the elevator. Magic. Imagine the starry sky at night. Wow!
“Quite a sight, isn’t it?” Sam asks. “The apartment is right there, across the hall.”
He stops in front of a recessed double door: “Apartment #F3” is written by hand on a regular piece of paper. He explains that these doors are temporary and that they’ll install the appropriate ones when everything is finished. Sam opens one of the doors and invites me in. Another surprise. The entrance hall is also crowned by a skylight. Wow! This one is a regular rectangle, but no less spectacular. The entrance point towards the corner of the building through the living room.
Sam explains what’s what as we tour the apartment. The drywall is not up yet, but all the metal partitions are, and all the electrical appears to be in place. You can see the whole space through this forest of metal studs. As you enter, the guest bedroom is on the left, behind the kitchen. It has a private bathroom. Then there’s the kitchen with its breakfast nook, the dining area, and the large living room with its large corner terrace. A two-way electric fireplace separates the dining room from the living room. On the other side, to the right of the vestibule, there’s a walk-in wardrobe for coats, boots and whatever, with the laundry room and a powder room next to it. At the end is the master bedroom, complete with two walk-in wardrobes, a spa-like bathroom, and a balcony the width of the bedroom. An electric fireplace is facing the bed. I can imagine what it’s going to be like. Magnificent. One detail, though.
“Sam. In the entrance at the end of the skylight, perhaps I’d like a wall in the middle there to sort of give a little more privacy by partially blocking the view as we enter?”
Sam walks to the entrance and stops exactly where I want the wall. I join him. I like to be near him; he smells so good. The vibes are inebriating, but I’m not sure he feels the same way.
Sam answers without hesitation. “Yup! Excellent idea. How big do you want it?”
“Oh, that’s great. Let’s say about four to six feet wide. Whatever, gives just enough privacy without killing the extraordinary view.”
“Okay,” he replies readily. “There’s no problem. It can be done easily. Do you need an electrical outlet?”
“Yes,” I answer, surprised by the question. “Of course. One on each side and in the middle of the wall, please.”
“So, if this apartment interests you, Mason, just let me know as soon as possible. I’m not pushing for a sale. I only have three apartments left. This one and the other two are on lower floors and they are not corner units. If you need a little time to think about it, that’s okay. I can wait a few days.”
“There’s no question about it, Sam. I want it.”
“Oh, great,” Sam replies, smiling. “You will have to choose all the finishings. You know, floors, tiles, ceramics, kitchen cabinets. The works.”
“Absolutely!” I immediately say with enthusiasm.
“I’ll have Joyce, our decorator and interior designer, work with you on this. She is fabulous; you’ll love her. She’s a beautiful and charming woman.” He looks straight into my eyes as he says that last part.
That little voice in my mind is screaming: Well, buddy, I’m sold to you. She may be charming and all that, but I want you.
“That’s great, Sam.” I probably look stupid. I just stand there waiting for… what, exactly? An invitation to bed, perhaps? I’m suddenly pulled out of my nascent lustful contemplation.
“Okay. Let’s go downstairs. Rosina will take care of the paperwork with you and plan an appointment with Joyce. Will you be around for the next few days?”
“Yes, Sam. I’m in Montréal for two weeks. I have an appointment at McGill on Thursday. I’m available any other day as needed.” I answer him with a light smile. Though, I’m sure he reads the lustful desire my eyes can’t hide. Okay, maybe not. But I hope he does.
*** *** ***
Chapter 3
Old Montréal, Wednesday, 17 April.
Mason and Joyce work together.
In the following days, I spent a lot of time with the beautiful Joyce. Sam was right about that; I’d like to paint her–naked, although, I’m sure she would refuse to pose nude, and I stopped being libertine with women a long time ago. I made my choice and never regretted it.
Sam was nowhere to be seen during that time. Joyce told me that he was very busy with other projects. The city administration process is long and frustrating. They question everything. She also told me that this luxury estate will be the only one created by him. It was built specifically to help finance his other social housing projects, two of which are in progress, still going through the process of approval at City Hall.
“You like him, don’t you, Mason?” Joyce–the sensitive, artistic Joyce–asks me.
I simply nod at the remark. To my great relief, she makes no further comment. I’m not sure of my feelings at this point. I’m attracted to him, that’s for damn sure.
Joyce and I have one last tour of the apartment to make sure we have covered everything. All of a sudden, Sam appears at the door. What a sight he is! He’s all dressed up, beautiful and smiling. I think I saw her wink at Sam. Well, perhaps it’s just wishful thinking.
“If you need anything or want to change something, call, text or email.” She smiles and waves goodbye delicately.
I look at Sam and say, “She’s wonderful. She never imposes, but she guides you to her choices. She’s some smart cookie, ain’t she?”
Sam laughs and nods his agreement. Just before Joyce calls up the elevator, Sam asks us, “Joyce, Mason, would you join me for supper? My treat. At Lucille’s. Where else.” He laughs at what passes for an inside joke.
It just dawned on me that perhaps he thinks I have a thing for Joyce. Nah! Christ! I’m acting like a dumb adolescent. I should just come out and ask him.
After a wonderful supper with the two most interesting people I’ve met in my life so far, we walk in the park along the promenade in the Old Port. Joyce leaves us after a short distance, her house being close by. It’s chilly, but the company is wonderful. Sam wants to know everything about my studies in the Arts program at McGill. He’s very knowledgeable about architecture and its history, especially about Old Montréal. What a remarkable young man. His interest concerns my upcoming studies and my painting, but not me, the guy. I’m not exactly proud of what I’ve done in recent years, but overall, I like who I am. I’m here now, financially independent, and free to choose what I want to do. I’m quite sure that discrete, and thorough inquiries were made about me, and probably through a private specialized agency. He may be young, but he’s far from being stupid. I’m convinced that he knows all about my background, so, I expected that he would broach the subject of my porn activities. I suppose that he thought the time and place weren’t appropriate for such a discussion. I hope we will have that discussion. I…
“You seem preoccupied, Mason?” Sam brings me back to reality, again.
“Just thinking about everything that needs to get done before I start at McGill. I’m meeting my MA supervisor tomorrow morning. I’m looking forward to meeting him, of course, but at the same time, I’m nervous. I’m not exactly a typical Arts student, am I?” It doesn’t sound very convincing, does it? I think my body language is communicating to him exactly what I’m preoccupied with. I think he knows.
I hear Sam’s phone beeping. Sam ignores it. I’d like to think it’s because he’s with me, and wants to be.
“Won’t you answer that?” I ask him. “It’s okay, Sam. I’ll wait over there, by the bench.”
I go sit on the bench, and Sam moves away from me. He reads the message. He replies; it barely takes him any time at all. His demeanour changes completely. Good news, there’s no doubt. It makes him so much more attractive.
Why am I attracted to this young fellow? He’s not what I would call my type, and his demeanour tells me I’m far from his ideal man. I’m quite sure he’s gay, but there’s more to it than just that. I like him. Good vibes, I guess.
Anyway, we part company as I reached Place Jacques-Cartier. My hotel is on the street behind it. We shake hands and he wishes me a good trip back to Seattle. Rosina will let me know when my unit is ready, and I will book my relocation from Toronto to Montréal. I have nothing worth moving from Seattle. I’ll give everything away. All my art stuff is in Toronto. I can’t wait to move here. Like Dad said, it’s the right move to make. Here, I have no bad souvenirs: I can start fresh.
*** *** ***
Same night
The mysterious message.
I look at Mason walking away up place Jacques-Cartier. He’s one sexy man. I’ll admit that. He’s falling for me, and that’s regrettable. Anyway, here I am. My lover is free to love and I’m going to England come hell or high water. I feel like I’m in a dream. As soon as I get home, I strip like I always do. I pick up my pile of clothes, gingerly walk to my bedroom, and put the whole lot in the hamper that’s in my wardrobe. I read the message again: My sweet Sam, I’m a free man. I’ll explain in detail when we meet again. Please, Sam. Come on a vacation, say at least two or three weeks, I’d prefer forever :), so we can discuss our relationship. Love, Reg.
I replied: Yes. I’m coming. I’ll let you know the dates ASAP. Love, Sam.
I jump into the shower and take a long hot, soapy one. I dress, then go to the living room, so to speak. It’s more an office. I switch the gas fireplace on to warm the place up since it’s kind of chilly in here. I sit at my old fashion drafting table with a parallel bar. I do all my artistic rendering on this table, and on this table only. I never use drawing software. I hate it.
My cell beeps; a text message just came in. I pick it up. It’s Reg! Christ, it’s two a.m. in England. My heart skips a beat. For a split second, I’m worried. I quickly open the text message: I’ll be in my cottage, in Abbotsbury, near Weymouth. I’ll send you an email with all the details. I miss you, Sam.
For the next half hour, I send emails to Jules, my partner; Rosina, my extraordinary right-hand man; and Joyce, my indispensable artist and decorator, telling all of them that I will take a month’s vacation. I don’t give any reason, nor do I tell them that I’m going to England. My private life is exactly that: private. No one knows about any of my relationships. Actually, now, I’ve only got one. I haven’t seen either of my other two sex buddies. I think they’re voluntarily ignoring me. Twice I’ve declined their invitations to dance already, so, I’m not surprised they’re shunning me.
Jules immediately answers: It’s about time you take time for yourself. Don’t worry about anything, Sam. I’ll cover for you with pleasure. Have a good vacation, and if you need to extend your vacation, DO IT. Your friend, Jules.
I knew he would approve one hundred percent. He’s the greatest and best friend I have. Rosina’s answer came as I was reading Jules’s message. Her message is, to say the least, succinct: Go in peace and why don’t you take two months? Love, Rosina. That’s so her.
I’m so hyper; I wish I was on the plane right now. I open Google Earth and enter Abbotsbury. Wow! What a nice old town. A tiny village of 481 people. The surrounding landscape is beautiful. I can walk to a long beach that’s right on the ocean. I wonder what his cottage is like. I look at the time, it’s ten p.m. That makes it, uh… three a.m. in England. I pick up my cell and send a text message to Reg: Reg. I’m just going to bed. Love you, Sam.
*** *** ***
Old Montréal, Joyce’s home, two a.m.
Joyce comes home a little past two a.m. after a night out with her sister, Annie. She gets her cell from the bottom of her purse. Twelves messages show up on her phone. Only one attracts her attention: Sam’s. She’s surprised. Sam never texts her on her personal phone, especially not so late at night. She opens it, starts reading, and smiles.
A nightly conversation.
Well, I’ll be damned. He finally takes some time for him. He was changed tonight. Something happened in his life. A couple of taps on the phone and, uh, what do I tell him? I’m so glad for you. DO NOT WORRY. I’ll take care of Mason. Everything else about the finishings of the buildings, stones and the rest of it, and the design of the interior courts are nearly finished. I’ll send you the sketches I prepared. Something has changed you tonight. You’re in love, Sam. I could feel it. Enjoy your vacation and make love to him every day. I want all the details when you return. Love you. Joyce.
I put the phone down and start undressing. What a fun night. My cell pings. Ah? I pick it up. It’s Sam! I can’t wait. Tap. The message appears: You’re right, J. I’m in love. Way over my head. His name is Reg. He’s a big grizzly, manly, virile, and tender as a teddy bear of a man. We’ve been seeing each other, secretly, here in Montréal, for the past four years. I accepted his invitation to pass some time with him… in England!
I answer right away: Four years? You never told me! Wow! What’s that big secret thing you talking about?
Here I am, half naked, in need of a shower because I can hardly smell myself, having an intimate conversation with… SAM! That’s insane. He’s never confided in anyone, not even me.
Ping! I immediately tap the message to read it in full: I don’t know. Whatever it was, it was mighty important and had to do with an important family in England. It sounded like he never had a choice. He had to do it, whatever ‘it’ meant. It must have been some very high-level diplomatic function. I can’t see that it could have been anything else. I saw him last Friday night, all night, dear. Then tonight, after supper, he texted me with fantastic news. He’s been released from his obligations. He used the term “I’m a free man.” He wants me to join him in England at his cottage in some historical village for two or three weeks, at least.
Ah! My gawd! That’s fantastic and… scary. Does he know him that well? I answer right away: Are you sure of his intentions? Aren’t you afraid?
I take the rest of my clothes off. I wrap myself in a warm, gigantic bath towel. Ping! Where’s my damn phone? Oh! There it is. Tap: I’ve known him for four years. He wants to discuss, when we’re not dancing 🙂 :), our relationship. I’m open-minded. I have big responsibilities here that I can’t just brush aside. So, we’ll see. Now, love, go to bed. All this is between you and me. Love you. Sam.
I’m so excited for him. Well, poor Mason. There are plenty of men in Montréal. He’ll find his soul mate.
*** *** ***
Chapter 4
7 A. M. Wednesday, May 1
Heathrow Airport, London, England.
Here I am, at last. The customs agent looks at my passport. He only reads the name and gives it back to me.
“Welcome to England, Mr. Morel.” He waves at someone and a uniformed agent–I’m not sure if he is, airport security, or a regular policeman–approaches, to my utter surprise, with my luggage on a cart. “This airport guard will accompany you to the exit gate, Mr. Morel.”
He extends his hand and smiles at me. We shake hands. What’s going on? “Well, thank you, sir. Isn’t that unusual to welcome an ordinary man like me this way?” I’m not sure what to say.
He laughs at my disbelief. “You’re the guest of a very important man, Mr. Morel.”
“Thank you. I wish you a very good day.”
“Likewise. Mr. Morel.”
The guard, smiling at my stupefaction, welcomes me and asks me to follow him. We rapidly get to the exit; on the way, he refuses to let me push the cart. As we get past the gate, a very dignified old man, tall and solidly built, is walking directly towards me. He’s got an enormous smile on his face. Did Reg send a driver to get me? Nah! This guy is too well-dressed to be a chauffeur.
Just to our right, facing another exit gate, I see at least a hundred journalists. Wow! They’re expecting some stars or some politicians, I’m sure. I wonder who that might be.
The old man makes a small sign of the hand and tends what looks like a huge tip to the man who escorted me. I thank him, and he leaves.
“Sam,” the old man says. “I’m so pleased to meet you. You seem a bit confused, perhaps.” He’s smiling. “I’m Reg’s father, Sam.”
“Oh! I’m very pleased to meet you, too, sir.” I’m looking at him very closely. He does look like Reg.
“Please, call me Frank.” He’s examining me quite closely as well.
“Who are they expecting?” I ask, pointing my chin at the mob of journalists.
“You. Come, let’s go before they recognize me.” He goes for the cart, and I stop him.
“No, no, no. I’ll do that. Please.” I grab the bar and start pushing.
Outside, a large, shiny, black SUV pulls right in front of us. “Get in the car, Sam,” says Frank. “Quickly,”
The driver puts the luggage in the back of the car. Reg pulls me right in, right next to him and kisses me. Ah! That feels so good. I’m so tired; it kind of hits me right at that moment. Frank is sitting facing us, smiling broadly. The car is already a hundred metres away when the mob steps outside to an empty sidewalk.
“That big guy, next to you, wanted to welcome you in person, inside. Now imagine that mob of journalists swarming you in a matter of a microsecond. I almost had to tie him up.” He’s looking at me with such amusement. I start to laugh. They all join in, including the chauffeur.
Reg hugs me with an arm around my shoulder and stares at me. “I’ve missed you, Sam.” He bends down and kisses me on the cheek. “That’s my wonderful dad. The best in the world. He’ll watch over you as much as he does for me, Sam.” Then he just stares at me, silent, smiling, and relieved.
“You’re a genius architect, Reg tells me.” Frank chimes in. “He showed me a ton of pictures of the magnificent building you’re constructing in Old Montréal, just next to the Soeurs Grise ancient convent, I think.” He notices my surprised look. “I know Old Montréal. It’s magical. It’s so European, so English,” He gives me a big smile, knowing quite well that a large part of Old Montréal was built by the French. “I can’t wait to see the final version of that project of yours.”
“I’ll show you the whole project on my laptop. Tomorrow perhaps.” I repress a yawn. “Oh! I’m so sorry.”
“Why?” Frank asks. “Reg yawns a lot, you know, when I talk to him–especially when I try to reason with him.” Then he starts to laugh that deep laugh that is so infectious. We all burst laughing.
All this time, Reg remains silent. He hugs me. He seems so happy. I love him.
“Reg?” Frank asks, looking at his son. “Your flat, or my condo where Mom waits so patiently to meet Sam?”
“Do you mind, Sam?” Reg asks me so tenderly.
“Of course not. I’ll be honoured to meet your mom, Reg.”
All this time, I wonder how that bunch of journalists knew I was arriving at that particular moment.
Frank, sitting comfortably, looks at us and says, “You look so good together. I’m so pleased that Reg met you. You know that he talks about you all the time.” He bends forward, eyebrows furrowed, as if he’s about to tell me a secret. “You know he told me things about you that would make you blush.” He laughs again.
“Well, Frank,” I say with a grin on my face, eyebrows raised high, “I’m not that impressionable or shy.”
Reg bursts out laughing followed by Frank, then the chauffeur.
At the condo–a large apartment in a renovated historic building, close to Buckingham Palace–truly magnificent–, Reg’s mom has breakfast ready for us. All I want is a gallon of coffee and a bed. I have to settle for coffee. Bed, well, it will have to wait until later.
Reg’s mom hugs me tight and whispers, “He loves you so much, Sam. Now I know why.”
After a couple of hours, Reg and I decide to go home. Frank hugs me and he says in a soft voice, “Thank you for making him so happy, Sam.” He kisses me on the cheek. He has a tear just at the corner of his eye.
I whisper to him, “I’d like to think that I love him at least as much as you do. I promise you I’ll take good care of him.”
He just hugs me a bit more, then moves next to his wife, taking her hand in his. They both watch us leave.
Reg was silent almost the entire time. “I just watched you with them, and them with you. You don’t realize how charming you are, do you? They love you. I know. Wait ’til you see the rest of them. What a riot that’s going to be.”
At the flat, Reg kisses me long and softly, and I pour all my love into him through our joined lips. We take a long, hot shower. He soaps me well and rubs me vigorously. I do the same to him but with a lot less vigour. I’m bushed.
We go to bed, and I fall asleep in his arms in a matter of seconds. I wake up at around five in the afternoon. Reg, smiling broadly, naked, brings a tray with a teapot, two cups, some croissants, and cake. He sets it on the bed and carefully slips in next to me. He puts the tray on his lap, and he does the service.
“You look a little better. Dad just called. He wanted to make sure that you sleep before… and he left it at that. You know what he meant, don’t you?”
I nod, smiling at the image of his dad at the other end of the phone. They look so much alike; it’s easy to imagine his dad’s demeanour.
“You made one heck of an impression on him; I can tell you that.” He’s trying to speak with a huge piece of cake in his mouth. He’s smiling, and giggling, never taking his eyes off me.
Then he tells me, “Tomorrow, Sam, we’re invited for lunch at Mom and Dad’s flat, with the rest of the family. They are impatient to meet you. I warn you, every one of them will tell you that I’ve been talking about you for years. It’s four years, almost five now, since I first met you in London when Jules got his decoration. And, Sam, it’s true. I fell in love with you right then before we made love in your hotel room because you didn’t want to come here. I was unable to follow through because of my duties. I was the Queen’s Agent. Everybody knows about the existence of the Queen’s Agent, but no one knows who it is, or what he does. That’s the secret part. I’ll tell you all about it when we go to my–rather, our–cottage in Abbotsbury.”
I’m overwhelmed. I can only murmur, “I love you, Reg.” I look at him. I breathe deeply and I kiss him.
“No matter how we deal with our situation, Sam, I’ll wait for you as long as I have to.”
I’m not ready to discuss that; I don’t want to discuss that. I want to enjoy him, only him, for a little while first.
“Make love to me, my great grizzly. I want you so bad, it hurts.”
We kiss for a long time, touching each other, rubbing each other, and playing with the other one’s nipples, cock, balls, and rosebud. I push him on his back and, to his and my surprise, I lay on top of him with my back to him. I’ve never let anyone fuck me from behind, and Reg never tried.
I take his solid manhood in my hand, lift my ass, and place his plump knob against my expecting and willing rosebud.
“Sam?” he says with concern.
“I trust you, Reg,” I say, totally sure of myself. “You’re my man. Love me. Please, babe.”
He embraces me with his big, muscular arms. He murmurs to my ear, “I love you, Sammy.”
He penetrates me slowly and firmly. At the same time, he’s munching my ear. I feel him pushing inside me. I love that part. I squeeze gently to enhance the feeling of his cock on the walls of my love canal; it drives me nuts. I gently rock my ass to get his big member as far inside of me as possible. It excites him. He grunts that deep rumbling bear sound. Man, I love it. The dance starts. He’s pumping his piston in and out and every fourth or fifth move, he gets out of me and quickly pushes back in. Aaaah! I feel his knob pop as it re-enters me. It rubs my prostate at the same time. It’s electrifying. The dance accelerates. We breathe deep and fast while my ass hammers his penetrating dick. I’m out in lust land. It takes control, and I let it. The pleasure increases with each plunging stroke of his hard, wet, and hot cock.
“Roll me on my belly, Reg,” I tell him, out of breath.
“No, Sam.” He answers with concern. “You’re not ready, yet.”
“I am ready, I trust you. Do it, my love.”
We roll. His cock is deep inside of me and Reg positions himself with his legs outside of mine. He continues very carefully, even hesitantly–too hesitantly for my taste. I start pumping my ass fast and hard. I want to come. I can’t hold it for much longer. His big body on top of me in this position feels absolutely incredible. All the horrible souvenirs of my rape when I was thirteen, vanish. Gone. My fear is gone. I let myself go. Reg remains passive, so I switch to high gear. My grizzly lover can’t take it anymore. He growls and meets my furious pounding.
Man, do we ever rock that bed. I don’t even have time to tell him that I’m coming; my cum bursts out all over my stomach and then drips down on the bedsheet. I twist, squirm, and whisper his name over and over, and then, Reg bombards my ass with a ton of his thick, hot man juice.
I can’t hold my ass up anymore. Reg involuntarily follows my collapse. He’s heavy, but man, I’d like to sleep with him over me like this. My own live bear skin. That’s what it feels like. But I can’t breathe. My wet and dripping lover rolls off me.
“Sam, that was so good!” he growls a bit loudly. He’s exhausted.
It seems that in as much as it was liberating for me, it was very stressful for Reg. We’ll have to practise this position a lot before we get it perfect, won’t we?
A week later, May 7.
Abbotsbury, England, 3 p.m.
I’m sitting in one of the comfortable easy chairs near the fireplace. Reg is snoozing on the big couch, his mouth open. I’m reading a Dean Koontz novel, The Bad Place. I love it. I love all his novels. My phone starts vibrating. I grab it and see that Jules is calling.
“Hey, Jules,” I answer smiling, trying to chase the fear of something going wrong. “How a…”
“Woo! SAM!” Jules is yelling in a rare outburst of emotions. “You got it. The damn permit for the Southwest Project was issued an hour ago. You did it.”
In the background, I can hear people applauding, yelling, and crying. It’s a social lodging project that will take ten years to complete in five phases, and it’s exclusively for the people of the southwest of downtown Montréal. It’s funded by the Fondation Charlotte and private donations; no government loans or grants ensure that it will not be impeded by bureaucrats anxious to exercise their imagined power.
“YEAH, FINALLY!” It takes me a moment to calm down. “I’m flying back home…”
Reg jumps from the sofa, concerned about what he’s just heard.
Jules cuts me off. “No, Sam. You’re not cutting your vacation short. The whole team is behind you. That includes me. So, you stay put, and enjoy your boyfriend. I’ll send reports every day, and we’ll organize one–and only one–conference call a week. What day is best for you?”
“Okay, Jules. Okay, uh, say on Friday morning for you, which will be the afternoon here. That’d be perfect for me.” I’m all business now.
“Okay, Done. I’m sending you the email I just received with a copy of the permit. The original is coming by courier service. Now, Sam, I’m so glad for you, buddy…” Jules is quiet for a moment. “I’m serious, Sam, take care of yourself first. We will manage very well. Talk to you later.”
Completely immobile, I breathe deeply to maintain control of my emotions. Then, I feel Reg’s big strong arms hug me from behind. “Congratulations, my genius,” he whispers into my ear. Ummm, I can’t ask for anything better–a moment I’ll cherish forever.
***
Abbotsbury, England, the following days.
The next few days are hectic. I’m nervous; I want to know everything. I want to do everything. But I’m not there. Jules’s daily reports are precise and full of details. They include all the answers to the questions I have before I ask them. The team is great, and Jules is a great friend. I’m relieved and disappointed at the same time. I need to have my feet in the mud when the construction starts.
Reg is great. He drags me everywhere trying his best to distract me from the work–an impossible task, of course. We go to the pub almost every day for lunch, and, as he said a few days ago when he first took me there: It’s a riot. The people are extraordinary. Every time we enter the pub, which has always been full the past few days, they all stop their conversations and shout: “Here’s the Queen’s Agent and Sam the Great.” They’re holding their beer mugs high and, believe it or not, they all curtsy. What a sight!
Then they all want to speak to both of us at the same time. It’s crazy. They immediately separate us. Big George, the owner of the pub, says that we’re always together, so, in the pub, we need a break from each other. They try very hard to get me drunk every time I set foot in the pub. I don’t drink, but, exceptionally, I drink a pint with them–one pint. That’s the agreement between the gang and me. Reg is always on the lookout for me. He’s very protective. Sometimes some of the guys get pretty drunk, so my big bear pays attention. I’m a black belt second Dan. I’m not worried.
Friday, we had our first conference call, and I was able to talk to everyone on my team. They are the best bunch of people one can hope to have. It’s all going so smoothly. Then, it was agreed that the daily reports would stop. They take a lot of time to prepare, and I must concede that that time could be better be spent elsewhere. The groundbreaking is scheduled for about a fortnight from now, on a Monday.
I can’t stand still. “I’m going out for a walk, Reg,” I tell him right after the long-distance meeting. I grab one of the umbrellas by the door and step outside in the rain.
I walk up to the Bishop’s Limekiln, a historical site, which is a little over a kilometre up the hill, east of the house. I thought it would do me good. It doesn’t work. I want to be there. I love Reg more than I can say, but that project is so important to me. It means so much. Suddenly, I realize that I’m soaking wet and freezing in the cool weather when I reach the site. I forgot to open the damn umbrella.
On my way back, I’m trying to come up with the right words to tell Reg that I’m going to Montréal. I know he doesn’t want to go. He’s been all around the world for the past twenty years. Now, he wants to stay put, like he said. I step into the house; Reg is waiting for me with a big plush towel. I undress for his viewing pleasure, and he dries me. He kisses me gently, with great tenderness.
“I need…”
He presses a finger to my lips and pulls out from his breast pocket two British Airways tickets for two days hence.
I’m speechless in moments like this. All I can say is, “Thank you, Reg” in a muffled voice coming out of my choked-up throat. Thankfully, my eyes are saying so much more.
“From now on, Sam, always use the special passport[ii] I gave you at the London flat. No questions will ever be asked at customs or should you be stopped by police for minor stuff. On the contrary, it will open many doors, create many opportunities, and give you access to many privileges.”
He looks at me, perhaps waiting for me to ask how he got that passport. Just like when he gave it to me saying that it was one of very few very special passports. One of these days, he will probably feel compelled to tell me. I know about the influence his family has in this country. His dad is the Duke of Rothermeare, his name is Francis George Hamstead. One of the richest men in Britain. All that can be found on the web. He knows practically all about me. I know next to nothing about him. Frankly, I don’t need to know anything about him other than we love each other.
“You know that I’d rather you stay here,” he says slightly frowning. “We’ve had so little time together. I fear that your work will engulf you leaving me with nothing. That’s what happened to me. Granted, the circumstances were different, but it feels the same way to me. I would prefer to have you–all of you–close to me for as long as I live.” A sad smile appears on his rough unshaven face. “I can’t deny you your success. So, let’s go and see what happens.”
*** *** ***
Chapter 5
Old Montréal, Tuesday morning, 21 May.
Mason’s Moving Day.
Gus and Peter inherited whatever they wanted from my Seattle apartment, and the rest was given to local charities. In Toronto, my condo was sold in less than twenty-four hours. I gave almost everything to the new buyers–a new couple–and the rest to charity. I kept my books, my paintings, my painting materials, a good size wardrobe, and some personal stuff. A total of fifty-one boxes a moving company was more than pleased to move to Montréal–The longer the distance, the bigger the bill.
I’m standing in my stunning new home. All that’s missing are my boxes. My cell beeps. It’s a text message from Rosina: the movers have arrived.
I hear Joyce’s singing voice before she appears. What a beautiful, tall, slim, and elegant exotic beauty. She’d be so perfect for Dad.
“Hello! Where’s my Mason?” I swear that smile of hers would melt the coldest heart.
“I’m here, my beauty-of-the-rising-sun.” I’m standing on the terrace looking at my new environment–my new city, my new neighbours. The thing is, I don’t have any neighbours on this side of the building. To my right is the convent that is now a museum of some kind or other, in front are some government offices that are always empty after four p.m., and on my left, my next-door neighbour has no balcony or terrace on this side of the building.
Joyce joins me on the terrace and kisses me delicately on both cheeks. The provocative smell of Chanel perfume surrounds her. “The movers are setting up their gears in the garage entrance. They’re using the freight elevator, of course.”
“Oh. By the way, my dad is coming down from Ottawa. He should be here around lunchtime. Would you like to join us?” I try to be as cheerful as possible, but I’m probably failing judging by the look she gives me. She knows I’m thinking about Sam, of course. Is he around? I dare not ask.
“I’d love to, Mason,” she answers. There’s a touch of a smile, right there at the corner of her voluptuous lips. “Maybe you’d like to be alone with your dad after such a long time?”
“Nonsense,” I reply, cheerily. “He’ll be here for a couple of weeks. So, we have plenty of time to catch up, argue and fight.” I smile at her, then frown waiting for her to say okay. Which she does.
“By the way, Joyce,” I say, looking at her with a big grin on my face, “when he sees you, he’ll invite you himself. Believe me.”
Two hours later, all the boxes, distributed to the appropriate rooms, await my attention.
Now I have to put everything where it belongs. I needed a studio to paint. Sam added a room by taking space from the apartment next to mine. The older couple who were interested found the original apartment too big for them. Everything worked out; the studio is attached to my bedroom, which is perfect for my privacy, or from the hall, which is practical.
Joyce and I are busy unpacking the kitchen stuff. It’s a light job since I’ve only got a few things. That means a lot of shopping, and I hate shopping. My cell beeps. I fish it out of my back pocket. Rosina announces my dad’s arrival.
A few moments later, he walks into the kitchen and grabs me in a crushing bear hug. He’s bigger than me and in good shape. He kisses me on both cheeks and holds me by the shoulders. “You look good, Mason,” he says, his voice quivering ever so slightly. “Christ, I missed you.”
“Hey, Dad. I’ve missed you too.” I whisper in his ear, “I love you.” He looks tired. I frown at him. He looks away. Whoa! What’s the matter with him?
I did miss him, a lot. He’s my only family. My mom took off when I was a baby. I never knew her, and never will. Dad keeps me grounded. He’s my best friend and confidant. He supported me even through that porn phase of mine. He never lets me down.
“I love this place,” he says enthusiastically. Then, he notices Joyce standing a little further away to give us a bit of privacy.
“Bonjour, mademoiselle!” he says with his most charming smile, and a mature, masculine, voice. “I’m Bill, Mason’s father. And you are?” He takes her hand in both of his. Compared to hers, they look like shovels.
“How gallant you are!” she answers, falling under his spell. “I’m Joyce. I’m pleased to finally meet you. Mason talks about you all the time.” She watches Dad kissing her hand.
Still holding her hand, keeping his eyes on her, he continues to charm her. “So, you’re the genius behind this beautiful apartment. I should buy one just to have you operate your magic.”
I interrupt the unexpected exchange. “It’s lunchtime, you two. Perhaps we should head to this cute restaurant I know where the food is unpretentious and excellent. It’s within walking distance.”
As I expected, what does he do? “You’re joining us, of course,” he says still looking at her. “You’re my guest. Oh, you too, Mason.”
These two really hit it off. Lunchtime is a two-way conversation: Joyce and Dad. I feel like I’m watching a tennis match. Well, who knows? Maybe he’s finally met someone to share his life with. Joyce’s charm is hard at work.
*** *** ***
The following morning. Wednesday, May 22.
I’m unpacking my paintings with the help of Joyce when suddenly she stumbles on a large painting wrapped in papers and blankets. As she takes off the last sheet of paper, she exclaims, “Oh my gawd! Oh… it’s so beautiful.”
She leans the canvas, which is taller than her, on the wall next to her. She backs away from it and takes it all in. It’s an abstract titled: Emergence. She is speechless. A tear runs down her left cheek and she lets it sit there. That is my favourite painting. I remember the strong emotions that rocked me when I created it. I did it all in one night; I couldn’t stop.
“I know where this painting is going, Mason,” she says, still awestruck. “Would you?” It’s a two-person job, for sure.
“Yes, Joyce.” I point at the wall in the entrance hall. “That wall, of course.”
I grab one side and Joyce the other. We both bring it into the vestibule and lean it against the wall facing the door–the one added to give the living area a bit of privacy. At that particular moment, the sun is shining right through the skylight, illuminating that wall. Perfect spot. We get out into the hall, close the door and wait a few moments. Then we re-enter the apartment with the painting leaning against the wall washed by sunlight. When you enter the apartment, the painting welcomes you. The effect is stunning. I stand there, immobile, absorbing the emotions exuding from what I think is my personal chef-d’oeuvre.
“Wow! Isn’t it beautiful?” I whisper. At that moment I’m so proud of myself.
“Are you kidding me?” Joyce says. “Stunning. That wall was made for this painting.”
Suddenly, we both jump at the knock on the door. Dad pushes the door open and enters my apartment.
“Hey, guys, how are…” His eyes immediately catch that magnificent painting. He’s speechless.
“Not bad, hey?” is all that I can voice, looking at my painting.
“Mason,” Dad says looking at me, with his thick dark eyebrows raised. “I’m going out for lunch. I’d love it if you would join me. I’m leaving early tomorrow morning, and I’d like to have as much time with you as possible. I’ll be leaving for Brussels, NATO headquarters tomorrow afternoon. It’s unexpected, I know. I got the call last night from the minister of Defence. I’m afraid I’ll be there for a while.”
“Of course, Dad.” I turn to Joyce. “Are you coming, Joyce?”
“Thanks for the invitation, Mason, but I’m afraid I already have a lunch appointment with a client.” She kisses both of us on the cheeks and leaves, giving my dad a sneaky smile. He looks at her intently until she disappears into the hallway.
*** *** ***
After a wonderful lunch at an Italian restaurant on St. Paul Street, Dad hugs me tightly and whispers into my ear, “When I return, Mason, I promise that I will look into my retirement.”
He pulls back without letting me go, holding me by the shoulders. He’s got that serious look on his face–The look that says, “Pay attention.”
“Uh…” He hesitates, then continues, “Could you look into a condo for me, you know, where you are now? It looks so perfect. I’ll send you money for the deposit and arrange to finalize the sale when I return.”
Wow! Finally. “No problem, Dad. Don’t worry about the money. I’ll take care of it. Any preference?”
“Not really. I trust you, Mason.” Smiling, he hugs me again, turns around, and leaves without looking back.
I’m on the verge of tears. I love this man. He’s the greatest. He’s always been there for me. Well, christ, now it’s my turn to help.
Standing in the middle of St. Paul Street, with people all around me, I fish my cell from the back pocket of my jeans and call Rosina.
“Hey, Mason. What’s up?” she says in a hushed voice.
Oops! I remember that she’s in a meeting. So, I tell her, “Oh, I forgot about your meeting. I’ll call you back, Rosina.”
“Not to worry. Please, hold on a second.”
She must have heard the excitement in my voice, I suppose. I can hear her muffled voice in the background. She tells her group to take a break. She’s the boss of this project, and she’s good at it.
“Sorry about that, Mason.” She sounds nervous. “Is there anything the matter? An emergency or something?”
“No, there isn’t,” I say calmly, hiding my excitement. “Listen, Rosina, I just had lunch with my dad, he’s leaving for NATO headquarters somewhere in Europe; actually, he’s already left. He’s asked me to look into a condo for him. I hope you have a few more available.”
“Wow! Yeah, we do. I have the perfect place for him. Say, can we meet at four here in the lobby?”
“Of course, Rosina.” She sounds excited.
“Gotta go, Mason. See you in a little while.” She hangs up.
I’m not going to wait two hours, turning in circles. I get changed into my gym clothes and go downstairs to the gym. There’s a fully equipped gym, with dry saunas, vapour saunas, two hot tubs, a swimming pool, and more. You can be sure I’ll make use of it every day. At three-thirty, I run upstairs, shower, and get dressed in black dress pants, a pale blue polo, and casual black summer shoes. I’m downstairs in the lobby at exactly one minute to four.
“So, your dad wants to move here too?” she says with a bright smile, showing off her shining perfectly white teeth.
“Yup. He’s talking about retirement. He’s tired and frustrated. His line of work isn’t for someone weak-minded. He’s been doing this for years. It’s time to pass the torch. So, Rosina, you have something for him?”
We both go into the office, where Joyce is still hard at work. Rosina gets a bottle of water and offers me one, which I decline. Joyce welcomes us with her gorgeous smile.
Rosina gets the electronic pass for C-F1, meaning building C, floor F, unit 1.
“Same plans as in A?” I question.
“Not quite. Each building is planned differently. C-F1 is a one-bedroom with a small mezzanine, and it’s roughly half the size of yours–a corner unit with a view of the interior courtyard. Too small?” she asks.
I frown. “Should be okay. Let’s go see it. I wonder if Joyce can come with us?” I know she and Dad have spent a bit of time together, just before he left for Brussels.
Rosina looks at Joyce. “Would you like to join us?”
She nods, smiles, and gets up. I’m sure I saw her wink at Rosina.
The place is perfect. I walk around the spacious one-bedroom apartment, taking pictures from every angle. The view from the mezzanine–attainable by a staircase hidden in the entrance of the condo, behind the kitchen–is spectacular. The entire angled outside wall is made of glass, from floor to ceiling. The apartment isn’t finished, so the buyer can choose whatever finishings he desires. Perfect.
I watch Joyce closely to see how she reacts. I suspect that she likes my father. If he buys it, then she will certainly want to get involved in doing the same magic she performed for my condo. So tells me my little finger. I hope for my father’s sake he’s found a companion.
Rosina stays behind, quiet, letting me look around and get a feel for the place. Joyce goes around on her own discovering what the 3D model looks like in real life. I can imagine her picturing herself here with Dad. I can see them, happy, naked, making love in the living room in front of the fireplace, surrounded by candles of all colours and sizes, with soft music in the background.
“Now, Mason, what’s that sneaky grin about?” I’m suddenly brought back to reality. Joyce, smiling, is looking at me. “Well, aren’t you gonna tell me?”
“Uuh… I was imagining what this place would look like after you’ve used your magic wand.” I smile back at her.
“So, Mason, what do you think?” Rosina asks while we’re riding down the elevator.
The door quietly swishes open and we step out into the lobby.
“I think it’s perfect. I’ll send him the pictures and see what he says. I’ll let you know ASAP.” I hope he likes it. It’d be so nice to have him close by.
She nods. “Okay.” Then, that perfect smile brightens that cute little face of hers once more.
Joyce apologizes. She has to hurry to the school where she teaches children to draw. I thank Rosina for the visit with a promise to get back to her as soon as I hear back from my dad.
As I walk back to my building going through the central garden being built, I see Sam going out the side door, where his office is. He’s hurrying away. My heart skips a beat or two and starts to race like crazy. I begin to lift my arm. I stop. It’ll be useless. He’s already out of sight…
*** *** ***
[i] Note: This technology does not exist. HQ has no such research program. The top-secret facility does not exist.
[ii] Note: The special passport does not exist.