A gay story: Oliver's Dilemma NOTE: 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.
Special thanks to neuroparenthetical for editing this story. He is a volunteer in Literotica.com’s Volunteer Editors program. The mistakes that you may still find in this story are entirely my doing and my fault.
© Copyright 2023 WhiteBeard50 – All rights reserved
Friday morning, early June – Beaux Mecs Restaurant – The Village – Montréal.
A warm and beautiful rising sun bathes the whole Village. The sliding doors are all open, creating the impression that the terrace is seamlessly melding with the restaurant’s interior. The high ceiling helps to bring the warm yellow morning light inside the noisy dining room. Many people take advantage of the unseasonably high temperature. I take a deep breath and continue running around doing what’s necessary to please our clients.
“There you go Mr. Leblanc,” I tell my old client with my usual warm and welcoming voice while I set down a huge mug of hot, steaming black coffee in front of him. I mean a huge mug, which contains twice the size of our usual large morning coffee mugs. He’s a very special client. He’s been coming for breakfast every morning since the opening of the restaurant fifteen years ago. He sits at the same table every time, tucked in a corner right next to the terrace but inside the restaurant. From that corner, the entire dining room, plus the terrace and beyond, amuse, anger, or pique his insatiable curiosity. He’s the gossip queen of the Village.
“You’re the best, Oliver, and good morning to you,” Mr. Leblanc tells his preferred waiter. Me. Of course. “I’ll have my usual breakfast, my sweet little man.”
“I’ve already ordered it. Shouldn’t be long.” I bend down and add in a secretive voice, “I’ve asked for extra crispy bacon.”
“You’re so sweet, darling,” Mr. Leblanc, playing along, answers in a low, conspiratorial voice.
I disappear into the morning crowd, helping out the waiters running around with breakfast platters and pots of coffee. The chatter is light, and everyone seems to be in a good mood. I stand in the middle of the restaurant for a few seconds; I take a deep breath and smile. I’m a small guy. Someone sitting at a table a little further wouldn’t even see me through that crowd.
A small table set in the corner of the terrace becomes available. I rush to clean it up for the next client, a big, burly man who’s patiently waiting to be seated. He’s watching me set everything for him. Never seen him before. He’s dressed in loose-fitting jeans—too bad—and a green plaid shirt with big construction boots on his feet. I make a little hand signal, inviting him to come and sit down.
“Thank you,” he says politely. He’s enormous. He’s at least twice my size. His hands are large, rough, and callused.
“My pleasure, sir. I haven’t had the pleasure of seeing you before, so, welcome, and thank you for your visit. Here’s the breakfast menu…”
“What’s your biggest?” he asks before I tell him about the menu. His voice is a low baritone, pleasant and calm. His green eyes scan me from head to toe. I hope he likes what he sees. One can get lost in those eyes: me first, please.
“Number three, on the menu. I warn you: it is enormous. You get everything and lots of it.”
“Okay. I’ll have that. What’s your name?” He almost sounds shy about asking.
“Oliver, sir.” I smile.
“Vic.” He tenders his hand, and we shake firmly. He’s careful not to crush my little spoon-size digits holder, I think. So strong. I like that.
I rush to the kitchen, place his order on the computer, and return to the dining room with Mr. Leblanc’s breakfast complete with a ton of crispy bacon.
“Oh, my gawd!” His eyes are popping out of his head when he sees the massive pile. “You’re so sweet, Oliver. I love you, little one.”
“Have a great breakfast, Mr. Leblanc.” I smile and rush away to help somebody else.
A few minutes later, Vic’s breakfast is ready. I grab a handful of extra-crispy bacon and two additional pieces of toast and add them to his already-loaded plate. Heads turn around as I pass through the dining room, and I feel all those eyes watching what table this gigantic breakfast feast will land at.
I can’t help but smile when I see the eyes popping out of Vic’s head.
“Wow! Fantastic.” Impressed by what he sees. “You weren’t kidding, really.”
“I stole a handful of very crispy bacon and two more pieces of toast. Our secret, of course.”
He laughs heartily and says thank you. Again, I rush away. It’s a non-stop running game this morning. The line-up is getting longer. We can’t help it; we only have so many tables. Some of the faces are long, and I can expect a few unpleasant comments. That comes with the job.
A while later, I return to Mr. Leblanc to refill his coffee mug.
“You know this mountain of a man,” he says, pointing with his chin towards Vic, “he’s been watching you all this time. He likes you. I think.” Mr. Leblanc winks at me.
I didn’t notice, of course. I’m way too busy. I look in his direction, and sure enough, he is looking at me. I go towards him with a big smile plastered onto my face, with my big pot of coffee to refill the big mug I brought with his big breakfast plate.
“More coffee, Vic?” Then I startle; his plate is empty. “Woah! You ate it all! Were you deprived of food for the past week?” I keep my tone friendly, but play up my surprise, complete with bulging eyes.
“Was hungry, little one. And, Oliver, thanks for the extras and this big mug. Very thoughtful of you. Can I have my check, please? Gotta go work. Construction. Just down there.” His big thumb points towards the new project down on René-Lévesque Blvd.
“No problem, sir.” I take my electronic pad tucked in my apron and get his check. “You can pay by simply touching my pad, Vic.” A sneaky smile paints my blushing face.
He gets his bank app on his phone, points to my tablet, and gives me a big smile. Then he asks, “What about the tip?”
“Next time, Vic,” I tell him. I’d rather have the tip of his… Down boy, I tell myself.
The big guy pulls out his wallet and puts a twenty-dollar bill in my hand. By the time my jaw returns to its normal position, he’s left. Peter, my boss and proprietor of the restaurant, stands next to me while looking at Vic rapidly walking away.
“I watched this bulk of testosterone who was looking at you all the time. Better be careful, Oliver. He’s a twink eater. I’m sure of it. He grabs, uses, and disposes of them, without any regard for their feelings.” He sounds paternalistic.
“Don’t worry, Peter. I can take care of myself. And by the way, he’s a very nice man. A bit rough around the edges, but he’s a nice man.” I look at Vic getting in his pickup truck. Wow! I think. What a male! Oh, yum, yum!
“Not against a two-ton bull moose like that, you can’t!” he says angrily, strutting rapidly away from me.
I dance around, filling up everybody’s cup, getting smiles from everyone. They think I smile at them. If they only knew. All I can think about is that big piece of bear naked in my bed. Sing along with me: la, la, la, la…
*** *** ***
Again, I notice that Reggie, who usually works on Friday nights, doesn’t show up for his three-p.m. shift. Peter tries to call him and gets his voicemail on every single attempt he makes.
“Oliver?” Peter says loudly, trying to find me.
“I’m here, Peter.” I get up from behind the bar. I’m looking for extra napkins for the evening supper.
“Oh! Oliver, there you are.” Peter walks to the bar, leans on his elbows and asks, “Can you work this evening? I know it’s been a long day, but I’m stuck. Reggie isn’t in yet and will probably not come tonight.”
Like me, Peter’s been here since five-thirty a.m. We’re both tired and it’s too late to call Claude, another waiter, to come in.
“Of course, Peter. No problem.” I’m pleased to help him. He treats everybody like real people, and he pays well, unlike most restaurant owners in this city.
“You know Oliver, I don’t know what I would do without you. Thank you.” Peter takes a deep breath and straightens up. He’s thinking about something, so, I just wait. “Here’s what we’ll do, Oliver. I’ll leave earlier tonight, say around eight, and you do the closing. Tomorrow, you take the day off. A paid day off. You’ve done this several times already. It’s time for me to pay you back. How’s that?”
“Wow! Okay boss. That’s a deal.” We high-five—high for me, low for him.
The evening is nice and warm and totally crazy, but we manage quite well. I close the place at one a.m. I get three days off in a row. I’ve never had three days off in a row!
*** *** ***
Saturday morning—The Village—Montréal
I’m sitting in the mini park across from where I live. Another beautiful, clear blue sky, on another warm morning. It feels great to be off work. Since I couldn’t sleep, well, I took my coffee and my tablet here, under a maple tree. Then, to my surprise, Vic walks by.
“Hey, Vic!” I say, getting his attention. I stand up. He stops and looks in my direction.
“What are you doing around here?” I ask him. “And what a nice surprise to see you.”
“Whoa! Oliver! Christ, it’s nice to meet you. I’m looking for an apartment. I thought I’d look around where you work. It’s a nice neighbourhood. Simple, clean. I saw a couple of signs down the street. Christ, I live in a cheap motel. I need a better place to live.” Vic’s green eyes are looking directly into my dark blue eyes.
Oh! What a feeling! You know that song. If it wasn’t for Dan coming later today, I think I would have tried to get Vic into my boudoir.
“Well. I know a friend who has a little studio available at a good price. It’s about three or four houses up. Come. I’ll introduce you. He’s gay, OK? Very gay if you know what I mean. I’m a bit exuberant, but nothing compared to him.”
“No matter, Oliver,” Vic says with his thick eyebrows furrowed. “I’m gay too.”
I knock on Gilles’ door and wait. I can imagine him sashaying down the hallway.
Gilles opens the door. “Oh, my gawwwdd! Oliver, sweetie. You’ve come to live with me, haven’t you?” His cute, high-pitched voice forever intimates laughter. Then his attention shifts abruptly to Vic. “Ooh—la—la! Who have we here?”
“Good morning, Gilles. No, I’m not moving in. Can we come in?”
“Aaah! Silly me. Of course, please do so.” He sounds quite excited. That’s his normal state. I notice that at least he’s dressed in jeans and a white t-shirt. I was afraid he would wear his red wig and black satin kimono or whatever he calls it.
Gilles guides us to his kitchen. It’s a beautiful, completely renovated space, with a triple patio door giving access to his large wooden patio. We sit down at the island, and Gilles, swinging his little derriere for the visitors to drool upon, prepares a fresh batch of coffee.
Vic is smiling—a broad smile that he seems to have difficulty controlling. I hit him on the shin, and he stops mimicking my friend.
“Gilles, is your studio still available?” I ask him while he prepares the coffee. I sure as hell don’t want him to start dancing one of his show numbers.
“Is that for this beautiful virile man?” he asks, flapping his eyelashes up and down, looking like a clown.
“Yup, my cute little man,” Vic says as seriously as he can. “That’d be for me if I fit in it?”
We all burst out laughing. Gilles almost cries, and wipes his made-up eyes, leaking mascara on his cheeks. After a few moments, we recover. Vic has a sense of humour, I’m pleased to note.
“Yeeesss, great Yeti. Come. I’ll show you. It’s upstairs.” Gilles looks at me and winks.
He takes us through the triple patio door, across the patio to the right, then up the stairs to the second floor. He unlocks the door, and we get inside.
“Now, Vic, do you think you’ll fit in?” He makes an artistic sweeping gesture ending with his long and thin index finger on his lips, giving Vic the look.
The studio is enormous and stunning. It’s fully furnished with all brand-new furniture. Vic’s jaw is on the verge of breaking. I’m looking at this spectacular space hardly believing what I’m seeing. Gilles is the designer of this space and the decorator. Surprisingly, the room is neutral, modern but homey, and very bright with the morning sun entering it through two large skylights.
Gilles stands with his hand on his hips looking very businesslike. “Okay. Friend of my great Oliver here, since you think you’ll fit in, I’ll rent it to you at a good price. Because, and only because, you’re Oliver’s friend. You have to promise me that you’ll keep this place clean and be quiet when you make love to this little guy.” Gilles looks at me with a big, dirty grin on his face. I return a scornful look.
Vic finally gets his mouth back into proper shape. He starts walking around. My cutie little friend starts to follow him. I grab his arms shaking my head. The big guy is speechless. He walks around the kitchen and looks at the pantry, the island, and the new appliances. He continues to a door facing the king-size bed. It’s a big walk-in closet. Next to it is the bathroom. His face lights up. He waves at me to come and have a look. Gilles smiles and pushes me ahead. I reach Vic, and he nods towards the bathroom. Not a word comes out of his mouth. I look inside, and again I’m stunned. The shower is a double glassed-in space beautifully tiled and with a great number of shower jets from the three walls and the ceiling. Insane. One could drown in there.
“Well, Vic. You like it? Don’t worry, honey, the rent is affordable because you’re his lover.”
Vic looks at me and Gilles. “I love it,” Vic says seriously. “But I don’t like the bed thing, cover, or whatever you call that. It’s some kind of pink. Can I change that?” His look says that you’d better say yes, ’cause I hate pink. Gilles stands his ground.
I look at Vic, and man, I like this man. As a construction worker, he’s well paid and can afford a place twice as big as this place. But I can see he’s in love with it.
He finally turns around to look at me and tells Gilles, “I want it. Can I move in now?” He’s still looking at me. “Will you help me move my stuff, Oliver?” The last few words were barely audible. My heart goes out to him.
Before I can answer him, Gilles breaks the enchantment. “Before you two get naked, you, big guy, come sign your lease. Oh, by the way, colourblind gorilla, the bedspread is fuchsia, not pink.” Gilles turns around smiling from ear to ear and winks at me. Then he heads downstairs, and we follow his dancing buttocks.
*** *** ***
The lease is signed, Vic’s got the keys, and we’re moving his little possessions from his motel room into his new apartment.
I look at Vic, smiling like a big kid. I’m happy for him. He’s got a great place to live, but it’s time for me to go. Dan, my part-time lover, is coming to town for three nights.
“I’ve got to go, Vic,” I regretfully tell him. “A friend’s coming over for the weekend, and I’d like to get my place cleaned up and ready.”
The big guy looks saddened. He swallows a sip of beer; Gilles put a six-pack in the fridge while we were getting Vic’s stuff. His piercing green eyes soften somewhat, and he says, “Okay. I’ll see you Tuesday morning. Have a good weekend, Oliver.”
I feel like I have been politely dismissed. Feeling a little guilty, I briskly walk home, because I think Dan is already there. Three or four minutes later, I arrived. I step inside my apartment, and my hunch is confirmed. My lover is in the shower. I can picture his firm buttocks and that slight V-shaped back. I get hard at the thought. Every step or so, I lose a piece of clothing. Naked, I get in the shower and embrace my big Dan from the back.
“Ummm… Oliver,” Dan coos, “my sweet little guy.”
“I missed you, Dan,” I reply, squeezing him tightly.
He just grunts and moves his buttocks against my body. Fuck me. I love this.
I take the soap from him and start washing his back. Dan raises his arms and puts his hands flat on the ceramic wall. I spread his legs with my right foot, and I soap his ass, not missing his crack and what hides in its depths. I extend the soaping between his legs and grab his firm and plump balls, rubbing them gently and with delight. I love to touch those big, full nuts of his. As I progress lower, I kiss his gorgeous, hairless rump. Big Dan moans. Of course, he moans like a moose in heat; he doesn’t get that kind of kissing from anyone else but me.
“Turn around, lover boy,” I say.
He slowly turns around. What a sight. That large, hairy body facing me makes me drool. My ministrations show their effect on him; his throbbing cock, nearly nine inches of it, points proudly—and I’m sure, expectantly—at me, at an impressive forty-five-degree angle. The meaty knob is half uncovered. I extend my hand to touch it. Dan slaps it away.
“You’re not finished washing me,” he says with a lusty grin, “my cute little soap-rubber.”
He bends down a little and kisses me like only he knows how to kiss me. His lips cover mine and munch them deliciously. The tip of his tongue licks them all around. It’s a sensual, passionate kiss that makes me crazy about him.
He looks at me and quietly says, “The candy is for you, but only when you’re done washing me, darlin’.”
I soap his thick, frizzy fur coat from his shoulders to his balls. I don’t touch the candy. Seconds later, I’m finished. Dan’s holding his huge manhood with a firm hand, looking at me and smiling. He raises his eyebrows a few times.
“Ah, fuck,” I tell him, and without using my hand, I quickly mouth half his cock. Dreamland. I give him my best blow job. Dan moans, groans, grunts, and pleads for me to let him breathe a little. No way, mister. He releases his hot manhood juice down my throat within a few minutes, panting.
He grabs me under the arms, pushes me up against the wall, and deeply invades my mouth with his hard tongue. Christ! He’s tongue-fucking my mouth. He grunts and growls. My legs circle his waist, and I squeeze as hard as I can. The kiss is furious, passionate, and obscene.
We dry each other and we put boxers on. I’m hungry, as always, and my stomach is growling loudly.
“We do lunch here, Dan?” I ask him, “Or do we go out?”
“Oh, no, sweety,” he says, looking at my hard-on. “I need to take care of that.”
He grabs me, easily picks me up, and brings me to the kitchen island. I’m sitting with my legs spread out. He grabs my dick through the opening of my boxers and starts licking it. I get the same blow job I gave him. The sucking is fast and hard. He swallows my whole cock—which is not that long—and I think for a moment that he’s going to get my balls inside his hot and warm mouth. I only last a few minutes, and he slurps every bit of my sweet juice. I’m still panting trying to get my breath back when he plunges his hard tongue again in my throat.
He backs away, hands on his hips, his cock out of his boxers and dripping. What a sight!
“Christ, Oliver,” he says growling, “I got so fucking excited, I fucking came with you.”
I get down from the island, laughing at him. He takes me into his arms as I try to pass beside him. Kiss me on the head, and murmurs into my ear, “I love you,” and then he lets me go.
We clean up his manhood mess on the floor, get dressed and go out for lunch. He wants hot dogs and fries, as always, at the same place.
“Okay,” he tells me, “you know where the best place is, or did you forget?” A malicious grin appears on his face.
“Yup, I know where it is.” Smiling, I cross the street and wait for him. “Well, come on. I want to go through here, then up the street.” I don’t wait and scram before he gets to the park.
It’s a small place called Joe’s Fries. They still cut the fries by hand and never too long ahead of time. They are the best fries in the country, so says Dan. He’s been almost everywhere, so, I suppose he’s probably right. I have been almost everywhere too… in the Village and Old Montréal. Once, I’ve been to Galeries d’Anjou[1]. Man, that’s far.
As usual—because we’ve been here more times than I can count—we order through the window on the side of the cabin. And guess what?
“Hey, big Dan,” Joe yells almost at the top of his lungs, “haven’t seen you in ages. Where the hell were you?”
“Christ, Joe, it’s nice to see your ugly face again,” he replies, laughing.
“Hey! Where’s the little guy?” Joe asks, pretending not to see me. “I forgot his name, though,” he says laughing at my expense.
“You mean my little pet? Right here.” Dan is taping me gently on the head.
After they have a good laugh, Dan orders: “Four steamies, the works and a huge man-size fry.”
“Your turn, Oliver,” Dan tells me in a soft tender voice. I’m surprised. He’s never done that in public before.
“You know we love ya, don’t you, Oliver?” Joe says affectionately.
He’s known me forever. He gave me my first job. I love the old guy.
“Cheese, mustard, fresh-cut cabbage, and a real cutie-size fry,” I order with a big smile.
They laugh so hard; they were both crying. When these two meet, it’s always a riot.
The fresh food arrives on a big tray, personally delivered by Joe. We’re sitting at a picnic table next to his little cabin.
“Enjoy! Boys!” He squeezes Dan’s neck, ruffles my hair, and quickly leaves to serve another client.
In the end, I got a big fry as always. Dan’s fry was gigantic.
Dan looks at me picking at my fries and asks, “Are you gonna eat those?”
I just push the basket to him, shaking my head. It’s gone in seconds.
Dan wants to walk around for a while. He looks pensive, and that means I won’t like it. We go up towards Sherbrooke Street and across into Lafontaine Park. I follow him to a quiet place where we sit on a bench under a huge tree. The only trees I can name are the maple and fir trees. The others are, well, trees.
He puts his arm around my shoulders and tells me, “My wife and I have agreed to an uncontested divorce. We filed the papers a couple of months ago directly with the court in Vancouver. It’s cheap, with no lawyer’s hassles. It should be official in a few weeks.”
He smiles and squeezes my shoulder. I hide my face in my hands, and I start to cry. He pulls me close to him and kisses me on the cheek.
He’s not finished. “I’ve also requested a transfer here in Montréal. I can’t guarantee you anything about that. My chances are slim, but one never knows.”
A big finger finds its way under my chin and pulls my face up towards a lush pair of lips. Dan pours a ton of love into this kiss. He holds me for a while. He let go of me and sits upright. I feel another declaration coming.
He’s looking straight ahead with both hands on his lap. Now, I know I’ll hate what he’s about to say.
“I’ll be involved with testing a new technology, I worked on for the past five years,” he says looking away, “The testing site is in Dawson City, Yukon. I’ll be gone for four or five months.” He stops and turns around with his beautiful brown eyes looking at me.
I’m silently crying unable to look away. I wish he had told me that on Tuesday morning just before he was to leave. Not now! I’m angry and sad. I’m unable to articulate a single word.
I get up in a hurry. It startles Dan, who freezes for a few seconds. With my back turned to him, I roughly tell him, “Let’s go home.” Then I start to walk. He rapidly catches up with me and walks by my side silently all the way home. He’s quiet, letting me digest that last part.
At some point, I stop feeling selfish and sorry for myself. It’s going to be just as hard for him. I know he loves me. He’s told me that a few times already, but I’ve never reciprocated. Do I love him? I think I do.
“Dan, I’m sorry. I was rude back there.” He’s doing all of this for me. What a miserable shit I can be sometimes.
“I know it’s a lot to take in, Oliver.” Then, silence takes hold of him again.
Once we arrive home, Dan hugs me and says, “Come sit with me, Oliver.” We sit down with Dan’s arm around my shoulder, the way we always do.
“You know I love you. I’ve told you that a few times. I’ve worked very hard on this new technology. I can’t just tell the guys to go by themselves and test it as best they can in Yukon’s hard environment. I must go. It’s hard for me too, little man. I promise you, Oliver Ridgewood, that I’ll come back to you as soon as I can.”
He looks at me, bends down, whispers to my ear, “You’re the only one in my life, Oliver,” and kisses me. We make love on the couch, nice and slow, exploring our secret erogenous joy spots. Dan slowly builds tiny bridges, one after the other, to where our souls meet, and takes us there at the end of our most sensual, erotic dance.
After our sofa adventure, we walk around, have supper at a nice restaurant, and make love again all night. Monday is a copy of Sunday, except for my little mood swings. Tuesday morning, I cry, of course. Dan makes love to me before breakfast, and after breakfast, after which I fall asleep exhausted. When I get up around ten a.m., Dan is on the plane to Toronto.
I start work at three p.m. My heart hurts, my ass hurts, and I miss him already.
*** *** ***
Wednesday, mid-July, The Village, Montréal.
Dan’s been gone over four weeks now. Communications are terrible. We hardly ever talk live. All we can do is text, and even that fails half the time. I’m miserable, I hate him, and I love him, all at once. I miss him more than I thought possible. Of course, doubts creep into my head: he’s fucking someone else. He won’t come back to me. Whatever tortures me the most.
I changed shift to avoid Vic because I’m sure if I see him, I’ll drag him to bed. I need to be loved in bed. Vic no longer comes to the restaurant for breakfast, or any other meals. I’m so sorry for him, and for me too. According to Gilles, that’s entirely my fault. I told Peter to go to hell the other day. He almost fired me. Today is one of my two days off of the week. So, I tell myself, let’s go to Old Montréal for the day. I need a change of scenery. I take a shower, make myself cute but with a touch of conservatism, and leave on foot. After walking two blocks, I wave down a taxi.
At lunchtime, I spot a tiny restaurant off the beaten tracks, with a small terrace. All the tables have this cutest deep-red umbrella. To access the terrace, you must first go through the restaurant. A big man is waiting to be seated and I’m standing behind him and a little to the side so I can see inside the restaurant. A beautiful young and smiling waitress approaches us and looks at the two of us. In her mind, we are together.
“So,” she says, “table for two. Please, gentlemen, follow me.” She turns around with a couple of menus in her hands and walks away.
The big guy, looking confused, turns around. I can’t believe it. Vic. It’s Vic, for christ’s sake.
“Come, Oliver,” he says with his goddam sexy and deep masculine voice. “I think we need to talk.” He looks as surprised as me. The only difference is that he does not put one of his hands on his mouth standing there, not knowing what to say and turning the colour of a cooked beet. He’s in command. He’s in control of himself. Well, he’s a big macho man.
The lunch is simple, and, more importantly, very good. Everything is fresh, homemade right here. You can smell it. You can taste it. Vic has a steak and fries—a classic—with a large mug of beer. I have the filet of sole on rice with a veggie salad—more my style—with a glass of perfectly chilled white wine.
Vic, being one of those bull moose, likes sports: football, soccer, and formula one car racing. He hates hockey. He says that a sport that can’t protect its best players–its stars–against the bullies hired to demolish them isn’t worth paying attention to. Needless to say, I know sweet you-know-what about any of that. But I’m glad to listen. I love the sound of his voice and the look of those sexy green eyes. This enormous pile of testosterone makes me go nuts.
We walk around Old Montréal for most of the afternoon. We stop at a bar with tables outside, set in an enclosed private space in front of the popular Place Jacques-Cartier: big bear is thirsty. We are sitting in a corner of the terrace flanked by huge flowerpots. On a Wednesday afternoon, the place is quiet. We sit in silence, side by side. I can’t stop looking at Vic. He takes a big gulp of beer and orders another one. I’m good with my Diet Coke. I don’t drink, except for the occasional glass of wine, and I already had my daily ration. The waiter sets the beer mug on the table and takes the empty one away.
I feel Vic’s large paw on my arm. He’s leaning towards me and says, “I want to make love to you, Oliver.” He pauses, his eyes drilling mine, and he continues, “I know you don’t love me like you love that other big guy, but I know you want me.”
I’m stunned. I fight really hard against bringing my hand to my mouth. The truth is, he’s right. I want him.
“I can make love to you as nobody else can, Oliver. I’m good at it. I’ll bring you to several orgasms in a row.” He takes a gulp of beer. “I love you, little guy. Let me please you for a little while. Your lover won’t be back for weeks; Gilles told me. I’ll leave you alone the moment he returns. I promise you.” He takes his hand off my arm. I can see the truth of it in his eyes. He truly loves me. I want him, but I don’t want to hurt him.
“You’re right, Vic.” I can barely speak. “I want you. But, Vic, I don’t want to give you false hopes.” I can’t stop the tears. In many ways, I love him, too.
“Let me love you for a little while, Oliver.” It’s a pleading whisper. I nod. We leave.
*** *** ***
Vic’s the most wonderful lover I’ve ever had. He’s insatiable. After work, he stops at my apartment every day. My rule is that when he comes home, he must strip naked as he enters. I bought a plastic tray for his big, dirty boots. When I’m home, I make sure I watch him ditch his clothes. He gives me quite a show every time. Then he walks towards me, naked and hairy, showing off his massive, solid frame, with his hard manhood looking at me, wanting me. And I want it.
I get off the stool I’m sitting on, getting ready to be undressed by two large, expert hands, while his sexy, lusty green eyes are locked on target: me. We do this silently. There’s no need to speak. Sometimes he picks me up and carries me on his shoulder, laughing loudly on our way to the shower where the teasing starts. Then we make love. He’s right when he says no one makes love to me like he does.
I adore having this enormous mass of muscles on top of me. He moves with grace. He’s attentive to all my little wants and needs. He kisses me all over, lips and tongues munching and licking all my very sensitive spots. His big rough, callused hands delicately brush my body. He manipulates me with disconcerting ease. He flips me around and keeps on kissing, licking, and touching my entire small and hairless body. His big middle finger, which is as big as my cock, runs through my little valley, teases and tickles my rosebud, then penetrates me slowly, playing around inside. He finger-fucks me for a long time, preparing me for his massive manhood.
Just before he mounts me, I like to suck him. I play around with his huge, thick cock. I kiss it, lick it, suck it, masturbate it, and squeeze his large, plump hairy sack. He moans and grunts. Then, he mounts me. Slowly, delicately, he penetrates me with his well-lubed nine-plus-inches cock. It’s so thick. His amazing hairy body rubs mine while we dance in unison. I feel his cock rubbing my rectum. I feel his knob throbbing and pushing far inside me. I love the movement of his entire body when he fucks me; it’s delicate and light. I hear his moaning, grunting, and growling with his head next to mine. I feel his hot breath on my neck, his kisses, and licks. He likes to munch on my ears; it drives me crazy. He always whispers that he loves me. He flips me around with his cock inside me. He fucks me frontwards, backwards, and sideways. He never loses his rhythm. His hands are as busy as his ass humping me relentlessly. His mouth and tongue never stop.
I come several times during our mating. So does he. It’s paradise.
*** *** ***
Tuesday, the third week of August, The Village, Montréal.
Big Vic, smiling with anticipation, enters the apartment. He starts his ceremony when my cell chirps. I look at the incoming call. My heart jumps a beat. My face changes colour. Vic stops undressing and stands upright, looking at me.
“Oh, shit! It’s Dan,” I yell, overwhelmed by surprise. “Ah, it’s just a text message,” I mumble. “He’s in Vancouver. He’s taking a week’s vacation. He will arrive here on Friday.” I realize that I sound disappointed. I don’t know what I’m disappointed about. Well, that’s a lie. I do. I’m confused.
Vic, wearing only his jeans, comes and hugs me tightly. I start to cry, of course. He lifts my chin with his big index finger and gives me a kiss. Physically, it’s light, but it’s overloaded with love and sadness. “We knew this was coming, Oliver,” he says, his voice nothing but a whisper. “Thank you for the love you gave me during the past few weeks. It’s time for me to go now. You need time to adjust before he comes to you.” Tears flood his beautiful green eyes. “I love you, Oliver.”
He turns around. I’m frozen in place, looking at a man who took such good care of me, who loved me without asking anything in return, knowing our relationship would inevitably end. He takes his boots and his shirt, puts the keys to my flat on the small credenza by the door, and leaves without looking back.
I fall to my knees and cry my heart out. I love Dan and at the same time, I hate him. I cry for a long time, knowing that Vic’s hurt deeply. And so am I. What a man he is. I love him. I love both of them. I’m not sure who I love more. I don’t think I love one more than the other.
But right now, I’m hurt, Vic’s hurt, and I hate Dan.
And I regret nothing.
I finally get control of my emotions and I send Vic a message because he won’t answer his phone. I text him: Vic, give me a week to decide our relationship. Please. I love you. Oliver.
I immediately get a reply: I’ll wait a lifetime for you if I have to. Love you. Vic.
I cry again.
*** *** ***
Friday, the third week of August, The Village, Montréal.
I haven’t seen or heard anything from Vic. Gilles doesn’t know or doesn’t want to tell me anything. Peter is as sombre as always. He tells me he’s happy to see Vic back at the restaurant and then tells me to get rid of him. Frankly, I don’t give a damn what he thinks.
Dan is due in an hour or so from Toronto, where he had a meeting at his company’s headquarters. I leave work and walk home. I’m happy, finally. I made up my mind about the man I love. Dan’s been with me for more than two years now, and he’s sacrificed a lot for me.
Now, I’m really excited. I see the taxi stop in front of the building. Dan is home. Finally. I don’t know for how long, but I’ll take anything. I want him. I need him. But I’ll be frank, Vic occupies a big place in my heart.
Both Gilles and Peter told me time and again that I was making a big mistake with Vic, and that I would endanger my relationship with Dan. All bla, bla, bla. I told them to mind their own business.
At long last, Dan walks in. I’m standing by the kitchen island, tears in my eyes and shaking. The big guy puts his luggage on the floor. I’m moving towards him, and he grabs me for a bear hug. We kiss for a long time, passionately.
“I love you, little man.” The kissing continues. His arousal is confirmed by the bulge in his pants rubbing my underbelly. It feels so good to be once again in his arms. We end up naked and in bed fast enough. Dan makes love to me with a passion I didn’t know he had. I love the fur covering his entire torso, and the feel of his big cock rubbing on me. He grunts and growls as he penetrates me, deep and fast. I follow his rhythm and we dance what feels more like the hustle than a slow. He comes inside me. We relax for a minute or two, then he turns me around and mounts me from the back. The fuck is furious. Oh, shit. We both come again a little apart.
We shower, get dressed and plan supper for nine p.m. He has to go out to buy some personal hygiene stuff. While he does that, I go out to buy what I need for supper and celebrate with a bottle of champagne.
*** *** ***
At eight p.m., Oliver’s apartment
I get home, hands full of bags. I manage to get my shoes off and aim for the kitchen island. The sun is below the horizon, making the room a bit darkish. I make my way to the island where I put the bags.
Aaaaww! Something burns inside of me. I slip to the floor. Everything is a blur. Horrified, I see and feel a knife plunging into my chest. Blood comes out of my mouth. I gurgle something and the knife penetrates me again…
What the hell! I’m touching myself. Nothing. No blood. I don’t feel a thing. Impossible. No, no. That’s impossible. I’m standing next to…
AAAAAHHHHH!
AAAAAHHHHH!
NOOOOOOO!
It’s me down there. AAAHHH! NO. NO. NO. Whaaatt! Fuck! I’m dead. NO. No…
Noise! I hear some noise. Oh! Fuck! Oh, no. It’s Dan…
Dan enters and he turns the light on. Oh, my gawd! Poor him. Noooo!
“OLIVERRRRR!
NOOO!
OLIVERRRRR!”
It’s a scream like I’ve never, ever heard before in my whole life. In a flash, he’s on the floor with me, holding me and screaming his heart out. Yelling my name over and over again. I try to touch him. Dummy, I’m immaterial. A neighbour appears at the door. It’s Suzanne from across the hall. She also screams. It’s horrible.
Another one appears, a man, the one living downstairs, below my apartment. He looks at Dan, whom he knows having seen him often, holding me, both covered in blood. He swears something in French. He takes his cell and dials 911. He embraces the old lady, who’s crying and brings her back to her apartment. He blocks anyone trying to enter my apartment when I see… oh gawd, no, no. It’s Vic and Gilles. Vic moves my neighbour with a simple gesture of his arm and rushes to me and Dan. He tests my wrist for a pulse. Nothing. Rivers of tears are flowing. He kneels and puts a hand on Dan’s shoulder.
Dan is completely out of it, silent, pale as a ghost—like me, I suppose. He no longer feels a thing. He looks at Vic and cries. He doesn’t know him.
The firemen arrive first and move everybody out of the way, except Dan and Vic. They don’t come close to me, or what was me. The medic guys arrive, and they stop. One of them comes closer, checks for my pulse, and returns to where his colleague and the firemen are waiting, shaking his head. The police arrive: two big monsters.
I’m here, somewhere, floating. It’s surreal. Don’t you only see that in the movies? Maybe I’m dreaming. I’m insane or something.
One of the policemen approaches Vic, puts a hand on his shoulder and asks him to come with him. Vic blankly looks at him and follows the policeman. My heart hurts. It’s symbolic, of course. I feel nothing. But I see them all, I hear them all, and I even goddam smell them all. How fucking crazy is this?
The big policeman comes back for Dan. That’s a little more difficult. After a few minutes of patiently talking to him, he convinces Dan to follow him. I want to cry. I can’t. I scream… no sound.
The coroner appears with two guys and a gurney.
The doctor examines my, his, uh… well it’s my body, so I settle for ‘my’ injuries. One of his assistants takes pictures. He confirms my death. I’m fucking dead.
I’M DEAD! OH! FUCK!
Sometime later—I can’t tell, I don’t feel the time—the crime scene people are here.
They bag me and I’m rolled to the morgue vehicle. I’m dead. Now, I’m gone. I follow the guys floating above all those people, all those curious people. Many are crying; many I don’t know.
What do I do now? Just float around. What am I supposed to do?
There’s Vic with a paramedic. They’re transporting him to the hospital. Over there I see Dan being loaded into the ambulance. He seems out of it.
I WANT TO CRY!
FUCK!
WON’T YOU LET ME CRY?
I go back to my apartment. That is so weird. The gang of technicians is still there. I go to my bedroom. I want to be exhausted, but I can’t feel exhausted. So, I pretend and lay, kind of anyway, on my bed. I pretend to cry. But I don’t know how it feels to cry anymore. This is insane. I’m insane.
*** *** ***
Later, I suppose, I visit Vic’s place. All I have to do is think about it, and I’m there. My heart breaks when I see him in a fetal position on the floor in the middle of the living space. He’s naked, holding his knees to his chest and he’s crying his heart out. I feel my heart—or rather an emotion that is profound sadness. Wow! I want to hug him. So, I pretend that I can. I put my arms around Vic, and I start crying with him.
He stops, breathes deeply and to my astonishment, I hear him say, “Oliver?”
Yes, it’s me, Vic. I’m so pleased. I squeeze and I go right through him. I stay like this for a while. Vic relaxes and falls asleep. I wish I could hold you for real. I least it seems I was able to help you. Sleep, my love. I’ll be back later.
Then I vanish and appear at the hospital. Dan feels okay. They release him. A good Samaritan offers him a ride to a hotel in Old Montréal. I follow. It’s so extraordinary. I wish it. It happens. Once Dan settles in his room, he goes to bed fully dressed. Like Vic, he settles in a fetal position. He cries silently. Tears flow abundantly on his cheek. I do the same thing. I lay with him, hugging him. He too seems to sense my presence. “Oliver, my love.” I make the same mistake when I squeeze him hard. He falls asleep. The next few days are going to be hard. I’ll be with them; that you can be sure of. I’m in no hurry. I’ll not depart on my own will until they find the murderer. I have a feeling I know who it is.
Dan suddenly sits. What’s going on? He grabs his cell, fishes a card from his back pocket and dials the number.
“Inspector Tardif?” He listens. “I’m Dan… Euh, the guy who was holding the victim tonight. I just remember something. Oliver, the little guy…” he chokes… “Sorry.” He listens again. “I gave him a small necklace some time ago. It’s a solid 22-karat gold double heart each bearing the initials of one of us: OR and DS, on a gold chain. He never takes it off. It was not on him when…” He can’t go on anymore. He stays on the phone, obviously, the policeman is talking to him. He gets control back again. He thanks the policeman and ends the conversation.
I immediately feel for my necklace. It’s not there. I instantly appear at the morgue. My physical body is in one of those horrible drawers. No matter. I peek in. Well, Dan is right.
The police enquiry moves very fast. Christ! I seem to be everywhere at the same time. It’s so weird but so exhilarating. Dan and Vic are quickly taken off the suspects’ list. The knife is found in a public garbage can by a homeless guy two blocks away, not far from Joe’s, who’s devastated by my murder. The homeless man sees it in the garbage and asks someone to call 911. Within minutes, a police cruiser arrives and carefully picks up the knife. One of the policemen walks him to Joe’s and pays for his lunch, instructing Joe to give him whatever he wants. He gives Joe forty bucks and tells him to give the change to the old guy. Joe cooks for the old guy and gives him the forty bucks.
Analysis of the necklace and the knife show traces of two different people: me and Mr. X. The blood belongs to a white male. The chef complained about his missing knife, which he reported to the police inspector who came a couple of days ago to question the people I worked with. They were all in terrible shock. The chef identified the knife as being his. He showed the inspector his secret identification mark. Inspector Tardif has a suspect. His flair and his sense of observation point him to one guy after interrogating him on the night of the murder.
It’s amazing, I can follow all of this with ease. Now, I have a strong suspicion. I am with Inspector Tardif when he gets his search mandate. Yup, that’s the guy. I follow him, sitting in the back of his car: an ordinary sedan.
We show up at the restaurant to the surprise of everyone there. Inspector Tardif walks in and goes directly to Peter, and slowly and clearly declares, “Mr. Peter Dunnby, you are under arrest for the murder of Mr. Oliver Ridgewood.” He waves his hand, and two burly policemen grab Peter on each side. Another one puts the cuffs on his wrists and reads him his rights.
Just before they leave, Inspector Tardif, says to Peter, waving the piece of paper in his face, “I have the mandate to search you, Mr. Dunnby.” He opens his collar, and sure enough, my necklace is around his neck.
*** *** ***
Friday, 1 September, Montréal.
Today’s the day of my funeral. Dan and Vic, like two good friends, planned and organized it. I look at the large number of people attending the simple ceremony taking place in the chapel of the funeral home on Sherbrooke Street East. A huge cemetery. I have the nicest casket imaginable. It’s the colour of the rainbow. The gay colours. Absolutely fantastic!
My heart goes out to all these wonderful people who loved me. I feel their love, and their sorrow. Vic is solid as a rock; I expected that of him. He won’t be later, when he gets home. I’ll be with him for the last time. That’ll be hard on me, too. Dan is holding up. It’s obvious that the pain is immense. Many people are around him, making sure he’s all right.
The tough part is coming up: the internment. My casket is held by straps over the hole in the ground. Vic, who’s holding Dan’s hand, says a few words of love directly to me, and everybody starts to cry. It’s beautiful. I float above my casket, looking at all the people, and I cry. Now, I can cry? I couldn’t cry before. How weird is that?
The reception at the restaurant, now owned by Dan and operated by the chef, is wonderful. There’s a little bit of crying, but most people are telling anecdotes, all funny ones about me and the clients I so earnestly served.
Then Vic leaves, unable to contain his pain and his profound mourning any longer. He goes home, alone, not wanting any company. I’ll be there my love, to say goodbye.
Dan goes around, making sure everyone has something to drink or eat. At the end of the afternoon, exhausted by all the emotions, he, too, returns home alone. I’ll see you soon, my love, to say goodbye.
I accompany Dan to my apartment, which is now his. He sits on the sofa, takes his head into his big hands and cries. I sit next to him, crying with him, for him. I whisper into his ear, “Goodbye, Dan.”
Then I wish myself next to Vic. My beautiful Vic. I lay in bed as if he were spooning me. I swear that he can feel me. That’s true love. I know now I made the wrong choice. He murmurs, “I’ll love you, Oliver, for the rest of my life.” Then he closes his eyes. I turn around, kiss him, and tell him, “I’ll love you for all eternity, Vic, my true love.”
Then…
*** *** ***
Ten years later.
A big guy is standing above his body not sure of what just happened.
“Yup, Vic. You’re dead!” I’m standing right next to him. I can really feel him, touch him, smell him.
He turns around with a huge smile looking straight into my eyes.
“I’ve waited for this moment for such a long time.”
For me, it was like moments ago. He extends his hand and touches me.
“I can feel you. Holy shit!”
“Come, my love. We can love each other for … eternity.”
*** *** ***
Thank you for reading this story. I hope you enjoyed it. Your feedback is important and would be greatly appreciated. Don’t be shy, be honest with your comments. It’s the best way for a storyteller to improve.
WhiteBeard50
[1] Galeries d’Anjou, a large shopping center about 10 km from the Village