Breaking Up is Hard to Do

David returned to his Puerto de Sanxenxo penthouse rental flat bowlegged and fully satisfied—content that he'd found another one-night stand rather than the makings of something more permanent. The day before he left for Paris, Richard never having come back, David was brave enough to let a hunky Spaniard showing off his muscles on Carabuxeira Beach to come back to the apartment and fuck his lights out.

It was all almost enough for him to forget Richard and the life he'd been trying to build with Richard—almost. If nothing else, he was back in the casual sex mode—and he had found that he still had "it"—some form of pheromones that brought good-looking tops sniffing around him.

* * * *

Richard was seated on the curvy Italian lounge chair, his feet on the floor on either side of the chair to provide leverage as he rocked on the small Filipina, fully transformed T-girl saddled on his cock, facing him, the heels of her small hands dug into his chest, and her long, ruby-red fingernails scratching at his pecs. His cock was buried up her surgically created snatch as, leaning back, her long, black hair swishing on her buttocks, she rose and fell on his shaft. His hands were alternating between grasping and squeezing her augmented, melon-sized breasts and doing the same with her plump buttocks cheeks.

The biggest surprise of Richard's Barcelona visit to the Pista de Gel Skating Club to meet and interview the international figure skater Carlo Fuentes was not finding out that Fuentes was retiring from competition to take up coaching, a fact that deflated the effect of the ESPN interview Richard had been anxious to film for feature showing at the next Figure Skating Worlds that Fuentes now wouldn't be attending as a competitor.

What surprised Richard more was that he wasn't the only one fucking the Filipina T-girl in the Barcelona male brothel. Fuentes was there too, nestled in behind the Filipina T-girl, fucking her in the ass while Richard fucked her in the snatch. He was riding her from behind, his arms embracing her, and his hands on top of Richard's, as Richard squeezed her melon breasts. Richard had shared a young man before with another, enjoying the rubbing of his dick against another man's inside an anal passage, but this was the first time he'd done a fully transformed T-girl with another guy, his cock in the cunt and the other guy's in the ass. He found he still could feel the other cock at work, and that gave him a thrill and a delicious little taste of the taboo.

The even greater surprise was to have found that Fuentes, a small, slim guy with effeminate flourishes when on the ice, wasn't a submissive. Richard had assumed he was and had come to Barcelona to cover him as well as film him, but they'd shared a laugh when Fuentes clued him in that, though he had kinky sexual tastes and Richard was a sexy hunk and a half, he wasn't going to bottom for the ESPN correspondent to get a sports feature.

"What sort of kink?" Richard had asked.

After drinks at a bar and drinks and dancing at a gay club, Fuentes had brought Richard to this gay male bordello to show him what a Filipina T-girl whore would do for two tops. Richard was beyond intrigued.

The fuck went into overdrive, with Richard lifting his pelvis off the surface of the lounger, grasping and spreading the Filipina's plump little buttocks, moving his lips and teeth to the T-girl's nipples, and stroking up into her hard and fast with his cock. Fuentes pistoned just as rapidly from behind, his hands going to cupping Richard's head, and his face buried in the hollow of the whore's throat. The T-girl, bouncing furiously on both cocks, buried her nails into Richard's biceps, arched her back, threw her head back, and cried out to the ceiling, "¡Joder! ¡joder! ¡Dámelo!—Fuck! Fuck! Give it to me!" as the two men unloaded inside her.

Exhausted, exhilarated, and momentarily satisfied, Richard fell back into the lounge chair. The T-girl fell off to the side to huddle and pant on the carpet. Fuentes padded into the bathroom, showered, and then, with a salute to Richard after he'd dressed, left.

Their business was over. It had had a payoff for ESPN. The short film clip Richard did included Fuentes's first declaration that he was retiring from skating and turning coach. Richard didn't bother to regret that he hadn't been able to top the lithe, effeminate little skater. Thanks to Fuentes, he'd collected a new sexual experience.

He thought for a few moments on how pleasurable this kinky experience had been. He was surprised, though, to have a sudden jab of regret. His sex with David was anything but kinky like this, but it had something else in it—something reassuring and perhaps more satisfying, a satisfaction that seemed to be enhanced with age. And he couldn't think of this Filipina T-girl being home, fixing dinner or doing the laundry, when he came home. Of course, Filipinas were famous for being this domesticated, but Richard rather doubted this one followed that pattern.

Oh, well, he thought. No time now to be entertaining any such regrets about David. He was here, in a brothel, with a sexy T-girl, having a fuck session like he'd never had before. He rolled off the lounger, reached down, and picked the panting and moaning T-girl up; put her on her knees on the lounger; came in behind her, standing; put his reengorged cockhead in position; and, when it was lodged in her snatch, He reached around and cupped and squeezed her breasts in his hands.

"Oh, bebé, bebé. ¡Joder!—Oh, baby, baby! Fuck me!" the Filipina cried out. Thrusting up inside her cunt from behind and restarting the dance of the fuck inside her, he did just that.

Having a ball in Barcelona balling a T-girl bitch's custom-made snatch.

* * * *

David was somewhat—but only somewhat—surprised to see a placard with his name on it being lifted and waved a bit by a tall, distinguished-looking slender man in his late forties or early fifties in the baggage reception area of Paris's Orly Airport at the end of David's flight from Santiago de Compostela, Spain. Ever since she'd learned of David's breakup with Richard and that David was going to go ahead with his trip to Galicia and then Paris, Shelby Sands, editor-in-chief of the Architecture Record, had been working on setting David up with Bastien Baril, a professor at a new architectural graduate-degree university, teaching in English, the Paris School of Architecture.

"You must be sure to meet up with him in Paris," she'd said. "He's recently lost his younger partner and I think the two of you will have much in common." Shelby had gone out of her way to show she was gay supportive. She'd even provided a venue for the two of them to meet. "He's hosting a seminar on historical renovation near the end of when you said you'll be in Paris. He also heads an architectural restoration firm in Paris. He has a project of transforming the historical Paris Peninsula Hotel into luxury flats while maintaining its historical visage, and I promised to send someone to do a magazine article on the project. You'd be the ideal writer for that assignment."

"Ideal in more than one way?" David had asked teasingly to make sure Shelby understood that he saw what she was doing with matchmaking.

"Yes, in more ways than one," she asked, meeting his challenge. "I don't like to see you adrift. I think Bastien is an answer for that."

David had only, indeed, caught her passing reference to Baril having recently lost a male lover, much like he had, but under different circumstances. The two weren't the same. Baril's lover apparently had died suddenly somehow, whereas Richard had just deserted David for greater sexual adventure.

Shelby had then pinned her matchmaking down even tighter. "The position of our Paris correspondent is open," she said. "Take a look at it while you're in Paris. You would be perfect for that job."

"You're just trying to get rid of me."

"Not in the least. You're a star. You should rise higher."

"I take it that Bastien Baril is a good friend of yours," David had said, dryly.

"A very good friend, yes," she'd answered. "He has been despondent since his Gaston died. I'd really like to see him be his old self again. I'd like to see that for you too."

She'd said that with a straight face, But David very well knew what she was up to. She showed him photos of Baril before he left on his trip and David had found him to be a very handsome man. He read up on the man's background and was impressed. And now, through no intent on his part, he was unattached again. Thus, he was not rebelling against meeting with Baril—and whatever that might lead to—when he arrived in Paris. He was impressed that the man had come to the airport to meet his flight.

Introductions went smoothly, as did the explanation for why Baril had come to the airport himself to pick David up. David had assumed he'd have to find his one-bedroom vacation rental on the Rue du Poneau near Montorgueils and the Réaumur-Sébastopol Metro station himself. He'd already received a key to the place in the mail. He'd been to Paris before, but it had been with Richard, who had known his way around better than David had.

"I had to see someone else off at the airport, and I understand you might not know your way around well," Baril said smoothly in only slightly accented English. "So, I decided to guide you into town myself and help you settle in your rental flat. I understand you wish to see the architecture of the city before my seminar starts at the end of the week, and I would be privileged to show you around. Shelby has told me what you're interested in."

The last was accompanied with a meaningful look. They melded well and covered a lot of ground in their backgrounds—the boating accident that had taken the life of Baril's younger partner, Gaston, and how David and Richard had grown apart because David was ready for lifetime partner commitment and Richard wasn't; their shared interest in Renaissance architecture; their shared knowledge that Shelby Sands was trying matchmake them, and even that they both liked to play handball for exercise. It was evident that Baril had researched David's background—probably with help from Shelby—as much as David had researched Baril's. They knew so much about each other and were so completely comfortable with each other that it didn't seem like this was their first meeting.

David had wondered about Baril's age, but he'd found the man to be beautiful; elegantly dressed and in movements; highly intellectual; tall, with a swimmer's lithe muscularity; and melting when he touched David here and there in animated conversation over art and music or architecture or even male athletes and movie stars they both were aroused by. It hadn't taken long for them to discuss these men in terms of arousal and to be comfortable doing so. They did not avoid talking about their sexuality or their preferences. Baril was a dominant top and David a submissive bottom.

"I don't have to take pills to perform—yet," Baril had said.

It was obvious to both that they were a perfect fit. There didn't seem to be any misunderstanding about this meeting ending up in bed, trying each other out.

It was getting dark as they entered the city. "Would you like to stop for a drink before we find this flat you're renting?" Baril asked.

The "we" did not escape David's attention. "Yes, I would enjoy that."

"A music bar perhaps? The La Boite?"

"Wherever you wish," David said. He was demonstrating that he was a submissive and was most comfortable with a dominant. He could tell that Baril was used to setting the agenda and making the decisions, and David showed him he was comfortable with that. He wasn't surprised that it was an intimate, sophisticated gay bar with muted, but excellent soft jazz music. The music didn't compete with their conversation, which became more intimate and included more touching, and, before they left, a kiss and a slow dance. Baril comfortably settled into the role of the dominant, taking the initiative and making the decisions. This came out in how he touched and guided David.

"I will help with getting you settled in your flat, yes? It will help to have someone who speaks French and who knows the system here."

"That would be wonderful."

They both knew they weren't talking just about getting the key to the rental flat.

"Are you going to let me in?" Bastien asked as they reached the door of the flat, "and I don't just mean inside the flat. Have I read you correctly? Are you going to let me inside you?"

"Yes," David murmured, almost breathlessly. "I can't wait for it."

Bastien fucked David, masterfully, on the bed, as darkness descended over the city beyond the uncurtained windows. They helped each other disrobe as they stood by the bed, kissing and fondling and frotting, both delighted in finding a beautiful body in the other man. Bastien was hung, emphasized by the long, sleek lines of his body. It was clear, as he had claimed, that he needed no assistance in attaining and maintaining a full erection. He put David on the bed, on his belly, and sank his face in the younger man's crack, expertly eating the writhing and panting David out as David raised his tail a bit and Bastien moved a hand under David's belly, grasped his cock, and stroked him.

When Bastien turned David onto his back, there were no defenses on offer. "Yes, yes, put it in. Fuck me," David murmured. And, after several minutes stretched by and dominating David's body, moving a hand between the younger man's thighs and fingering his hole, moving ever deeper and working on opening him up, Bastien did so. Bastien took his time but was ever dominant, moving at his pace, playing David's body like it was a valuable violin, treating the young man with respect but making quite clear that he was going to fully own and use his beautiful body.

He gently coaxed David's legs to spread and bend, and the younger man to elevate his pelvis by leveraging his feet flat on the mattress. Moving between David's legs, Bastien slid inside him, David moaning at the stretch of the possession despite having been fully opened by Bastien's expert preparation, and lowered his lips to David's to possess him both there and in the anal passage, immediately setting up a rhythm of the taking. The Frenchman lived up to the reputation of other Frenchman as master lovers.

The fuck would have been beautiful to watch—two perfectly formed bodies, each reflecting the height of development of their respective age groups, moving in divine harmony, fitting together perfectly in rhythm and movement as if they'd been making passionate, mutually satisfying love together all their lives.

The refinement only went so far, however. To move to the level of the fire of passion, before ejaculating, Bastien turned David over, put him on all fours, covered and mounted him from on top and behind and fucked him like a dog. After a long buildup in sophisticated preparation, there were just a few moments of vigorous, virile, sweaty fucking before they both released and collapsed on the bed.

David loved it all. Bastien was taking the command of him and showing a Daddy mastery that David had been longing to develop with Richard.

"I should clean up before we go to dinner," David murmured an hour later in the dark room, lit only by the lights of Paris reflecting into the room. "You will go to dinner with me, won't you?"

Bastien didn't answer immediately. "I suggest you take a bath instead. They have a lovely free-standing old copper tub in the bathroom here."

That's what David did. He was in the bath, when Bastien came into the room, naked, erection in hand. He came close to the tub, close enough for David to take his erection in his mouth and service it. And, at last, he answered David's question. "You will be my dinner. I've called for something to be brought to us—later."

Proving he had a young man's stamina and recovery power—possibly intent on proving to David in this first coupling session that he did—Bastien entered the tub, putting his back to the opposite side from where David was leaning. He wasted no time in pulling David into him, sitting on and skewered by his erection, facing him. Bastien grasped the younger man's waist between his hands and raised and lowered David's passage on his cock. Before he was finished, he turned David to where he was bent over the edge of the copper tub, arms and torso dangling toward the tiled floor, and Bastien was crouched over him from behind, mounted on his ass, and, once more, completed the fuck with primeval, animalistic vigor and passion.

"Have I satisfied you?" Bastien asked afterward, showing a bit of concern. "The age difference . . . I don't want you to think I can't—"

"You were perfect," David assured him. And he didn't have to lie to say that. Yes, the man had fully satisfied him.

They dried each other off, found that the building concierge had gotten a meal delivered to the flat while they'd been in the tub, and they ate with gusto and comfortable conversation. Afterward they stood at the glass door to the terrace, still naked, for a bit, drinking wine. Bastien was in erection again, though, and he carried David to the bed, as a bride, and fucked him again and again through the night.

In the morning, when they awoke, Bastien suggested a game of handball after breakfast and before going on an architectural style crawl in the city.

"I'm not sure I can even crawl out of this bed," David murmured.

"I'm sorry. Have I been too demanding?"

"Certainly not."

"Perhaps it's because I am French. But perhaps also it's because you are so irresistible."

David laughed.

"But not going for handball just yet is fine with me," Bastien said. "I want to ball you again right here. Open your legs to me."

"Yes, Daddy," David responded.

The older man rolled over on top of the younger man, who found the older man in full erection again. Bastien Baril fucked David again in the missionary position, both of them making up for the time recently that they'd been without their regular lover.

David was completely undone by Bastien's technique of an elegant preparation and a wild finish.

Embarrassed that he was doing so, David did check the medicine cabinet in the bathroom afterward for evidence that Bastien might have needed enhancement pills for that stellar performance, but he found none. He made a mental note to send Shelby a thank-you note, and maybe a bouquet of flowers.

* * * *

Richard was crouched over the spread legs of the twenty-four-year-old Spanish tennis player, Antonio Moreno, grasping the young man's ankles and rowing his legs to the rhythm of the thrusts of his cock. They were in a private dressing room in the La Caja Mágica—The Magic Box—arena in Madrid, where, twenty minutes earlier, Richard Stern, the sports commentator for ESPN, had concluded a film clip interview of the young, up-and-coming Spanish tennis player. Moreno had been making eyes at Richard throughout, assuring the ESPN commentator not only that Moreno was gay but also that he had been sending out signals he would be submissive to Richard.

He was being submissive to Richard now. He was lying on his back, his back arched, the palms of his hands pressed into Richard's pecs, Richard's shirt flapping open, and the young tennis player moving his pelvis in countermotion to the ESPN's rhythmic thrusts. Other than that, though, Moreno wasn't contributing anything to the fuck. He was lying there, docilely, letting Richard fuck him, but not giving anything back.

Richard hadn't been sure the sex was going to happen. He'd gotten messages from various quarters that Moreno thought he was sexy. They'd gotten it on at a party in Melbourne, Australia, four years earlier, but that had been more of a group thing with a lot of booze and drugs after Moreno had lost in the first round at the Australian Open. There had been sex between them, but several other guys had been having sex with them at the same time. The young player hadn't lost in the first round of a tournament since then and they hadn't hooked up on a more one-on-one basis. Richard didn't think that Moreno would remember Melbourne. The guy had been doped up. Everyone topped him there. He probably couldn't pick Richard's cock out of all of the rest he'd had.