Summer Rules

"This is not the question I was asking," Claude went on. "Have you, yourself, ever been," he paused. Tom was shaking his head before he added, "sodomized?"

"Nope." Tom tried to make it sound casual, but he was trembling. It was all he could do to get the bread back on to its little plate without dropping it.

"Never? No priest? No tutor? No relative? No friend at boarding school?"

"He didn't go to boarding school," Jan offered.

"Ah, well. Then, you really do not comprehend what sex is. You may probe in as many ways as you can, but until you have yielded yourself, until you feel other flesh sliding within you ..."

"'Viole,'" Tom muttered. "'Elle a senti cette autre chair qui se glissait dans la sien ...'"

"Ah, you are well read."

"He's a genius," Jan said, but then she added, "just ask him." She frowned at his scowl. "Can't you see how he glows?"

"Yes my dear. That is why we will have to discover if the lens will also see that glow. We will have to see if his beauty will survive. My friend, are you not intrigued? Do you not want to know what your lover feels, as you impale her? Do you not want to know what it is like to be driven to pleasure, to be the receptacle of desire?"

"Maybe," Tom admitted. "Maybe."

"Think about it. Ponder it. It will provide you an antidote for the ennui of Carol Channing."

In fact, it did not. He was snoring by the middle of the second act.

* * * *

It was nearly dawn by the time they reached the apartment. The musical had merely been an interruption of their plans. They had spent the rest of night at a club, until it finally, mercifully shut down. At least, mercifully for Tom. He hated loud music. He regarded dancing as nothing more than a prelude to sex, one to be avoided if at all possible. But Jan had taken dance lessons since the age of five. She moved with a sultry grace that made it all the more annoying that he was just standing there destroying his hearing, well, maybe moving a little, but not with any great enthusiasm. Finally he and Claude had retired to the side tables, and Jan and Ivette had continued to dance with each other, just like in high school, except the girls in high school had never rubbed against each other, kissed each other. At one point Jan had dropped to her knees, and Ivette had straddled her face, twitching to the music. Claude's hand had been on Tom's thigh. And Tom had just watched it all in a stupor, too dazed by the noise, the drinks, the haze of tobacco and marijuana smoke that filled the room.

"Isn't this great?" Jan had run over to kiss him, a deep French kiss, full of the taste of Ivette's pussy. "I always wanted to do that! And now I have! Want a blow job?"

"We must conserve ourselves," Claude had cautioned her. So Tom had waited, he had tried to get a little sleep. It had been like the wedding reception from hell, one that would never, never end.

The apartment was immense, lavishly furnished in leather and teak and bronze, filled with statues and oil paintings. Not reproductions, the real things, paintings that could have been having at the MOMA. In the middle of the living room there was a huge piano, a Steinway, six foot grand. Tom found himself heading for it. Obsessive, that's what his mother called him, and she had teased him that morning -- was it still the same day -- about not missing his swim. But she hadn't let him play the piano, even though there had been plenty of time. No, she had hustled him down to the train station a half hour early, just to make sure he wouldn't miss his chance to see Hello Dolly. That half hour he could have been making music of his own. Plenty of time to get through at least one sonata, Opus 101 for sure, it was a shorty, or Les Adieux. He was unfulfilled. Compulsively, he was sitting at the keyboard. It had a nice smooth action, it was almost in tune.

"Do you play?" That question came from Ivette. She sat down, most distractingly, on the edge of the piano.

"Does he play," Jan said.

"Well then," from Claude it was a challenge, "let us hear what you can do."

No music. That was a problem. He did not have anything memorized. He opened the bench. There were several Schirmer editions there, no Beethoven, but some Mozart sonatas, a book of Chopin etudes. He pulled out the Mozart first. It was simple stuff, he could play it in his sleep. Well, he more or less was playing it in his sleep. But Claude was giving him that look of contempt, so he played it carefully, perfectly, well enough to provoke a gratifying "mon Dieu." Two more Mozart sonatas, then he risked a Chopin etude, the really simple one, but he milked it for all it was worth. He was going to try a harder one, but Jan was tugging at his shoulder.

"Come on, Tom. It's time."

"Time?" He turned, and saw that she was naked, hair still damp. Claude and Ivette were sitting on the couch, in dressing robes.

"Time to prepare," Claude said. His robe was hanging open to reveal his torso, rippling with muscle, and his erection. Tom should not have been staring with that much interest.

A shit, a shower and a shave -- yep, he needed those. "Give me a couple of minutes."

He needed privacy, but Ivette barged into the bathroom while he was on the pot. He was sure he had locked the door, but maybe the lock didn't work. "Give me your clothes." That was reasonable enough. They were in the way. But she returned. "Wipe yourself. Get up. Bend over the sink." She was sticking something into his ass. He felt a rush of cold water. "This will aid you," she said. He barely had time to sit back on the toilet.

"Better?" She came back in after she heard the toilet flush.

"Somewhat. You could have warned me."

"Perhaps. There was no need. You have already agreed to everything, have you not? I did not sacrifice myself for nothing? Stand still. Put your arms and legs out." She was rubbing a lotion over his body.

"What is it?"

"A cream to make your skin smooth, so that the camera will favor it." She took a wash cloth and began to brush it away. He put his hand were she had been. His arm was smooth, completely hairless. "Did you not notice how perfect Jan looked? Now you will match her in perfection." Too late, he realized she had rubbed the stuff over his groin, over his balls.

"It stings."

"Well, you will rinse it off momentarily. Close your eyes. Don't move. I want to leave your eyebrows. Keep your eyes closed." She led him to the shower, rinsed him off, gave him a robe. "Sit." She put the lid down on the toilet, and motioned him. She rummaged in a cabinet and found a set of shears.

"I just got a haircut."

"From a barbarian." She began to snip. "This is what my husband does to me, all the time. He has the grand ideas. It is up to me to work out the messy details." It was still steamy from his shower, too hot. She slipped off her robed. She was pressing her breasts into his back as she leaned over him. "Ah, such a gallant boy." She reached down to caress his arousal. "How gratifying. You will give me pleasure." It was more of an order than a prediction. "You will compensate me for the ennui you have caused me."

"You got to see Carol Channing."

"Yes, there is that. I have a surprise for you. I will show you, later."

They went out to find the others sitting next to a hookah.

"Come," Claude offered him the pipe. "This will assist you."

"What is it?" Tom was suspicious. At the club, Claude had offered him cocaine in the men's room. Someone had been snorting it off of the marble lavatory. But Tom had declined. He wasn't going to try anything that dangerous, that addictive. That expensive. Come to think of it, Jan and Ivette had gone off to the ladies room about the same time. Perhaps that was why Jan had been so wild, so frenetic.

"Hashish."

"Hash," Tom mused, even as he was taking a puff. "Beer, you want to but you can't get it up. Hash, you can get it up, but you can't get off."

"Precisely what you will need tonight, or should I say this morning. You would not want to cut things short with a useless ejaculation. Come, we will begin."

They went into the next room. It was windowless, the walls and ceiling a light beige without adornment, and completely empty except for a little dais at one end, shrouded in thick white sheets. The floor was covered with a thick, soft white rug. The room was bathed in light, from floodlights in the ceiling, another rack of lights aimed at the dais. A huge camera was on a tripod, facing that way. On the floor, not too far away, Jan and Ivette were lying side by side, in sixty nine position, but not seriously licking. They were exploring each other with their fingers, maybe offering a tiny touch of tongue to the other's flesh.

"Are they not lovely?" Claude was slipping the robe off of Tom's shoulders. "Truly, a living work of art. And you, my friend ..."

Tom knew he was magnificent. He had spent enough time admiring himself in the mirror, consoling himself for Jan's absence. The summer's swimming had added tone to his arms, thickened his chest and shoulders. There was not an ounce of fat on his body. Each muscle, each rib, was carved like marble.

"There are many pretty boys." Ivette had looked up to see how Tom's hair had dried. "Many beautiful bodies. Can he project? Can he fuck?"

"Well, my dear, we will see. Come, Tom, sit on the dais and observe. No, not so stiffly, languidly, like faun observing his nymphs at play. Yes, think of what it would be like for your tongue to be the one that is probing your lover's secrets. No, do not touch yourself, lean back, and contemplate. Yes, yes." There was an explosion of yet more light, and the click of the shutter on the lens. "Excellent, excellent. Recline now, facing away enough so that your buttocks are visible. No, keep them closed, open a little, yes that is good, now turn your head to see the ladies."

The ladies were more active now. Ivette had moved so that Jan's legs were around her shoulders. She had a hand on each thigh, forcing them apart, and she was fucking Jan with her tongue. "This is so great! No beard burn!" Jan gave a little look of concentration, then she began to come in earnest. Both women were straining, Jan's legs against Ivette's arms, so hard that each ridge of muscle was defined.

"Tom, reach your hand forward and stroke yourself, just very gently. It is out of view of the lens. Yes, now try to ejaculate, just at the thought of what you will do with that lovely flesh. 'Oui, oui.'" The camera went off again. "Come, let us bring Jan into the picture."

"So few shots," Ivette commented. Her face was gleaming, totally covered with her saliva and Jan's desire.

"Either he will have it, or he will not. Come my dear, sit here beside your beloved. Really, are they not a delightful contrast? He, so full of Apollonian perfection, and she, so unsettling in her beauty, so dark, so waifish. A vampire child, a shroud for his luminescence."

"You have been smoking too much of the hashish," his wife grumbled. "They are a couple of kids, a blonde and a brunette."

"Perhaps. Perhaps. Tom, gaze upon your beloved with longing. Turn yourself a bit, pull up your front leg to hide your arousal. Good. Now, Jan, come inside that leg, turn your back a little to the camera, just enough to hide your nipples. 'Très bien.' Now nuzzle into his neck."

"That tickles," Tom objected, but before that the camera had captured his moment of surprise.

"Excellent, excellent. Now Tom, turn to face the camera more. Now Jan, I want you to impale yourself upon him. No, not like that. Use your talent for sodomy."

"I knew that was what you wanted. I needed to get him lubricated."

"Of course. How thoughtless of me. Now, Tom, you must hide yourself completely within her flesh. Good. Now, bring your arms under hers, and cover her nipples with your hands. Good. Now, Jan, lean back on your right hand, yes, like that, and cover your groin with the other. Perfect."

"His balls are showing," Ivette objected.

"Perhaps a little."

"Too much."

"Very well. Jan, scrunch up a little, just for a moment."

Claude reached in to make an adjustment. Tom tried to pretend it was the doctor doing the hernia exam. "Is that better?"

"It is still showing a little."

"Well, a little is good. That little hint of flesh, that anomaly -- it will drive the observer wild, trying to decide what it is that they are seeing."

"Perhaps."

"Now, Jan, I want you to use that hand in your groin to bring yourself off. I want you to keep your expression completely blank. No one must know of your arousal. Tom, you may furtively manipulate her nipples as well. But you also, must avoid any betrayal of what is transpiring."

Tom had played almost the same game with Maggie, the night before, except that he had been in Maggie's cunt, so wet and open that he could barely feel it. Jan's asshole was quivering around him, a tight sheath of muscle. Without the hash, he probably would have gone limp from the pressure. With the hash, he was being driven wild, coming without coming. He kept his expression perfectly calm. The camera was clicking away.

"Excellent," Claude said.

"Magnificent," Ivette added. "Your new perfume?"

"Precisely. Well, enough of work. Open your legs, my dear." Claude came closer to the dais. "It is time to try out that double penetration."

Tom could feel that other penis sliding next to his. He could feel Claude's balls rubbing against his own. He liked it. There was no need for Jan to suppress her arousal now. She was gasping, screaming, bouncing herself up and down on the two of them. Finally, she had spent all that she had to give. She collapsed onto the dais and began to snore.

"Come." It was an order from Ivette. She pulled Tom down onto the floor and into her. My God, he thought, this is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen, naked, wrapped around me. He felt nothing. Only the hashish saved him. He could move well enough, from memory, to make her come. Once or twice, the camera went off. Claude had turned it to focus on them.

He was ready to get up. He was ready for some breakfast. But Ivette held him in place. He felt something brushing against his buttocks. Claude. He had almost forgotten, he had forgotten, in the haze of the hashish, the picture taking, the beauty of the women. But now Claude was easing into him.

Gently, gently, and he didn't dare to move, he didn't try to resist. He knew what Claude was doing. He had done the same to Jan many times, in the beginning. Tease the outer ring open, get the tip of the penis within it. Then press gently against the inner ring -- and Tom yielded, without hesitation. He was being fucked.

"Regard!" Ivette was shaking Jan back to consciousness.

"Oh, he likes it! Look at that -- Claude is in up to his balls already. Tom dear, how does that feel?"

"Nice."

"Fuck him hard Claude. Fuck him like he fucks me. All the way out, now all the way in. Slam against his butt. You like that Tom? You like that?" She slapped his ass, as hard as she could. He responded with a little spurt of semen. She crawled underneath him and started to suck his dick.

"No," Claude said. "Don't help him. You cannot touch his penis."

"His balls?"

"You may bite them or slap them."

"Harder," Tom said.

"What?"

"Fuck harder. Yes, like that." He started to come. He was coming from a place he didn't even know he had, back behind his balls, and his prick was trying to ejaculate, but it couldn't, so he couldn't stop coming. Each thrust from Claude only made him come harder. And Claude himself was going into frenzy. He couldn't come either. He was moving faster and faster, in a blur.

"'Mon dieu!' They will injure themselves!" But at that moment Tom erupted, not in a huge spurt, but enough, and Claude collapsed on top of him.

* * * *

"No, you do not have time to go swimming." His mother was staring at him with complete exasperation. They were in the car, on the way back home from the train station. "You know, I was really worried about you."

"Why?"

"Why? I called the hotel, and they had never heard of you."

"Of course they've heard of me. I stay there all the time."

"Not last night. Where were you?"

"We stayed with friends." Tom immediately regretted that choice of words.

"We? You spent the night with her?"

"It was a party. Sort of like a sleepover."

"Yeah. I'll bet. A fuck over is more like it."

"Mother." Tom was genuinely shocked.

"What? You think I don't know what's going on? God knows, if it was just you, I'd, I'd ... I don't know what I'd do. But everyone is like that now. You kids think you are so grown up, so fucking independent." She used that word for the second time, relishing it. "Just remember who is paying the bills."

"Sure." Tom felt in his pocket, felt the little manila envelope Claude had handed him, after he had signed some papers. There were ten bills in that envelope, each of them a hundred. It was more than a semester's tuition. Next week, it was hinted, he could come back and return with even more. "Why can't I go swimming? It's not that late."

"You're having dinner with Maggie's parents."

"I am?"

"You are. They invited you over and you are going. They were at church, so was she. You know, she is really very lovely now, a lot prettier than that little slut you're so fond of."

"Mother."

"Look dear, if you want to sow some wild oats with that whore, that's the way men are. But don't think it's serious."

"I don't know what to think." That much was true enough. He'd just had sex with three, no four, people. Which had he enjoyed the most? Claude. How long had he come? Five minutes? Ten minutes? Forever? He had not suspected his body could do that. He had seen Jan do it, he had made her do it, he had played her like the most sensitive instrument, drawing out all the pleasure her flesh would yield. Claude had done the same thing to him, for him. Somewhere, back behind his balls, he was still glowing, still tingling.

They had arrived home, mercifully. "You just about have time to get yourself cleaned up. Are you okay to drive yourself over?"

"I'm fine."

"You're not still high on some drug? You're not on some LSD trip?"

"Mother."

"Well how am I supposed to know? You vanish all night, and then you reappear looking like ... like ... Tom, what were you doing? You frighten me."

"A little pot." It was almost true.

"And the sex? Is there anything I can imagine that you didn't do?"

"No whips. No handcuffs."

"What!" His mother paused, then burst out laughing. "All right, I guess I had that coming."

It was time to play his trump card. "Mom. I've got this for you."

"The program! Oh, thank you! What's this? A photo of Carol? Autographed? To a very special lady? Tom!" Her joy, her amazement turned to concern. "How did you get this? What did you have to do to get this?"

Tom did not reply. He could not help himself. He was blushing. "You don't want to know," he said at last. Of course, Yvette was the very special lady. She had paid the price with her butt, he with his.

"Tom, dearest, I used to be a very attractive woman." His mother said it without pride, merely as a statement of fact.

"You are still very attractive."

"Don't try to flatter your way out of this. You can use your beauty as a shortcut. It's very tempting. Don't overdo it. Respect yourself."

"Yes, Mother."

That had gone really well. Tom wondered what was going to happen when his mother opened up the magazine section of the Sunday paper and saw that perfume ad. He was living on borrowed time. Not just the draft in a year, but now his life at home.

"You don't have to dress up. Shorts and sandals are fine. They're having a barbecue."

He had thought from that it was some sort of party, maybe her birthday although he had no idea when that might be. But when he arrived, there were no other cars in sight. No one answered the doorbell, either. He heard laughter, and walked around the house to locate it. Maggie and her parents were clustered around the grill on the back patio.