Turpitude Read online

  I did not answer. The only noise within the silent glass menagerie was the droning sound of cascading water from a nearby fountain. I finally found something to say: “Would you like to fit the bill?”

  He was flustered by my tongue-in-cheek response. It took him a while to answer. He looked directly into my eyes when he spoke, “You are one facetious adolescent. Who taught you to flirt?”

  His lips were locked on mine before I could counter. His alluring tongue pried open my lips to receive his virility. Goosebumps formed under my formal attire. I’d not expected the debonair to be so forward, yet I vaunted under his captivating masculinity. He held me tightly as if I would disintegrate. I felt protected in his arms, as I did in Andy’s.

  Suddenly, a hawking sound resonated in the quiet conservatory. As if we’d been caught in the act, we broke away instantly. I could not make out the figure standing by the doorway within the shadowy darkness. The intruder sauntered our direction. Only then did I recognize him as none other than my Valet, my chaperone and my lover, Andy.

  Christian seemed unsure as to what would follow when my guardian extended his hand to shake the Luxembourgian’s perspiring palm.

  Andy queried politely, “I’m sorry to intrude upon the both of you. I did not mean to alarm you. I’m checking on my charge to make sure he’s alright. This lad has a knack for disappearing on me every so often.”

  Before my chaperone could continue, the Lëtzebuerger chirped, “He was weeping at the recital. I came to see if I could be of assistance.”

  Not intending to appear fazed, I announced courteously, “I needed some alone time before meeting Duchess Isabella.” I paused before resuming, “The sonatas touched me deeply. Not knowing the reason behind my melancholy, I wept. Thank you for coming to check on me, Andy.”

  I took the opportunity to change the subject, “Is the recital over?” I queried.

  “Yes, the quartet finished their recital a few minutes ago. Perhaps we should join the assemblage at the library to congratulate the musicians. Shall we?” Andy opined.

  My guardian extended his hand to guide Christian and me back. As I walked pass my lover, he gave me a willful wink. I knew my confession would be obligatory when we were alone in our bedchamber later that evening.

  The Prophesy

  No sooner had the eccentric Duchess Isabella and I gotten situated at an intimate round table than did the haute couture-clad lady asked, “Young man, where are you from?”

  I replied nervously, “I was born in Malaya.”

  The occultist questioned, “Date and time of your birth?”

  I gave her the specifics. She then requested for me to show her my hands. She held my hand to hers, and instantly, I detected quivering in her physique. With closed eyes, Isabella ran her fingers over my palms. When she finally broke the silence, her words reverberated as if coming from a different person.

  “There is a glowing pinkish aura around you. This is your uniqueness and your asset. This radiance is an unimpeachable attribute, yours and yours alone.” She paused before resuming, “This refulgence could also be a hindrance.”

  “How so?” I questioned curiously.

  “Your childlike exuberance will enthrall objectionable characters into your life. They will hanker to ravage your trustworthiness because they are envious of your rectitude. Their personal frailty will spawn hatred toward those who are of the light,” she said. “You’re attracted to them because of your propitiousness. Your munificence wants to help them back into the light.

  “My advice to you, Young, is to stay clear of these disreputable characters. They will drain you of your emotional and physiological equilibrium,” the Medium counseled.

  As she continued speaking, my mind steered me back to my fatal attraction to bad boy Miyaz and to my recent encounter with the barbaric Viking. The Duchess was foreseeing a behavioral pattern that would eventually lead me to numerous failed relationships throughout my adult life.

  As I was wrapped in my thoughts, she began again. “Your delicate hands impart an abundance of knowledge, intelligence, inquisitiveness, sagacity, dexterity, creativity – not to mention competence and versatility. Last but not least, these delicate hands reveal multifariousness in a great variety of artistic expressions.”

  The further she envisaged my future, the more impressed I was of her psychic abilities. She saw my enrollment in one of London’s most prestigious art schools as well as my successes in my fashion career.

  Suddenly, the occultist shook her head. She shut her eyes tightly in consternation, just as I was engrossed in her predictions. I could discern from her body language that she was thinking about whether to divulge an unpleasant piece of information.

  I pressed for her to reveal the truth with honesty and pledged that I could handle the information maturely. Although I had a presage of what she was to disclose, I needed to hear her version of my impending separation with Andy – the very same prophesy that I had received from the American Indian tribal shaman, Opai, from the mythical Spider Woman, and last but not least, from the Quwah household kaneeth, Ikram. As much as I knew I had the capability to transform my future and to reverse the outcome, I also acknowledged that this calamitous situation could happen, depending on Andy’s and my final decisions.

  Toward the end of that splendid evening, I did not have the audacity to unveil this prognostication to my chaperone. Although I confided all that transpired with the Duchess, I left out the presage of our impending severance, and as an adult, I came to regret it.

  Chapter Eight

  An Unexpected Expediency

  “Love is like playing the piano. First you must learn to play by the rules, then you must forget the rules and play from your heart.”

  Andy Finckenstein

  2014

  Andy’s Message

  Hello, Young, here I am again. I remember the winter of 1967 at Chateau Rouge. I searched the entire castle to find you that morning. Time and again, you have the knack for disappearing on me, you scalawag. ☺

  You have a flair for vanishing without informing anyone. I’d thought you were in the drawing room with the baron’s guest when I was privately consulting with the Duchess.

  The one thing I regret not doing: we never got around to discussing my own conversation with the Medium. Maybe this is the appropriate time for me to tell you — and for you to tell me what happened that morning when you disappeared on me.

  Downhearted from my meeting, I went looking for you. She had envisioned a forthcoming discord in my life, yet could not be specific about its nature. Although you’d given me your amiable assurance, I could detect reservations in your voice whenever I spoke of Albert. When you disappeared, my first thought was of your jealousy of Albert.

  When I finally found someone – a stable boy – who could tell me that you had gone riding alone, I became terribly worried for your safety and went searching for you.

  Concerned that I had somehow driven you away, I rode the estate, but you were nowhere to be found. It had crossed my mind to warrant a search party to find you when you strolled through the entrance, invigorated. I was relieved to see you and never got a chance to ask where you had gone.

  Young, you know I loved you then, and I love you now. In my mind, you are still the mischievous little rascal I came to love and cherish…

  1967

  On Horseback

  Andy was nowhere in sight when I left the company of the baron’s guests at the Drawing Room. A sudden sense of dubiousness overcame my person. I needed solitude to think things over. What sort of things, I have no idea now. I needed to disappear into the snow-covered outdoors for a while before the ardent Christmas Eve festivities began.

  As Jeoffrio (divine peace) galloped through the tranquil landscape, away from the sultry chateau, my spirit delighted in the chilling winds rushing across my face. This rush of adrenaline released the melancholy that had been tossing within my mind since my arrival at the baron’s residence. Jumping over icicle fe
nces and powdery shrubberies, Jeoffrio and I dashed across the snowy fields. Since entering E.R.O.S., I had seldom felt this kind of freedom. The gushing wind had dissipated my pent-up jealousies of Albert and my distress over the impending break-up foretold by the various soothsayers. My human existence seemed not to touch the oneness of my spirit. It was as if I was riding Pegasus through the Northern gust as Zephyrus lifted me higher and higher into the weightless air. We charged ahead until breathlessness returned us to a careening canter. Only then did we slow to a puffing trot as we searched the wintery landscape for a resting place for our tired feet.

  The Hunting Lodge

  I had ridden past this rustic outpost before. Jeoffrio came to a complete stop. Chilliness had returned with a vengeance as I led my companion to an adjoining shelter. An inviting fire was burning brightly within the cozy space when I peeked into the Lodge’s frosty window. No one answered my knock on the wooden door. It creaked open when I turned the knob. I called, “Is anyone in?” I heard no answer. I ventured into the empty cottage. As I sat by the warmth of the fireplace, I began to daydream about my life since my enrollment at Daltonbury Hall. For the past two years, I had grown by leaps and bounds, not just in stature and intellect but also in sagacity. I felt grateful to the mentors and guardians who had nurtured and assisted me throughout my young life, especially my conscientious Uncle James, who had advised me. He’d said, “Young, I know you don’t see eye to eye with your father, but I hope one day you will come to appreciate the things he has done for you. He loves you, even though you think he doesn’t understand or accept your homosexuality. He is doing his best to be a good father. It is difficult for men our generation to understand our children. Generation gaps often exist between the old and the young. My advice to you, Young; be the first to reach out to him. He’ll appreciate your effort even though he doesn’t admit it publicly. The more he comes to understand you for being you, he’ll eventually accept your alternative lifestyle. It’ll take time for him to come to terms with your life choices, but when he sees how far you’ve come toward being a man of your own, he will change his mind.” My surrogate father’s words rang loud and clear within the confines of this modest cabin.

  The Lodgers

  Engrossed in thoughts, I did not hear the two figures that had slipped quietly into the room. Hands covered my eyes. I panicked as fear from my previous assault flashed through the darkness. Instantly, I recognized the two giggling voices. One was that of Ludovic Makmud Albriem, the openly gay Muslim, and the other was the unmistakable Graf Felix, who I knew instantaneously from the scent he wore. I had not forgotten our gratifying three-way liaison by the brook during la chasse à courre. He was the aristocrat who had collaborated with Andy to blindfold me, tie me to a tree and have his way with me. His masculinity intoxicated me then as now.

  Without warning, he suddenly delved his tongue into my mouth, prying me open to explore my oral cavity. He lapped and caressed my hollow as if he had already penetrated his hardness into my cavernous anal orifice. I stared into his electrifying blue eyes as we French kissed. This unexpected eroticism had stirred my boyhood to immediate attention. It strained for release.

  Ludovic wasted no time in unbuttoning my jeans. Before I could glance at what the Arab was up to, a warm, luscious sensation had engulfed my stiffness. This heavenly excitement sent my pelvis heaving skywards to receive more of his oral stimulation. The Muslim cupped my firm buttocks with his hands as he suckled my shaft with undivided attention.

  My pants and boots now lay discarded by the rug. The men undressed urgently while Felix continued to jab his invading tongue down my longing throat. Our salivating copiousness leaked onto my beardless chin while dribbles coated the Russian’s bearded neck. The Arab wasted no time in lapping up the driveling remains before joining us in a three-way kiss. We were like canines in heat, probing, lapping and delving into each other’s orifices. This sensual intensity made us throb with unrestrained exhilaration. Ludovic reached down to stroke our stiffness, milking our bobbing succulence to our gyrating synchronicity.

  The Graf wasted no time lifting my legs onto his shoulders while the gay Muslim straddled my torso, feeding me his bulbousness (our recent oral fixations had left me pining for more). Felix’s engorgement felt enticingly pleasurable as his gilded carnality glided effortlessly into the depths of my slobbering hollow. The Graf’s masterly manliness took turns to plow ferociously into my person before dispatching his intravenous vivaciousness into Ludovic’s pining orifice and vice versa. The Russian drove into us – we relished his assertive fornication with unbridled gusto.

  The Arab was obviously captivated by this man, whose sexual prowess was the perfect exemplification of the male specimen. His domineering thrusts catapulted Ludovic and me further and deeper towards our distinctive orgasmic exaltations. His emphatic masculinity triggered delirium as he plunged forcefully into my core. My libation barreled unceasingly onto the gay Muslim’s chest and my already contorted physique. The Russian stayed buried within my furrow until my twitching contractions relaxed sufficiently; only then did he coat his pulsating manhood with my deposits before shoving it inside his amorous lover, conquering his concupiscent fissure with renewed fervor. Felix rode his Arabian with savage felicity. His muscular arms clenched mightily around his abettor’s hairy chest as if to herald himself the winner of this forbidden wrestling tournament. When it came time to claim his reward, his trophy would be his lover’s unequivocal allegiance.

  Suddenly, his conquering might burst forth, pronouncing his victory over his paramour. Gushes of molten fluid filled his prized possession to capacity. The champion vociferated his final call of the wilderness before slumping his heaving torso against his heroic consort. The Arab blasted jets of galvanizing ordinance onto my hair, face and belly as his conqueror’s belligerence slid out of his oozing cavern.

  The two of them wasted no time in savoring the remains of our deposits from my body before returning once again to the rapturous oral coitus that had sealed our sexual union earlier that morning.

  Before Jeoffrio flew my spirited self back to the chateau, I had the opportunity to speak with the cottage lodgers. The Arab and the Russian had become lovers after Andy and I left for our services at the Quwah. Pierre had taken a liking to the good-looking men and allowed them to reside at the hunting lodge, and Felix had obligingly provided free piano recitals at the chateau’s soirees in exchange for the baron’s hospitality. For his part, Ludovic had assumed the role of being Pierre’s social secretary, organizing the Frenchman’s social schedules.

  That morning when I entered the cabin, the lovers had been out collecting firewood. They had been as surprised to find me as I was them.

  2014

  Continuation of Andy’s Message

  …You little scoundrel, you had once again eluded my warning not to leave my side. I would have spanked you for disobedience if I knew then what you did in my absence. ☺

  You, naughty fella, would probably be besotted with my punishment instead of reaping it as atonement for your defiance. You were indeed a cheeky, mischievous young man.

  Chapter Nine

  At The Red Ball

  “Jealousy would be far less torturous if we understood that love is a passion entirely unrelated to our merits.”

  Paul Eldridge

  1967

  The Red Ball

  As soon as I stepped into the chateau, Andy ushered me into our boudoir to get ready for the evening’s Red Ball. It was a prerequisite for the men to dress in black or white tie while the womenfolk arrived in an array of festive reds. They resembled a gaggle of schmoozing cardinals, flitting and chirping about who was sleeping with whom or whose massive fortune was close to biting the dust.

  On the contrary, the men seized this networking opportunity to further their business concerns. Since the majority of invitees were internationally affluent entrepreneurs or wealthy aristocrats, they could produce or reduce an individual or company with their financial r
esources and societal connections.

  As with any fashionable soiree, the lifestyles of the rich and elite were encapsulated within the confines of this scrumptious affair. The festive decorations, the elegant floral arrangements, the gourmet cuisine and the finest selections of epicurean wines and quality liquors were exquisitely collocated. No detail was left to chance.

  The Pandemonium

  Andy and I, well educated in the art of causerie, mingled with the baron’s guests with ease and grace. Suddenly, a ruckus disturbed the chateau’s foyer. As the astonished attendees froze in the midst of their light-hearted conversations, Christian of Luxembourg’s girlfriend, Anna, cursed and swore at her attractive beau. With her flimsy haute couture Valentino trailing behind, she careened into the snowy landscape. A shirtless and shoeless Christian ran hastily down the grand staircase, pursuing the fuming female and desperately adjusting his unruly appearance in the face of calamity. He had been caught red-handed in an act of sexual infidelity. All eyes were glued to this hypnotic scenario – except mine. I chanced upon a familiar silhouette hovering above the stairs. He, too, was hurriedly adjusting his formal ensemble. Our eyes met for a brief second before he disappeared from view. To me, he was obviously the reason for the upheaval. I couldn’t help but grin to myself at this unfortunate event; I had seen this played out all too often, starting in my own childhood home. Just then, my chaperone noticed my impish smirk.

  “What is it you know that I don’t?” he whispered.

  “Nothing,” I fibbed.

  A look of disbelief crossed his brow as he reluctantly accepted my declaration before returning to observing the unfolding drama. I seized the moment to disappear unnoticed. Little did I realize that my Valet was secretly tracking my every move. He was curious to find out what devilish scheme I was cooking up this time.