Turpitude Read online

  By the time I landed on top of the grand staircase, the commotion had subsided. The twelve-piece orchestra was back in full swing, luring the discombobulated revelers back onto the dance floor. Peering out a large window, I saw Baron Pierre and Marquis Mathieu consoling a disheveled Christian. His couture clad girlfriend was nowhere in sight. She had evidently sped off posthaste in his Aston Martin, leaving her humiliated boyfriend to face the scuttlebutts within the confines of this historic chateau.

  The Other Man

  Before long, I spotted the other man. He had emerged as unmarked and suavely attired as I had seen him before the commencement of the festivities. I brushed past him nervelessly.

  “Are you enjoying yourself?” I queried.

  “Oh, not too bad. And you?” the gay Muslim asked in return.

  Testing the water, I questioned, “Did you hear the racket downstairs? I wonder what transpired between Christian and Anna?”

  “Lovers’ squabbles, I gather. Much ado about nothing,” Ludovic stated equivocally.

  “I wonder who the other person is,” I opined cynically.

  “I’ve no idea. I was in the washroom attending to my business when I heard the furor. By the time I emerged, the tempest had subsided.”

  “Wasn’t Christian also in the washroom before he scurried downstairs after his girlfriend?” I probed sarcastically.

  Holding my arm tightly, the French Arab pulled me to a quiet corner before he vociferated sternly, “You, boy, had better keep this to yourself. If you blab about any of this to anyone, you’ll not hear the end of it. You understand me, you little twink?”

  Taken aback by such indecorousness, I stared unflinchingly at my intimidator. “So, it was you who was playing nookie with Christian of Luxembourg,” I vented.

  He cupped my mouth. “Shush, boy! Don’t you dare ruin my reputation with this crowd, especially Felix and Baron Pierre. I’ll give you a beating to shut you up if I find out you’re spreading malicious gossip behind my back. You get the picture?” he threatened.

  “Okay, okay! You don’t have to get so worked up. I won’t reveal your dirty little secret. I promise.” Before he released his hurtful grip, I added, “What perks will I get for not talking?”

  He glared at me forbiddingly, said nothing and released my arm. Just then, Andy appeared around the corner. He pretended he had no idea to what transpired between Ludovic and me. He remarked, “Ahh, Young! I was looking all over for you. Baron Pierre and Marquis Mathieu asked for you. Come, let’s see what they require?”

  On that note, my chaperone led me towards the baron’s private den. When I turned to bid the Arab adieu, he gave me a cautionary wave.

  In the Den

  I’d expected to find Christian of Luxembourg with the baron and the marquis. Instead, I found my Quwah tutor, Monsieur Alain Dubois, seated next to the two men. Pierre jumped straight to the point. “We are having an all-male party on Boxing Day, and we’d like your participation,” he announced.

  Contrary to my assumption that my host’s directive was connected to Christian’s mishap, I was startled by the baron’s request. He continued, “Our friends have asked if you will dance at the ‘G’ A-Go-Go Boxing Extravaganza.”

  I looked at the baron with astonishment. “What is the ‘G’ A-Go-Go Boxing Extravaganza?” I promulgated.

  The men broke into laughter as if I had uttered something hilarious. The marquis jumped in to enlighten me. He explained, “Its Pierre’s and my private after-party.”

  I was getting more confused by the minute as the aristocrats jested over my bafflement. The baron continued, “It is a tradition between Mathieu and me to organize a small gathering of intimate friends the day after Christmas. It is a no-holds-barred male gathering.

  “This year, we are planning to have you, Sébastien and another boy dance at our function. You come highly recommended by Prince P. Your erotic private dances bewitched him when you first met at the Sekham. Will you do us the honor?”

  I stared at the two men, speechless. My guardian jumped to my aid. “Young loves to dance, and he’s an excellent dancer. I’m sure he’ll be delighted to perform for your guests.”

  Finally I plucked up the courage to inquire, “What kind of dances are you envisioning?”

  The men burst into another round of glee. This time around, Dubois commented smilingly, “It’s up to you, Young. I’m sure the more ‘zensually’ charged, the merrier it will be.”

  My thumping heart nearly missed a beat as I looked upon my handsome tutor. I’d always had a crush on Alain. If he’d asked me to perform a private number for him, I would have obliged willingly. It would indeed be enticing to have him watch me gyrate, but performing in front of a group of horny men is something else entirely.

  It wasn’t that I had not performed erotic dances as a batcha (Persian meaning dancing-boy) in public – I was afraid that if my teacher’s hypnotic gaze bore into my guileless eyes during my public performance, my over active libido might sprout an uncontrollable hard-on. I quivered as Alain stared at me. His virility had always frightened me. I had managed to keep these lustful feelings in check throughout my time at the Quwah, but the very thought of performing a ribaldrous dance with Monsieur Dubois watching would definitely propel me into a state of sexual dubiety. As I drowned in my profligacy, my face turned red, in keeping with the jovial Red Ball happening below stairs.

  Luckily, my lover was there to safeguard my mortification. He declared with certitude, “Young is dancing. What time would you like him to be ready?”

  Now that Andy had made the resolution on my behalf, I had little choice but to concur with an agreeable nod. I would be presented as one of the go-go boys at the ‘G’ A-Go-Go Boxing Extravaganza.

  What kind of dance?

  As soon as I left the den, I questioned my chaperone. “Am I to perform a dance similar to the one I did at the Sekham?”

  “Not quite,” Andy responded.

  I gaped at my Valet. “Then what kind of dance am I to perform?” I galvanized.

  “It’s a much easier task than you think,” he reciprocated.

  “How easy?” I demanded.

  He said nothing until I pressed for an answer. Only then did he reply teasingly, “Dance like you did in the Los Angeles Playboy Club – as if you’re in a self-indulgent trance. Dance expressively, like no one is watching you.” He paused before adding, “You’ll be showered with money if you do a good job.” He gave me a naughty grin.

  “Then, it is like dancing at the Sekham,” I chirped.

  He smirked. “Except…” he trailed off before changing the subject. “For now, just relax and enjoy the evening’s soiree.” Holding my hand, he led me out into the chilly terrace to witness the jubilant fireworks exploding above the wintery midnight landscape. This was all to celebrate the birth of the holy child, born to save humanity from its earthly woes. And soon, I would be partaking in a bacchanalian revelry that only the rich and elite know to celebrate during this holy solstice.

  Chapter Ten

  Visionaries & Illusionists

  “I see myself not as an illusionist but as a visionary writer whose path is to assist our society towards a new paradigm shift.”

  Bernard Tristan Foong

  2014

  My Message to Andy

  My dearest ex-Valet,

  I’m jumping straight to the point to ask you a personal question I’ve never brought up before. You’ve always encouraged me to tell the truth, so I assume you will do the same. ☺

  During our time in harem services, did you have sexual liaisons with any of the household members without my knowledge? This topic had never been discussed, since the majority of the time, the focus was on me.

  I was too egocentric at that tender age to ask about your sentiments and exploits. Now that I’m older and wiser, I’m interested in the experiences of others, and I want to learn and grow from each other’s knowledge.

  I will understand if you do not wish to share this p
ersonal information; but since we are open-minded ex-E.R.O.S. members, I thought I’d ask. As our learned teachers and mentors imparted to us, “Ask and you will receive.” On this note, I will not inquire any further.

  1967

  Christmas Morn

  Our caravan of luxury vehicles arrived at Château de La Verrerie. It was an Aubigny-sur-Nere tradition for its wealthy residents to celebrate Mass on Christmas morning in this historical castle’s private chapel. The then owner Antoine de Vogue and his wife Françoise Hautecloque hosted a handful of invited guests for a private luncheon after the hour-long service. Although the estate was open to visitors, part of the building remained the private residence of the couple.

  Château de La Verrerie was built in the fifteenth century by The Stuarts of Scotland and remained the French home of John Stuart, the Earl of Darnley, until the property was conceded to the Dukes of Richmond and Lennox for the next 400 years.

  This expansive estate was originally granted to the Scottish Royals during the Hundred Years’ War. The Scottish army had joined forces with French troops to combat the English, who were then in possession of half of France.

  The later owner, Louise de Penancoet de Keroualle, the Duchess of Portsmouth and Aubigny, was also the mistress of King Charles II of England and a spy for King Louis XIV of France. This grande dame was an ancestor of the late Princess Diana (Lady Diana Spencer). During her residency at La Verrerie, she made many improvements to the demesne.

  In the year 1842, this sweeping estate was bought by Léonce de Vogue to house his large family. It had been improved upon by generations of Vogue residents.

  Baron Pierre and his aristocratic compatriots, including Marquis Mathieu, had been long-time friends with the Vogues. It was their Christmas tradition to worship at the chateau’s private chapel together with some fifty other distinguished guests. That year was no exception to the rule.

  Christmas Mass

  Within this incense-filled chapel, Monsignor Nicholas gave his sermon in French. A handful of choir and altar boys from the local parish, the Church of Saint Martin, came to assist. Since Saint Martin’s yuletide services for the local townsfolk were held at the stroke of midnight on Christmas Eve and at eventide on Christmas day, the boys were on loan to La Verrerie that Christmas morning.

  Although I did not understand the sermon, the pomp and circumstance of that Christmas Mass transported me back to my E.R.O.S. initiation ceremony at Daltonbury Hall. The smoke-filled stained-glass edifices, together with the celestial voices of the choir, electrified me to another bout of euphoric rhapsody. Once again, blissful tears trickled down the sides of my face. Goosebumps formed on my skin while ecstatic quivers coursed through my person. I gazed fixatedly at both my handsome Valet and my good-looking tutor. The more I stared, the further they amalgamated together, till they merged into a rainbow-colored, resplendent seraphic entity. This apotheosis caressed me like a cozy, feathery down. Before I knew it, this benevolent avatar had transformed into a magnificent flying unicorn.

  We wove through the weightless clouds as I held tightly onto its sturdy physique, racing towards an unknown destination. I was blissfully riding Pegasus when an emphatic whisper heralded me back to reality.

  The voice belonged to none other than Christian of Luxembourg. He murmured from behind, “Young, are you alright? You are weeping again?”

  I did not answer. I had no response. He resumed, “You are quite an enigma. I’d like to know you better.”

  Just as he finished his sentence, the service was over and guests were filing out of the chapel. When I turned around, he had disappeared.

  At Château de La Verrerie

  Our gracious La Verrerie host and hostess had invited the baron’s guests to stay for a private luncheon in a lavish drawing room filled with museum-quality Scottish artifacts and Gaelic historical treasures.

  Madam offered to conduct a guided walkabout to those who were interested in the history of her pride and joy. As a group of us trailed behind the robust proprietress, Monsieur Christian of Luxembourg fell in step with me. He queried with concern, “Every time I see you, you are weeping. Why are you so sad, young man?”

  I responded without looking him in the eye. “I’m moved by euphoric sentiments when I hear certain music. Andy labels me a pantywaist sensitivist.”

  Amused by my proclamation, he asked, “What kinds of euphoric sentiments?”

  “I don’t know. My emotional outpour happens, and the enlivened reverberations surge through my person. I encounter mythical beings and celestial entities.”

  He mitigated, “Like ghosts?”

  I chuckled at his remark. “I haven’t seen any ghosts. I usually come across angels and mythical beasts, such as centaurs, the Minotaur, and flying unicorns,” I avowed.

  “Have you told anybody about your visions?” he questioned.

  “Yes, I have – my chaperone and my mentors.”

  “What are their reactions?” the Luxembourgian whispered curiously.

  “My teacher, Monsieur Dubois, says I’m a member of the ‘Fog.’ Whereas Andy is not entirely convinced that angels or mythical beasts exist,” I replied.

  I changed the topic. “Tell me about yourself? I know nothing about you except what transpired last evening between you and Anna,” I chimed.

  Christian of Luxembourg

  The man looked embarrassed. He did not look at me directly when he spoke, “As you can tell by my name, I’m from Luxembourg.”

  “Where is Luxembourg?” I chirped.

  He found that amusing. “Grand-Duché de Luxembourg, or the Grand Duchy of Luxembourg, is a landlocked country in Western Europe. It borders Belgium to the west and the north, Germany to the east, and France to the south.

  “It also comprises two principal regions: the Oesling in the north, which is a part of the Ardennes Massif, and the Gutland (‘good country’) in the south.”

  I couldn’t help but ask, “What is the Ardennes Massif?”

  “Ardennes is a region of extensive forests, rough terrain, rolling hills and ridges created by the Ardennes mountain range and the Moselle and Meuse River basins.

  “On the other spectrum, Massif is a section of a planet’s crust that is demarcated by faults or flexures. The combined words refer to the Ardennes flexures,” He explained.

  I remarked cheekily, “I take it that you are from the ‘good country’?”

  He laughed affably, “You’re a witty young man. I’m sure many males and females enjoy your company.”

  “How do you know that? We’ve only just been acquainted,” I dallied before adding, “Are you of royal descent?”

  This time around, he burst into hilarity. “What makes you think that?”

  “With a name like Christian of Luxembourg, you are either from the Letzeburgesch royal bloodline or an egocentric delusionist,” I quipped.

  My declaration made him laugh out loud. “You are truly a comical boy,” he iterated.

  “Your statement is not an answer to my question,” I blurted.

  As the group entered a child’s playroom filled with cradles, rocking-horses, doll houses and all kinds of centuries-old nursery items, the debonair was having a difficult time controlling his merriment. Alain and my Valet stepped in pace with us.

  The Connexion

  Dubois was the first to query, “What’s the hilarity? Can we join in the humor?”

  I reiterated, “He burst into hysteria when I asked Monsieur whether he is of the Letzeburgesch royal bloodline or an egocentric delusionist.”

  “Young! You are not to ask such incongruous questions of the baron’s guest,” Andy chastised.

  “Especially when Monsieur Christian is going through an indignant correlation,” my teacher admonished.

  To our consternation, the man stood transfixed at an antique rocking-horse. Dribbles of tears ran down from the corners of his eyes as if melancholy had outstripped his recent euphoria. His conviviality had turned south instantaneously.


  Alain put his arms around the man’s shoulder. “Are you alright, monsieur?” my teacher enquired.

  Dubois led him to a nearby chaise lounge as the man nodded apologetically. Alain, Andy and I sat with the Luxembourgian while the group continued the tour with Madam Hautecloque.

  My teacher added, “We are here for you if you wish to confide.”

  When Christian calmed, he said, “Young tells me he sees visions of mythical and celestial entities. He said that you, monsieur,” turning to Alain, “understand the significance of otherworldly perspicacity.”

  A look of mystification washed over the Zentologist. “My student’s promulgation is indeed correct. Are you an illusionist, sir?” Dubois enquired.

  The self-conscious Christian wasn’t sure if he should continue, since I had indicated that my guardian was skeptical of visionaries. Alain encouraged, “My doctorate research involves the study of chimerical topics. I’m intrigued by visionaries. If you are open to meeting with me, I’d like to discuss your visions.”

  I vociferated excitedly, “Can I participate? I, too, am fascinated by visions of the supernatural.”

  Andy glanced at me presumptuously as if to say that I had once again barged in where I shouldn’t have.

  Professor Dubois articulated before my chaperone could utter a word, “Of course. You are welcome to join us as long as Monsieur Christian of Luxembourg doesn’t mind your presence.”

  “I’d like for Young to join us. After all, he instigated our meeting, Monsieur. I’ll be delighted to share my experiences with this facetious chap,” the Luxembourgian announced.

  “Alright then, let’s meet at la salle de divertissement (the recreational room) this evening after dinner. It’ll be unobtrusive since the majority of the baron’s guests will have departed.” My teacher attested, “Do you mind if I invite the Duchess and a few others to join us? Isabella is an eloquent mystic. I’m sure she’ll like to glean into your visionary insights.”