SEARCHING FOR A WAY TO FIT IN. 3-21-11
Roy Garde.
Jean-Paul Forrester was born in NYC and, as can be readily guessed from his name, his mother was French.
His whole family moved to Florida when he was seven years old and his name got him into a whole lot of fights so he dropped the ‘Jean’ part and answered, outside his home, only to ‘Paul.’
He was a good looking, lithe young man and at fourteen he became very popular with girls when they found out that he kept his hands to himself and that, thanks to his mother, he was both conversant with and liked engaging in all the social graces – like dancing and card games, and etc. – and that, thanks to his father, he could swim well and ski and ride horses and, thanks to both parents, he was (it is highly likely, that he was the last boy on the East Coast to be so instructed) always polite with adults and deferred to them whenever possible which didn’t hurt his chances a bit regarding getting close to their daughters.
By taking advantage of that last, uh, advantage – viz; the girls’ parents learned to, and wanted to, trust him – he became the boy of choice when, in high school, luckily for him the girls embraced, full-heartedly, the new/old fad that calls for the loss of ones virginity on – or at most a week or two after it to avoid hasty and possibly unfortunate choices having to be made under pressure – ones sixteenth birthday.
However, when he became a Senior in high school he realized that he’d developed a more than passing interest in the other youths in his class, and Juniors, and so it inevitably came to pass – the actual, drastic transference went surprisingly smoothly – that at times it was appropriate for him to drop, among other things, his Christian name ‘Paul’ and revert to ‘Jean’ which was always pronounced, lovingly, in the American way or, sometimes, when cajoling was required, ‘Jeanie-baby.’
Swinging back and fore, highly successfully, from pole to pole, as you might say, got to be a direct influence on his choice of a career and, not having a towering intellect, he passed up regular college for a community college that let him major in Phys Ed and that also allowed him to take extra-curricular courses in Massage where he got to be familiar with all the techniques known to the books and, at night, he followed up by getting familiar with all the techniques known to man.
After graduating he easily got a job in the Massage Parlor of a large hotel in Miami Beach that had a sauna and a steam room with tables and he loved being paid real, actual money to handle, and caress surreptitiously, all of that male flesh. He had to stay very aware at all times while working to be sure that he was keeping on the correct side of the line that divides feeling that he was working enthusiastically and feeling his work enthusiastically.
After several months the euphoria began to lessen for him and he realized that he was rapidly getting ‘out of balance’ through touching only male flesh every working day and so he got to work on figuring out a plan that would let him restore some machismo to the mix in the long run.
In the short run he knew that he could continue to look homeward because when he’d first decided to specialize in the Art of Massage his mother had kindly offered to make her own body available to him to let him ‘study at first hand the female anatomy’ and get started properly – and also keep way ahead of his fellow students – and that, of course, resulted in his increasing his expertise enormously and, because of that, she learned to like it a great deal and so, wanting to impress her friends, she asked him if he’d like to have access to more bodies to get more experience and when he’d agreed – trying, but failing, to hide his excitement because what he really wanted, as always, was access to more as-yet-unknown-to-him flesh – she invited two of her BF’s to experience it and they agreed with her assessment of his prowess so strongly that they eventually agreed to form a club – with membership limited to four to ensure that they all got a half hour, at least, of unhurried attention from Paul at every meeting – that would get together on Tuesday and Thursday afternoons in his mother’s apartment.
For as long as it lasted all four members of the club – that number never changed because when one of them dropped out for some reason another woman would show up, clamoring to join – not only looked fit and nicely toned-up but also satisfied because it didn’t take much finagling, if one of them was feeling neglected, to arrange to be the last one to lie down on Paul’s table at one of their meetings and that meant that, by established custom, to end the session she’d be given a gentle or a rough – as indicated by her responses only because, clearly, words were unsuitable – unhurried measure of internal massaging.
The long-term plan to get to maintain his balance took a lot of thought and central to it was getting to know the owner of the hotel, Charles Dienerman. He came down every afternoon for a massage, in a private room for privacy rather than out of modesty, and Paul bribed his way into being assigned to the Man the next time that his regular masseur wasn’t available. He’d had to pay his boss $200 for the privilege and so he knew that he’d have to get it right the first time.
He employed every standard technique on the Man, to prove to him that he wasn’t a phony, and then he then gave him a decidedly non-standard one that he’d developed on his own.
The recipient of his special technique was astounded when he found that he had to turn onto his back because he was sporting a serviceable erection that, for the first time in several years, hadn’t needed the aid of any chemicals and not only did it force him to turn to give it some space to grow into it also, of course, provided him with a strong motivation to be given a happy ending and so, after ascertaining that Paul was ‘so inclined’, he indicated that he was to go ahead.
Paul was delighted with the order to proceed because he knew that it meant that because of it he’d be able to employ some techniques of his own that had never failed to win him approbation.
They weren’t all that unique – there can be only relatively few methods of achieving the desired end result – but the difference was that he combined dexterity and skill and enthusiasm with a genuine love of human physiology.
His expertise saw to it that the action was wonderfully prolonged while steadily building up in intensity and the combination drove the subject’s need to unprecedented and amazingly uncontrollable heights. Also, the pleasure that Paul was getting out of it for himself became so palpable that the basic roughness of the deed was smoothed away and the subject felt that what was happening was a shared experience, rather than a paid-for service, and he found that he wanted it to end happily not just for himself but for Paul’s sake too.
When the Man finally ejaculated, explosively, he was astonished to realize that Paul was effectively removing the messy part from the equation by offering a service that was far and away above the call of duty and, not only that, when that had been dealt with and it got to be time to go through the inevitable post-coition angst, Paul almost completely alleviated that by holding his scrotum in a way that soothed its contents – very necessary because they hadn’t been drained to that extent for several years by then but how on earth, he wondered, did the boy know that? – and, at the same time, comforted their owner and let him rest and marvel at the wondrous thing that had just happened to him.
The Man made himself stay away from the Massage Parlor for three days, to get time to come to terms with the fact that he’d let another man not just touch his penis but also – well, do all those other things to it and to him – but on the fourth day he succumbed to his longing for a repeat performance and so he called the Massage Parlor’s manager and asked him to send Paul up to his suite.
Paul was told – PDQ and with undisguised rancor – to take a folding, padded table and the tools of his trade up to the Penthouse.
When he got there he found that all of the staff had been sent away and so there were just the two of them.
He was only barely greeted and not by name and then he was told, peremptorily, that he should bring his paraphernalia into the master bedroom and set it up there and when he was doing that his host went into a dressing room that was to one side and came out wearing a long white robe. He saw that the table was in place already and that it had a white sheet on it and when he’d walked up to it he let his robe fall to the floor and Paul saw that he was wearing boxer shorts. He was surprised by that because he remembered very clearly how intimate they’d been a few days earlier – so why this shyness? – but he shrugged, mentally, and said to himself, “Well, if that’s the way he wants to play it, OK.”
Paul poured his expertise into the job and as he worked he kept looking for a sign, any sign that a particular area, as it were, was to be given extra attention but it never came and those boxer shorts remained in place, and undistorted, from beginning to end.
To add to his confusion, when he’d finished the Man merely grunted his thanks and gave him a fifty-dollar bill and then made it clear that the session was over.
Paul was mystified by the whole thing and he supposed that he wouldn’t be making another house call to the Penthouse any time soon but the next day his boss told him to take a folding table with him and go up there again.
It turned out to be an exact replication of what had happened the first time – including the fifty-dollar tip.
After that, Paul spent some time thinking about what was going on in the Man’s mind and he came to the conclusion that there had to be a fight going on between his id and his ego, or some such twaddle, in that a part of him wanted to be given another sensuous massage, complete with an ultra-happy ending, but another part of him wouldn’t allow it to happen again, cold, because of his reluctance to openly break with traditional mores.
Paul sympathized with him because he had gone through the same thing himself back when he was seventeen and he’d seen it in other boys and men – and had helped them to deal with it – several times since. However, he couldn’t come to grips with the fact that the Man hadn’t yet come to terms with his deep, inner needs – at more like seventy than seventeen! – and so, having worked that out, it gave him impetus to try to help the unfortunate guy.
Armed with that insight he worked out a plan that could well bring the Man’s problem to a head, as it were, and, at the same time he reminded himself, if it was successful it could help his long term plan to bring balance into his life in the way of getting access to hitherto unexplored female flesh because, as he well knew, he only needed the Man’s word and doors would be opened for him and what he wanted would come to pass post haste.
The next day the summons came again and it was a repeat of the first two times but Paul’s plan called for him to check on something and so when he was a halfway through his routines he excused himself by saying that he needed some water for one of his solutions and he asked where the bathroom was and the Man pointed to a door that was on the other side of the King-sized bed and said, “Over there. You can use that one.”
Once inside Paul opened some cabinet doors until he found the medicine chest and he saw that there was a big bottle of blue pills and, sure enough, they turned out to be 100 mg Viagra.
That was all that he needed to know because it told him that the reason that his clever hands hadn’t generated tumescence for his client, subsequently to the first time, was because he needed chemical help regularly to give him the drive that was necessary to want ‘special, extra treatment.’ Clearly, on that first time Paul and his expertise had been new to him and the novelty had been self-generating.
When he’d finished his session he was given another fifty-dollar bill and sent on his way with grunted thanks and Paul was sure, after sneaking a look at his face, that although the regular massage had done its job regarding setting up his muscle tone and aiding his general well-being he badly needed something more: viz. A thorough drawing of his ashes.
Before he left, in order to make his plan work smoothly the next day, he asked permission to leave his equipment in a closet, or some-such-place, and was relieved when the Man pointed at yet another door and told him that he could leave it in there and the door turned out to be the entrance to a walk-in closet.
The next day Paul went home to have lunch with his mother and after they’d eaten he called his manager up and told him that he was going straight up to the Penthouse at two o’clock and wouldn’t be coming into the work place first. His request was, of course, granted on the spot because of who was involved.
His mother had long known of her son’s predilections and so she was not only not surprised when he told her what he wanted but she was delighted to help him.
She’d been born and brought up in France and so chic and charm and understated elegance were second nature to her – anyone who has visited Paris knows that you can stand on any street corner there at nine in the morning or at five at night and you’ll see a whole stream of secretaries and clerks and shop assistants pass by and they’ll all look wonderfully well dressed and cleverly accoutered and you’d see the like on only a very few women on Fifth or Madison Avenues in New York City at any time of day – and she picked out some of her clothes for him, and one of her light brown wigs, and she spent a half hour doing his make up and – well, what else? – Voila!
When he got up to the Man’s penthouse he knocked on the door and when it was opened he enjoyed watching the play of emotions on his face.
Just before the predominant one became anger, which, if not checked in time would have meant that heads would roll, Paul said, in his own voice, “Good afternoon Mr. Dienerman, it’s me, Paul. I hope that I didn’t startle you too much but I always feel more comfortable dressed like this when I can call myself ‘Jean.’ ”
The Man took several steps back, in confusion, and by doing so he could then use the extra distance between them to assess the ‘woman’ more fully.
It flashed across his mind, just before making his assessment, that he should prepare himself to see the grotesquerie that’s unfortunately all too common in most cross-dressers and he got ready to do some creative cussing before slamming the door in his/her face but when he got to see Jean’s overall attractiveness and her perfect make up and her wonderful hair and her elegant dress and matching shoes and handbag he needed time to get over his shock and when he’d done so he became conscious of a suffusion of happiness that was welling up inside him that was the result of the intense relief that he was getting and of the excitement that came, instinctively, from sensing that he was looking at someone who was going to change his life for the better.
It had come to him that it wouldn’t take much effort on his part – actually the reverse of that if he simply refused to acknowledge that that other guy, ‘what was his name again?’ was taking part in any way in this new relationship – to be able to have a splendid omelet while keeping all of his eggs intact seeing that from now on he’d be able to avail himself of the same expert massaging that he’d come to crave and, at the same time, could let this ravishingly attractive woman have full access to his body because doing so was back within his acceptable parameters.
He welcomed her in and then he offered his arm and led her to his bedroom and when she was setting up her table he went into his bathroom for a half minute and then he came out and got undressed right in front of her and was not the slightest bit shy about letting her see that he was already a half-way there.
He laid himself face-down on the table and when, fifteen minutes later, the pill kicked in he had to turn onto his back. He found that he was as proud of its proudness as he had been on his honeymoons with his first four wives and he didn’t have to indicate to Jean that some of her special stimulating-while-intensifying-and-prolonging-pleasure techniques would be appreciated and, after another fifteen minutes had gone by, he could take no more and she knew it at the exact same moment and she fell-to and gave him one of her ultra-satisfying happy endings in that it completely drained him and removed all traces of angst from every one of his cells and replaced it with contentment that made his whole body send up praises.
From then on Jean was given a standing order to show up at two o’clock every weekday afternoon.
What made the Man so enamored of her was because, being separated from his fifth wife, no one begrudged him having a female companion – seeing how much money he had and seeing that he really wasn’t breaking any fundamental rules – and no one, not even the paparazzi, could guess the truth about Jean even though they laid in wait for her en route and at the hotel and, later, at her apartment building and took a myriad photos. She remained a shadowy personage and being able to ‘leave Jean at home’ and exit as Paul ensured that it would stay that way.
However, these affairs always evolve – either through over-exposure or through the introduction of new circumstances that were beyond anyone’s control – and three months later their relationship had settled down into their seeing each other only at weekends when the Man’s limo would secretly call for Jean at her mother’s apartment at nine o’clock every Saturday morning and take her to the airport where she’d get on his Gulfstream jet and be delivered to his private island in the Turks and Caicos Islands where he would have given his staff, except for the Security people who knew how to stay out of sight, the weekend off and they’d have the whole house, and the whole island, to themselves.
He’d cook lunch for her, and Sunday’s brunch, and for dinner on Saturday night he’d microwave what his chef had put together on Friday.
She’d be taken back to Miami on his plane every Sunday evening sporting a nice tan and with a check that had a surprising number of zeros on it and with the peace of mind that comes from having been able to indulge in every luxury known to the rich for close to two full days.
From then on Jean-Paul’s life was both tranquil, due to his being financially solvent courtesy of his well pleased Patron and to the many good tips that he got at work, and beautifully balanced because, aside from his weekend duty, his new workweek consisted of showing up every morning in the Massage Parlor that catered to men only, dressed as Paul and addressed as Paul by one and all, and in the afternoons to Massage Heaven, which was located in a different hotel that was also owned by the Man and that catered to women only, dressed as Jean and addressed as Jean by one and all.
That ideal situation went on without a hitch for close to three years but then the Man suffered – that may not be the appropriate word as we’ll see – from a lessening of his libido to the extent that when the same thing had happened to Einstein he was quoted as saying that it was, “A blessed relief. Like having a monkey taken off my back.” In the face of that none of the chemicals available even to the rich could get the desired result, viz.: achieving an erection and the accompanying motivating force that is required to want to go to all the bother of finding someone to share it with.
To compensate for his sudden loss of a viable love life he found that he wanted his family around him again and he made overtures to his current wife – his fifth – from whom he was only separated and she and their children hopscotched-it back to him, PDQ, because her lawyers, up to then, had been no match for his.
Things went well for Jean-Paul for several years – being beautifully balanced he loved his new life and wouldn’t have changed a thing – and when his mother told him that she was in financial straits – because the companies that she’d sold hadn’t been doing very well since then and, consequently, her dividends had been falling month by month – he got her to sit down with him and they went over her financial situation and it became obvious that two things were impoverishing her – the first one was that she was still supporting her husband who had gone back to live in Paris years earlier and had refused to leave it again and the second thing was the $9,000 a month rent that she was paying for her apartment.
Luckily for her, housing prices had fallen drastically at that time and so when Jean-Paul enquired at the broker’s office he found that the asking price for her apartment was close to the amount of money that had accumulated in his bank account, mainly from the Man, and so after some spirited bargaining he bought it, in his mother’s name, and at the end of that month, when she was sitting at her desk dealing with her bills, he waited until she’d written out the check for the next month’s rent and then he took it from her and tore it up and her bewilderment changed to delight when he put the papers in front of her that told her that she was now the owner of her home.
After that, again, it took a few years before anything major changed in his life but then his father died and the two of them had to fly to Paris for the funeral.
Old friends of hers put them up and when it was all over Jean-Paul’s mother realized that she’d like to stay in Paris for a few years and so they found a two bedroom apartment for rent and she called her Real Estate Agent in Florida and arranged to have her apartment over there rented out.
Because they both had dual citizenship and he had learned fluent French at his mother’s genou Jean-Paul found no problem with getting a work permit and within two weeks he’d applied for, and was given, two part time jobs and from then on he was known as Jean-Paul in the mornings and as Paulette in the afternoons.
That went on for some time without any problems but when one of his mother’s friends offered to sell her a wonderful apartment at a good price she decided that she wanted to buy it and then live in it for the rest of her life and so she asked her son to go to Miami and see to the sale of her old apartment there.
The moment that he stepped off the plane he knew – this was in February after suffering through a long, cold, damp winter in Europe and the warmth that came at him was like stepping into a sauna room and it did much more for him than merely warm his body – that he wanted to stay and live in the USA and so he rented a one-bedroom for himself.
He found that prices of luxury apartments had firmed up remarkably well and so he was able to arrange the sale at a very favorable price and so when he called his mother with the good news she was thrilled at the amount that he got for it and she lavished praise on him and in amongst all the euphoria he found it difficult to bring her down to earth enough to be able to tell her that he wouldn’t be coming back to live with her. However, knowing that she’d already amassed a coterie of friends eased his, and her, unhappiness when she finally understood him.
He went back to his old routine, once again looking for balance, and that wasn’t a bit difficult for him because both of his old work places welcomed him back and inside a week it was as if he’d never left.
Yet again we jump several years forwards in his life until we get to the time that a long time friend of his decided to go back to San Francisco to live and invited Jean-Paul to come and visit him there the following spring.
When he stepped off the plane there was nothing in the air that made him want to make his permanent home there.
No.
Au contraire, in fact, because the fog that had delayed his plane’s landing was still lurking in some places and it had a depressing effect on him.
So, it wasn’t that.
What made him start looking for a nice apartment for himself in the city was that within a week he’d found out that his balance was easily attained, and maintained, in that nobody ever cared about how he was dressed nor what name he was using nor which side of his scales needed adjusting at any particular time.
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