Foreign Slash Exchange Student O/S Contest
Tittle: Color Me French
Word Count: 6871
A huge thanks to KGQ and WendyK for their huge help, and to remind me that "lubrificated" is a word only in my head.
Je décris les français via le pov d'un américain. Normal si les rare français qui me lisent se demandent pourquoi je nous décris comme ça. (mais franchement, c'est pas très loin.)
Disclaimer: Quand je vois Fernande, je bande, je bande...
In the three months I've been in Paris I've discovered many things, but there are five main ones.
One, French guys are generally leaner and slightly shorter than back home. I'm not the buffest guy; I wouldn't really be considered that in the States, but here, people ask me daily if I'm a rugby player. I look like The Hulk next to most of them.
Two, food is almost a religion. There are rituals and rules, and meals are sacred.
Three, you can't have a conversation with a French person without sex being mentioned in the most crude ways; it doesn't matter if we're talking about the neural synapses of embryonic pigeons, they'll find a way to talk about it.
Four, nudity or almost nudity, is a normal daily thing. My roommate walks around naked after his shower; when he saw my face the first day he just said, "Oh come on, you've got the same thing between your legs. Everyone has seen a dick, why bother covering it up?" And that was the start and end of the conversation. I thought at first that it was only him, but the next weekend we went to a party at one of his friends' houses, and most people crashed there. I ended up sleeping in a bed with two almost naked girls. Same as my roommate, they laughed at the face I made, stating that I must have seen boobs before, and that they had at least kept their underwear on, if only for my benefit.
The fifth one has more to do with me than the French. The fact is that I hated-
" 'Ello, what's up, Charles Bronson."
-Sylvain. He had just entered my room, without knocking, and sat down on my bed as if he owned the place. I hated everything about him, from the ridiculous overalls he always wore to the way he'd put his hair back, using a paintbrush to hold it. The guy didn't even paint. He always spoke loudly, had shitty taste in music and thought he was the best thing since sliced bread.
I hated that he'd call me Charles Bronson, although most people here called me that. I never understood exactly why; I knew it was because of my Texan accent, but Charles Bronson wasn't even Texan. Anyway, it didn't bother me much to hear it from others, but it irked me when he did it. My main problem with Sylvain was that he got to fondle, stroke, kiss and fuck Peter. I wanted it to be me, and I had to watch that dumb ass with the greasy hair put his hands all over him.
Peter is my roommate. He is a bit shorter than my 6' 3", lean, with short blond hair, light brown eyes, and this androgyny most men here –gay or straight- have. He also speaks English with a mix of French and British accents, which is a turn on. I had been attracted to him from the start. Back then it had been only physical, but as we got to know each other, I found I loved everything about him. We spent most of our time together. He showed me the Paris he knew and the places he liked. I had met his friends, and they had sort of become my friends, too. And, unlike his stupid boyfriend who was brooding half the time and always ranting about one thing or another, Peter was fun.
He loved beer with a passion, read porn comics and could speak about music and movies for hours. He was obsessed with Fight Club and all things Chuck Palahniuk. Peter also had a crush on Edward Norton, which everyone teased him about. He hated his name because over here only 'white trash' had English or American names, because their parents had watched too many bad shows on day time tv. His parents had actually met at a Peter Pan show, and were fans of J.M. Barrie, which had nothing to do with US tv shows, but bugged him because people might think it did. They didn't even pronounce his name the right way; they said 'peh-tter', which was ridiculous (but not as much as Sylvain's overalls).
He was still looking at me expectantly, Sylvain I mean, as if he was expecting me to tell him about one of the mysteries of the universe. I hated that in him too. Although, all the people I had met here were like that. They looked you in the eye while they were talking to you; it was still hard for me to get used to it. They're 'here', even when they don't invade my personal space physically, –which they did often- the way they'd appear completely entranced with the person they were talking to felt like an invasion.
That was another thing I had to get used to; the way they touched everyone, all the fucking time. We'd talk and they –guys and girls –would touch my hand, stroke my arm or just grab my elbow and not let go for a while. At the beginning I had been sure that Peter was hitting on me, then I realized that wasn't the case, he was just… French. We'd go out, and people everywhere would touch us. Between that and the way the guys dressed and acted, my gaydar wasn't of any use in France. We just don't have the same codes. For example, some guys shake hands, while others say hello with a kiss on each cheek. And not a fake 'kiss the air' but a real kiss on the cheek. Whether they did one or the other had nothing to do with their sexuality.
Anyway, Peter was gay, but he was with the dickhead, and there wasn't much I could do about it. Plus, I really didn't know how to show him I liked him because all the moves I would have made back home, which would have shown my intentions pretty clearly, seemed only friendly and innocent here. I was tempted to push him against a wall and fuck him silly –at least then he'd know- but while most people I knew here wouldn't have hesitated, I, on the other hand, hadn't been raised like that. So I was waiting for him to tire of Sylvain's fuckery, or hopefully to realize that I was available for things other than talking.
I honestly wasn't sure it would ever happen, and it was increasingly difficult to stand seeing him with Sylvain. Peter would often joke about me fucking him, or about sucking me, which didn't help at all. I already had to watch him walk around naked, and half thetime he was hard, too (the joy of beingtwenty-two). He'd talk about sex at random, like everyone else; all that left me with was a hard on twenty hours a day. I couldn't jerk off enough to get rid of it, plus there was the little problem of chafing… at one point, jerking or not jerking, it was just physically painful all fucking day long.
My brain was also a traitor. I knew Peter's body; my little fantasies were accurate. Add to that, that I had actually seen him wank, and you can imagine the state I was in each time we were in the same room. I came home one day at a time I would normally be at uni, and he was sprawled on his bed naked, gripping his cock in one hand, and fingering his ass with the other. I almost came on the spot, although I hadn't. He had on the other hand, spurting cum all over his hand and chest. I can still hear his moans and see his body jerking from his orgasm. I had been rooted to the spot, not able to utter a word, as he turned his head and finally realized I was there.
I came to my senses, hard, mouth dry. He had joked about me being a pervy American and that maybe I would be able to blend in here after all, if I finally unleashed my inner freak. There was no way I could stay there in that moment and I left without a word. Later, Peter had made fun of my reaction, describing the situation when we were all out for a drink. I blushed furiously (and was obviously hard as hell since I was picturing everything in my mind as he was describing it.) while they were all cheering and laughing, not fazed in the least about me stumbling in on Peter. They were actually shocked that I found it embarrassing.
So yeah, I wanted Peter but for now all I had was a moron sitting on my bed, and Peter wasn't even here to keep him occupied so he wouldn't bother me. It was tricky because in a way I was glad he wasn't here so asshat couldn't fondle him in front of me, but on the other hand, I really didn't want to deal with this asshole.
"What do you want, Sylvain?" I didn't make any effort to speak French when I was with him; I even made it my mission in life to use the thickest Texan accent I could just so he wouldn't understand. After a few "what?" he usually dropped it and went to talk to someone else. His English was too poor to hold a conversation anyway.
"I'm just waiting for Peh-tter. We can talk, yes?"
I also hated that he ended all his sentences with "yes". But then again, as I already said, I hated everything about him.
"No, we can't. I have to study." Which was a blatant lie. At the moment I was drawing cocks on a piece of paper, but I was sitting at my desk so I guess he couldn't tell.
"You study how to draw dicks?"
I guess he knew then. I sighed and turned my chair to face him. "Why are you here, again?"
As he said his name, Peter entered the room. He smiled at me then at Sylvain before sitting next to him on my bed. I couldn't keep from frowning, and Sylvain caught it. He then decided to lick Peter's face. Well, he was kissing him, but no one could kiss here without using tongue and showing it. I didn't mind it usually, coming from other people anyway. It was kind of nice to see people that open even in public, but when Sylvain did it, I only wanted to punch him. That bastard was doing it on purpose anyway, since his eyes were locked on mine with a 'too bad for you, I'm the one kissing him' look.
Did I already say I hated Sylvain? I sighed and stood up, picking up my coat before leaving the room.
"Hey, where are you going?"
Peter was in the hall, watching me, surprised. I looked around, searching for an answer. "I, ah, told Melvil that I'd meet him at Les Trois Mégots." Another lie. But I liked that café, and at this hour I was sure to find him at a table, smoking and reading a book, so it wasn't a big deal.
"Wait then, I'll come with you."
I cringed at the idea, not about him coming with me, but about his stupid tagging along. "Yeah, sure."
As I was afraid of, Sylvain came with us. I hoped all the way there that Melvil would be in the bar like I thought he'd be; I also hoped that Sylvain would fall down and die. At least one thing went my way, when I spotted Melvil, a cigarette in hand, lost in a book, sitting at a table outside the café. He jerked up and looked at us when Sylvain kicked his chair –the guy is an idiot – "Hey, ça va? Qu'est-ce que vous faites là à cette heure-ci?"
Shit. Peter frowned, but before he could ask anything, I spoke. "We said we'd meet here, remember?" I gave him a pointed stare and after a second of hesitation, he replied, "Uhm yeah, sorry. " He pointed to his book, then added, "I was too lost in my novel." He watched me as if to convey that he knew something was up but didn't say anything more.
If I hated Sylvain with a passion, I loved Melvil with as much fervor. He was tall and scrawny, with short black hair and almost pitch black eyes, a real contrast to his skin, and so white you'd have thought he had never seen the sun. His name came from Herman Melville, but his parents had just changed it to Melvil, in honor of the writer. French people loved literature, it seemed.
I was embarrassed so I only asked, "What are you reading?"
I refrained from using the word 'book'. You can't call books 'books' here. It's a crime. I did it once, and you can bet I won't do it again. You read novels, biographies, poetry, whatever, but not 'books'. Yeah, the French could be some pedant fuckers, but I rather liked the way they respected literature.
Before Melvil could answer, Sylvain called the waiter and order four Maredsou. There were rules for beer too, and Heineken, 1664 and Stella were 'awful' beer only drank by people with no taste, or tourists. (Most of the time I suspected those two categories were really only one for them)
The air was chilly, the sun was setting, and October's evenings were getting colder. I closed my coat with a shiver. I knew we wouldn't get into the café since smoking wasn't allowed inside anymore. There was an uncomfortable moment of silence, or perhaps it was only uncomfortable to me.
Melvil was still trying to understand what had happened, and if Sylvain probably didn't get what I had said, he did understand from Melvil's words that we never planned to meet. I think he was smirking at me. I couldn't be sure with him, though. Fucker.
"Are you alright, Jasper?" Peter had his hand on my shoulder. I didn't want him to put his hand on my shoulder; I wanted him to put his hand on my shoulder. I didn't know what I wanted. Fuck.
Melvil saved me once again. "On pourrait aller à VodkaLand and dîner Au Petit Bouchon après, si ça vous dit. "
I didn't know about food, but going to VodkaLand sounded like a good idea. If you liked vodka it was the place to go; if you liked vodka and wanted to be able to stand Sylvain for a whole evening, it was the place to go, too.
I nodded and we hurried to drink our beer before heading for the subway. We lived not far from Bastille but it would be faster this way. We got off at the second station, Melvil walking next to me and nudging my arm every once in a while, clearly asking what my deal was. I mouthed 'Sylvain' at him, and he laughed out loud. He knew my distaste for the guy, and while he might not fully know the reason behind it, I don't think I was fooling him.
VodkaLand was crowded, even that early. It was the time for aperitif, meaning everyone was drinking before going to eat somewhere later. We didn't find a table so we only got closer to the bar, until we could push enough people aside to order our drinks.
Then we went outside where a lot of people already were, shouting and laughing. I loved this time of the day, it was always a moment when I reminded myself I was in Paris. I had been lucky to get into this exchange program. I'd miss this place when I left, but that also meant that Peter would be the one coming to Texas. That was something to look forward to, and the added bonus was that dickhead wouldn't be there.
Sylvain was still flush against Peter, one hand around his waist, the other holding his vodka, and he had his mouth on Peter's neck. Melvil sent me a small smile, half laughing, and I frowned at him. He swiftly caught my arm and pulled me along with him until we were a few feet from Sylvain and Peter.
"If you want to take Sylvain's place, maybe you just should tell Peter."
I glanced at them. "Nah, he doesn't seem to mind Sylvain pawing him. It would be useless to say something."
"Maybe he minds."
"Why do you say that?"
"Because I think that, so I tell you."
"I meant, what makes you think that?"
"He doesn't really start any kissing, does he? Sylvain is doing all the work and I think he wants to piss you off. It's funny."
"Yeah, I got that, and really, I don't think it's funny."
"Ah, but it is. Two grown men having a sort of, how do you say that, pissing contest?" I nodded and he laughed.
"I'm not having a pissing contest with Sylvain."
He lightly punched my shoulder. "But you're glaring at him all the time. Now Sylvain doesn't leave Peter's side, which will piss him off in about," he checked his watch, "I'd say twenty minutes. And you're here glaring, instead of just going to Peter and telling him you want to fuck him."
I emptied my glass so I wouldn't have to answer, but the look he was giving me clearly stated he was waiting for me to either agree with or deny his last statement. "I want to fuck him, alright. But not just that."
"You want to blow him, too?"
"That's not what-" Before I could finish my sentence, he was laughing loudly, amused that I had taken his question seriously. You never knew with them, anyway, he could have been serious. He clapped my shoulder and pulled me inside with him so we could get another drink.
"You are funny, Jasper. I'm glad you've been exchanged."
"I haven't been exch-"
I turned around and found myself face to face with Guillaume, one of Peter's friends. He had never hidden the fact that he wanted us to fuck, which we had done a few times since I'd been here. (The first time had happened the day of Peter's 'wank' and we had fucked at least four times before I felt satisfied, that's how much Peter's little stunt had turned me on.) If anyone knew of my pining for Peter, it was Guillaume. He didn't care. He always told me, "I'm not asking for us to buy Swedish furniture together, only to have your cock in my ass; trust me, you don't need to love me in order to do that."
Guillaume kissed me on both cheeks to say hello, then did the same with Melvil. "So what's up, you two?"
"Not much. Just drinking."
"Yeah? I saw Peh-tter outside with his monkey." I snorted at his words. Guillaume didn't hate Sylvain as much as I did, but he did dislike him.
I shrugged, and now that I could finally reach the bar, ordered three vodka. "I was hoping he wouldn't be here, but he followed."
"Of course he did." Guillaume snaked one arm around my waist. "But hey, I'm here if you need anything."
And by anything, he meant anything. Thinking about my past fucks with him got me hard, which didn't escape his notice.
Right then Peter joined us, Sylvain in tow. "More vodka!"
Melvil might have been right when he said that Peter would quickly become fed up with Sylvain's attitude; he looked annoyed as Sylvain put his arm around his shoulders.
Since I was closer to the bar I ordered another round for all of us. It was too loud to talk so we went outside again. The narrow street we were in was full of bars and restaurants, and even the low temperatures didn't keep Parisians from being outside. There were people everywhere.
I was pulled out of my thoughts by Peter's voice. "Putain, laisse-moi tranquille! T'as qu'à me pisser dessus pendant que tu y es. Sérieusement Sylvain, tu me gonfles. Je sais pas ce que t'as depuis quelques temps, mais tu fais vraiment chier."
I watched, fascinated, as Peter told Sylvain to leave him alone. Apparently he was fed up with his way of trying to prove ownership. I couldn't keep from chuckling when Peter had asked him why he didn't piss on him while he was at it. Sylvain looked mad, but didn't argue, and left with the promise that they weren't done.
Fuck, I really hoped it was over. Whether I had a chance or not with Peter was one thing, but being rid of asshat sounded really great on its own.
"Charles Bronson! Comment va?"
More of Peter's friends had joined us. Camille, a petite blond, and Olivier, who I was sure was gay but turned out not to be. They didn't let me answer and only motioned that they were going to get some drinks.
I really didn't care about them right now, so I swiftly turned to watch Peter's demeanor, to see if he was upset or not. He didn't seem to be; he was laughing with Guillaume.
Melvil got closer to me. "I told you so."
"Yeah, yeah, you did. Since you seem to know things, any idea when he'll realize I'm interested?"
"When you'll tell him, I guess."
"That's not helpful, Mel."
"Tonight?" I choked on my drink. "Okay, now you're talking out of your ass."
"You asked me when. I told you, tonight."
"How do you-"
"You're so dense sometimes, it's painful."
"No, buts. Seriously, you're living with him, you're with him right now and you don't even see?"
"Uhm no?" I answered with a question because I wasn't sure what I was supposed to have seen.
"Americans." He shook his head and walked away.
Guillaume and Peter were still having their conversation, so after a moment of standing awkwardly alone, and being subjected to the flirtatious stares of two girls, I went inside. There were fewer people now as some had left to eat, and I finally found an empty table.
Guillaume joined me not long after, bringing me vodka. Instead of sitting in the armchair next to mine, he decided my lap was a much better place.
He had one arm around my shoulders, and was slowly and thoroughly rubbing his ass against my cock. He wasn't even trying to be discreet about it, anyone could see him gyrating his hips but as always, no one was fazed by it. I put my hand on his hips to make him stop, and he sat on one of my thighs, his hand now rubbing me.
I wanted him to stop because Peter wasn't far, but it felt good and I was close to letting him put his hand inside my pants. Or would have if I'd had the guts and if Camille and Olivier hadn't joined us then, sitting across from us. I caught Guillaume's hand to make him stop, but he kept going while starting a conversation with Olivier. I tried to focus on what was being said, but all I could do was think about my cock.
Melvil and Peter eventually joined us, too. All my efforts to stop Guillaume from stroking me through my pants were fruitless. It was rather uncomfortable with Peter there, but I hoped that maybe at least it would make him jealous. Of course I had no such luck. At first I thought it was because he hadn't realized what Guillaume was doing to me, but when he said "Hey, Guillaume is having fun! I hope you're rubbing him the right way. Remember to always go clockwise."
It kind of killed my boner for a few seconds, knowing that he didn't mind, but then Guillaume was really efficient with his hand. Even bummed out, I couldn't not be hard. I reminded myself that Melvil had sounded really sure when he told me it would happen tonight. He knew Peter better than I did. Maybe I should just have faith in what he had said.
Just as I was beginning to get a hold of myself and follow the conversation, Guillaume started to bite and lick my neck. Then he whispered in my ear how he'd love to have my tongue on his ass, how he really wanted to get on his knees right now and suck my dick, explaining that he'd start by licking my balls while jerking me, and he told me in great detail how my cock felt each time I thrust it in his ass.
I was beet red by then, my cock aching for release, or at least for something more than just being rubbed through my pants. I felt bad that even if the one I was interested in was in front of me, I wouldn't think twice about fucking Guillaume, that fucking tease.
Olivier laughed at me, which brought the others' attention to me; Melvil then shouted, "Wonder what he's doing that has this effect on you." I coughed, blushing even more from having all eyes on me. Guillaume, very relaxed, said, "I'm telling him I want to suck on his balls."
Melvil and Olivier nodded appreciatively, saying that they understood since they enjoyed having theirs sucked on as well. They said it the same way they would have said they liked tea, then went on about the fact that they didn't like the feeling of their balls sticking to their skin because of the sweat as they generally did at the end of the day. Then Camille, who hadn't said anything since she didn't have balls, piped up to say that it wasn't cool to suck on them when they had marinated in pants all day.
I was used to their conversations by now. It had taken me a month or so to stop choking on my saliva, or to stop feeling a bit shocked at the way they talked in public places and sometimes with people they barely knew. Anyway, Melvil and Olivier agreed with her, and then Guillaume and Peter started comparing notes about powdering their balls so things would stay fresh and non-sticky.
"You powder your balls?" Melvil seemed surprised and Peter laughed at him.
"Ah, Mel, it's so clear you're straight. I guess you've got to know what it feels like to suck balls to find ways to make your own balls attractive to others."
"Make balls attractive?" Olivier guffawed, and Camille hit him in the chest.
"Hey, I'm the one sucking your balls. You should take notes instead of making fun."
I had to admit that I had never thought about powdering my balls, but I guess it could be interesting to try it out.
"So, you use baby powder?"
Guillaume nodded at me, and resumed talking about my balls and his tongue on them. I glanced at Peter, who still didn't look like he minded what was happening. Fuck Melvil and his 'tonight'. I didn't see how the fuck it would happen tonight!
Peter waved at someone and stood up, telling us he would be back. I watched him walk away, and checked out the person he had joined, a tall guy with wavy brown hair and blue eyes, really good looking. I groaned and huffed, which didn't escape Melvil, who was staring at me and had a knowing smile on his face. Guillaume turned my head toward him with a finger. I looked at him and squeezed my cock.
"You know, I would relieve you tonight with great pleasure, but since you can't take your eyes off of Peter, I won't."
"What? After you rubbed my cock and turned me on so much, you're just going to act like a tease?"
The fucker nodded, smiling brightly at me, and stood up to take Peter's seat. Shit, I couldn't believe it. My blue balls had blue balls, Peter was flirting -or being French- with Mr. Good Looking, and my fuck buddy was acting more American than I did.
Guillaume was watching Peter and said to Olivier, "Dis donc, ça roule avec Antoine, on dirait bien que Sylvain est de l'histoire ancienne."
What the fuck ever? No, no. Melvil had said tonight! Tonight was the night! Why were things going so well with "Antoine"? If Peter really was done with Sylvain like Guillaume seemed to think, then he should come find me. Not. Antoine. Why Antoine? I was the one with fucking blue balls thanks to Guillaume and Peter, and I was the one pining like a moron for Peter. ShitShitShit.
Enough. Fuck it. I needed to fuck someone and it better be Peter. I stood up and walked up to him, not caring that I interrupted his conversation. "Sorry, Antoine. Peter. Outside. Now." And I went outside, not looking at him because I knew I'd chicken out if I did.
I waited for him next to the door, and wondered for a second if he'd join me, but then he was there and I did the only thing that I hadn't tried before. I shoved him against the wall and kissed him, gripping his waist tightly, hoping I wouldn't end up with a shiner, and my ego dying slowly from the shame of rejection.
He slid his hand up my chest, stopping when he reached my shoulders. I felt really French in that moment, kissing a guy open mouthed in the street, thrusting my hard-on against his. Fuck it was good, and I was finally the one pawing Peter, fuck you very much Sylvain.
I pushed him harder against the wall, not really caring anymore that I probably shouldn't be so suggestive in public. I only stopped kissing him when he started chuckling.
"That was long overdue, I was beginning to think you needed a written invitation."
"I don't think I understand. You didn't send me any invitation whatsoever. Ever. How should I have known?"
"You're kidding right? I came on to you so many times I stopped counting."
He-What? I- "Shit, each time I thought you were joking!"
"Because it's-I mean nobody- when it's that blunt it's a joke, right?"
He looked at me quizzically, shaking his head. "Uhm, Jasper, when things are spelled out to you, that means it's what it is."
Melvil was right about me being dense, too. Speaking of Melvil, he had just walked out the bar, stopping next to us.
"See? I told you it would be tonight."
"Yeah, how the fuck did you know that?"
Peter put his arms around me while I was talking to Melvil. We had stepped back from the wall, and he was flush against me, as my hands were still on his waist.
Melvil rolled his eyes at me. "I didn't. You just needed a push." At my baffled face he muttered 'Americans'. "If you started hoping it would be tonight, then you'd work at making it happen tonight."
Peter chuckled, and I looked at him, then stared at Melvil again. He was watching me with wide eyes, clearly astounded that I still didn't really get it. "It's like your stupid Disney elephant thinking the feather would help him fly, so he did! Since Peter clearly telling you he wanted you wasn't working, I thought that could work; that fucking elephant is American, too, after all."
Guillaume joined us, and I watched as he high five'd Peter. "T'avais raison, ça a marché."
"You, too? You did all that tonight on purpose?"
"Jasper, poulet, you're dense and a bit stuck up, but underneath it all you're still a horny twenty-something. Plus, you know me better than that by now. In what universe do I ever tease and not deliver?"
Peter squeezed my ass. "Don't deny that your frustration helped you get over whatever was holding you back. "
Well, I could admit that they had played me well. I put my hands on each side of Peter's face and resumed kissing him; I wasn't going to waste all their hard work.
Either Guillaume or Mel slapped me on the back, before I heard them say, "Okay, we're leaving. Have fun touching each other's dicks."
We didn't acknowledge them. Peter turned me around and now I was the one pinned to the wall. His hands were everywhere; really not something that should happen in front of strangers. I opened my eyes to take a look around, wondering if anyone was shocked by our behavior, but truthfully no one seemed to care. We were still kissing and I was about to close my eyes again when I spotted Sylvain. I let one of my hands trail down Peter's ass until I could knead one of his cheeks, then, still staring at him, I lifted my other hand and slowly raised my middle finger. USA=1, France=0. Take that fucker. I closed my eyes when he turned around and left.
Peter took a step back and pulled me by the hands. "Come on."
I followed him, thinking we'd take the subway and head home since we were going in that direction, but just before the Bastille Place he pulled me into a blind alley. "I've always wanted to fuck here."
"It's, ah, public."
"No, it's dark. No one will really see us and there aren't a lot of people coming and going at this time of day. And you know who lives here?" He was slowly walking backward, until his back hit the wall. "Joshua Jackson."
"Uh huh. Fascinating." I leaned and kissed him, not sure if he was serious about fucking here but, based on what happened tonight I thought I could take him at face value. His hands were on my crotch and he opened my pants, his fingers wrapping around my cock, which he started stroking.
I looked around one last time to be sure there was no one around. It was really dark. We were in an alley under an old building, which opened on several small courtyards at the end. While I had stopped kissing him to check out our surroundings, he hadn't. My coat was now open and he was licking the base of neck.
When I opened his coat, he took it off then resumed stroking my cock. As I unfastened his pants, I wondered how we'd proceed. He'd have to take them off totally which meant he'd have to take his shoes off, too. Although, he could always turn around, but I didn't really want him to.
Maybe he sensed my struggle because he whispered in my ear, "I want you to fuck me here, against the wall, my legs wrapped around you."
I moaned, then gained enough brain power to utter, "Your pants are going to be a problem."
"Non." Then he proceeded to push his pants down to his ankles. He lifted one foot, supporting himself by putting his hands on my shoulders. "Step over them."
"Stand between my legs."
I did as he said, one foot after the other, then lifted him until he was pinned to the wall, his legs wrapped around my waist the way he said he wanted it. He moaned when he felt my cock against his ass, and resumed kissing me, his hands gripping my back under my shirt.
I was holding his ass and thrusting between his cheeks, wanting to be inside him already. I loved the sounds he made, I loved feeling his body heat against me. I wanted to fuck him so bad that I almost pushed into him without caring about protection.
I stopped moving and held him with one hand, my body weight pushing against him, as I checked my coat pockets for the condom I was sure I had. He was making my job difficult because he had started thrusting his hips into me, to resume our grinding.
"I don't have lube, Peter."
"Who the fuck cares. Condoms are lubricated. Fuck me, Jasper. Just fuck me."
I blindly unrolled the condom onto my cock, as he repeated 'fuck me' in my ear.
My cock finally entered him, causing both of us to groan loudly. I pulled back before I was completely in, knowing that on the second thrust my cock would slide into his ass easier. I repeated the motion a third time, burying my cock in him until my balls slapped his ass.
"Oh fuck, yes! Shit, I've thought about you fucking me for so long."
I didn't answer, instead pulling back and thrusting forth forcefully, eliciting a louder moan from him. On the fifth thrust, his muscles started to relax even more and his ass sucked me in. I bit his neck to keep me from cumming, then resumed fucking him hard and fast.
He would push my head to kiss me, but my face was mostly buried in his neck, nipping and sucking as the skin got more heated.
Peter gasped, moaned and groaned, then started speaking, in English for the most part but mixed with French words, telling me he loved how I filled him and that's exactly how he thought it would be when he had fantasized about it.
His breath was hot against my ear compared to the cold October air as he added "I knew you were there that day you saw me jerk off. I didn't know you'd come back early, but I knew you were there as soon as you opened the door. It was hot. I loved knowing you were watching me, and imagined it was your cock as I fingered myself... Oh shit, yes! Harder!"
He wasn't being discreet. His shout must have been heard by everyone in a three hundred foot radius. And I discovered another thing right then. I loved it. It excited me, knowing people could hear us. I didn't care if anyone stumbled upon us. I actually think I'd get off on it. I wanted him to make more noise, so I gripped his ass harder and made slightly slower thrusts, but went deeper. He pulled on my shirt until his cock was rubbing on my abs.
I loved the feeling of it, and I could tell he did too, since his moans got louder. "Tell me what you thought about while you were jacking off that day." He started telling me about how he had pictured me on my knees sucking his cock, and then when he was fingering himself, how he had pictured me above him, fucking his ass and telling him how much I loved ramming into him. How, when I had opened the door and he had seen me there in the corner of his eye, he had watched my face as he came and that it had made his orgasm even stronger.
I stopped his words with a kiss, our tongues sliding against each other, my body shaking now with the effort. I tried to tell him, between gasps, that I had pictured it too many times to count, too, that I indeed loved to ram into his ass, and that I was planning on doing it again every day, several times day.
He shouted 'Oui' a few times, his voice echoing in the alley. I wasn't going to last much longer; not only didn't I want to hold back anymore, but I soon wouldn't be able to. I was drowning in the pleasure he was giving me, and a few minutes later I came with a cry, groaning at each thrust I made to ride my orgasm. Then I felt his arms and legs tighten their hold on me as he tensed, and I felt his cum- so hot against the chilly air- on my skin. He was grinding against me as much as he could, then sagged and his forehead hit my shoulder.
I wasn't really holding him anymore, my body was just pushing him against the wall and his legs were doing the rest. He threaded his fingers in my hair, then kissed my face and my lips until the cold made him shiver. I untangled myself from between his legs so he could pull his pants back up and we both dressed, chuckling like morons.
"My shirt is full of your cum."
"Yeah? But you kind of like it, don't you?"
"Yup. And now my coat will be smudged with your cum, too."
"Ah, a way to remember me by, then." He winked at me and took my hand as we left the alley. We walked by a group of people, and two of them gave us a thumbs up, while the others shouted the French equivalent of 'cheers'.
"I never had sex in a public place like that before. I never got thumbs up for fucking, either." We laughed, then he stopped me and asked, "Ever had a blowjob in public?"
"Well, there will be lots of firsts for you tonight then." He palmed my hardening cock, kissed me, and said, as we resumed walking, "My pervy American."
Thank you for reading! Tell me what you think!