Chapter 7: Not just a gigolo

I spent the next eight years as the Chevalier’s gentleman’s gentleman. Or rather the next eight seasons; a season starts in April and finishes at the end of September. During the season I was the Chevalier’s companion and off season I reverted to being an employee at the Vermilion Coast Hotel in Port Vendres, spending some of my off duty time at home in Le Boulou.

During those eight years I grew from a callow, gangling, youth of some 1.70 metres tall(5ft 7ins) and weighing 60 kilos(132lbs)_ to 1.85 metres(6ft) tall and weighing 95 kilos(210lbs). I owe much of my weight gain to the healthy and nourishing food eaten, coupled with the extensive workouts in hotel gyms and fitness suites over the eight years. I hope I have matured into a well-informed, well-mannered, well intentioned mid-twenty year old male with a knowledge of the hotel and catering profession that will bear fruit when my current job terminates, as one day it will. The mature women who I escort, and subsequently bed, want malleable boys who they can dominate and manipulate as their sexual partners, not confident, experienced young men. As I grow older, even though I still look several years younger than my age, my worth to the Chevalier grows less. Meantime the Chevalier was not only my employer but also my mentor and tutor in many things. People would often mistake him for my grandfather; when I first started working for him we were of similar build, although different colouring. I am more like my mother, with reddish brown hair and dark brown eye, while the Chevalier’s hair was silver white and his eyes a North Sea grey.

‘But you have similar mannerisms, you must be kin folk’, they would insist when told the Chevalier and I were not related. I expect I had picked up many of his mannerisms as I was in his company for much of the day – his nights were spent with young girls or at cards.

I suppose the Chevalier could be considered the grandfather of the Planchetts’ household. He was always invited to spend Christmas with the family and always accepted. I think he found our family life something to treasure and he was treated like one of the family. He was at Chez Planchette when my brother Jacques and his wife Anita presented my parents with their first granddaughter, and at the wedding ceremony and breakfast banquet of my sister Brigitte and her English fiancé Stephen Hardcastle.

The Chevalier would sit in the special arm chair bought for him by my mother, christened ‘The Chevalier’s Chair’, which took pride of place in front of the fire during the winter and was set out on the patio during the summer months, where the Chevalier would spend much time talking to my father. They had come to regard each other as friends, and the Chevalier treated my mother as if she were a daughter. So in some ways the Chevalier appeared to be my grandfather although not related. An honorary grandparent perhaps?

The first year with the Chevalier was a steep learning curve when it came to being a gentleman’s gentleman and gigolo but I enjoyed both occupations. I was not called on to perform my gigolo duties straight away; the Chevalier wanted to be well away from Le Boulou before I began bedding mature females in case word got back to my mother. Although my father probably knew what other duties besides that of gentleman’s gentleman the Chevalier required of me, my mother was kept completely in the dark. It was best for all concerned it stayed that way, especially for any mature female her youngest child was ’escorting’.

My first venture into gigolo-land took place in May, three months after my seventeenth birthday. Fortunately, or so the Chevalier would have it, I look young for my age and those matrons who fantasized on their teenage sons or nephews as lovers could well transfer that illicit emotion to me as I looked to be a sweet fifteen year old, much to my disgust as I wanted to attract girls of my own age. However, when doing my gigolo duties I imagined myself pleasuring younger, more attractive, females than the older woman I was currently entwined with.

This first season the Chevalier decided to traverse the Cotes d’Azure and Vermeille from east to west, concluding the season at Port Vendres. Thus It was at Menton on the Cote d’ Azure, a favourite place of the Chevalier’s, that I began my career as a gigolo. We arrived at Menton by train and then booked into the Hotel Superb, where the Chevalier was greeted as an honoured guest. Next day we visited the casino where we were to meet our ‘dates’ for the next three weeks. The Menton Imperial Casino was an old fashioned type of place, with many a quiet and cosy corner where a man and a woman could meet and interact without being observed, and not an electronic gambling machine in sight, although there were plenty of mechanical one-armed bandits. The establishment was staffed by attractive females, wearing short skirts and low cut blouses designed to take the punters, i.e. customers, eyes from their rapidly diminishing pile of chips at the roulette tables. Of course, the Chevalier ignored the roulette tables, but not the short skirts and thrusting breasts; he may ‘indulge’ only with young girls but he appreciated all ages of the fair sex.

We were early for our appointment and the Chevalier made his way to the Vingt et Un table; poker was his main money spinner but he could turn his hand, and a profit, playing most card games. His abiding passion was bridge and he had vainly attempted to teach me the rudiments of the game. I struggled to pick up the finer points but in fact I didn’t even pick up the bluntest points, which was a huge disappointment to him.

The Chevalier won a tidy sum of money at Vingt et Un after only half an hour’s play. “Let’s go to the bar and see if my luck will hold for the rest of the night,” he said. We entered the bar and immediately saw two females of disparate age sitting in a corner scanning each pair of males that entered the place. “Those are our dates,” he said, and we made our way over to introduce ourselves.

My ‘date’ was Grafin Irma von Eylau, and her ward, Fraulein Maris Kotcheff, was the Chevalier’s. The Grafin was a tall, about fifty years old, sharp featured, dark haired woman with a prominent bosom and a trim waist. However, her face wore a sour expression as if her milk of human kindness had long since curdled. She spoke French with an accent I could not identify but assumed, given her surname, was German. When introduced by the Chevalier her eyes had roamed over me like a measuring tape, and I could imagine how a slave on a block would feel when being appraised by a prospective owner. Her ward, so called ward, was definitely neither French nor German. She reminded me somewhat of Chloe Curtis; petite, slim, blue eyed, fair haired, and somewhere between fourteen and fifteen years of age. But of course the Chevalier’s young companions were always of a similar age and appearance.

Fraulein Maris had kept her eyes cast down at the table when we first met, causing Grafin Von Eylau to speak sharply to her in a language I did not recognise. Maris then raised her eyes and looked directly at the Chevalier and me. ‘Pleased to meet you,’ she said in execrable French, and spoken in much the same manner as a parrot would repeat the phrase.

Things improved when we, the Chevalier with the Grafin and me partnering Maris, ventured onto the dance floor. I had taken Maris into my arms with some trepidation. Young girls are not used to dancing in close contact; most of the dances they perform consist of gyrating violently on their own and interacting only with other girls. I thought I would be steering a stiff and un-cooperative female around the dance floor, but Maris surprised me by clasping her arms around me and then moulding her supple young body to mine. I had not been too taken with the Grafin, the woman with whom I was expected to make the beast with two backs later that evening, and my spirits and expectations were low. Having Maris clamped to me like an amorous poultice raised both my spirits and my zob. I regarded Maris with different eyes as she, feeling my arousal, did an impromptu side-step, grinding her groin deliciously against mine. All too soon the magic moment ended and we re-joined the Chevalier and the Grafin at our table. Some half hour later we were in a taxi heading for our hotel.

Either by chance or design we were all accommodated at the Hotel Superb, the Chevalier and me in a top floor suite and the Grafin and Maris in a double room on the second floor. We took the elevator; I bid ‘goodnight’ to the Chevalier and Maris when the elevator stopped on the second floor where I and the Grafin got out. As soon as we entered the Grafin’s room she began issuing orders.

“Remove all your clothing.” The Grafin spoke in the sharp, peremptorily, tone of voice recognisable to any man who has served in the military. In fact I wondered if there was a women’s battalion of le Légion étrangère and she had served as a drill instructor. I stood, naked as a new born babe, while she examined me, a slight sneer on her face as if I did not quite measure up to what she had expected. I must have passed muster as a further instruction was given. “Lie down on the bed.” I obeyed with alacrity; first to get away from her intense and not altogether admiring gaze, and second to give myself more time to compose myself for what I was about to receive (and may the Lord make me truly thankful, or even just contented).

Grafin Irma von Eylau disrobed in a twinkling of an eye. Her foundation garments were an engineering miracle, keeping large expanses of flesh in a tight and trim posture. Unfortunately, with the removal of the constricting corsetry there was an avalanche of breast and belly flesh. Her once prominent breasts drooped to just above the large belly that had been cinched in tightly but now revealed several rolls of excess flesh in all their glory. Her vagin was partly obscured by a thatch of grey hair so I supposed that on her head had been coloured. Not to worry, my dancing instructress Chantal Fontaine had been two-toned, although her body was just as trim and shapely when nude as when fully dressed.

I inwardly sighed. I was not looking forward to the next several hours and wondered if I had made a bad career choice when accepting the Chevalier’s invitation. Had Madam Curtis been anything like Grafin Irma von Eylau then I would have remained as a waiter at the Café Pavé. However, faint heart never won fair lady or kept an ugly one happy so I summoned up the blood and stiffened the sinews, although to be more accurate the Grafin stiffened my sinews and summoned up my zob by taking that organ into her mouth. She was a virtuoso, far outstripping the fellatio I had received from Madam Curtis. I closed my eyes in delight and thought about Veronique Curtis and imagined it her I was going to make the beast with. The Grafin sucked and slobbered to such good effect I felt my sap rising, but before I came to the boil the Grafin removed my throbbing zob from her mouth.