Chapter 23

Elliot and Melissa cuddled in bed still clothed. They kissed as they talked, the kisses gradually ramping up in intensity.

"Tell me who you saved, my angel," asked Elliot. "Then you can save this sinner."

"You haven't become a gossip, have you?" Melissa asked.

"No my love. I haven't scraped bottom yet."

They shared a giggle.

"First there was Vic. You know, Victoria Cole."

"I heard about the orgies."

"It was necessary to hook her up with Nils."

"An unpleasant necessity?"

Melissa giggled, "Most pleasant actually. It begins with her ... You're never going to tell anyone what I'm about to tell you, are you?"

"You don't trust me?"

"Of course I trust you. I guess I just need to hear you promise. It gets pretty deep with her, things only Sarah and I and Nils can know, and you."

"I promise on my mother's sweet soul."

Melissa told him everything. It got graphic when he asked for it. The foursomes built his libido enough to get them naked and get him near popping. She teased him back, but the live sex show brought him closer. Her lips and tongue on his rampant cock delighted him but he wanted more.

"I need to fuck you, my love."

She straddled him and rode him to a swift conclusion.

"Let me suck out my cum while you continue. You deserve a big cum."

He let her mind stay relatively rational for awhile as she continued her story. When she shifted to Barcelona and the saving of Reggie's and Sylvie's relationship, mid story he worked hard to bring forth her orgasm. She had idly stroked his cock and restored it, so he moved her on her back with her legs lifted high and stroked his cock in and out. That ramped up slowly, taking nearly fifteen minutes and bringing her two more climaxes and another, the biggest of the evening, when he came simultaneously. Luxuriating in the post orgasm bliss, she completed the tale.

"So what sins must you confess?" Melissa asked.

"I've been such a good boy," Elliot began, lying on his back with Melissa smiling up at him resting on his shoulder. His hand stroked through her thick, luxuriant, strawberry blonde hair. "I've been inspired all summer with you and Sarah, and Mom happy for once and leaving me be. And your mother's encouragement and suggestions and Henri weirdly cheerful. It's been splendid. And I worked hard because of the inspiration. And everything's ready for Fashion week. And I guess I wanted to celebrate the achievement, the lack of last minute stress, the knowledge that Mom and your mom and Henri would pull everything together, and the confidence I have in my work and the work of my seamstresses and sewers and Roger doing splendidly watching over it. And everyone disappearing into this fabulous city or flying off to have adventures elsewhere leaving me alone with my celebrating. No, my love, I'm glad you had fun and touched hearts and so forth. I really am. It let me stand alone on the highest of high diving boards, an exhilarating view, and exhilarating in my decent.

"Springing up high allowed me to dive down low. Down to the deepest depths of the queer world here. Maybe I was too busy, or maybe I'm soft and easily damaged, but I avoided the mean streets of New York. A world of endless shadows scares me. The dark dank places where rats flourish give me the creeps. I feel vulnerable and see death in the shadows. But here ... I wanted to not just be a tourist of sleaze, but a full participant. I wanted to be like Manny, the flaming fag, the flamboyant queen wearing fabulous, sequin covered rags, living on the edge of starvation, every sou spent on getting wasted or buying sequins, every moment a continuous party celebrating outrageousness. Manny makes money as a drag queen. He also sells his sex. In a way I bought him, I was his john, but I wanted it to be more like a friend with some extra cash on hand.

"I bought him hash and cocaine and speed and I started out sharing it with him, but the stuff made me nervous and I didn't want that. Too much to be nervous about. Instead I got drunk and shared champagne and cognac and absinthe until I could barely stand. We staggered home, to this bed, and I fed him room service and we fucked each other and made a night of it. I got lost in pure sensation.

"But in the morning, being sober brought out the worst in him. Everything he hated vomited out, including himself and me. So I dropped him off with a thousand Euros and sank even deeper.

"I found Skid Row here in Paris. Have you ever seen Sullivan's Travels?" Melissa shook her head. "It's a really great movie. Preston Sturges. I have a DVD at home I'll play for you. Anyway, this rich movie producer goes around giving away five dollar bills to all these tramps and ends up getting knocked out and robbed. I did the same with five euro notes, only I had a couple bodyguards a few feet away keeping an eye on me. Though the area smelled of humanity most unpleasantly, I found myself in my immersion slowly becoming able to handle it and eventually ignore it altogether. When I gave my last note away, I sat down with the fellow and we chatted. Of course he had a terrible story about being fairly prosperous working in middle management and with a wife and a kid but got wrapped up in the glass pipe and lost everything, including his mind. He tried getting back on his feet, but he kept either not showing up at some crappy job or having a temper tantrum or getting into fights. By and large the land of the bum is the land of the mentally ill no longer hidden in institutions or caged in debtor prisons.

"I finally asked him where he slept, and his eyes actually sparkled. The alley he led me to made me nervous. Ancient and dank and dark, with beady eyes staring at me, perhaps in my imagination. A brown rat as big as a Chihuahua did scamper by once. We entered a building through a broken wall and descended. We ended up in the famous grand sewers of Paris! It was like a cathedral for waste. Along the sides of the big tunnels were bums. Bum families with bum children. Bums chatting, bums drinking and bums even making love! Most sleeping areas or small gatherings remained in darkness, but some of the bums had candles or Sterno and even a gas lamp or two.

"Arriving at his bed, we sat and watched the world of underground bums. A peculiar man caught my eye. Dressed in a sheet arranged like a Buddhist monk's robe, this tall, dark black apparition, the white sheet no matter how soiled contrasting starkly with his ebony skin, strolled proudly among the destitute. I asked my new bum friend if he knew the fellow. It sounded like the English word, 'sorry, ' but we only spoke French. The man chuckled at my confusion and told me it was the man's name. The man approached and nodded at us, and then he checked me out and saw me check him out. He looked at me kind of lustily. I gave him the same look back. Standing up, I thanked my bum friend and walked with the proud African.

"We chatted as we walked. He spouted profundities continually, some quite deep, speaking in French and in English. Some he spoke in a tongue I couldn't understand, but he didn't bother to translate. Yeah, the man was crazy, but really sweet, too. After several minutes of this, I asked him if he was gay. He told me he liked men, but only clean men. I could see that would be a problem. We chuckled and I invited him here to share a shower.

"Along the way home, which we walked and it was miles but he hated being trapped inside cars, I decided to have some fun. I brought the man in the draped, unclean sheet into one of my favorite haberdasheries. The salesman on the floor looked like he wanted to shoot us. I asked for the proprietor by name, used my position as designer for Pere and basically shamed the man into complying with my wish. The proprietor actually got a kick out of the situation. We dressed Sorry in a white three piece suit with a burgundy shirt and sandals. I paid extra to get the suit tailored quickly. Occupying time, I bought my new friend a back pack to carry the sheet in when he changed and a couple of crêpes and café au lait. We strolled and chatted some more, making a wide circle until the time came to get the suit. He looked fabulous in it, an African prince.

"Back here, we showered and made love. It was an impressive cock and he was an exciting lover. He let me sketch him naked and in his suit and in his sheet. I gave him the one off the bed as well when he asked for it."

"You're going to show me the sketches," Melissa demanded.

"I promise. They're no Sarah Jones, but some of my better stuff. Anyway, after sex and another shower, I told him about you, about your angelic nature. I showed him drawings of you and Marjorie, Sarah's of course. He had this huge thundering laugh. He told me to get dressed. We had someone to meet.

"Several blocks later, we stopped at a store front. 'Zelda's Visons: Tarot Readings and Touch Healings.' Zelda turned out to be this amazingly beautiful Jewish Princess decked out in mystical Gypsy attire. She hugged Sorry, the Israeli Princess and the African Prince. I had my tiny digital camera and took a picture. I'll show you, don't worry. He whispered something to her and she looked ecstatic and hugged me."