any person on the planet. Not even as Jack lubed Alex up with his own spit. Not even as Jack parted his fly, ready to fuck Alex as hard and fiercely as he had fucked me.
I’d gone to school for art history, to learn to appreciate images I didn’t fully understand. It was like that for me, now. My heart felt torn apart, and yet when Jack’s blue eyes met mine I was whole again.
I didn’t understand, but I could watch, and I could wait.
Knowing soon it would be my turn once more.
Chapter Thirteen: Change
Europe transforms me.
I’ve been nearly a dozen times over the years, and on each trip, that magical transformation takes place almost as soon as I step off the airplane. I wear clothes in Paris that I’d never wear at home. I buy shoes that would seem ridiculous in my daily life. I have confidence like you wouldn’t believe.
My first trip to Europe was straight out of school, and I started two different love affairs on the journey. One with a handsome shoe salesman named Val, the other with a fruit seller from England.
I know what I was wearing when I met Val: a thin white tank top from Venice with the word ITALIA on the front. No bra. Indigo stovepipe jeans. Hair loose and long down my back. He was with two friends, and still he managed to pick me up, so that I sat at a table with three handsome French men, drinking stolen sips of his red wine and feeling his hand on my thigh under the table. Was that my first flirtation with a more-than-ménage? I think yes.
But being with Jack in Paris was something else. Safe to say that Jack transformed me far more than Europe did.
Jack gave us time to regroup. To shower and dress. To slide back into our selves after being so cleanly flayed by his show of force. Then the three of us went walking. With no real mission that I was aware of. We walked until we felt like stopping, and then we found a café and drank.
I was between the men at every moment, protected by them on the sidewalk, sandwiched by them at the outdoor café. We sat watching people pass, not speaking much, not needing to. Alex smoked more openly in Paris, lighting his cigarettes lazily, taking obvious pleasure in the ritual.
Looking back, the images are like dreams. But I remember feeling as if I were in a dream at the time. My head swam with what had just happened in the hotel room. My heart pounded every time Jack locked eyes with me. He had plans. I could tell. But when I would raise an eyebrow at him, or even say, “What? What are you thinking about?” he’d only smile back at me or tease me with his foot under the table.
There was no banter. No: “How was your flight, dear?” No: “Aren’t you tired?”
Jack was never visibly tired. I’ve known other men like him before. The type who don’t show weakness. Brock was like that. Even in pain, you’d never have known. And why am I drawn to that?
I don’t know how, but I sensed the mood Jack was in. Sensed it the way that some people can sniff the air and tell a storm is coming. I would have thought that we’d gotten through our hellos back in the hotel. But Jack was brewing. Yet there was no way to know what his plans were, or when he might reveal them. So I sat there at the café, drinking the tiny cups of espresso, vibrating with the caffeine and the electricity in the air.
“I need to walk,” Alex said after we’d been sitting for nearly an hour. “I’m restless.”
“Walk,” Jack said, nodding, as if this was some sort of cue. “We’ll meet you back at the hotel. Have a late dinner.”
Alex did something unusual then. He shook Jack’s hand, but he gave me a kiss. I wasn’t expecting the gesture, and it tugged on me. Jack and I watched together as Alex disappeared into the throng of people, the never-ending stream of humanity passing by the café.
“He won’t go with us tonight,” Jack said, gazing at me.
“But you just said…”
“I don’t mean dinner. We’ll all eat together. But he won’t go to the club
I’d gone to school for art history, to learn to appreciate images I didn’t fully understand. It was like that for me, now. My heart felt torn apart, and yet when Jack’s blue eyes met mine I was whole again.
I didn’t understand, but I could watch, and I could wait.
Knowing soon it would be my turn once more.
Chapter Thirteen: Change
Europe transforms me.
I’ve been nearly a dozen times over the years, and on each trip, that magical transformation takes place almost as soon as I step off the airplane. I wear clothes in Paris that I’d never wear at home. I buy shoes that would seem ridiculous in my daily life. I have confidence like you wouldn’t believe.
My first trip to Europe was straight out of school, and I started two different love affairs on the journey. One with a handsome shoe salesman named Val, the other with a fruit seller from England.
I know what I was wearing when I met Val: a thin white tank top from Venice with the word ITALIA on the front. No bra. Indigo stovepipe jeans. Hair loose and long down my back. He was with two friends, and still he managed to pick me up, so that I sat at a table with three handsome French men, drinking stolen sips of his red wine and feeling his hand on my thigh under the table. Was that my first flirtation with a more-than-ménage? I think yes.
But being with Jack in Paris was something else. Safe to say that Jack transformed me far more than Europe did.
Jack gave us time to regroup. To shower and dress. To slide back into our selves after being so cleanly flayed by his show of force. Then the three of us went walking. With no real mission that I was aware of. We walked until we felt like stopping, and then we found a café and drank.
I was between the men at every moment, protected by them on the sidewalk, sandwiched by them at the outdoor café. We sat watching people pass, not speaking much, not needing to. Alex smoked more openly in Paris, lighting his cigarettes lazily, taking obvious pleasure in the ritual.
Looking back, the images are like dreams. But I remember feeling as if I were in a dream at the time. My head swam with what had just happened in the hotel room. My heart pounded every time Jack locked eyes with me. He had plans. I could tell. But when I would raise an eyebrow at him, or even say, “What? What are you thinking about?” he’d only smile back at me or tease me with his foot under the table.
There was no banter. No: “How was your flight, dear?” No: “Aren’t you tired?”
Jack was never visibly tired. I’ve known other men like him before. The type who don’t show weakness. Brock was like that. Even in pain, you’d never have known. And why am I drawn to that?
I don’t know how, but I sensed the mood Jack was in. Sensed it the way that some people can sniff the air and tell a storm is coming. I would have thought that we’d gotten through our hellos back in the hotel. But Jack was brewing. Yet there was no way to know what his plans were, or when he might reveal them. So I sat there at the café, drinking the tiny cups of espresso, vibrating with the caffeine and the electricity in the air.
“I need to walk,” Alex said after we’d been sitting for nearly an hour. “I’m restless.”
“Walk,” Jack said, nodding, as if this was some sort of cue. “We’ll meet you back at the hotel. Have a late dinner.”
Alex did something unusual then. He shook Jack’s hand, but he gave me a kiss. I wasn’t expecting the gesture, and it tugged on me. Jack and I watched together as Alex disappeared into the throng of people, the never-ending stream of humanity passing by the café.
“He won’t go with us tonight,” Jack said, gazing at me.
“But you just said…”
“I don’t mean dinner. We’ll all eat together. But he won’t go to the club
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