Canadianpilot and Dēda

The Music of the Night

Just like a musician will sometimes take a melody composed by another composer and elaborate and expand uponit, so sometimes an author is inspired by an unfinished work of another. This story is rather like that famous work by Rachmaninoff entitled Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini (the 18th variation of which you may know better as Somewhere in Time)

PART I
We Go to Paris / Nous allons à Paris

The Invitation to Compete

I had just gotten out of the shower that Saturday morning and stood there before the bathroom mirror admiring my own reflection. At fifteen, I stood about 5ft. 9in. [1.75 m] tall.My still wet hair was brown, straight, and cut short. In addition to the time that I spent with my voice lessons, I also swam for exercise even spending some time on my high school swim team. I knew that I was in good shape with a trim, athletic body. Thanks to body shaving for the swim team, my 3 inch [8 cm] flaccid penis and hanging ball-sac protruded from a hairless crotch.

Then I heard a noise from the front porch. Still naked, I ran over to the rain-spattered window of my room just in time to see the postman leaving the mail in the box on the front porch. As quickly as possible, I pulled on my jeans and a tee-shirt and ran out to the porch.

It sat there, waiting as I burst through the front door and fumbled with the lid to the mailbox. My fifteen year-old frame froze suddenly, knowing that the long, brown envelope could be the key to success, and knowing even better that it would more than likely ruin my self-esteem. 'Why did I enter that damn competition anyway?! How could I?' were the thoughts that crossed my mind.

I bent down and grasped the envelope, slightly wet from the Seattle spring rain. I rubbed my finger over my name, proudly displayed on the front of the envelope. I decided that I should sit down, and walked, with somewhat of a stagger, into the living room, where I sat down on the sofa. To heck with it! I opened the flap at the end of the envelope, and peered into the opening, trying, in vain, to glimpse it's fateful contents.

Slowly, gently, I pulled the paper from the envelope, unfolded it and read:

Dear Master Crowley,

Pursuant to your recent audition in Seattle, the panel has selected you to compete in the 57th International Singer's Competition to be held in Paris in July.

You will be competing in the Tenor category, and also in the Duet category with your friend and fellow student, Master Alex Jones.

The competition commences on the 5th of July at the Palais Omnisports de Paris-Bercy.This facility is located in the 12th arrondissement near the Gare de Lyon. However, a representative of our organization will meet you at the airport and provide transportation to your hotel which will be within walking distance of the site of the competition.

You will need to be present in Paris by the tenth of June for promotional work, masterclasses and rehearsals. The organizing committee will pay your travel and living expenses. Spending money will also be provided as a gift for sacrificing time with your family, especially on your national holiday, the 4th of July.

Being a minor, you will need to have a chaperon accompany Alex Jones and you. By separate letter, we have extended an invitation to Greg Chapin, who you indicated on your entry form is your local voice coach, to serve as your chaperon.

You will be sharing space with Master Jones, most likely in a twin hotel room while your coach will be in a connecting room. If you are among the top finalists, we will underwrite two of your family members flying over the day before the competition at the expense of the committee. This, of course, assumes that they would like to be there for your competition for the title.

I wish you the best of luck, sincerely,

Jacques Desmoulins

Secrétaire Exécutif

Concours International de Chant / International Vocal Competition

I ran to the phone, almost crying with joy. I quickly punched in Alex's number.

"Hello?," he answered.

"I love you Alex! We're in!" I said, incoherently.

"Pull the other one Dave."

"I'm serious! Come over and see the letter!"

"OK. I'll be right around."

"See ya!"

I returned the handset to its cradle, and went back to the living room. I couldn't believe it! Me – a fifteen year old whose voice broke when he was eleven – in an international competition! The best thing, though, was that I'd get to spend a month with the obscenely cute Alex. The eleven year-old god had been coupled with me by my vocal coach for some duets a few years previously, when he was seven or eight, and we'd been firm friends since. His boy soprano voice mingled beautifully with my deeper, tenor voice. Did I mention that he was really cute?

Alex had a trim 5 ft.[1.52 m] tall body that was only just beginning to develop. Once or twice when we had been in the swimming pool locker room I had seen him naked. He was one of those thin kids who, even at eleven, had pecs and abs that appeared to be well-developed since he had such little body fat. However, it was his two inch [5 cm] flaccid penis that stood out from a baby smooth pubic area that caught my ever vigilant eye.

Indeed, I was definitely a homosexual, but in a discreet way. I was out to nobody. I didn't have any sexual experience, apart from masturbation, but I hoped Alex would want to learn about sex together in Paris. I loved him so much. If only he knew.

He cycled into my yard and abandoned his bike on the lawn, before running inside to find me sitting in the living room at my family's large Steinway grand piano. I'd been playing it while waiting for Alex. The letter sat on the music stand, and Alex grabbed it. He digested it's contents, and ran over to hug me, which was an unexpected move, but I made the best of it, cupping the cheeks of his cute little ass in my hands momentarily, before he got up and started jumping about in excitement.

We rang our parents immediately, and they were absolutely ecstatic. They weren't even put off by the fact that we'd be spending much of the summer in Paris, with just our voice coach as a chaperon. When my parents returned home, my father gave me his vote of confidence, saying that he was sure I could look after Alex and myself across the Atlantic with only Greg as our chaperon. He also pacified my ever so slightly anxious mother by reminding her that we'd be able to contact someone from the Competition Committee at any time or by cellphone.

En Route

Two days after school was out we left for Paris. At the 'Sea-Tac' airport, the two of us were wished well by friends and family and fretted over by our mothers as we prepared for our big adventure.

Greg, our voice coach, was there ready to be our chaperon. At 25, except for the fact that he always looked like he needed a shave, he looked a lot younger. He stood about 6 ft [1.80 m] tall with fair skin and a mop of unruly dark blonde hair. His polo shirt and jeans were tight and emphasized the fact that even though he was a musician, he was in good shape. His biceps were well formed from weight lifting, which he did regularly both to stay in shape and to work off the frustrations of working with juvenile vocalists. He weighed a trim 175 lbs. [80 kg] which was only a few pounds more than when he had graduated from high school.

"Mom, we'll be fine!' I reminded her as we climbed out of the taxi, which deposited us at the airport. Our parents came with us to the check-in desk, where we said goodbye and were escorted to our gate. The flight boarded and the three of us were seated together.

The plane journey itself was uneventful. Greg, Alex, and I watched movies on the little screens on the backs of the seats in front of us and slept when we could. I read the sheet music for our competition piece for quite a while, penciling in little "artistic observations."

Early the next morning, we landed at Charles De Gaulle airport. Once we had claimed our luggage and cleared customs, a man was waiting for us in the arrivals area holding up a card with our names on it. He led us through the airport to a short-term parking area where a black, shiny Mercedes was parked. Inside, Mr. Desmoulins was waiting to greet us.

"Salut, les garçons ! Bienvenue en France !" he exclaimed. I hoped he wouldn't speak French all of the time that we were with him. Although I was fluent in French from when our family had lived in Montreal, I didn't think that I should speak it around people who hadn't a clue what I was talking about, like Alex.

"Thanks, we're glad to be here" I replied, hoping to restart the conversation "en anglais."

Then looking at Alex, I added "Mon ami ne parle pas français." [My friend here doesn't speak French]

"We're looking forward to the competition and to seeing the city," added Greg in English as he shook hands with M. Desmoulins.

"We will drop you off at the hotel, and you can get settled. The concert hall is just down the street from the hotel, so you can go there whenever you want and take a rehearsal room. The hard work doesn't begin for a few days, so feel free to go sightseeing," he said. Then, he produced three bank cards from his jacket pocket. "These are preloaded with your spending money. You can use them at any automatic bank machine in the city."

We expressed our thanks as we took the cards marveling at just how much money they had thought to provide for us.

When we arrived at the hotel, it turned out to be a stylish, modern building with similar decor. We said our goodbyes to M. Desmoulins and were shown to our room. The room turned out to be part of a suite. It was amazingly large, and, far from my idea of the 'twin room' mentioned in the letter that we had received from the contest. The three of us had two double rooms, each with two queen-sized beds, two bathrooms, and exquisite views of Paris from the balcony. Alex seemed almost hyperactive – he was so excited about the room, the city, and of course the competition.

Shower Games / Jeux de Douche

In the other room I heard the shower running. Through the open door I saw Greg stripping out of his clothes. His back was to me as he completed getting naked prior to showering.

"I'm going to get a shower and get some of this travel grime off of me," he announced as he headed naked toward the bathroom and the waiting shower. "Either or both of you are welcome to join me or to take one in your own bathroom," he hollered over the noise of the water.

Greg and I had enjoyed a few intimate encounters back in Seattle, but I felt sure that Alex had never done anything like that with either Greg or me or anyone else for that matter.

Then I decided 'What the Hell, this is Paris and what happens here is going to stay among the three of us.' I sat down on the bed and pulled off my shoes and socks. As I was unbuttoning my shirt, Alex came to the door of the room and looked at me with a blank look that revealed nothing of what he might be thinking.

I took off my shirt and dropped it on Greg's bed. Then I undid my belt and unzipped my board shorts. I let them drop to the floor as I looked at Alex and said, "Greg's getting a shower so that we can get cleaned up and then go out and see some of the city. He invited us to either join him or shower in our own room. I thought that I would join him just for the fun of it." Then, I used my thumbs to slide my boxers down and stepped out of them.

Alex looked at me starring at my package like he had never seen a dick before. Then, to my pleasant surprise, he said, "That does sound like fun. Is it OK if I join you guys?"

"Sure," I responded. "Just get out of those clothes and we can all use his shower."

Alex slowly came into Greg's room and pulled his polo shirt over his head. Then he pulled his shorts down and stepped out of them. (He didn't even have to undo anything; it seemed that they were the beltless kind.) He looked at me again for a moment and then pulled down his 'tighty whitey' style briefs.

Naked the two of us stood there and took a long look at each other. At first, I doubted that he understood how his trim 5 ft. [1.52 m] tall body 'turned me on' sexually. It was only when I saw his two inch [5 cm] flaccid penis start to become erect that I realized that my own lean muscled body was having that same effect on him. My 3 inch [8 cm] penis started to harden just by looking at him. Then we both giggled and ran over to the bathroom where Greg was already enjoying the luxury of an oversized French shower.

I know that he wanted us to join him, but must not have expected us to do so because he seemed genuinely surprised when we opened the shower door and stepped in with him. (The fact that he had a five inch [13 cm] erection also seemed to contribute to that fact.)

I had enjoyed Greg's body before but Alex at eleven had most likely never even seen an adult erection before. He just stood there sort of 'bug-eyed'. The fact that both of us also had erections probably left Greg pleased but wondering just what sort of shower we had in mind.

Activity in the shower just sort of stood still for a minute or two. All three of us stood there looking from one to the other letting the water of the shower flow over us with its wide spray wetting our hair and cascading over our smooth hairless bodies. (Like we boys, Greg also kept his body hair shaved so that we all looked the same.)

After a while, I figured that someone needed to break the spell. I picked up the soap from its wall dish and started washing Greg's body, soaping him with my hands, running my fingers playfully over his tight abdomen and his really nice butt.

Alex reached over and got another piece of soap and started washing my back. This motivated Greg to start washing my chest and then to work his way down across my abs with his soapy hand.

While Greg was soaping me, I turned my attentions to Alex, rubbing his skin gently with my hands. I could feel the sinewy tightness of his shoulders and chest and then as I ran my fingers further down, the contours of his abs. With my other hand, I started to soap his lower abdomen just above his hairless young penis. Momentarily he tensed and then let out a low moan as my hand slowly circled his rock-hard three and a half inch [9 cm] erection. His eyes closed in delight as I began to stroke the source of his boyhood.

Then I felt a larger hand working its way between my soapy legs and knew that Greg was going to do the same to me. His slick, soapy hand found my nut sack and began to massage it. Moments later his other hand was pumping my own four and a half inch [11½ cm] hard penis. As the warm water of the shower continued to play over our naked bodies, I knew that I could have stayed there all day and it would have been worth whatever part of Paris that I missed.

Suddenly, I was surprised to see Alex's small hand reach out and circle Greg's man-sized cock. I guess that the kid was a fast study because he began to stroke up and down on the man's five and a half inch [14 cm] tool like a he had done this many times before. A somewhat surprised and yet pleasantly pleased Greg flinched and then relaxed. In seconds, he was almost purring as he enjoyed the pleasure that his eleven year-old student gave him there in that Parisian shower.

I slowed my stroking of Alex's dick and lowered myself to my knees so that I could take it in my mouth. I could see his eleven year-old eyes widen as I began to give him his first ever BJ.

As the warm water flowed over our naked bodies, Greg caressed us both at once. His arms stretched around us pulling us into a sensuous loose group hug. Then he eased back a little and slowly ran one hand over each of us at the same time. Between my sucking his penis and Greg's hand running up and down his body, Alex was transfixed. The sensual interplay of the water and the boy on boy sex was something that neither Alex nor I had ever before experienced, at least not in this way.

Then Greg bent down and slowly kissed Alex, first on the check and then on the lips. Greg's arms circled the boy and drew him closer pressing their upper bodies together. Then, they locked in a passionate kiss. As they kissed, I was still sucking Alex's rock hard member. The kiss was all that it took to push Alex into orgasm. He tensed and then his dick exploded. His cum hit the back of my mouth in several short bursts. As this happened, his eyes got as big as silver dollars. This was evidently the first time for him not to have a dry orgasm.

Greg felt rather than saw Alex's orgasm as the boy's body tensed. He released the boy from his embrace. Without getting up off my knees, I turned toward Greg and took his hard dick in my mouth. We had had sex a few times back in Seattle, but this was the first time that we had done so in the shower. The fact that there was no one to interrupt us or no reason to hurry contributed to our enjoyment. I licked at his firm shaft and then began to suck it with a slow, deliberate up and down motion. It was not long before he shot a large stream of cum into my mouth. It was more than I could ever have swallowed and was quickly dripping down my face and onto my chest and belly.

Sexually spent, Greg looked down at me and said, "Get up here and let me finish you off."

At that I got to my feet facing him as the warm water flowed over us. Alex was still standing there beside us in the big shower now watching us have sex. Greg's big hand circled my penis and slowly and deliberately stroked it. After participating in the orgasms of both my friend and my tutor, it was not long before I erupted in what was at the time the most intense orgasm of my young life.

Perhaps it finally dawned on Alex just what he had been doing. He opened the shower door and hurried out grabbing a large bath towel from the rack beside the shower as he went.

Wiping the remaining cum from my dick, I figured that I had better see what he was thinking I hoped that we had not gone too far in the shower in introducing him to sex in such a complete way.

Grabbing a towel, I wiped the water from my body and then hurried out into the bedroom only to find Alex stretched across Greg's bed face down on his towel. His beautiful, young and very exposed backside beckoned to me. Even though I had just had an orgasm, there was a stirring in my groin just from seeing him like that. Then I heard a few soft sobs from the pillow in which he was burying his face.

"Alex, what's the matter? Didn't you enjoy what we just did in the shower?" I asked.

"Yes, I did," responded Alex. "I was just so wonderful. I had no idea it could be so wonderful. And then, there was the fact that it was the first time that I ever made white stuff like the older boys, like a man," he said with sobs still punctuating his voice.

"Yes, it is wonderful and something that you can enjoy for the rest of your life," I replied. "Come on, get dressed. Greg is going to show us something few Americans coming to Paris ever take the time to see. There's a Roman arena here in the city. It's not far from here and besides, Greg has an old friend from his days as a music student here in Paris who lives near it. He's going to show the arena to us before we have to meet with the other contestants for dinner here in the hotel."

With that I jumped on the bed and straddled him losing my towel in process. My legs pinned him to the bed with my dick poking him in the back. As he squirmed, I began to tickle him. We struggled playfully for a few minutes and then I released him. We laughed as we picked up our clothes from the floor and headed back towards our own room on the other side of the door. Yes, this was going to be a fun summer.

PART II
Parisian Adventures
Les Aventures Parisiennes

A Visit to the Roman Arena / Une visite à l'arène romaine

In ten minutes Greg found Alex and I dressed in clean board shorts and polo shirts and ready to go. He himselfhad dressed in a pale greenshort-sleeved Oxford cloth shirt and khaki slacks.

"I was planning to meet my old friend, Mehdi, at his place over on the Rue Monge. I thought that you might like to see a real Roman arena while here in Paris. It's called Les Arènes de Lutèce from the Roman name for Paris. Most American tourists don't even know that it exists and never see it while they're here. Are you fellows up for that?" asked Greg.

"You bet!" exclaimed an excited Alex. I smiled glad to know that he was back to his old self and added "I can hardly wait."

We followed Greg down to the lobby and out onto the Rue de Bercy. It was only a short walk to the Bercy Metro station across from the Palais Omnisports where the competition was to be held. At the station, Greg purchased a 'carnet' of Metro tickets. We took the number six line to Place d'Italie and changed to the number seven exiting at the Place Monge Metro station.

(Just riding the Metro was a new and exciting experience for Alex. I had ridden the Metro when we lived in Montreal, but I recalled my own first amazed experience as I watched my young friend's fascinated reaction.)

Once we were at street level, Alex and I both marveled at how the Parisians could hide the entrance to a Metro station soinconspicuously on a side street. Without Greg, we would never have found it even if we had been looking for it.

He motioned for us to keep up. Around the corner on the Rue Monge there were a long series of multistoried 19th century buildings lining the sidewalk. Many consisted of businesses on the ground floor with what appeared to be apartments on the upper floors. Greg pointed to an archway just down the street. In only a few steps we were at a modest sign that read Les Arènes de Lutèce. Both of us hurried through the archway and found ourselves looking down at an oval arena one floor below us with what appeared to be a dirt or sand covered floor. The remains of what must have once been the seats were apparent on the far side. It was not very big, but then again we were probably thinking of something like the Coliseum. Greg could see disappointment on our faces and said, "I know it's not all that impressive, but the Roman Paris, what they called 'Lutetia,' only had 20,000 people when it was built." Reluctantly, Alex pulled out his camera so that Greg would take our photo with the arena in the background.

As we looked down, a few young men and some boys had a soccer ball and were playing an improvised game on the floor of the arena. An older one of them about Greg's age was shirtless in the summer heat. As he kicked the ball, we could see his muscles move under an olive-colored skin. For a thin guy he was obviously in good shape. Then, a couple of theyounger boys saw us looking down and pointed at us. The shirtless young man looked up and smiled. Then he waved at us and hollered "Greg! Good to see you! Are these your students? Stay there, I'm coming up." It was Greg's old roommate, Mehdi.

Mehdi quickly made his way up to where we were standing above the arena floor. As he approached, I could see his well-defined pecs and abs as they glistened with a thin coating of sweat from playing ball. He also had a thin moustache and as well as a light dusting of hair on his chest, particularly in the middle over his sternum. His jeans hung low on his slim hips revealing the top of a healthy treasure trail as it disappeared into the top of his underwear which protruded an inch or so above his jeans. Looking at Mehdi's bare torso, I felt my dick harden in my board shorts. He was definitely someone that I would like to get to 'know' better.

"Mehdi, mon vieux, ça va ?" [Mehdi, man, how are you?] Greg said as the two met there overlooking the arena.

"Ça va bien, mon ami," [I'm fine, my friend] replied Mehdi. Then they both smiled and the two of them embraced as only old friends and lovers can do.

As they embraced, Alex and I noticed that a boy of about twelve had followed Mehdi up to where we were standing. Like Mehdi, he was shirtless and wore only that type of blue gym shorts often favored by European boys. He also had the same olive complexion and slim build. His dime-sized nipples were dark brown while his upper body was beginning to show the same muscular definition that was soobvious on Mehdi. He had just a shadow of a moustache visible on his upper lip so that we knew at once that, unlike Alex, he was already well into puberty.

As Greg and Mehdi broke from their embrace, Greg turned to us and said, "These are my two students. Dave is the older one while Alex is the younger one. Boys, this is Mehdi, my old roommate when I was a student here at the Sorbonne. He's originally from Morocco."

Then in English Mehdi replied, "Good to meet you boys. This young fellow with me is my nephew, Omar. He also speaks pretty good English. Perhaps you boys can get better acquainted while Greg and I catch up."

I turned toward Omar and reached out to shake his hand saying, "Je suis très heureux de faire ta connaissance. J'arrive à me débrouiller en français." [It's nice to meet you. I can get by in French]

Omar smiled and shook my hand vigorously. Then he looked at me quizzically and added "Est-ce qu'Alex parle français, lui aussi ?" [Does Alex also speak French?]

"No, Alex doesn't speak French?" I replied in English so that Alex would understand.

"No matter, I can speak English so that it will be easier for the both of you," he said.

Then Mehdi broke in with "Let's go up to my apartment. I could really use a drink. Playing ball with those boys is getting to be too much for an old man of twenty-five like me." With that, we followed him up the nearby stairs towards his apartment on an upper floor of the building.

Apartment Games / Jeux de l'appartement

Mehdi's apartment turned out to be on what the French call the deuxième étage [that would be the third floor to Americans]. He led us to a door on the right side of the hallway and then stopped. Looking back at Omar, he said, "Why don't you take Dave and Alex over to your apartment so that you can get to know them better while Greg and I catch up?"

"Good idea!" exclaimed Omar as he motioned us to follow him on down the hall to the next apartment that was evidently where he lived.

Alex and I soon found ourselves in the Moroccan boy's modest apartment. The main room was about three and a half meters by seven meters in size (11.4 ft. by 22.8 ft.). At one end, it was furnished with a large maroon couch that faced a big TV set. A couple of end tables and an easy chair completed the main furnishings. At the other end was a nice table and chairs that obviously was where Omar and his family took their meals. On the walls were a few prints while behind the couch was a red flag with a green open star that I took to be the flag of his native Morocco. Through an arch at the end of the room next to where the table was located, I could see a kitchen in an alcove off the main room.

"You chaps want a drink of water?" asked Omar as he scurried over to a kitchen cabinet to find some clean glasses. "I need one after playing ball down there," he added as he opened the apartment's small refrigerator and produced a pitcher of cold water.

"Yes, that would be nice," I replied while Alex nodded in agreement.

As Omar filled the glasses with cold water, I heard a rumbling from what must have been a bedroom. Then, the door to the room opened revealing an older man standing there with a camera in his lined hands. His hair was almost white against his olive skin. His lined face looked worn and tired. He was one of those older men who are stout but not fat. I would have guessed that he was about 65. His blue cotton shirt and pants were unkempt making him look like he had slept in his clothes. From his appearance, I would have assumed him to be either a night watchman or perhaps a janitor.

Omar surprised me when he said, "This is my grand-père [grandfather]. He only speaks French and Arabic but I can translate as needed."

The old man looked at his grandson and us and then back to Omar before he said "Tu devrais poser pour moi cet après-midi." [You were supposed to pose for me this afternoon]

"Je suis désolé. J'ai oublié." [I'm sorry. I forgot] replied Omar.

Then turning to us, he said, "My grandfather was a photographer back in Morocco but could not find work in that profession here in France when he came here as a young man. His life has been hard, but he still likes to take photographs. He has a friend who wants him to take photos of me. They are for a special market and will put a little extra money in his pocket. Do you mind if I go ahead and pose for him? You can watch. He may even ask you if you want to join me."

Both Alex and I were not sure just what sort of photos Omar was talking about. We looked at each other and then I laughed to break the tension and said, "Sure, go ahead. We might as well see what kind of model you are."

"Mes amis veulent assister pendant que vous prenez les photos," [My friends will watch while you make your photographs] Omar said to his Grandfather.

The old man shrugged and said "Comme tu veux." [As you wish] Then looking at us, his eyes lingered on Alex and he said, "Et le jeune, là : il veut peut-être poser avec toi ?" [What about the kid – would he like to pose with you]

Omar looked at us and seemed a bit perplexed andalso, at least to me, a bit upset at his grandfather's last remark. I assumed that, after all, he had just met us and we did not know what kind of photos the old man had in mind.

"Je crois qu'il vaut mieux que je pose tout seul au début. Peut-être qu'Alex y participera un peu plus tard." [I think that it would be best if I posed alone at first. Perhaps, Alex will join me as you progress] replied Omar.

Meanwhile, I was busy translating for Alex. We looked at each other and were not sure just what joining Omar might involve.

Omar walked over to the door to one of the bedrooms and went inside. His grandfather and then Alex and I followed. Omar had turned to face us with his back to a plain light gray plaster wall. A couple of stands in the room held photo lights so that Omar was well illuminated for the photos that his grandfather intended to take. He reached over and took a bottle from a dresser at one side of the photo area and proceeded to rub what appeared to be mineral oil over his arms and legs and then over his bare chest. Meanwhile, the old man had turned on the radio. Some sort of sensuous slow Arab dance music began to fill the room.

Once finished with the oil, the Moroccan boy smiled and struck a pose for his grandfather's camera. The old man smiled back at him and started shooting pictures of his grandson clad only in his gym shorts. After a several poses, Omar put his thumbs in the sides of the shorts and started to ease them down his slim hips.

Then it hit me 'The old man is shooting kiddy porn!' I guess that Alex and I should have left the apartment at that point, but I was intrigued wondering just how far this photo shoot would go. Besides, Greg and Mehdi were just down the hall in the other apartment and there was no way the old guy was going to force either Alex or me into doing anything that we didn't want to do.

Omar teased the camera as though he were coming on to another boy or man. After a few photos of him in his European-style bikini briefs, he slipped them down and stepped out of them.

My dick was hard just watching the Moroccan boy perform. I could also see a tenting in Alex's shorts as he stood there bug-eyed watching Omar's sensuous moves before the camera.

Omar was almost dancing. His hard three and a half inch [9 cm] dick had a fringe of black pubic hair just above analmost brown penis. Otherwise, he was hairless except for a few hairs under his arms. His olive complexion was accentuated by the oil and the lighting so that every curve and contour was highlighted as the old man continued to photograph the gyrating boy. I felt that could have stripped and had sex with him right there, if I had not wanted to avoid being part of a set of porn photos.

As it was, it wasn't me that interested Omar and his grandfather.

As he gyrated for the camera, Omar held out his hand to Alex and said, "Come to me. Viens ici," using both the English and the French forms.

Alex was clearly fascinated by the dancing, naked young Moroccan. Almost hesitantly, he reached out his hand and let Omar's fingers slip through his own. Slowly but surely, Omar drew the glassy-eyed Alex toward him and into the light. I guess that I should have stopped it then and there, but my own lust had taken over. I could even feel the pre-cum dripping in my shorts.

Alex started to gyrate slowly in time to the Arab dance. Then Omar started to unbutton his shirt. In what seemed only like seconds he had Alex stripped to the waist. Then he embraced him and kissed him on the lips. I was surprised that Alex was not shocked by this. Instead, he returned the kiss and pressed his own upper body close to Omar's. By this time, Omar was unzipping Alex's shorts. The Moroccan boy slid down Alex's young body taking his board shorts with him. He stopped at the young American's left nipple taking it into this mouth and teasing it with his tongue. Alex was glassy-eyed with desire and offered no resistance as Omar motioned for him to step out of his shorts. Next, his own desire building, the young American boy needed no encouragement to lose his boxers which he proceeded to shed unbidden. Omar slowly worked his way down to Alex's rock-hard penis and began to nibble on it with his mouth while stroking it with his hand.Then he stood up and once more found Alex's lips while his hand continued to massage the American boy's penis. Meanwhile, Alex's hand had closed around the Moroccan boy's own throbbing penis and had begun his own slow up and down motion. In what to me seemed like only seconds, they jointly climaxed in multiple bursts of cum.

Omar's grandfather continued to shoot photos of the sexual encounter between his grandson and this young American boy. There was perspiration on his face and forehead as he worked. He felt his loins stirring as they had not stirred in a long time. He smiled as he realized that he had an erection for the first time in months. Then he thought about the very nice amount of money that would soon be in his pocket,once these photos were delivered to Abdul, his agent.

A Little Sightseeing / Un peu de tourisme

The photo shoot ended as abruptly as it had started. Using damp washcloths, Alex and Omar wiped down their overheated bodies as they tried to get their breathing back down to normal. Alex pulled on his clothes while Omar found a tee-shirt and jeans to replace his gym shorts.

Once they were both presentable, I figured that we had better see what Greg and Mehdi were up to before Omar's grand-père decided that he wanted to do a second photo shoot.

As soon as I could, I got Alex aside and asked him, "Are you alright?"

He looked at me defensively and replied, "Sure. Why wouldn't I be?" I couldn't help but thinking how he had gone from innocent to almost jaded in just one day in Paris.

As we were talking there was some noise in the hallway and Greg and Mehdi opened the door and walked into the apartment where Omar and his family lived. (Like Omar, Mehdi was now wearing a tee shirt with his jeans.) To me, Greg looked a little disheveled and I couldn't help but wonder just what sort of 'catching up' the two of them had been doing.

"Did you boys get acquainted?" asked Greg lookingat Alex and me.

"You might say that," answered Alex smiling a sly sort of smile that could have meant anything. Trying to avoid questions about just what we had been doing there in Omar's family's apartment, I smiled as well and said, "What do you want to do next?"

"Mehdi has to go to work. We still have some time before the contest dinner. I thought that we could take the Metro over to the Eiffel Tower and let you see it up close. Would you like to do that? Omar is welcome to come with us, if he would like" offered Greg.

"That would be great!" I exclaimed. "Yes, I've always wanted to see it up close" responded Alex. Then turning to Omar he added "Would you like to come with us?"

"I would enjoy that," said Omar, "but I have another commitment."

"Then I guess that it's just the three of us," announced Greg.

We bid farewell to Mehdi, Omar, and the old man and headed down the stairs and out onto Rue Monge retracing our steps to the Metro station. Greg produced the tickets so that we could take the number seven line back to Place d'Italie. Then Greg had us switch to a westbound number six line train. It wasn't long before we got off the train at an elevated station called "Bir-Hakeim" which Greg said was near the Eiffel Tower.

(When I asked what "Bir-Hakeim" was, Greg said that it was a place in north Africa where the French had won a battle during the second World War.)

Emerging from the station we walked along the Seine riverbank in the direction of the tower. (I noticed that a street sign said that we were on the Quai Branly.) For Greg this was probably nothing special. For Alex and me, it was a thrill of our young lives just to be walking along the Seine under the canopy of trees en route to see the Eiffel Tower. Greg had told us on the way over that we didn't have time to go up in it, but just seeing it up close was going to be a thrill.

"If you want to get a good photo of the tower, we need to walk out onto the Pont d'Iéna. That's the bridge across the Seine in front of the west side of the tower. You can also get a good idea of the size of the Champs de Mars from there too," advised Greg as we walked along the quay.

As we got closer, we could see the great metal tower between the leaves of the trees. Then, we crossed Avenue de Suffren and suddenly there it was with nothing, not even the leaves between us and it.

Quickly we followed Greg out onto the bridge to get our souvenir photo. Here we were, two kids from Seattle standing on a bridge in the middle of the Seine taking pictures of the Eiffel Tower. It had to be one of the high points of the trip for both Alex and me.

Then, Alex said, "I want to get a photo of me sitting on one of the pylons of the tower. If I don't get to go up it, I want to be able to say that I at least touched it."

That's when I knew that in spite of everything, there was still a kid in there someplace.

We worked our way back across the traffic of the quay toward the base of the great tower. We could see that there was not a crowd around the pylon on the northwest corner of the tower and made for that spot to take the photo that Alex wanted.

Unfortunately, as we got close to the pylon there was a small group composed of three shaggy-haired young men in dirty jeans and even dirtier shirts who were bent over a park bench beside the pylon. They looked up as they saw us coming. I could tell by the expressions on their faces that they were not pleased that we were headed their way. One of them said something to the older looking of the three. Then, he quickly headed away from us through an opening in the big, thick bushes that comprised the landscaping around that part of the tower.

As we got up to where the two remaining men were huddled over the park bench, I was slightly ahead of Greg and Alex and could see that the young Frenchmen had something on the bench. At first it looked like an open package, but then I could see that there was a block of something resting on the wrapping paper. 'My God!' I thought, 'They're cutting up a block of hashish right there on a park bench!'

I stopped and started to turn around. It was then that I saw that the third man had circled around behind us and now stood between us and a hasty retreat.

In his right hand, he was holding a five-inch [12½ cm] switch blade knife that was pointing at us. No one was near us as the line to go up the tower was at the other pylon and mostly had their backs to us. I looked over my shoulder toward the park bench only to see that the other men now had knives in their hands.

"Nous ne cherchons pas de compagnons. Occupez-vous de vos oignons !" [We don't want any company. You should mind your own business] said the young man by the bench as his friend stooped down to re-wrap the hashish in its brown wrapper.

"Nous ne sommes que des touristes et nous ne cherchons pas d'ennuis. Nous voulons tout simplement prendre une photo du pylône," [We are just tourists and don't want any trouble. We were just going to take a photograph by the pylon] replied Greg with concern visible on his face.

The dirty young man who had done the talking moved closer to Greg waving the exposed blade of his knife just out of range of his face. Then he pointed to the opening in the ten foot [3 m] tall bushes and motioned for us to go in among them where we could not be seen by anyone else in the park.

With knives pointed at us from both front and back, we had no choice but to do what he told us. Once in among the bushes, he said "Enlevez votre pantalon." [Take off your pants]

Greg hesitated. Suddenly, the dirty young man had the blade of his knife at his throat. "Je t'ai dit d'enlever ton pantalon." [I said take off your pants!] I was so scared that I could have wet myself right there among the bushes of the Champs de Mars. I hurried to unfasten my board shorts, dropped them and stepped out of them. It didn't take any translation for Alex to understand what was being demanded of us and he quickly followed. Slowly, Greg undid his pants and let them drop to the ground. Then he stepped out of them.

"Et votre slip !" [Your underwear too] added the young man with the knife. I felt sure that we were going to be left naked in the bushes but had no choice but to do what these young criminals wanted. Quickly, our boxers joined our pants on the ground.

The second member of the drug gang was behind me. Then I heard him unzip his jeans. I flinched as I felt the tip of his dick brush my butt while he ran his free hand over my butt cheek. 'Surely they are not going to rape us right here in the bushes in a public place' I thought.

Suddenly, I felt his finger in my crack. Moments later he shoved it all the way into my butt hole. I flinched involuntarily and almost lost my balance. At the same time I felt fear as the initial pain of his forced entry and the fact that I was on the verge of shock competed for my attention. Then, in spite of everything else, I felt my dick begin to harden as he probed my virgin butt with his finger. I knew that his hard dick could not be far behind.

"On n'a pas le temps pour ça maintenant," [We don't have time for that now] barked the leader with a hard look in the direction of my assailant.

Reluctantly, the young Frenchman withdrew his finger from my ass saying sarcastically "Dommage!" [Too bad]

The third member of theyoung drug gang collected our pants and underwear as his friends held us at knife point. Then the leader said, "Y a une poubelle là-bas à côté de l'autre pylône. Nous y allons, mais on va laisser vos affaires là-bas. N'essayez pas de nous suivre." [There's a trash can over there by the other pylon. We're leaving but will drop your things there. Don't try to follow us]

Then they walked out of the bushes carrying our clothes and their drugs. We just stood there for a moment stunned. How were we supposed to get our pants and underwear back when they were going to be in a trashcan across the way where a line of people waited at the entrance to the tower?

I looked at Alex and at myself. Our polo shirts were not long enough to cover our packages. Greg was in even worse shape than we were. After all, a grown man would attract immediate attention if he tried to cross over to where the trash can was located without wearing any pants.

Then I figured 'There's no other way' and pulled my polo shirt over my head. I stood there naked in the bushes and held the shirt out to Alex. "Tie this around your waist so that your package and rear are covered. You stand the best chance of getting our clothes back. As a kid, nobody'is going to think anything about you being strangely dressed or digging around in a trash can retrieving clothes.

Greg in his Oxford cloth shirt with me naked at his side stayed in the bushes as Alex scurried over to the trash can beside the other pylon. Staying well covered by the greenery, we could see Alex make his way across to the other pylon. Sure enough, no one seemed to even notice an eleven year-old with a shirt wrapped around his middle digging in a trash can. At least the drug gang had kept their word and dropped our clothes in the trash can like they said they would.

Alex scooped up the clothes and started back to where we were by the other pylon. As he hurried in our direction, I caught sight of a gendarme looking at the strangely dressed boy with an arm load of clothes. I thought 'This is all we need. If he comes over here, he'll just think that we're reallyhaving sex in the bushes.'

However, as the French policeman started to go in Alex's direction, he was stopped by an older couple who seemed to have some sort of problem. That ensured Alex just enough time to reach the bushes where we waited. Quickly, we dressed there in the bushes before the man could head our way. Once dressed, we one by one slowly emerged as though nothing had happened.

When the gendarme finished with the older couple, all that he could see were three young Americans making a photo at the side of the pylon.

There was nothing to be gained by telling the police what had happened to us by the pylon. Retracing our steps, we made our way back to the Metro station. Fortunately, for some reason the gang had not seen fit to take our wallets and we could pay to ride the train. Once on board, we rode quietly back to Bercy and our hotel. We had had enough excitement for one day.

The Welcoming Dinner / Le Diner de Bienvenue

That evening, we were scheduled to attend a welcoming dinner for the contestants, their chaperons, and contest officials. Just to make it 'fun' it had been decided by those planning the event that we would have croque monsieur and pommes frites for a 'typical' French meal that would also include crème caramel for desert. We thought that we must be having a gourmet meal until Greg explained that we would be having the French equivalent of ham and cheese sandwiches with French fries followed by a custard desert. However, he also told us that none of these foods would be anything like we had experienced back home.

We cleaned up from our afternoon adventures and went down to the hotel's fancifully named Salle du Louvre [Louvre Room] for the dinner. Once there, we discovered that we had assigned seats. I figured that they wanted us to get to know some of the other contestants so they had mixed us up for the dinner. Fortunately, Alex and I were considered to be a duet and were assigned to the same table while Greg was somewhere across the room with other chaperons and voice coaches.

We found table four, our table, and took our seats. We had hardly gotten seated when two boys of about twelve or thirteen came up to the table. They had tanned, fair complexions with straight honey blonde hair. Their short sleeved white dress type shirts with blue Bermuda shorts did nothing to conceal the fact that they had muscular young bodies. As they both turned toward our table it was apparent that they were twins.

One of the blonde boys looked at me and asked "Entschuldigung, bitte. Sind diese Plätze für Schmidt?" [Excuse me, please. Are these seats for Schmidt?]

I looked puzzled and then said, "I'm sorry. I don't speak German."

"Ah, you must be the Americans. My brother and I speak English. This is Heinz and I am Hans. I was only asking if these are the Schmidt seats," explained one of the German boys.

I answered, "You must be the Schmidt brothers. If that's correct, then these are your seats according to the place cards on the table."

"Yes, that would be us," replied Hans as the two German boys took the other two seats at our table.

"I'm Dave Crowley and this is Alex Jones. We're from Seattle in the States. We're competing in the duet category," I offered by way of an introduction.

"We are from Trier in Western Germany. It is near the French and Luxembourg frontiers. We too are competing in the duet category," said Heinz speaking for the first time.

As we continued to visit, the waiters brought out the croque monsieur with the pommes frites. Like Greg had said, the food on our plates bore little resemblance to the American version of a ham and cheese sandwich although the French fries did look familiar. (Once we had bitten into the sandwiches, we had little desire to go back to the American version.)

After we had eaten our dinner and enjoyed the crème caramel dessert, there were welcoming remarks by Monsieur Desmoulins and some other contest officials. Fortunately, they realized that a number of us had only arrived earlier that day from overseas destinations and were still battling jet lag. As a result, they did not keep us long after the meal.

Bedroom Games / Jeux de Chambre à Coucher

As it turned out, Hans and Heinz were in the room just across the hall from where we were staying. Looking across the big dining room, I saw Greg engaged in conversation with what I took to be other voice coaches. He and several other men and women of various ages had glasses of wine in their hands. Hans pointed out that their own voice coach was among the group. The man he pointed to was a stout man in his fifties with gray-white hair. He wore those gold rimlessglasses favored by some older European men and looked rather distinguished in his dark blue suit and tie.

"Why don't we go up to our room? We can get to know each other better. Besides, we also have some video games that we can play, if you like," volunteered Heinz.

"That sounds great!" I exclaimed. "Just let me tell our chaperon where we are going."

With that I walked over to where Greg and the other voice coaches were standing. When I got his attention, I told him that we would be in the room across the hall with the Schmidt brothers. He nodded his OK and continued his visit with his peers.

The four of us then took the elevator back up to our floor and followed the German brothers down the hall to their room.

Once inside, Hans turned to me and said, "We want to get out of these clothes. We dress more like you when we are at home. These clothes are just something that Herr Ruppen, our coach, thinks that we should wear for contest functions." As he spoke, his brother, Heinz, was already unbuttoning his shirt. He quickly slipped it off and laid it on a chair followed by his blue shorts. I turned back in time to see Hans doing the same. Once the Schmidt brothers were down to their gray European bikini underwear, it was impossible not to see that they were identical twins. Their tanned bodies said that they had spent a lot of time outdoors while the absence of any apparent tan lines meant that it must have been spent nude. The muscles of their young bodies were already well defined and made it apparent that they were also heavily involved in physical fitness or sports.

"You're identical twins aren't you?" I asked looking at them while wondering if they were identical in every way.

Hans smiled at me with a sly grin and said. "Yes, we are as you say 'identical.' Our own parents have trouble telling us apart. However, Heinz has a small mole on his left shoulder that allows someone who really knows us to do so. Do you want to see everything just to satisfy your curiosity?"

I must say that I was a little startled by the 'matter of fact' way that he asked, but figured 'What the Hell? Why not see where this will take us' so I said, "Sure. Why not?"

With that, both of the German boys hooked their thumbs in the waistbands of their bikini briefs and slowly pushed them down and stepped out of them.

They had what appeared to be identical perfectly formed packages. A very thin line of blonde hair topped their three inch [8 cm] flaccid penises whilelarge testicles could be seen in only slightly descended ball sacks. The twins' nudity also confirmed that they were completely tanned with no evidence of a tan line anywhere on their firm young bodies.

"Has anyone ever told the two of you just how sexy you are?" I asked as I could feel my dick getting hard in my pants.

"Would you be surprised to know that we get that reaction a lot?" asked Heinz. Then the two of them laughed and walked slowly over to where Alex and I were standing. "Let's see what two Americans look like without their clothes," he added as he reached for the buttons on my shirt.

Heinz started to pull my polo shirt out of my shorts as he spoke while Hans did the same to Alex. I know that I was uncertain if I wanted more sex after everything that had already taken place earlier in the day, but did nothing to stop the young German. I looked over to see that Alex was also letting Hans pull off his own polo shirt.

Once they had pulled off our shirts, Heinz and Hans stepped back for a minute admiring our firm upper bodies. They looked at one another and then Heinz said to his brother "Sehr nett." [Very nice]

"Ja, sehr nett," [Yes, very nice] echoed Hans in agreement.

In almost synchronized motion, the two brothers moved in close to Alex and me and started to unfasten our shorts. In no time at all, they were pulling them down and motioning to us to step out of them. Then they put their fingers in the waistband of my boxers and Alex's briefs. Those too quickly joined the pile of clothes on the floor.

By this time all four of us had erections. My own four and a half inch [11½ cm] hard penis stood out from my body as did Alex's three and a half inch [9 cm] one. The fact that both of us are circumcised was another thing that fascinated the German boys. Like most Europeans, they were uncircumcised but their almost identical four inch erections [10 cm] were impressive because they were tanned like the rest of their bodies.

Then the German boys stepped back to get a good look at two now naked American boys. Looking at me, I could see puzzled expressions on their beautiful young faces. Hans asked, "Why do you not have any hair down there?" as he pointed at my package.

"I'm on the swim team at home and shave it off," I answered honestly.

"Ah, just like our older brother, Heinrich," exclaimed Heinz. "He is also on the swim team at his 'gymnasium' back in our home town of Trier."

Then he moved in close to me and ran one hand down across my abs and lower abdomen and onto my pubic mound where I would have had hair, if I had not shaved it off.

"Sehr glatt." [Very smooth] said Heinz to Hans as he ran his hand over my lower body. Then his hand found its way around my dick and began to move up and down. It felt good. I just stood there in a sort of lust-crazed daze enjoying every second of it.

From the corner of my eye, I could see that Hans was down on his knees with Alex's penis in his mouth slowly sucking on the boy's hard organ.

After a while, he pushed me back onto the bed and motioned for me to lie on my back as he too licked at my hard dick. While one hand was on the base of my penis, his other hand reached up and softly pinched first one nipple and then the other. Then he ran his free hand over my chest and abs as he kept using his tongue and lips on my cock. I wasn't sure whether or not he wanted me to cum in his mouth, but since he made no effort to stop, I assumed that was what he wanted me to do. When I couldn't hold back any longer, I trembled, reached orgasm, and shot great spurts of cum into Heinz's mouth. I was surprised to see that he swallowed almost all of it like he had done that many times before. As he wiped the last of it from his chin and mouth, I didn't know what to say when he told me that he liked the taste of mycum.

Meanwhile, Hans had stopped sucking on Alex's eleven year-old dick and had turned over on his stomach on the end of the other bed. With both hands he spread his butt cheeks making his rosebud clearly visible to the confused boy. It was clear to me that the wanted Alex screw him in the butt but I also knew that Alex had never done anything like that before.

"He wants you to do him in the butt," I said to Alex.

"I've never done anything like that," he answered looking at me with a strange combination of lust and confusion apparent on his face.

"Just ease it in. He must have done this before or he wouldn't be so eager for you to do it," I said trying to encourage him.

Heinz was stroking his own hard penis as he added, "Hans and I do each other when we are at home. Sometimes Heinrich does it to us as well but his sex is rather large and can hurt. My brother just wants to see how it feels when another boy ofhis own size does it to him. I can help you, if you like."

Alex looked from one of us to the other uncertain if he wanted to screw Hans. Then he shrugged his young shoulders and leaned forward easing his rock-hard penis into the German boy's inviting opening.

At first only the first inch or so disappeared from sight. Then, he pushed further in past Hans' sphincter. Suddenly, there was a moan followed by a muffled yell as Alex shoved all three and a half inches [9 cm] of his rock-hard erection into the willing German boy.

I could see a look of ecstasy mixed with pain on the face of Hans as Alex started to rock back and forth. Heinz climbed onto the bed and positioned himself on his knees facing his brother so that his equally hard dick was in his brother's face. Hans took Heinz's hard four inch [10 cm] erection in his mouth and started to suck on it as Alex continued to screw him in his butt.

Heinz looked at me and said, "This is the way that Heinrich, Hans, and I do it at home."

I set there on the end of the other bed watching the erotic spectacle unfold before me. In spite of all that I had already done, I could feel my dick getting hard again as I watched the three-way on the other bed.

I must admit that I was amazed at how quickly young Alex had immersed himself in all of the sexual escapades that we had experienced on this, our first day in Paris. The boy had come to Paris with little more than some masturbation in the way of sexual experience. The way things were going, he would go home having tasted the whole of the sexual buffet.

Alex continued to pump away at Hans while the young German continued to suck his brother's dick. I could see the thin coating of sweat that now covered their muscular young bodies as they worked to achieve orgasm. It was only a minute or two before muffled sounds of pleasure signaled that orgasm was not far off. Then, all three of them strained, their muscles tightened, and I could sense that they were all cumming at the same time. Moments later, the three of them collapsed on the bed thoroughly spent.

Hans, Heinz, and Alex untangled from their threesome and got up off the bed.

"That was great!" exclaimed Alex. "Now I understand why some guys like to do it that way."

"You were great yourself," said Hans as he rubbed his butt. "I think that we all need to cleanup in the shower. No more sex. Just cleanup," he added.

I laughed and said, "I think that we had better cleanup over in our room or we're going to be doing this all over again in the shower."

"Yes," said Alex "I think that I've had it for one day. We really enjoyed 'getting to know' you," he said. "However, I think that he had better call it a night. Besides, the jet lag is beginning to catch up with me."

"I know that Alex and I have really enjoyed this, but it would be better if we just agreed to get together again while we're here," I added.

The German boys smiled and Hans said, "Whatever you say. If you like, you can just slip your shorts back on and carry the rest of your things back across the hall. Yes, let us plan on getting together again while we are here. You agree, yes?"

With that we gathered up our shorts from the floor where we had dropped them. Once we had put them back on, we picked up the rest of our things and bid Heinz and Hans good night.

There was no one in the hallway of the hotel as half naked we crossed over to our own room. Once inside, I went to our bathroom and turned on the water in the shower. After everything that had happened during the day, I needed another shower before going to bed.

"I'm going to grab a quick shower. I've had it for one day," I said to Alex as I shed my shorts. Then, I walked naked to the bathroom. Once there, I stuck out my hand to test the water temperature. Finding it warm and just the way that I like it, I stepped into the shower and started to soap my tired body.

I looked up to see a naked Alex looking at me from just outside the shower. "May I join you?" he asked "Just for a joint shower, nothing else," he added.

"Sure, why not?" I said reaching out my free hand to help him into the warm water.

We stood there under the cascade of warm water and just let itrelax us. We had seen enough of Paris and of sex for one day. Then each of us took a piece of soap and for a change began to soap our own bodies.

"What do you think of Paris so far?" I asked Alex.

"I like it," he answered. There was a long pause and then he added "I also liked all of the sex. Well, all of it except what happened at the Eiffel Tower."

I laughed and said, "Yes, I had fun today too but that stuff at the tower; I thought that we were all going to get raped or worse. You just can't be too careful in a big cosmopolitan city like Paris."

In a few minutes we finished washing and got out of the shower. We each took a large bath towel and began to dry ourselves. As we stood there on the bathmat beside the shower, I took one end of my big bath towel and slowly wiped the water from Alex's face and chest as he ran his own towel across his back and butt.

"Do you want to sleep together?" I asked. "No sex, just sleep and closeness," I added.

"I'd really like that," replied Alex.

"I like to sleep naked. Is that OK with you?" I inquired.

"Sure. Sometimes, I sleep naked at home, but my mother doesn't like it when I do. Do you mind if I sleep naked too?" responded Alex.

"No, not at all. I think that it would be fun or at least a new experience for both of us," I laughed.

Twenty minutes later, Greg returned to his own room. He had had a good time visiting with other voice coaches at the competition but jet lag was also catching up with him. Then too, the wine that he had consumed was also making him drowsy. It was time for him to call it a day. As he entered his room, he noticed that the door to the boys' room was only slightly ajar and that it was dark on their side. Slowly, he opened the door so that the light from his room illuminated the boys' room just enough to see that Dave and Alex were asleep in the same bed. He walked through the door and from there could see that Alex's head rested on Dave's bare chest. Their slow regular breathing let him know that they were both fast asleep. He could see that both boys were at least shirtless. He couldn't help but wonder if they were also nude but didn't care if they were. After all of the sexual adventures of the past day, that was hardly an issue. He turned and went back to his own room and got ready for bed. Like his charges, he too slept naked. Fifteen minutes later, Greg was sound asleep in his own room.

Epilog / Épilogue

Once the competition was over, Greg, Alex, and I found ourselves back at the Charles de Gaulle Airport boarding our flight for home. We had all had a great time in Paris. In the days after that first exciting day of sightseeing and sexual adventures, we had settled down to a serious vocal competition. After all, that was the real reason that we had come to Paris.

We even managed to see many of the traditional tourist sites. (Fortunately, without having any more contact with drug gangs.)

Of course, we had several more 'adventures' with Heinz and Hans. Heck, we even tied with them for the first prize in the duet category. They ended up inviting us to visit them in Trier while we invited them to visit us back in Seattle. 'Who knows, we might all end up visiting each other' I thought as we got ready to board our flight.

However. It was Alex who had surprised me the most on this trip. He now sat there with a new maturity born of sexual adventures in the French capitol. From someone who had come to Paris a sexual novice, he was going home with more sexual experience than anyone in the sixth grade in the whole state of Washington. Heck, maybe even in the whole of the United States.

The End (and then again, maybe not)