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My presence, as my dear Nicki had once described it, was cacophonous. Too often were my steps too heavy, my laugh wildly thunderous. Perhaps it was an obvious fact that even the natural inflection of my voice had always been destined for the stage.
It should come as no surprise that this extended into the more intimate parts of my life as well.
In the comfort of our garret in Île de la Cité, Nicolas and I would find ourselves continuing “our conversation” which, on occasion, had turned into little conversation at all. During this particular evening, summer’s heat had nestled itself into this bustling city, and we were dressed in no more than our undergarments.
“You’ll wake all of Paris like this,” Nicolas said from between my legs, after an admittedly wanton sound escaped me. Our skin hadn’t even made contact yet. His hand merely caressed the growing length through the fabric of my briefs.
“It’ll make a statement,” I said.
It wouldn't have mattered to me if Paris, or the whole world for that matter, knew that Nicolas de Lenfent was a most talented lover. Furthermore, he was my talented lover.
“One that’ll get us hung, sure,” he told me, bluntly.
Oh, Nicolas, if only you were as conscious of your pessimism as I had to be! It was a moot point, anyway. We were in Paris! Flamboyancy was rampant, and the effeminate and homosexual were almost always conflated. And to tell you a little secret, my moans are quite girlish. I’m certain I could pass as a woman if it came down to it. None of this was truly worth arguing with him, not when those deft fingers had their hold on me.
“So little restraint in you,” he mused, the hint of an idea tilting his voice. “This time if you make a noise, I should just stop touching you altogether.”
He smiled, utterly proud of this proposal he had made. Really, it was less of a proposal, and more of an instruction. A rule that was being put in place. How impossible!
Of course, I protested... Then I thought, well, to hell with it!
I’m glad to have come around, because this may be one of my most memorable sexual encounters with my Nicki, which is why I tell it to you now. But I jump ahead of my story.
I watched as Nicolas worked my briefs off of me, both of us wordlessly scanning over the tiny patch of fabric that had already been soaked through. I could feel my face redden. Whether out of embarrassment or arousal, I wasn’t certain.
Once freed, I was met with the encompassing warmth of his hand as he wrapped it around me. I couldn’t help but make a noise from this first touch and I heard Nicolas sigh above me.
“Quiet,” he scolded. “No more after this.”
“Yes,” was all I could say.
He moved in languid strokes, which were equally as pleasurable as they were tortuous. As an attempt to abate the involuntary sounds that so frequently fell from my lips, I tried to distract myself with what I could.
I focused on my pulse thudding against his palm, giving myself to this invasive sensation I had never paid any real attention to until now—such proof of excitement, of being alive.
I closed my eyes, letting this feeling wash over me. And when I opened them, I gazed upon Nicolas’ face. The sweat dripping off the curvature of his nose, the loose strands of hair framing the sides as they slid out of that curly ponytail of his, this calm yet assertive expression he wore as he looked right back at me, as if to say “don’t.”
I almost faltered right then, but I flattened my lips to conceal the whine that was nagging at my vocal cords and took in a trembling breath.
Nicolas chuckled, surely gaining some type of perverse enjoyment in seeing me struggle with such a simple thing.
Well, it wasn’t so simple! I hadn’t asked to be made so sensitive, damn you!
Of course, none of this I said out loud, because I was still trying to busy myself with keeping silent. I wanted to be touched for as long as he would allow, and to preserve this gratification for as long as I could manage.
His pace became more deliberate, and my hips began to chase the ripples of this pleasure. I became overwhelmed, my hand flying over my mouth, a muffled bellowing escaping through my fingers. And before I could even realize what had happened Nicolas ceased all movement completely.
I let out an elongated whine, clutching my face in sincere dread.
“Shh, shh, we can’t have that,” he said, reaching for my wrist. I grabbed at the sheet beneath me, defeated.
I wanted his hands back on me immediately, and when he rested delicate fingers against my thigh, the most curious thing happened—I jolted at the contact.
“Not yet,” he said, stroking dangerously close to where I most desired his touch, “You were noisy, so now you have to wait.”
Well, those certainly were the rules, weren’t they? But I had never been the patient type.
“Please,” I said, my voice sounding oddly small and foreign, even as it fell on my own ears.
Nicki’s brows raised at this, his expression unreadable to me as I lay in my need.
“You hardly beg for anything,” he told me, “I like that, say it again.”
It only dawned on me the morning after, as Nicolas lay cuddled to my side, that this sentiment was true, and I began to understand why it fascinated him. There was little point in begging when so much of my existence had been spent having to forge ahead. Yet, here I was!
“Please,” I repeated, perhaps even more desperate than the first, which was no intention of mine.
I’ll never forget how he smiled then, almost boyish, as his eyes crinkled down at me, “Of course, my Lelio.”
A familiar endearment, a pet name, of sorts. One that was often whispered in the quiet comforts of the backstage theater. The sweat from my white face paint dripping from my lips as he brought a crude finger to them, smearing the pigment. Brilliant, my Lelio. Another splendid show, my Lelio. Always the exhibitionist, my Lelio.
I sighed into the renewed contact, and just as I thought I might be safe, I felt those same crude little fingers swipe against my tip.
“Cheating,” I gasped, “That’s cheating, Nicki!”
It was no secret between us that this area was particularly sensitive for me. Ever since our first night in that inn, where he brought me to a tremendous release from the flat of his tongue alone. The sound of it no doubt reached the innkeeper's ears. His scornful gaze proved as much as we left in the morning with the nastiest of hangovers. Our drinks never tasted the same after that.
“Is it?” he asked in mock innocence.
Truly, I wanted nothing more than to shout at him, to kick him in the chest and send this charming lunatic toppling over.
Instead, I made a strangled noise in the face of this unfairness.
“Such a wild thing you are,” he said.
Much to my relief, he took to working me in other areas, moving along my shaft and wrapping it in another determined grip.
“But I’ll stop being so cruel, for now.”
As if he hadn’t been dreadfully cruel this whole time! Can you believe it?
My grip on the sheets tightened, and my bliss was quickly subdued by my need to focus.
As I let my eyes wander again, I noticed the strain of his erection filling his briefs and I was overcome with its eroticism. A foolish part of me had even wondered how he hadn’t been driven to the point of madness by now. So little attention given.
Nicolas certainly had it quite easy with me, but that’s not to say I was never successful in my ability to pleasure him. Far from the truth. It may have been more of a herculean effort to hear those broken little croaks of my name, to see the perfectly shaped “O” of his mouth, or to feel the tremor of his body as my fingers were pressed inside of him. But what a victory it was!
I must have wavered rather quickly, distracted by my enthrallment of him, because he released his hold on me. My length slapped against my navel, making a rather vulgar sound as it did so. I’m almost certain I let out a whimper in protest.
“If you keep on like this, you’ll never get to finish,” was the last coherent thing that I remember being said to me that night.
We danced this dance for some time; this agonizing display of control and affection in equal measure. I had never experienced anything like it.
By a certain point, my eyes had filled with frustrated tears, every denial becoming more and more unbearable.
Nicolas sprawled himself out beside me as I wept into the open air, pressing soft lips against my eyelids. As comforting as his breath ghosting across my skin was, that wicked hand of his—so full of immense talent on and off stage—had been working me earnestly, allowing for no reprieve.
He relieved himself against my shuddering form, grinding into me urgently as my back arched and I finally reached the climax I had been so desperately chasing after.
I must admit, even now I can’t say this release was particularly fulfilling. As exhausted as I was, I fell asleep in what seemed like a matter of seconds.
So unlike our usual nights, with Nicki always being the first to sleep. And me, with my trepidation for the darkness, having to lull myself beside him. Gazing upon those fluttering eyelashes, and watching the calm rise and fall of that strong chest.
I can’t help but wonder if he gazed at me through the darkness with the same level of adoration I had for him.