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After finally deciding what to do about Jack Knight, I traveled to his flat only to find him vainly struggling with the bonds I had placed him in last night. Silently I watched him for a minute or two, a wry smile curving my lips, then just as silently stepped to a point where he could not see me, no matter how he turned his head.
"Good morning, Jack." His body stiffened with surprise and then anger, and vainly he tried to crane his head far enough to look at me. "Be here this evening. We'll talk." Stepping back into the shadows, I loosed the bonds which held him even as I began the journey home. He never saw me.
Since I wanted matters to proceed on the right footing, I actually took the trouble to phone him. I loathe the telephone, a horrid, beastly, rude; little device, and this one a pay phone, booth not at all designed to accommodate one such as myself, plus a wicker hamper full of epicurean delights. I can only say that to the passer by I must have presented a most amusing sight indeed.
"Yeah?"
"Are you alone?" I asked
Sullen silence. "Fuck off. Don't talk to me. Don't even fucking think of coming over."
I materialized in his living room before he had time to hang up his phone. I was, after all, in no real danger, far better than him had tried to kill me and failed. Miserably failed.
The place was immaculate. On the coffee table lay both of my journals and I could see that he had made a start on the latest one.
"Hello, Jack."
He visibly started. He slowly turned around. His gaze was angry and wary, for, though furious, he knew, and he knew that I knew that he knew that his chances of actually hurting me were virtually nil.
"Please. I've come in peace and to make amends -- for last night."
Pause. Then, "Alright. Talk." He folded his arms and leaned against the wall, glaring at me.
"Well, actually, I thought we might watch these movies and then talk." I said as I removed Chinatown and The Two Jakes from the inner recesses of my coat. "I was peripherally involved in the actual events which inspired these movies, and I know that you sometimes appreciate my unique perspective."
His curiosity was piqued. "Oh yeah? What were you doing down in LA at the time?"
"Helping Howard Hughes 'negotiate' some deals, if you know what I mean."
"Yeah, you said something about that in your journal..." His curiosity was definitely getting the better of his sullenness.
I put the first movie in and sat down on the couch. He sat stiffly at the far end, watching me out of the corner of his eye as much as he watched the movie. After a few minutes, I reached into the hamper and pulled out crackers and pate as well as two aperitif glasses and a small bottle of pale green liquid. Absinthe. I figured he would enjoy its mind altering qualities. He raised an eyebrow. "Where'd you get that?"
"After hours in Paris."
"Oh."
He sipped as we watched the movie.
By the time I inserted the second tape, things were firmly going according to plan. We'd feasted on roast quail, watercress salad, trifle, and had drunk about half a bottle of superior Bordeaux. Jack's face grew flushed with drink, though his eyes never quite lost that wary look.
At the end of the movie, curled still at the end of the couch, cupping a glass of Shiraz (we'd opened the next bottle of wine) he looked at me and bluntly said, "So, talk."
Perhaps I'd not been so successful as I hoped. I got up, paced around the couch, sighed and sat down next to him. Looking him in the eye, I said, "Jack, I'm yours. You may do with me what you will -- what you wanted to do last night."
He laughed, probably thinking this was the cruelest of jokes, until he caught sight of my face. "You're serious?"
"Quite."
"Oh." He paused for a moment, set his wine glass on the table, then drew me into his arms and kissed me with surprising tenderness on the mouth. The kiss deepened, and despite the fact that I did not really feel any emotion besides curiosity, in spite of myself, I returned the kiss. After a moment or two, he broke off, saying softly, "Err...as you can guess, I've been with guys before. Really, I prefer women, but - I've been thinking about this for the longest time."
Pulling me to my feet, he slowly, deliberately began undressing me. I stood, silent, unmoving, letting his gentle hands play over me, offering no resistance to his hands or kisses. I shall state again that I felt no real desire, and though the thought brought pain (of the sweetest sort) I wondered if Marguerite had felt something of the same way all those years ago in Paris. The same feeling of absolute childlike trust.
Within minutes, I stood naked before him and he drew me into his arms for a punishing embrace. He had not removed a stitch of his clothing, and as my hands began to tug at his shirt tail, he broke his lips from mine just long enough to whisper "No," before continuing a trail of kisses down my neck. Down he continued, hands and lips caressing until he reached my chest.
"God, you're warm," he whispered, "And no hair on your chest - I like that." He stood and looked me in the eye, delicately stroking my pectorals with one hand while with the other he softly caressed my cheek and chin.
Suddenly he knelt, clasped me firmly round the hips and began suckling me. Though I still felt no great burning desire, I must say that he was an expert, for within minutes he had me standing at attention and strangled moans involuntarily escaped my lips.. Just as I was about to reach the zenith, he stopped. I looked down, dismay probably writ large across my face, and he flashed his rogueish, dimpled grin. Before I knew it, he had kicked my legs out from under me and was carrying me, staggering only slightly, into his bedroom. We paused for a moment while he turned the lights on, dim, then he gently deposited me on the bed, surprisingly not the art deco he favored, but an antique four poster hung with draperies. The man was a romantic at heart.
Standing at the foot of the bed, he pulled his shirt off, then danced about as he unlaced his combat boots - is there no graceful way to remove shoes? Sigh. He dropped his jeans and boxers in one swift move and stepped forward. With a sort of detached desire I watched the dim light play over his beautiful young man's body, watched his motley assortment of tattoos play in and out of the light. Again I wondered if I had looked this way to Marguerite, had she watched me in this manner? Then he was crawling across the bed to me; then he was on top of me, holding me as if he wanted to fold my body into his, delighting in the feel of skin on skin. I could feel his bulk on my belly and knew that here was one truly to make the women happy. His kisses took on a savage intensity.
Fumbling in the nightstand, he withdrew an object that I recognized as a condom. Knowing what it was he wanted, I began to roll over, but he stayed me with his hand and a look from his eyes. I had not realized that face up was possible until this point.
He rolled the condom onto his member, squirted on some (unpleasantly cold) lubricant, and positioned me with my legs over his shoulders. Then slowly, without a word, he gently but firmly and slowly drove into me, giving my body time to adjust. The sensation was unique, pain and pleasure inextricably intertwined. Languidly he licked the palm of his hand and grabbed my softening member and began stroking it as he leisurely pumped in and out.
It was one of the sweetest, most satisfying couplings I have ever experienced. Jack's thrusts increased in speed and intensity and an involuntary cry of pleasure ripped from my throat as I sprayed my seed all over my chest. My helpless shudders and contractions must have driven him over the pinnacle, for he gasped and gave one last shuddering thrust. For an instant he hung above me, damp body glistening in the dim light, then, slowly pulling out, he leaned forward, and with his warm, most, and tender tongue, lapped the milt from my chest. Drawing me into his arms again, he kissed me, and I had the unique sensation of tasting myself on his lips.
I watched, dim with pleasure, as he removed the condom from his once tumescent manhood. I saw him milk the last drops into the bag, study it for a second - a hearty yield - before he causally tossed it aside when he rose to turn off the lights.
Climbing back into bed, he curled his sweaty body around mine, kissed me one last time on the nape of the neck, and within minutes fell asleep. I stared at the crack of moonlight which seeped in at the edge of the window for some time before I, too, fell asleep in his arms.