2 comments/ 2713 views/ 1 favorites For All the Love in Paris Ch. 02 By: aucontrairecher Dear devoted and extremely valued readers, This story does have erotica, though admittedly not as much as was probably wished for in this specific chapter. This chapter is primarily for background on the characters, and all things erotic will hopefully transcend in chapter three, which is currently underway. I do apologize for any confusion or distaste I may cause. I find I'm having a very difficult time merging an exciting storyline with promised erotic details. Please bear with me, and I truly appreciate all constructive, and civil, comments. Though I do love to get comments that just communicate how much I've managed, if I have, to please anyone. Thanks. ****** "Damn it. Just...dammit. The one time I actually expend any effort at all into looking nice, and I have to get toothpaste in my eye?! How's that even possible?" At this rate, I wouldn't be ready for another four days. When I got out of the shower I half expected Gabrielle, my landlady, to rush in and hit me with a torrent of well chosen French curse words for using up all the hot water. And honestly, I deserved it. Every time I thought about him my hands would start to shake and my jaw would clench. It was ridiculous. I had fallen hard before, but nothing like this. For all I knew, he was straight. It was completely plausible, and yet my cock would spring to attention at the mere thought of his body, and I'd be stuck wherever I was waiting for my hard-on to collapse. Surely I had been given enough gaydar to predict another's sexuality just this one time. The week before last it had been pleasant, to realize my sex life might not have entirely dissipated had overjoyed me, but now it was just annoying. I glanced meekly at the tiny dining table, wasting hope on the dusty countertops and unused oven. Wasting wishes on impossible things. I'd gotten up early, six o'clock, to give myself plenty of time to actually look presentable, and ended up making chocolate chip pancakes I unhappily found I couldn't eat. That had been the case all too often lately. I had no appetite, I couldn't sleep, and my mind went on hiatus so frequently I considered seeing a psychiatrist. I resigned myself to the fact that I would be later than I initially planned, then proceeded to rip off my flimsy cardigan and shuck off my jeans. I rarely wore underwear anymore. There was no point when you'd shoot your load without a moment's notice. It was much more economical to go commando. Still leaning over the sink to spit out the last of the toothpaste, my abs straining to support my posture, I found my semi flaccid cock with one hand and started to play with my ass with the other. It had been too long. I sighed contentedly as I fell into one of my favorite memories. ******* It was eleven at night, and I was humming with pleasure. My then-fiancee, Vivienne, had left earlier in the day on business, which meant she was traveling with her team of ultra moody models, so I had taken it upon myself to hit the hottest gay bar in the city and make it home with plenty of willing company. When she walked in on us I had two fingers up Aidan's perfect ass and I was eagerly sucking Merritt's slender cock. If she had come in two minutes earlier she would've gotten a glimpse of my satiated face, and heard my moans as Aidan impaled me with his long rod. It didn't matter though. She didn't join in like I had always hoped she would...and I got a delivery two days later of everything of mine I'd kept at her loft, along with a simple sealed envelope containing the wedding band she'd had made for me. That didn't stop me from fucking the delivery man, who had dropped his straight claim when I dropped my pants, and it sure as hell didn't stop me from honeymooning in Paris, albeit alone. I did miss her, but I missed what she represented more. Having Vivienne around meant convincing the world I wasn't gay, but after the first time we had sex I knew I wouldn't be strong enough to abstain from cock. She was beautiful, so beautiful, and rich, and I almost could convince myself to love the way her tits tasted when I sucked them, but she wasn't everything I needed. That very first time, when I only pushed my tongue in her mouth and felt her squirm, I knew I needed more. So I made it routine to get all I needed, just more quietly. I fucked her senseless whenever she wanted, and I ate ass like there was no tomorrow on the side. It was a life I would gladly live, because I really did love her, and she really did need me. Until, that is, my little sexcapades were discovered. After that any desire that may have ever been dispensed in my direction was torched like the rest of our relationship. When Vivienne found me out, she didn't tell anyone like I had thought she would. When we were engaged, for that whole year, she drove me crazy with her incessant gossiping. I had always just assumed that, should I somehow manage to screw myself over, she'd squander no time in spreading the truth: her fiancée, the illustrious Greyson Forsythe, was gay. He must've loved her for the money, they'd whisper behind their hands. The pressure went to his head, they'd guess. And my darling Vivienne would sit innocently across the room, batting her fake eyelashes at all the right moments, and inconspicuously encourage them. Vivienne came from a very wealthy family. Her father bought up stocks in nearly everything, but made his fortune on sick people. He owned an insurance company, one that specialized in medical care, and he was the definition of sadistic. I had no respect for him, but his wife was a lovely lady, and I had fallen for their only daughter like one falls for a new pair of Converse. She was shiny and fresh, and I knew I'd move on quickly if things didn't work out. That was until she bought herself the engagement ring, blathered to her mother I'd proposed, and sweet-talked me into marriage. The wedding was such a huge deal in such a short amount of time that I couldn't have reacted any differently. My parents were surprised, but very pleased, and we set the date a year away. But no matter how much lingerie she bought, no matter how many glasses of wine she poured in me, I was still gay. I struggled accepting how it had happened. I had no despairing stories to cry through about my youth, no enormous soliloquy to dump on the nearest person. My childhood had been what I would consider common. My family was comfortable financially, but not rich. My parents were strict and insistent, but never doting. And my so called friends were oblivious to anything that didn't revolve around my eldest sister, Zelda, and her rumored innumerable conquests. My father made his stance on homosexuality quite clear when I was fifteen, having been prompted by a neighbor kid that cheered his way out of the closet, and my mother was too spineless to speak her own mind. My siblings were all older than me, by at least seven years, so I grew up in a home without anything out of the ordinary. And although my father never raised a hand to me, he never told me he loved me either. I guess I was to just assume it, and return it as indirectly as he provided it. My childhood passed in a quiet blur of normalcy, and I was content to let it. When I got to college, a state university that accepted me on academic scholarship, I went wild. I partied every chance I got, then studied my ass off, and landed a respectable job at an investment firm far away from home. Vivienne was the secretary there, and, two years my senior, she took me under her wing. She fell hard, and I floated gracefully. After I graduated I was offered a partnership in the firm, and I found myself engaged to Vivienne three months later. My life was still speeding by. For my bachelor party our mutual friends took me to a gay bar as a prank, not knowing of my experiments in college, or of my taste for men. I kept my secret well however, and planned a honeymoon with my fiancée, this girl I barely knew. And now, a year later, here I am. ****** I was brought back to reality with a familiar tingle as I painted the bathroom wall with my cum. My cock stood at a limp angle, the head a faint purple. I usually did cum unknowingly when I dwelled on the past. A quick glance at the clock told me I had no time to clean it up. I strode out the bathroom door completely naked, still kneading my nipples, then sucked my forefinger clean in front of the largest window, silently willing someone to see. You never do have a voyeur when you want one. I yanked a clean button up out of my embarrassingly crowded closet and dug around in the drawers for some jeans. The cardigan was too smart for me anyways. Grabbing the house keys off the rack, I stepped into my most impressive pair of dockers and shut the door behind me. Nothing could ruin my mood. I leapt off the stoop and began the walk to the library, book in hand. It had been weeks since I'd last seen James, and I was eager to strike up a real, sober, conversation. "Bon après-midi," I called happily, waving at a young mother with a cooing baby stroller. The sky was overcast, but the silver undertone of the clouds didn't lend to any possibility of rain. I stopped when I felt a raindrop, mentally scolding myself for not bringing an umbrella. It could be falling a monsoon when I got done in the library. Sure, the sky was normal now, but the weather in Paris was as unpredictable as my love life. I was six blocks away from the library though; it was too late to turn back. Other than the fact that I didn't want to rush into anything, and not to mention the fact that I was beyond hopeful I could somehow avoid starting things off on the wrong foot, I had several reasons for taking my time to return the library book. I wanted to give my mind enough time to come to a conclusion about pursuing another romance, and I wanted to impress James with my French. The first decision had taken all of five minutes to conclude and I was proud to say I had learned what most take months to learn in a period of two weeks. My accent was flawless, and I knew more than enough to partake in an everyday conversation. Suddenly disturbed from my thinking, I looked up to see a sky full of threatening, dark clouds, and a sign over the library door I didn't know I had arrived at that said: 'Fermé pour la fête du travail.' What? How had I not realized today was May 1st? Even the public bathrooms in France were closed on Labor day. Now I would have to wait days to see him. May was notorious in France for being full of holidays. I laid my head gently across the locked glass door and closed my eyes, temples throbbing. "Looking for someone?" "No, I'm just moping because I brilliantly forgot today was the first of May." It occurred to me that, according to the etiquette my mother paid to have instilled in me, I should at least make eye contact with whomever was speaking, but as I thought this, another thought broke through. This voice was familiar. Light and melodious... "James?" I instantly became aware of how I sounded, my voice tinny with excitement, and felt my blood rush to my cheeks as I blushed gracefully in response to my embarrassment. "Yes, I thought that was you, though I can't think of many others so desperate to return an overdue book." "I'm not desperate. I'm...overdue? You said whenever." "That was when I had deceived myself into thinking you would actually return." I kept my head down at his words, immediately made aware of what my absence must have insinuated. It was ironic that I had filled all my time with the fickle French language, and now James didn't seem at all willing to speak to me. In French or English. At that point I probably could've rattled off an apology in Swahili and he wouldn't have cared. Not that I blamed him. "Warring with yourself does not get me anywhere. Perhaps return it tomorrow, after my shift has ended. That is, Greyson, if you have any manners at all." And then he turned and stalked silently down the cold stone steps. I hadn't really realized it was pouring, or that James was wearing a raincoat and carrying an umbrella due to the downpour. I had been under the overhang, and as I ran down the stairs I shoved the thought of the likelihood of hypothermia in May to the back of my mind. "Wait, please, don't go. I didn't mean to avoid you, I was waiting for you!" I cried out in impeccable French. I was rewarded with the sight of James spinning on his heels to walk back to me. I slowed my pace, determined to resolve matters, and stood up at straight as possible. I may have been a drenched fool, but I was a handsome fool nonetheless. I stepped slightly closer and towered over him, mentally debated the possible merits of kissing him. His eyes burned bright blue, an almost unnatural hue, leading me to wonder briefly if he wore contacts. I resolutely shook the irrelevant thoughts from my head, and with a resigned sigh I decided it would have to wait. We owed each other too many explanations. Instead I found myself leaking words that seemed more than capable of making amends. "Hey, James, can I buy you a coffee?" ****** We ended up at my place. The coffee invitation had been sincere, completely, but James begrudgingly pointed out the date, and so we agreed to have tea together instead. I wasn't really caught up on his preference of tea over coffee, probably because I was mortified that he was about to see my home. I was still moving in, he would be appalled, why had I suggested that?! "You're awfully quiet." "Just thinking. Again. About the book," I volunteered quickly. That was him in that drawing, I was sure of it. I struggled to dredge up topics of small talk, questions about his apparent fascination with all things homoerotic, what meteor his cat was named after, anything. I snapped my mouth shut each time something stupid offered to come slithering out. As if to prove my attempts completely vain, we reached my stoop with an atmosphere that must have been creeping with disdain and seeping silence. It was one of the most uncomfortable moments I could commit to memory. Worse, much, than the time Vivienne publicly scolded me for inquiring about the possibility of a blowjob at the opera. I had been horny, she was entranced, I didn't think anything of it. Now was hardly comparable. I unlocked the door while chewing on my lower lip, a terrible habit, and gestured for him to enter. He raised a perfectly arched eyebrow and turned away. He stepped in and glanced around, then waltzed directly to my hideously overstuffed couch and sat down with a frustrated expression on his beautiful face. I hadn't really expected him to be so straightforward. I took one last despairing look towards the storm outside then closed the door nervously behind me. I veered toward the kitchen with the promise of chamomile on my mind. Then, on a whim, I ducked into the bathroom and produced two towels. "Oh, thank you," he said politely as I handed him the towel. "Now please, sit. Let me explain." For All the Love in Paris Ch. 03 "Oh my...I thought you were a vampire!! I mean, I didn't rationally think that you were a vampire, but I had convinced myself that you are." He laughed quietly, then covered his rose-colored lips with a slender hand. I fought the urge to ask him to open his mouth again so I could hunt for unusually pointy teeth. He caught me looking at him, and his eyes glittered a fierce blue with amusement and something I couldn't identify. "I wish the real world were that exciting. But nope, not a vampire. Sorry to disappoint." I took this new bit of information as seamlessly as I could muster, straining my hazy brain to comprehend what he had been telling me. I stepped into my bedroom as James continued talking. I had to get out of these clothes. "...and so they paid me fifty thousand euros to replace it with the fake. I had never been the planter before, usually my task was much more menial, but they doubled the price. And when I still refused they threatened my life. I gave in after that." I laid down on the bed and pulled my pants off, opting instead for a much more forgiving pair of sweats. "Grey, are you even listening to me? I am openly confessing to a very high dollar crime here, and you're struggling to shove your cock into your pants." I blushed violently and rolled off the bed. How had he seen that?? "Hey, you know, you should really consider relocating that mirror. But if you want to take your shirt off now, you can just come in here. I won't bite." "So basically," I mumbled through a t-shirt I was yanking over my head, "you're a criminal. You aided a criminal. That's a crime. You conspired with an art thief." "Whoa now," James sputtered, "I did not conspire with anybody to do anything. I was the innocent moron who was embarrassingly strung along by a very powerful man." I frowned subconsciously as my mind caught up with his words. I was beginning to understand. He was more or less innocent. "...and replace it with a more modern version. Sure, this version was maybe not as beautiful and sacred as the original, but this wasn't entirely my fault. I just planted it." Mmm-hmm. James was indeed the most romanticized of all criminals incarnate; he was an art thief. That just served to reinforce my thought of his perfection. Unbelievably handsome, charmingly suave, and riddled with bad. He explained away my inhibitions about conversing with the devil, whom my sneaky subconscious had been convinced was seducing me. And when he asked why I stayed away for four long weeks, I answered truthfully that I had no desire to date a vampire, and I didn't want to be eaten before or after sex, no matter how amazingly endowed he happened to be. Which, judging from the little tent rising in his pants, was very endowed. I wanted more than anything to see it for myself. He smiled that lovely smile of his and relaxed into my sofa. A part of my brain sighed with contentment as I noticed how at ease he looked. As though I had bought the couch with him as a permanent fixture. Oh no, this wasn't good. I could not be falling for him. I barely knew him! Why did I want to kiss him so badly? Why did I care that he had chosen tea over coffee? I debated asking him to stay the night, telling him I could help him relax a little more. "I didn't break in, I didn't cause any damage, all I did was remove a priceless artifact from the grimy hands of the public and put in its place a more new, improved form. It's better this way. That library didn't know what they had." "So this book I've got here, what is it?" I asked stupidly, dreading the answer. "That's the fake." he said simply. I hung my head, trying in vain to mask my expression from him. I knew I shouldn't have asked. This man had stolen a book worth an insane amount of... "How much was that book, the original, worth?" James got up and maneuvered around the coffee table, effectively avoiding my question and gaze. He glanced at the front door, as though he was expecting someone to come crashing through the frame at any minute, then started toying with the hem on his shirt. He still wouldn't speak. I didn't want to press him, so I just sat patiently and watched. He bit his full bottom lip and scratched his nose, ran his fingers through his hair repeatedly, and checked his watch about seven times. "I don't want to keep you," I began uncertainly, "you don't owe me anything. Don't feel as though you do. I'm just trying to understand." He wouldn't make eye contact, and kept glancing at the door. What was he hiding? "Maybe it is better if I go. I shouldn't have involved you. I should have left you alone. You could get into trouble." "Grey, listen to me, these people I've associated with, they're dangerous. Very, very dangerous. Please don't do anything rash, like visit the police. If you visit the police, they'll visit you. Oh God, they probably know I'm here right now! I'm going to fix this. I promise you, I'm going to make this right." He wouldn't stop to listen to what I was saying. He paced from the end of the hallway to the kitchen, pausing occasionally at the front window to shove my poor curtains out of the way and beat them back into place almost immediately. He was beginning to scare me. I didn't want any trouble, but I'd be lying if I said I didn't want him. "...would you listen? I'm telling you that it's going to be okay. I'm going to help you. Have you heard me? I'm going to help." I raised my voice, not quite yelling, but definitely not using my inside-voice either. "Jay, I'm going to help you." "No, you're not." He left in a hurry then, pulling his hood over his coal black hair while running out the door. I could hear his footsteps receding down the walkway. He was gone. I stood stunned next to the window for what felt like hours, then walked on wobbly legs to the sofa, where I let myself fall backwards. I rolled over so that my face was buried in the fabric, and lay there with my thoughts as company. I couldn't fathom just how much my life had changed in the past four weeks. I had met a man, managed to fall in love with him, discovered his passion for antiquities, and then watched helplessly as he rushed his way out of my life. I refused to let him go. Before sleep overcame me I resolved to find him and help him if I could. Maybe I could even protect him. ****************** I returned to the library as soon as its locks were turned, determined to find more about James. I held the door open for a father leading a tipsy toddler, then headed for the first employee I saw. I asked him about James, but I didn't even know his last name. Upon my description though, the polite employee quietly informed me that James had quit his job and cleaned out his locker. I was surprised such an ancient establishment had lockers. I figured the employees were told to shove their shit in a hole in the wall. I thanked him and made my way to the front desk, slipping past idling readers and engaging in only minimal conversation. The head librarian that James had warned me about stood behind the mahogany, furiously stamping innocent dusty covers with due dates. I started to speak and paused to clear my throat when I noticed she hadn't stopped stamping. The grumpy old woman looked up at me, squinting to see my face. She fumbled around for something, then forced a pair of horribly scratched horn-rimmed glasses over her remarkable nose. "Yesss, may I help you?" "I'd like to get some information on one of your employees." "Arrre you making a complaint orrr..." she droned. Now thoroughly exasperated, I said, "No, no, I'm just looking for some information. Can you help me find it, please?" She gestured with a claw-hand for me to follow and started down a long hallway I hadn't noticed before just to the left of the massive desk. Her orthopedic shoes squeaked quietly with each step. I followed obediently, wondering what I had gotten myself into. She turned abruptly onto another hallway then took a sharp right into a dark room that could only have been a converted janitors' closet. Abstract paintings hung precariously on the cashew colored walls, and sunlight filtered in through a tiny slit of a window high above the doorway. As my eyes adjusted to the lack of sufficient light I took in the single desk in the center of the room. Dusty and rickety, it was saddled with a computer boasting more years than my lovely librarian guide. There wasn't even a chair. I turned to thank the head dinosaur, only to find myself alone in the room. Creepy. I walked to the desk to hunt for an On button. It was hiding on the back of the monitor, and it glowed a dull orange after I slammed my thumb into it. Though it sounded like an airplane taking off, it ran through its processes fairly quickly and opened to a desktop revealing only one icon, titled 'Employee Info'. I clicked hurriedly and started a search for a current employee named James. It hummed for a second, then showed 'No Results' printed clearly across the top of the screen. I sat for a moment before I recalled what the man I had spoken to earlier said. James had quit. He wouldn't be listed under the current employees. I opened a new search and typed in 'James' a second time. There were four results. I pulled up a profile picture for each employee, then giggled excitedly when his eyes stared back at me through the pixels. His full name was Frederick Jameson LaMontagne. Whew, what a mouthful. How many syllables was that? I chuckled as I imagined a little James trying to write all that in kindergarten. I couldn't wait to call him Freddie. I skimmed down the log to find that his home address had been left blank. Sighing at what seemed like another dead end, I blinked twice and saw a link at the base of the page. I clicked on it. The computer beeped twice and showed a new page with a simple black background and white text. There was an address for another library James had recently worked at on the other side of Paris called the Library of Philosophy. From the pictures on the site, it wasn't so much a library as a large bookstore. I copied down the address onto my forearm with a pen I found beneath the keyboard and left in a rush. When I got home I ran into the bathroom and stripped off my clothes to throw them into the laundry hamper. I put a pot of water on to boil then hurried back to the bathroom. The water was hot when I stepped under it, and I quickly soaped up and washed off. My dick stood at attention, begging for a hand. I seriously considered it, then decided I really didn't have any time to spare. I forced the rusty faucet off and bounded into the kitchen still dripping. The pot of water was boiling as I dumped some petrified noodles in and stirred, hoping that it might be a little edible as I read the expiration date on the package. I left it to cool and slid into the bedroom. Still entirely naked, I sank to my knees and dug through my closet for luggage, positioning myself with my ass displayed proudly in the air. I always did like wandering around nude. And I was so horny. I found a dark red bag at the back complete with wheels and handles, and I paused to look at myself in the mirror as I stood and rifled through the bag. My eyes had dark half-circles under them, and my cheeks were still awfully hollow. My clear skin was scattered with the usual freckles across my nose, but I looked more pale and sickly than I did when I had my wisdom teeth removed. I was still thin, sure, and I was toned at least a little. My height was the same, I just looked lankier than ever before. Vivienne used to tell me I had a sort of haunted look going for me, with my hollow face and dark eyes. I was woken from my stupor by the sound of water boiling over. I thought I had turned the heat off. I ran into the kitchen and grabbed a dish towel, then sloshed the overcooked noodles into a bowl to cool. I ransacked the cabinets for a clean glass, then filled it with water from the tap and sat down with the last clean fork in the drawer. My cock glared at me angrily, a purple vein throbbing on its shaft. I took a bite then stood and put the bowl in the sink. The noodles were overdone and I needed to get off before my dick beat me to death. I stood beside the table and began to stroke. The thought that anyone could gaze into my window and see me jerking off excited me even more. All I needed to do was think of sex... *************** Vivienne sauntered into the room naked. She was as stunning as ever, eyes lined in black and caramel skin set off by her dark hair pulled into a sleek chignon. She sat down at the foot of the bed and leaned back, all the while licking her lips in what she thought was a seductive manner. Turning to face me, she spread her long model legs apart to expose herself, then yawned innocently as she began to finger furiously. Her hands slapped loudly against her pert nipples, and she suddenly shoved two fingers in and moaned loud enough to wake the dead. My voice taking on that of a disapproving father, I said "Vivienne, not now. I'm working. Later, alright?" "Greyson, darling, come make love to me. I know you want to. Put that infernal laptop away and devour me." Eww. I didn't budge. "Greyson, I won't beg you. Or maybe I will. Pleassse?" I sighed dramatically and snapped my laptop shut. She flew towards me, her breasts jiggling. I cautiously put one hand on her breast and felt her heart hammering away on the other side. I almost felt sorry for her. She really did want me, and I did not want her at all. Standing up, I pulled the covers from the bed to the floor. There was something about having sex with her on the bed. I just hated it. I arranged what I thought might be a semi-comfortable love nest. I only ever had sex with Vivienne in bed when I was drunk. She flicked the lights off and started to unfasten my slacks from behind. I ripped my shirt off in exasperation expertly disguised as desire and lowered my body to the floor. She stood. I beckoned her closer. Still, she stood. "Vivienne, stop playing hard to get. You're the one who wanted this." "I'm not playing hard to get." She spread her legs apart and looked down at me between them, trying to be sexy. "I was hoping that you would, you know..." "What??! I'm not going to do that. That's um, I just don't want to yet." She shot me an irritated look and sat down beside me. I positioned myself and closed my eyes. She sighed contentedly and relaxed beneath me. I pushed my way in with a single thrust. Vivienne didn't like lube, but she was always more than wet enough to compensate. Squeezing my eyes closed, I increased my pace, shoving my way in and out hurriedly. I hated having sex with her. I hated the way she moaned and I hated seeing her satisfied face. I opened my eyes when I heard her go quiet, then gasped in surprise when James's bright blue eyes returned my gaze. His mouth was open, lips slightly swollen, and he breathed deeply and whispered my name in a gloriously needy voice. "Grey, more. Give it to me. Harder, more. Grey." ***************** I shot my load into the back of the sofa. I rubbed my cum off with a paper towel and rushed back to my room, suddenly uncomfortable and ashamed of my nudity. I should probably take another shower, but I just didn't have time. I meticulously went through each drawer, packing only what I thought I'd need. Several pairs of skimpy underwear and two pairs of nice jeans later, I threw in three cardigans. two sweaters, and four shirts. I followed that with some socks and a pair of brown boots. I took what I usually used from the bathroom, thus adding shampoo, toothpaste, a razor, and a toothbrush into the bag. After jamming in a light jacket I zipped the suitcase closed. I carefully wrapped "The Complete Chronicles of the Deviant Virgin" in two pillowcases and tucked it into a smaller pocket just inside the first compartment of the suitcase. I didn't want anything to happen to it, but I didn't want anyone to see it either. The front compartments were filled with books and maps, and I wrestled my way into some jeans and a thin sweater, then stepped into my loafers. I grabbed my phone and the charger, pausing to shove it into the cramped bag, then slipped out the front door, keys in hand. I hailed a lucky cab two blocks down and gave him directions to the bookstore. He looked back at me, eyebrows creeping into his hairline. "You sure, buddy? That's a long ways." "I'm sure, and I can pay for it. Please though, do hurry." "Alright, you're the boss." I leaned back in my seat. If I had it figured correctly, and if we missed traffic, I could be there in three hours. I fell asleep quickly, plagued by dreams of James, of me holding him. If I didn't find this guy I might as well join the nearest monastery and swear myself into a life of celibacy. I couldn't fathom why I relied on the thought of him as much as I did. It was hard for me to accept that I knew where he was somehow, without really knowing him at all. But I knew this bookstore could help me find him, although I didn't expect it to be easy.