Page 28 of Sweet Thing

The other men in the dreams were usually faceless, but in the past three weeks since the incident with Simeon Duchamp, Bastian experienced an increase in sensation, having the most deeply erotic, intoxicating sex dreams of his life with the younger man. The tingle of pleasure and the fleeting images of Simeon’s head tossed back in ecstasy, exposing his serpentine throat and prominent Adam's apple, always stayed with Bastian long after he woke. He felt ashamed for desiring Simeon so desperately, especially after the disturbing way their first tryst ended.

Bastian never did get the male model’s phone number. However, he did know Simeon’s address and had asked his driver Lewis to deliver the note the day after their first liaison. But there was no response. Bastian trawled through fashion websites seeking interviews with Simeon, looking for any snippet of information he could use to get a response from the man. He found an interview on the FASHIONGOGO website where Simeon talked about his family estate in Provence and his love of the scent of Lavender. Bastian felt compelled to see the younger man again, and explain why he did what he did that night. But then, he didn’t understand why he gained strange satisfaction from spanking Simeon to completion.

As expected, Simeon never called after receiving the fresh Lavender Bastian sent. Bast was humbled and relieved that the Polizei had not yet turned up at his door to arrest him for sexual assault.

His life was spiraling out of control, but he still could not get the young Frenchman out of his head. They had, in real terms, spent less than a couple of hours together, but Simeon had gotten under his skin like a tick and Bastian was thinking about him all the time, itching to know more about him. Those thoughts were taking him away from Matti, and Bastian knew that when he stopped thinking about Matti, he would truly be gone. As long as he kept him in his head, it was like his beloved was alive, out in the world somewhere.

A gentle knock on the bedroom door drew Bastian back to reality. “A moment,” he called, and rose from the twisted linen sheets. He headed to the bathroom to wash his tear stained face and change his soiled pajama bottoms.

“Bastian are you okay?” Ellie called through the door. Bastian strode to the bedroom door and unlocked it to see his personal assistant leaning on the doorjamb, compassionate as always. They had been working late, and she’d stayed in the guest room.

“You had another nightmare, didn’t you?” She sighed. Bastian’s shoulders slumped and his eyes glazed with unshed tears. “Oh Bast, what are we going to do with you?” she said as he turned away to hide his shame and move to the lounge area of his vast bedroom. Bastian sat heavily on the couch, lay back, and curled into a ball, his head in his hands.

“Sweetie, you need to talk to someone about this. It’s been eighteen months now, and you are still unraveling.”

“I talk to you…” he spat defensively. Ellie knelt beside the couch at Bastian’s head and soothingly ran her fingers through his disheveled blond hair as if he was a little boy.

“You need a professional therapist, sweetie. Someone specialized in grief counseling. Do you think Matti would want you to spend the rest of your life like this—like a ghost? You’re neither here nor there.” Ellie sighed. “Look, we all love you and we’re worried about you.”

“Oh, so it was you who chose the short straw and got to deliver the therapy talk to me this time.” he huffed petulantly. Bastian regretted the tone of his comment. He knew his friends and staff all had his best interest at heart, but it made him feel more pathetic and powerless. He was supposed to be a grown man, but couldn’t even work his feelings out. It was another source of stress, another reason to feel emasculated and weak.

“I’ll make some coffee, you go jump in the shower, yeah?” Ellie suggested. Bastian nodded, and she left him alone. Bastian rolled to his feet and moved to the bed. He sat heavily, his shoulders hunched and his head lolling forward. He held his hands to his stubbled face. He didn’t know what to do with himself; he was indeed unraveling. Bastian reached out to his phone to switch his ringtone back on. He saw two missed calls and four text messages. He absently scrolled through them, seeing one message from an unknown number.

Meet me at Zimt & Zucker Kaffee Haus, on Schiffbauerdamm tomorrow at 3 p.m. One chance.-Simeon

Although there was nothing romantic about the message, Bastian was overwhelmed by just how happy he felt to receive it. He knew he would cancel his afternoon meetings just to be there. The message represented possibility—hope. And even if Simeon wouldn’t forgive him, at least he could see the young man again and apologize. That had to be worth something.

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