I've submitted this story for the 2017 Valentine's Day Story contest. Currently it's just a short story, but it could easily be extended to novella length. If you'd like to see a longer version, please vote for it in the contest and leave feedback for me as to your wishes. Thanks, Josh
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I had finally graduated from high school!!! High school was great -- I had a lot of friends there and had had a great time. I live in a suburb outside of NYC and my high school was very large, almost 4,000 students. I had always had an interest in art and my school had a really wonderful art teacher. He was a young guy, about 30, and very fit. I really enjoyed his classes, especially the one on drawing the human body this last semester. In fact, after I was 18, he even gave me some private lessons which resulted in my losing my virginity to him - but that's another story for another time. This past year I applied to Columbia University to study art and was accepted, so my future looks fantastic!
Yes, I am gay -- and proud of it. I'm out to everyone who has reason to know -- even my family. Fortunately, my parents are very accepting of my sexuality.
After the graduation ceremony, my parents took me out to dinner at a fabulous restaurant and, after dinner, they gave me a thick envelope that contained my graduation present: an envelope containing plane tickets, a pre-paid hotel reservation, and $1000 in cash for a whole week in Paris!!! I was so excited that I jumped up and gave them huge hugs!
"Thanks so much, mom and dad!. Now I'll be able to go to all those famous art museums in Paris that I've wanted to see for so long!"
I wouldn't be leaving for several weeks, so I spent the time researching and planning what I would do and see in Paris while I was there, making detailed lists of what I would do each day. I didn't know what I would do in the evenings. I dismissed the idea of hooking up with someone because I was concerned about catching something from someone. But then if a cute French boy came on to me, that might be a different story altogether.
* * * * *
I arrived in Paris in the middle of June and after a very long ride in a taxi from the airport, I was finally at my hotel which was just across from the old Paris Opera House.
It was an older hotel, but very nice with a large and ornate lobby. I checked in and took the elevator up to my floor and found my room. It was old-fashioned but beautiful with a large bed, fantastic wall coverings and curtains, a dresser and a private bathroom. Plus, there was air-conditioning which I was grateful for since was it had been pretty hot on the ride into Paris today.
I didn't plan to do anything this day except to look around a little because I knew I would suffer from jet lag. After a nap and a shower, it was already time for dinner, so I went to a gay bistro nearby that had been recommended by the clerk in the hotel. Once there, I had a light dinner since my parents had warned me against having heavy meals while traveling.
While eating, I attracted many admiring looks and once an older guy came over to my table and said something like 'tu es très beau garçon'. I'd had a couple of years of French in school, but I didn't understand a word he said and I told him in English that I didn't speak French. He nodded that he understood. He grabbed his crotch and then made a fist and with his other hand took a finger and slid it in and out of his fist. This I understood. I might have been tempted but for three very major things, he was too old for me, he wasn't very good looking and I was still tired.
* * * * *
I didn't sleep well that night, it being a strange bed and a different time zone. When I woke up, I was still tired and I had a headache. I would have liked to just kiss the day off, but it was my first day in Paris and I was determined not to miss a day in this wondrous city. I showered, put on some shorts, a t-shirt and sneakers. I grabbed my bag which contained my art supplies and a long smock to protect my clothes if I needed it and went downstairs for breakfast which was provided by the hotel. After eating a couple of croissants with coffee and drinking some juice with a couple of aspirin, I began to feel a little bit better.
I left the hotel about 9 a.m. and headed towards The Louvre, but I had a hard time finding it. I had a map but found it hard to concentrate with all the busses and cars, many of them honking their horns, whizzing in an out of the traffic -- and the fact that my headache was getting worse didn't help either. Finally I found someone who spoke English and they pointed me in the right direction.
Suddenly I was on the plaza which had the small glass pyramid for the entrance to The Louvre. Relieved, I took the escalator down, bought my ticket, went through security and finally entered the museum.
I wandered through the corridors, awed by the immense collection - so many great works from so many centuries. In one of the many smaller rooms I came across a statue in the middle of the floor that mesmerized me. It was a statue of a beautiful boy on one knee holding up a cup for an eagle to drink from. I read the sign.
"Ganymede with Jupiter's Eagle" by Bertel Thorvaldsen (on loan from the Thorvaldsen Museum in Copenhagen) (to see this wonderful statue, go to: http://tinyurl.com/gwe2cqy)
Below the title, there was a plaque on which this was written: "Ganymede was abducted by Zeus from Mount Ida, near Troy in Phrygia. Ganymede had been tending sheep and Zeus turned himself into an eagle to transport the youth to Mount Olympus. In Olympus, Zeus granted him eternal youth and immortality and the office of cupbearer to the gods."
I knew I shouldn't touch the statue, but there weren't any guards around; so for some strange reason, I reached out and ran my hand over the thigh of the statue of the boy.
After studying the statue for a few minutes, I sat on the floor and quickly began sketching the boy on the statue. I had my head down, concentrating, when I heard a voice behind me, asking me something in French, the voice was male, young with beautiful overtones.
I turned around and was shocked - it was the boy from the statue!!!
"I'm sorry, I don't speak French. What did you say?"
"Oh nice," was his reply in English, "you are American. I've never met an American boy before. I asked why did you touch me?"
Still in shock, I looked over at the statue and all that I saw was the eagle and the pitcher and the cup which the boy had been holding up for the eagle to drink from. Oh yes, and his funny little hat was lying there too.
"Wh..Wh..Wh...Whoa!," I stammered. "Th..Th...That's impossible! You're supposed to be over there! You can't move! You're made of marble or something!" I got up and backed away from him.
He just laughed. "No need to be afraid, I won't hurt you - quite the opposite really."
"Are you ....," I couldn't get it out. "Are you Ganymede???"
"That's me, in the flesh!" he gave a little twirl. "Ain't I gorgeous?" he gave a merry little laugh. He was totally nude and this was quite a sight for me to take in. He was possibly a little older than me, perhaps 19 - and he really was exceptionally beautiful. "But," he continued, "we don't have time for lengthy introductions right now, I'm afraid. Get your stuff and take my hand, we have to get out of here right away, before someone finds out I'm gone!"
I don't know about where he comes from, but he certainly couldn't walk around the streets of Paris in the nude! I dug around in my bag and found the long smock I sometimes used to paint in. It was made from an old bed sheet and fortunately was long and wide enough to cover all the essential parts of his body and stay closed in back with the clips I also had in my bag.
"Do I have to wear this? Nobody will be able to see how beautiful I am," he asked.
"Yeh, you do -- unless of course you want to spend the rest of the day in jail!" I told him in no uncertain terms.
Next, with some misgivings, I picked up my supplies and took his hand. His hand was warm and masculine -- and I felt a surge of pleasure as soon as we touched.
We went through a series of rooms until we came to a fire door exit which we weren't supposed to open, but he simply waved a hand, opened the door and we went out into a hall with stores, which I guess was part of the underground shopping center nearby. I was surprised no alarm sounded.
"Wasn't there supposed to be an alarm at that door?" I asked.
"I think there might have been, but if so, I suppressed it. Didn't you see the gesture I made? That gesture shut down all of their defenses for a few seconds."
