The Art of being a Flirtatious Seducer

In The Olive Garden Life's An Experience

The Art of being a Flirtatious Seducer

01-05- The River (Instrumental)

(click on the audio title 01-05-The River above for music/song accompaniment).

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Bernard Foong (a.k.a. Young) is ranked amazon.com International Best Selling Author.

www.aharemboysaga.com

A Harem Boy's Saga - Book I I I - Debauchery;

A memoir by Young

An Excerpt:

“The beauty of my unique education is that I was born,

bred and schooled in the art of being a flirtatious seducer

and an expedient tactician.”

Bernard Tristan Foong

1967

A Gift

I was more than surprised to find another gift waiting for me in my chambers, العجل الذهبي (The Golden Calf). Sitting neatly on the mantelpiece was a gold envelope. Enclosed was a check made out to me for two thousand dollars. The gold notecard read: “You are so beautiful. I want to see all of you. Meet me at the library tonight.” There was no signature on the card, and there was no hint as to who the sender was. I asked my Abd. He shrugged his shoulders, remained mute, and shook his head to inform me he had no idea how the envelope had gotten into my room.

I went looking for Andy, but he was nowhere to be found. As I rounded a corridor, I bumped into Monsieur Dubois.

He asked, “Why are you walking aimlessly down the hall?”

“I’m looking for Andy,” I answered.

“Can I assist you?” My teacher inquired.

I decided to show him the mysterious note. He grinned amusingly before inviting me into his chamber. As soon as the door closed behind him, he jumped straight to the point. “It is not unusual for you to receive an unsigned invitation. The sender doesn’t want his identity revealed.”

“That is obvious, sir. But how am I to know who sent the note?”

Alain answered delectably, “That’s an easy question. All you have to do is turn up at the library at the appointed time. Whoever he or she is will be revealed.”

“What if I don’t care to have a liaison with this mysterious person? How do I excuse myself from the situation politely without offending him or her?” I queried in puzzlement.

Dubois beamed cheekily, “Your accompanying Valet will make some gracious excuse for you if you are not interested in having a dalliance with your admirer. Andy is there to protect you, and he will know what to say. Don’t worry your pretty little head over such a trivial matter. My advice to you is to show up for the adventure.”

“But my suitor did not specify a time. When am I supposed to show myself? It’s all too baffling for me to understand,” I sighed.

My professor laughed and said, “Whoever he or she is is playing a cat-and-mouse game with you. This person is enticing you to play a coquettish game of libertine chess.” I uttered wittingly, “I guess this person must be Marquis Mathieu. He’s been flirting with me ever since we met.”

Alain chimed, “My dear fella, don’t be so sure. You never know who’s lurking around the periphery and is interested in bedding you, my handsome one.” He added, “This evening the prince is having a formal function at one of his other palaces. The investors are invited to the reception, except for the other foreign students.” He paused before continuing, “Did Your Valet inform you that the two of you are invited because you are assisting in the project?”

Looking puzzled I asked, “If I’m going to attend this ceremonious soiree, I will not be able to go to this mysterious meeting. What am I to do, sir?”

My teacher replied composedly, “Let me have a word with your Valet. I’ll give him some advice so that the two of you do not jeopardize your standing in this household. Now, go and find your guardian; tell him to come to see me immediately.” On that note, he dispensed me to locate my guardian.
Bewilderment

For the rest of the day, I was in a state of befuddlement. I was at once enticed, intrigued and aflame with anticipation of this flirtatious game of sybarite “chess.” I was fervent, because no one had secretly or openly played such a sexual cat-and-mouse game with me. I was beguiled by the possible outcomes to this upcoming tryst. My mind was set ablaze with all sorts of sexual innuendoes, and my fervent imagination had heightened me to shambolic sensual arousals; I could think of nothing else for the rest of that day.

“What’s the matter with me?” I castigated myself. I’ve not felt this way since my early encounters with my ‘big brother’ Nikee and with Andy during our playful courtships. I’d thought I had learned the tricks of subduing my passionate obsessions, yet here I was, heaving with infatuation, desiring to know what lay ahead. I was at a loss.

I found Andy half an hour later. He was busy reading an engineering magazine in the otherwise solitudinous library. But that day, there were workmen installing hidden cameras around this extensive room. I tip-toed over to startle my BB by wrapping both palms over his eyes.
“What are you doing, you little devil?” Andy queried judiciously.

I answered, “Professor Dubois wants to see you immediately. He asked me to tell you to meet him in his suite as soon as I could find you.”

“Why does he want to see me?” Andy asked.

“You’ll find out when you talk to him.”

“Are you coming with me to see your teacher?” Andy asked.

“Sure,” I replied, and off we trooped to Monsieur’s Dubois boudoir.
Discussion

My Valet was the first to speak after I opened the cheque and the card once again in Alain’s chamber. He asked the same question I had inquired of my teacher: “Young, do you have any idea whom this gift and card are from?"

“I don’t know. It’s a mystery to me,” I answered. “Maybe it’s from Abdallah or the Marquis. These are the only two I can think of.”

My professor declared before Andy had a chance to speak. “Abdallah and Mathieu are attending this evening’s formal event. I doubt it is either one of them.”

My lover asked, “Do you want to go to this secret meeting?”

His question caught me off guard. I stammered, “I’m curious to find out who this mystery person is. If it’s the Marquis, you’ve already promised to deliver me to his chamber at the stroke of twelve. Why, then, did he request to see me in the library? I don’t think it is him.”

My guardian hypothesized, “This cat-and-mouse recreation is too ambiguous. I’m not one to humor these kinds of arduous diversions. Either you meet your summoner or return the cheque politely to whence it came.”

“But I have no idea who the cheque and the note are from; I don’t know to whom to return these items?"

“Besides, we have P’s decorous occasion to attend; we can’t decline this important invitation just to wait in the library,” I answered.

Dubois remarked, “Young, if you decide not to accept this gift and don’t know who to return it to, I suggest you hold onto the present for now and not meet your summoner this evening. Maybe this mysterious admirer will show him or herself at a later date.”

“If I don’t show, wouldn’t I upset His Highness and the guest in question, since P specifically requested I entertain his guests?” I thought aloud.

My professor declared, “This is a valid concern. We must come up with a viable solution to this unexpected occurrence.”

Andy suddenly leaped out of his seat as if an electric bulb had gone off above his head. He announced, “I’ve a solution.” Before we knew what was happening, he was out of the suite, running to locate Alf and Gudrun.
A Stately Function

That evening’s event was not without pomp and circumstance. This sententious affair was an unspoken informal introduction of Anastasie to P’s family members, several of whom did not take too kindly to His Highness, the third in line to the throne, or to his selection of an American woman to be his potential wife (no matter how connected or wealthy her family was). They wanted her to play no part in their traditional and conservative Islamic institutions.

Superficially, as guests of the kingdom, they welcomed her with a gracious sense of decorum, but when Anastasie’s back was turned, the guests who disapproved of the union whispered in their native tongue among themselves.
This tenacious escapade was P’s way of defying his country’s conventional protocol and asserting his defiance against his otherwise traditionalist peers and relatives. He wanted to advance his country folk’s mentality to keep up with changes that were happening in the larger world. Unfortunately, old beliefs die hard. Not only did his rebellious duress bring on further disharmony between him and his family; it also backfired and caused an eventual distancing between P, his father and his brothers.

That evening, the cordiality I experienced within the palace walls made me realize that the rift between P and his father was similar to that between me and my dad. This age-old generational gap existed beyond international and cultural boundaries. That night, I felt happy that I was no longer operating within the confines of my father’s jurisdiction. I was a free man, and so was P when he finally relinquished his Bahraini princely ascendancy to come into his own in his adopted country, France.

I was glad when we finally returned to the Quwah. I had forgone my mysterious suitor’s summon and decided, as per my professor’s advice, to be patient, waiting to see what would happen a day or two later.
The Clock Strikes Twelve

A boy tapped on the Marquis’ chamber door at precisely 12 midnight. His guardian, standing next to him, observed and waited with bated breath for an answer from the opposite side.

The door slid ajar, and a voice beckoned them to enter the darkened chambers. A single candle illuminated the adjoining room. No sound was heard except that of the boy’s thumping heartbeat, drumming audibly within the confines of his finely spun thobe. His Valet led him towards the authoritative voice. “Come here!”

Suddenly, darkness enveloped both chambers. The candle had been snuffed out. Unexpectedly, a hand grabbed the adolescent, pulling him into the adjoining room. He let out a whimpering sound from this abrupt incursion, as he was being pushed brusquely onto the king. The naked Marquis was atop the boy, while his guardian stood guard a few feet away. The Valet was ready to pounce if anything abhorrent was to happen to his charge.

Mathieu lifted the boy’s hands above his head, pinning him onto the bed as he pried open his sensual lips to receive the man’s passionate kisses. The lad feigned a series of wiggling movements, attempting to get free from his intruder. The Frenchman tied his wrists to a post before ripping away his thobe to reveal his flawless skin. The boy’s hardness throbbed unflaggingly against his washboard stomach, stirring the man’s erection to bounce frantically against his analog’s excitement. Straddling the young man, they French kissed as their manhood oscillated in rhythmic synchronicity. The Marquis lifted himself to feed his bobbing length into the boy’s oral orifice. The bound youth thrashed rousingly to this stimulating onslaught. He swallowed the bubulousness in gulps of ecstasy.

Suddenly, a blindfold encased the aristocrat. Surprised by this unforseen invasion, the Marquis was at a loss, but the oral stimulation was too enticing for him to forgo. He continued feeding his captive while he desperately tried to writhe free from the bondage that had now rendered him sightless. His hands were forced and roped tightly behind his back by a pair of muscular arms he had not seen in the dark. This precipitous turn of events served only to heighten his sexual anticipation. His attempted struggles soon transformed to rapturous exultations. Instead of being the dominant partner in this game of lustful eroticism, he was at the mercy of his surpriser, who had lubricated him sufficiently for the lad to slide his engorgement into the man’s anal opening. The captive jounced jubilantly onto the hardness that encased him. He rode uncompromisingly onto the jabbing intrusion as if riding a wild stallion.
The intruder had released the boy’s hands. He clutched his captive’s hips, impaling him onto the frantic assault of his impending release. Mathieu’s exhilarations leaked a succession of stickiness onto his impaler’s chest. The Valet scooped up the manliness before feeding his charge drips of gummy viscosity, to the lad’s prodigious delight, as he groaned lustily, burying his abundance into the taut confines of his rider.

The provocative stimulation shoved Mathieu over the edge; his liberation shot onto his impaler’s youthful face as they rode unyieldingly until his length receded from the man. The Marquis slumped onto the boy’s torso as he extricated himself from the aristocrat. The Frenchman flumped onto the bed, waiting to be extradited from his bonded imprisonment. That act of clemency did not arrive until the Marquis wrestled himself free some hours later. By then, Gudrun and Adolf had left the sadomasochistic chambers that had been intended to entice my sagacious Andy and me at the stroke of midnight.