Roland DeForrest - The Erotic Quest of Dirk and Honey

As casually as he could, he started on a hurried survey of the mazelike hallways. In almost no time he discovered that the bathhouse was more of a local gay cruising joint than a legitimate establishment. Though there were steam and sauna rooms and a bubbling, tile-lined hot pool that could easily have held twenty, most of the activity was taking place in the darkened recesses off the halls. The grunting and groaning, slurping and sucking sounds as he passed told him more than he wanted to know. Every man he ran into in the halls made some sort of pass at him. One beer-bellied guy, whose extra-large towel kept slipping off, even started following him, making cooing, clucking sounds.

Dirk had had enough. Trying to find his way back to the locker room through the crisscrossing halls, he cursed silently. Damn Honey , he thought. She knew all along what Yves liked-that’s why she insisted I take over from here. Well, there’s a limit to how far I’ll go to help Kolina… damn right there is . Dirk was still grumbling to himself when he turned a corner and ran smack into Yves Bouscaral.

“Pardon,” Yves apologized, and a sly grin formed on his ruddy face. “ Sprechen sie Deutsch? ”

“English,” Dirk replied. “And you?”

“French…” He paused suggestively. “Come to my room?”

“Room? They’ve got private rooms here?” Dirk asked caught off guard.

“ Very private. Come on.”

Yves turned and walked away. A few steps up the hall, he turned to see if Dirk was following. His face fell as he saw that Dirk was hanging back, but Dirk squared his shoulders and started forward with a grin, wishing he were somewhere else.

Yves led him to a door off one of the side halls. Inside was a tiny room containing only a narrow cot covered by a white sheet. Dirk stood just inside the open doorway and wondered what to do next. Yves was trying to close the door behind him, and he pushed Dirk gently aside to do so. Dirk smiled weakly.

Yves was at the cot, searching under the mattress with one hand. “Would you like some cocaine?” he asked.

Unhesitatingly, Dirk said, “Sure.”

Yves brought out a small leather case and zipped it open. Inside was a small mirror and all the necessities. Expertly he proceeded to lay out four healthy lines of snow on the mirror. He handed a tooter and the works to Dirk, who inhaled almost gratefully. The rush was instantaneous-sharp, clear, like a blast of supercharged energy. The second line skyrocketed him even further. Savoring the sensation, he returned the case. “Good stuff.”

“Peruvian flake,” Yves said, and precisely snorted the remaining two lines. He packed away the case and slid it back under the mattress, sinking to sit on the edge. “You are a very attractive man. Very American.”

“Ahh… thanks, I guess…”

“What brings a Yank to this part of the world?” Yves asked in a friendly manner.

Dirk stared at the man, trying to determine how to proceed. Yves was masculine, warm, and seemingly quite at ease with his homosexuality. Dirk, on the other hand, was just as assured of and comfortable with his own heterosexuality. The problem he was confronting was simple-he wanted something different than Yves did, and therefore he concluded he’d have to be direct. “I came here to find you.”

Yves looked surprised. “Why?”

“I want information about Kolina Svensen’s disappearance.”

Yves blanched and sat straight up. “I don’t know what you are talking about.”

“Come off it, Yves. I’m not out to hurt you. I just want to find the girl.”

“How do you know who I am?” Yves asked, suddenly on guard.

“That’s not important,” Dirk said. “What’s important is that Kolina is returned safely. That’s all I want.”

Yves looked away. “I cannot help you.”

“I think you can. You know something about Kolina that will help locate her. Surely you don’t wish her any harm.”

Yves shook his head sadly. “Of course not.”

“Then help me… help her,” Dirk urged.

Yves snorted bitterly. “Ironic, no? I bring you in here to get something, and it turns out you want something more urgent.”

Dirk moved toward the door, telling Yves, “I’ll meet you in the cafe across the street. And don’t try to run away. I’m a very determined man.”

Dirk retrieved his clothes from the locker, pulled them on, and sped out of the bathhouse. Relieved to be outside in the fading sunlight, breathing the fresh mountain air of the tiny village, he crossed the dusty street and plopped down in a chair in the nearly empty outdoor cafe. Eyeing the only door to the bathhouse, he ordered a cold bottle of local beer and gulped it down. He was on his second when he spotted her: a black-eyed, black-haired, buxom young lady of no more than twenty-one, sitting by herself in the deepening shadows of the awning-covered patio. She had the face of a Goya painting, bewitching in its sultry magnificence, enticing in its sensual magic. And she was eyeing him covertly over a glass of what looked like sangria.

A fire of unquenchable proportions burst to life in his groin. He smiled his most engaging, nonthreatening invitation. Much to his delight, she returned it in kind before glancing coyly away. He was about to move to her table when Yves, once again debonairly dressed, strolled out of the bathhouse and started directly across the street toward him. Cursing the rotten timing, Dirk shrugged apologetically to the mystically beautiful presence in the far corner, and turned wtih a wry expression to greet the gay Frenchman.

Bouscaral sank into the opposite chair with an air of resigned amusement. “No hard feelings?”

Dirk shrugged, muttering, “Not yet.” In spite of the circumstances of their meeting, he could find nothing to dislike about the man. If Honey had drummed one thing into his head over the years, it was that an individual had the right to freedom of choice. Therefore he couldn’t fault the man merely for his predilections. He glanced at the large-breasted lady in the corner and reluctantly returned his focus to his tablemate. “Okay, Yves, tell me what you know.”

Bouscaral took out of his blazer a slim gold cigarette case, and fished out a cigarette. With some irritation, Dirk watched him light it with a matching gold lighter, inhale deeply, and exhale, blowing the smoke to one side. Yves smiled. “I’m afraid you’ve overreacting to this girl’s disappearance.”

“Meaning?” Dirk asked testily.

“Easy, my friend.” Yves puffed for a moment, then began in a confident manner, “Kolina is in no danger. On the contrary, she is having the time of her life. I know for a fact that she’s run away with a man she adores. It is merely an affair of the heart. Passion, that’s all. Surely you can understand passion.”

Dirk thought for a moment, then took a wild stab in the dark. “This guy wouldn’t be the one you met with up in the hills early today?”

Yves’s casual facade crumbled like a dry sand castle, his ruddy complexion going pale. “Absolutely not,” he rasped, and pushed himself out of his chair. “ Au revoir ,” he said as he strode briskly away.

Dirk cried after him, “Dammit, you’re a big fuckin’ help.”

The Frenchman paused long enough to shrug and smile. “So were you, Yank. So were you.”

In less than an hour, Dirk was back in his cluttered and garishly tiled hotel suite at the Bussaco Palace, reporting to Honey by phone. From the bed, he said into the receiver, “The problem is, the bastard won’t say who Kolina is with.”

“Sounds like another coverup, doesn’t it?” Honey commented, the excitement of the chase evident in her tone. “Very suspicious, Yves flying off for a sudden rendezvous just after I ask him about Kolina. My hunch is, this stranger he met in the hills is somehow connected. How soon can you get me copies of the photos you took? Dirk? You there?”