Teen Hunk #10: Jean, the Violinist

I played the violin in junior high, but I didn't have the dedication to put in hours of practice every day -- or to face the bullies who disapproved of the existence of boys carrying violin cases -- so I didn't get very proficient, and in high school I switched to the viola:

A bigger, bolder instrument responsible mainly for harmonies.

The viola turned out to be my forte, the Rocky High Orchestra my home.

I had a crush on Mr. Hart, the orchestra director, slim, red-haired, horn-rimmed glasses, with an amazing bulge shifting as he conducted.  He signed me up for contests and competitions, and taught a special class in music theory in the predawn hours.

My first sexual experience was with a violinist named Todd at music camp, during the summer after 10th grade.

Another violinist was unbearably cute.

Two of the cellists were inseparable partners, perhaps a gay couple.

Other orchestra boys were surprisingly uninterested in girls.

Home.


But in college I had too many other interests and activities to pursue music further, so I put my viola back in its case,  It came along when I moved to Omaha with Fred, and stayed there when I left.  He said it was in his parents' attic, waiting for me to come and pick up.  It might still be there.

But I still listen to classical music, go to the symphony, and crush on musicians, especially those who remind me of those halcyon days.

In the spring of 2004, I went to Europe for my usual Paris-Brussels-Amsterdam circuit, and dropped in to the Bains d'Odessa, near the Luxembourg Gardens.

There wasn't much activity going on in the late afternoon hours, but as I was dressing to leave, I saw a very cute guy in the locker room, also getting dressed: in his 20s, tall, broad shouldered, with pale, smooth skin, tight muscles, nice bulge.  We made eye contact, but didn't interact: I followed the rule that younger guys must always approach older.

He put on a white shirt and blue jeans, and then pulled a violin case out of his locker.

A violinist!  I wasn't going to let this one get away!

I walked over to him.  "I played the viola in high school."

He glared at me.  "Très fascinant."

Well, that was rather a lame pick-up line.

He headed for the door.  I followed.   "Um...um....the first guy I had sex with played the violin."

"Vous devriez lui téléphoner."  Then you should call him.

I was sinking fast!  He paused to pick up his valuables from the lock box.  "Um...um...my high school music teacher had an enormous penis.  Almost as big as mine."

"Vraiment?"  He turned and smiled.  "Je m'appelle Jean."

When all else fails, go for the penis.

Over coffee, Jean told me that he only went into the sauna to work out and use the steam room.  "Sex in a bath house is disgusting, don't you think?"

"Oh, yes, I hate it," I lied, "So uncomfortable."

He was 22 years old, a student at the École Normale de Musique, working toward his diplôme supérieur d'exécution, a performance degree.  "They have degrees in teaching, too, for students with abysmal talent, perhaps those who went to a provincial lycee."

What an elitist!  "I studied at the University of Southern California and Setauket University...." I began.

"Sorry, I don't know them.  The only true universities in America are Harvard and Yale, don't you think?"

"Well, Setauket has an excellent program in history"

"History!  How can you stand it?  It is the most dull of all subjects."

Ok, I was working really hard to get this jerk into my bed.  He'd better be spectacular!

I was too embarrassed to invite him back to my one-star tourist hotel, so I said I had a roommate.  Jean offered to take me home -- his parents and younger brother were away on holiday.

He lived in a small but elegantly furnished apartment in the 14th Arrondissement, about 20 minutes away by Metro.

When we arrived, Jean sat me down on the couch and opened his violin case.  "Now I will play for you, and you will tell me if I am as good as the violinist who was your first boyfriend."

He pulled out a cake of rosin for his bow.  Memories came rushing back.  "Um...do you mind if I try?"  I asked, reaching across the couch.  I gingerly lifted the violin from its case.

He snatched it out of my hand and sprang to his feet.  "No!  Are you crazy!  You must never touch another man's instrument!"

Elitist and crazy! "Je suis désolé...I didn't know."

"How can you not know?" Jean yelled, his eyes flashing.  "Did they not teach you anything in your second rate lycee in the provinces?"

"Ok, ok, I will not touch your instrument.  Is it ok if I touch your penis?"

The bedroom activities turned out to be very nice -- Jean was passionate, versatile, and not at all demanding.  He even insisted on cuddling all night.


But in the morning he started up again: "Next August I will visit you in America.  I want to see this second rate lycee where you teach stupid people about sociology.  How do you ensure that they do not sleep during your lectures?"

I ran.

See also: 12 Teacher Hookups; 20 Teenagers and Twinks; and Spending the Night with Todd.