Three Good Deeds

Francis woke up. There was a woman in a black coat and ared scarf with dirty blonde hair tied back into a sloppy bun standing over him,looking at his eyes.

"Hey!" she said. "Parlez-vous Francais?" Francis, shook his head. "No. Do you speak English?"he asked in a sleepy desperate voice. "Yes, she said. What's yourname?" "Francis". "Are you hungry Francis?" He had been in Paris for only 3days. He had no money. He had not eaten since a businessluncheon on his first day, before the tryouts, and even then he had not eatenmuch because he didn't want to play on a full stomach. "Francis, I own a restaurant. I'm going there now. Would you like something to eat?" He looked at her, vacantly,quizzically. He had stopped askingstrangers for help. He had beensleeping in the metro, which is where he was now. He had started out, just walking around. Taking advantage of the fact that hewas in Paris to see the sights. Of course, since he had no money, he could not go into the Louvre to see the MonaLisa (the most famous European painting in the world). He could, however, see the I.M. Pei pyramid. He could stand outside ofthe museum, he could walk around it. He was dressed nicely, so no one would suspect that his situation was sodesperate. People gave him moneyat first. Tourists. He kept an eye out for American and English tourists, and pretended to be a tourist as well, on account of the factthat he was dressed nicely and spoke English really quite well. If he had his druthers, he wouldprobably have been an English teacher instead of a football player. It's more pragmatic. But he was good. He was a very good footballer. He was better at football than he wasat speaking English. So when theopportunity presented itself, when a French agent approached him on thefootball field, and asked him how he would feel about coming to Paris to trainfor an opportunity to play football for France, the pragmatic thing, of course,was to take it.

Before he knew where he was,exactly, he was turning a corner into a dry dim alley with a strange woman in ablack coat, and dirty blond hair in a sloppy bun wearing a red scarf wearingblue jeans and sneakers. Shestopped abruptly, and unlocked a clean metal door, and then they wentinside. "Here." She said. And offered him a day oldcroissant. "What would you like toeat? We don't open for anotherhour, I have time to make us both some breakfast." She was a very, very pretty young woman. She had light freckles, but clearsmooth pale skin and soft grey and blue eyes. Not piercing. There was something very natural about her. Sort of primitive in a vaguely gaelic way. She had rather broad shoulders, aslightly more than ample bosom. She wore her clothes to show off her figure discreetly and it was veryhard not to look at her. "I don'tknow. I don't know what you canmake." He said. "Name something." He thought for a minute. "Belgian Waffles" he said. Before he could even reply that he wasjust testing her, she immediately got to work making the batter. "What else Francis? What else would you like to eat?" "Bacon, AND Sausage." He replied with a big toothysmile. "Would you like somethingto drink while you wait? Orangejuice with Champagne perhaps?" Francis was at this moment incredibly delighted. It had finally sunken in. He had been saved. "Oh that would be wonderful. I've never had something like thatbefore." Without a word, shegrabbed a very tall glass with a wide mouth and poured it half of the way fullwith orange juice, and filled it up the rest of the way with champagne so thatit almost spilled off of the top. "Here you are." Shesaid. Some of the juice hadsloshed out of the top and onto her delicate freckled hand. "Thank you very much miss. I'm sorry, I still don't know yourname." "Juliette" she repliedturning around back into the kitchen. "Juliette. Like Romeo andJuliette." He looked up at a clockon the wall. It was still veryearly. 6:35 in the morning. Why don't you go out to the dining roomwhile I finish our breakfast she said. I don't want to reveal any of my secrets to a stranger." She said, turning around flirtatiouslywith a sharp glean in her soft eyes and a coquettish smile creeping across herface. "Ofcourse! Do you have a phone I may use?" he asked. "Yes, there's one behind the cashier stand in thefront. Just dial.

He pushed open the doors, of the kitchen and looked for thephone, taking everything in as he did. It was obviously, a very nice restaurant. He had not ever been in a restaurant as nice as this one inall of his 20 years. Whatluck. He thought. Yesterday, I was homeless, starving, cold,alone in a strange place. Broughtdeceptively to a foreign land where he knew no one. Where he had no prospects. Not even any money. In a place like this, he was as good as dead. He dialed his father's work phone. It rang, and rang, and rang. And rang and rang. And rang and rang. And rangsome more. He got tired of holdingthe phone and put it down on the counter. He listened as it continued to ring. He hung it up after a while, and decided to just try laterin the day when he knew he would be at work. When he heard footsteps from the kitchen coming into thedining area, he hung up the phone. "May I help you with anything?" "No, just take a seat she said." They began eating their food together, sitting across from oneanother. "Thank you very muchJuliette." "Not at all!" she saidlooking up. "I don't normally dothis kind of thing, but you look like a man with a story" she said finallylooking into his eyes for the first time. "Tell me what brought you to Paris?" Francis felt safe for the first time since he had beenapproached by the football agent that found him. Ever since he first spoke to the man, he felt like he wasclimbing up a very tall ladder and watching the ground get farther and fartheraway from his feet until he could no longer see it. Until all he could see below him was large fields of colorsand clouds in an airplane leaving his country and his home. Even when he got to Paris, when helanded, he felt as if he were standing on the edge of a very tall platformlooking down onto the top of the sky right below heaven. He didn't dare look up. He couldn't look up until he knew itwas safe. He felt as if thestreets of Paris were really just made of glass, and that the dirty greysidewalk and the dirty grey sky were really one and the same. Then he jumped. He was a forward. He played as well as he possibly couldhave under the circumstances. Desperatelyhe played football. He ran, he kicked, he grunted, and yet still the fear was there, the vertigo did notsubside. It was there constantlybehind his brow like a great wall. The only time he felt nearly relieved was when he was out of breath, kneeling,feeling the sweat pour down his body and cover him as it did when he was athome. This was the first time hecould sweat since he met the man, and it was a wonderful feeling. He breathed heavily, panting, gaininghis breath, but struggling to keep his heart resuming it's acceleratedpace. He had jumped. He had maintained his posture. He had seen the Olympics on the T.V.and had seen the high divers. Hehad also seen sky divers. And thisis how he felt. Somewhere betweenthe two. A sky diver without aparachute, twisting, and spinning gracefully in the open air. Turning, flipping, like a fish in spacetrying to fly. But falling feelslike flying if you can do it for long enough. "I came here to play football." "I come from a village in Ghana you would not have heardof. I was playing one day in amatch against a team that you would not have heard of in Johannesberg where theAfrican national games are held. Atime out was called, and my coach called me over to the sidelines. He had a very severe expression on hisface. I thought I may have fouledsome one. I was playing veryaggressively that day. He beganwalking when I came to the edge of the field and he motioned for me to followhim. I was afraid to follow himtoo closely. This was a veryimportant game for my club. If wewon, we would get a prize, and perhaps a larger sponsor. He brought me to the first row andthere were two men standing there. White men. Europeans, notAfrikaaners. They were not dressedparticularly well, but it was obvious that they had money. I've never spoken to a rich white manface to face, so I was very nervous. I did want them to think I was some dumb brutish footballer. My coach introduced them. The first man he introduced wasolder. 'Francis'. He said to me." Francis paused for a moment and lookeddown before continuing. "'Francis. This man is a football scout fromParis.' The man interrupted my coach before he was done speaking to introducehimself. His name was Guillaume LaCroix. He told me to just callhim Gil. He told me that he hadbeen watching me in particular during the game. He said that he liked my aggressions. That my style was strong, andgraceful. He told me, he wanted totake me to Paris to play for the club which he represented. He said, he wanted to tell me now,because he wanted to see how I would play after having been told this. Then I was dismissed. And, that's how I got here. He paid for the ticket, for thehotel. Everything. After my tryout, he told me and theother players I was playing with to wait in the lobby of the stadium. After four hours waiting there, we weretold by security that we had to leave. We tried to protest, but-they told us they would call the police if wedid not leave. We tried, politely,to explain that we were waiting for our agent. We were told to leave again and the police werecalled." Juliette, who had stoppedeating, did not look up the entire time he had told his story. Then she, slowly, resumed, looking upsheepishly for a moment as she chewed her waffles. "I want to help you Francis. I can tell you are a good person, and that you came herwith-good intentions and that you were-misled by an evil person. I am very sorry to hear about yourstory. But, now, you're getting a break." Francis got the feeling again. Too much hope. He fought to choke it back. Too much hope is scary. When we finish, I want you to go tothis address." She beganscribbling onto a napkin. "This ismy father's address. He owns therestaurant, and is a very big football fan. He will help you find a job."



2.

When Francis arrived at the house, he was greeted at thedoor by a tall man who appeared to be in quite good shape for a fellow of hisage, with short white hair cut like that of a young man. "You must be Francis. Juliette told me you would becoming. The name's Harold. Harold Dumas. Please come inside." The house was very nice. Francis felt the urge upon being in such a nice place to clean himself. Before he could ask, the man said. "There's a shower upstairs you mayuse. Please be my guest."

The shower looked like it must have been veryexpensive. It was surprisinglylarge and had shower-heads dispersed all over the walls, all pointing to thecenter. The door was a single paneof large glass with a small chrome handle that had a finger grip underneath itand magnets that held it closed. The bathroom itself was also quite large. It seemed more like just another room in the house. The tiles were a rustic style terracotta that he had never seen before. Francis was so relieved to be able to bathe himself. He was surprised that Juliette couldnot smell him (but perhaps she could, and was only being polite). When he got out of the shower, henoticed that the bathroom door was open. He was a bit surprised, because he distinctly remembered closingit. He walked over to the door toclose it again, when he noticed in the mirror that he could see into the otherroom, and that Harold was on the phone. He turned around when he saw that the man noticed him. Francis went to close the door smilingas he did so, but Harold grabbed the other side of the knob gently, smilinglooking into his eyes. "I'm sorry,we're not in the habit of closing doors around here Francis. I should have told you." "I'm sorry sir. That was quite rude of me." "It's all right my boy" the man said,continuing to grip the knob coercing Francis to let go of it. Once he did so, Harold opened the dooreven wider, and then stood between it and Francis, in a way as if it stillpromised some kind of defense, even though they were now both standing out inthe open. "How do you like Paris,so far?" Harold said. "It's nice sir" Francis said lookingdown at the ground. "Nice it is,indeed. But one needs money to getaround. Juliette told me when shefound you that you had none at all. Is that right?" "Yes sir." "Not even enough to buy any foodwith. Am I right?" "Yes." "You know Francis, a boy like you could get into a lot oftrouble in a city like this. Thepolice would not know your background, the people would be afraid of you, ordismiss you as another immigrant. You know we have a lot of Nigerians here in Paris now. You might find yourself caught up insome trouble, especially without a job and a proper command of thelanguage." Francis was feeling nowquite uneasy. "I know sir, I amvery glad that I have an opportunity. That you are-willing to give me one. So that I may-make some money-and go back-" "Home? Yes?" said Harold smiling. "Yes, I suppose you could. Although, airline tickets to Ghanaare-quite expensive. You wouldhave to save up for a long time, even if you had a good job." Francis was beginning to feel verynervous. All he wanted to do wasto get dressed. To put on someclothes and discuss employment, but something about Harold's stance made itseem impossible to move past him. "Francis. Is something thematter?" said Harold suddenly looking confused. "You have such a pretty face, it doesn't ennoble you to lookworried my boy. Here." "Harold then took Francis's hand thatwas holding his towel and gently pried his fingers off of it's two ends thatwere holding it over his waist. The towel, as if it were his only friend in the world that had suddenlydecided to betray him, slipped first from around the top of his pubicarea. He reached with his otherhand to grab it and prevent himself from being exposed, but Harold then grabbedhim quickly around the wrist and let the towel, gaining speed fall to thefloor, gently unwrapping itself from around his firm round black behind. Francis was trying not to shake, andlike a rabbit caught in a snare, really had no idea what to do. Harold then slowly released his handsand let them fall to Francis's sides. His stomach and chest were heaving shallowly, he tried to keep astraight face. He had absolutelyno idea what he should do. Withoutsaying a thing, Harold reached over starting to touch his still wettedshoulder, then moved his hand down the side of his arm and to the small of hisback, then he reached around him and began massaging is naked buttocks. Francis just stood there. Harold smiled at him and said. "You are a very beautiful boyFrancis. Does that feel good? I can feel, how wet you are. Your ass is very fit. Very firm, but yielding. Do you mind that I'm doing this?" Francis just kind of moved his headaround from side to side slightly, and continued to let Harold, his generoushost, move his right hand to the front of his groin and cup it." "Now, you're quite good with English Isee, so I suppose you know a little expression they use in America, yes? To have someone by the balls?" Harold said this, knowing full wellthat Francis would not reply. "Look down at my hand boy. Where is it?" Noreply. "TELL me, where my handis." Harold said clutching himtightly but only for a minute." "Your hand is on my testicles sir." Francis said stammering in a high voice. "I'm holding you by your testiclesFrancis that's right. Do you knowwhy I might want to do something like that? Because I want something. I want something from you, and I want to make sure that youunderstand that and that you want to co-operate, because as it stands rightnow, you have no where to go where anyone will believe you, let aloneunderstand what you're saying, or even really care for that matter." "What do you want?" Francis said, not quite broken downyet. "I want you, Francis, to goto my bed room, and go into my bedside table and get the bottle of cocoa butterout of it. You'll know it when yousee it." Francis did as he wastold, and walked naked into the other man's room in a state of shock toretrieve the cocoa butter. Haroldfollowed him. Francis could seenothing of how well decorated and modern Harold's hallway was, only the hallwayitself. He walked down thehallway, past the open windows, and went to Harold's bedside table to producethe cocoa butter. Harold followedhim. When they had both enteredthe room, Harold closed the door behind them and continued to giveinstructions. "Put that in yourhands, the cocoa butter, and rub your penis with it Francis." Francis did as he was told, trying hisbest to enjoy it which really was the only thing he could do at the time. "No!" Yelled Harold. "You aren't trying hard enough. Rub that your penis and become aroused, or I will shoot you." "I'm trying." Wimpered Francis. "Give it to me." Harold said. "Give that to me and come over here and unzip my trousersnow please." Francis did as he wastold like a boy obeying his father. "Good, good Francis." Harold then produced a 9mm from under some magazines on the bedsidetable. "Now, I think you know what I want you to do."

When Harold was satisfied, he told Francis to get onto thebed and assume the doggystyle position the way a woman would, and instructedhim that he should point his toes together and stick his rear end as high intothe air as he could. Harold tookthe cocoa butter in one hand and began massaging his buttocks with it. You know, when I was your age, I was inthe foreign service in Ghana. Doyou like that I told you that just now?" "Yes sir." "No you don't! You hate it, now tell me that you hatethat I was in the foreign service in Ghana!" He did, again, as he was told. "I'm going to penetrate your' rectum with my erect penisFrancis. Do you like that I'vejust told you that?" "No! I don't!" "Harold slapped the back of his head with a well oiled palmso hard that the shock of it made Francis cry a little bitch gettingraped. "You do like what I told younow, because you will enjoy it and so will I. Now you might know better how to approach a woman in thefuture. Thank me for the lessonboy, this is only one of three good deeds I have done for you today!" "Thank you, for teaching me..." "How to fuck!" Harold produced a muscle relaxing creamfrom one of his discarded pants pockets and began rubbing it against Francis'sanus until he could fit two finger into it completely. "I'm teaching you how to fuck Francis. You'll want to know how to be good atit, I promise." Harold then beganeasing himself into the young man's black behind, shallowly at first, and thenwith great speed that made Francis scream out loud. He screamed and kept crying as the older man was fucking himfrom the rear. "I don't mind thatyou scream, it reminds me of a woman. I like fucking women too you know. You may bite the pillow too if you wish." Harold's view of Francis's naked back was spectacular. It gave him a great surge of power tobe having sex with a fit, young football player. His muscles were rippling, his ribcage was heaving. Harold reached around him to grab histesticles and then pulled out and shot several hot arcs of semen so far acrosshis back that it got onto his neatly cropped hair cut. He looked down, and saw that there wastraces of blood in the mucosal leftovers clinging to his penis. Bathwater, sweat and blood mixedtogether between Francis's thighs. The ordeal was over, and now his stomach and lower bowels were in greatpain, yet somehow, his anus was not. Harold then gave him more instruction. Alright now Francis. Go into the second drawer of my bed side table and take the money out ofit. That's yours, and if you do agood job again, you'll get more. You were a very good boy today. Why don't you go and get some fresh clothes from the closet. I'll have the help wash your oldones. Harold went to the closet,and produced a fresh new football jersey, and a pair of artificially fadedtight fitting blue jeans and some under wear. He look to see if he could find a pair that were darkcolored, but all he saw was white. He must have a thing for white underwear, he thought before his senseshad returned to him. "Now, here'sa list of things I want you to get from the grocery. Do that, take them to this address, then report backhere. Will you do that?" "Yes sir." Francis said.



3.

Francis, took a cab to the closest grocery store. He Purchased the items on the list and took the cab to the address written on the note. When they arrived, he was, for some reason shocked to seethat it was the same restaurant he had left earlier that morning. It was now 8:30, and the morning rushwas in full swing. Bank tellers, lawyers, teachers. People of allshapes sizes and varieties coming and going into and out of therestaurant. Sitting, eatingtalking, reading their papers. Completely oblivious to the tall, muscled, black stranger in their midstwearing artificially faded jeans and a mock football jersey. Like a moth to a light bulb heapproached the counter where a familiar woman turned to greet him and acceptthe items that he had brought. And then she spoke.

"Did you speak with my father." "Yes." Francis replied without hesitation. "What did hesay?" "He said-" Francis held backevery urge in his body to leap over the counter in the now crowdedrestaurant. He fought the urge toyell and scream and curse and spit in her face. He fought the urge to over power her and ravish her the wayhe had been that morning. And sheknew it. The way she stood, the wayshe looked at him, the way she pushed her chest out at him, and let that coysmile begin to creep it's way across her face again let him know. He had been completely and utterlydefeated. "He said. He could find me some work. And that I should be grateful." "And aren't you grateful Francis? That you come to a strange foreignplace, betrayed by a strange man and your own good nature, and upon being stranded, find a friendly stranger willing to take time out of his day and reach out to you? Feed you, clothe you, bathe you- employ you? Not many people would do that in a place like this. You're very lucky." Francis could barely understand what she was saying. The sound of her voice was fading into the din of the restaurant. Hec ouldn't let himself focus on what she was saying, or even what she looked likeat that moment. He had started falling far before he had come here. He was falling from a high place and had finally landed. Had finally touched down. Not in a warm deep pool, not in a dream. With nothing but marble,and wine glasses to break his fall, he knew now that he could relax again. The uncertainty was dispelled. Reality was assuming its dominance yet again. He thought about the mostreasonable thing to do at this moment. To call his father and affirm to a familiar voice that had lived in his head his whole life that he knew where he was, what was going on, and what hewas going to do tomorrow. So he asked her. "May I use yourphone?" She cocked her head genuinely confused and replied "I don't think so. We're very busy right now and I can't afford to do you anymore favors. We fed you, clothed you, and found work for you Francis. We've done three good deeds for you today. I think that's more than enough.