It began in 1763.

The celebrations for the Paris Peace Treaty, marking the end of the Seven Years’ War, drew people of all sorts, including Comte Donatien Alphonse Francois, Marquis de Sade. He was 22 years old. It was at a grand ball that he met the dark-haired young man, and the blonde woman who seemed to hold him in thrall. Angelus.

That spring and summer were enchanted. Angelus guided him through the human experience of pain and pleasure, taught him how to exert his new skills, to do as he wished with beautiful men and women, hired, seduced or in love.

Then, in October, Francois was arrested on a lettre de cachet and imprisoned in the fortress of Vincennes. Neither he nor his lover ever knew that Darla had paid for the letter, to remove the young Marquis from his intimacy with Angelus. She was a jealous goddess.

He didn’t see his lover again until 1777. He had returned to Paris to see his mother - too late, since she was already dead. But Angelus was there, and found him. It was 31 January.

“You see, Francois? I told you I would return.”

“No, Lover, you don’t look a day older, either. Now, what have you got for me?”

For the next 13 nights, Angelus taught him things beyond his wildest imaginings. That first night, when he had come to Francois’ home, there had been a young woman and a young man for their delectation. Angelus had known what to do.

“There, sweeting, see? Like that, just there. See how he cannot resist you? Again, sweeting. A little more. No, he won’t mind the blood, his pain will become pleasure. See?”

It was the same with the girl.

“Like that, sweeting. Now this. And there.”

Angelus had known how to wring a response from both, long after the human body should have succumbed to satiety and fatigue.

And he had not left his pupil wanting.

All the time that he guided and taught, his own knowing, nimble fingers were at work, touching, caressing, just like so, building pleasure to the point of pain and then beyond into rapture.

When he left, Francois was faint from pain and fainting from pleasure. Angelus took the two young things home, and the Marquis was grateful for that courtesy. Each night followed a path that ran deeper and deeper into the darkness of his heart. Each night, he couldn’t wait for the return of the man who hadn’t aged in 14 years. His teacher. His lover. The man who had promised that, this time, Francois should come with him, join him and Darla.

The soldiers came on 13 February 1777, too early for his lover to be there. For that he was grateful. They took him to the Fortress of Vincennes, where he was imprisoned for 14 years. He never saw his lover again, and that probably saved his life. Unknowing, he mourned his loss, and recorded the things he had learned from Angelus.

THE END
9 February 2004

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