Wednesday, June 20, 2007


excerpt from "The Man from Albuquerque" - Julie Saget
from Ooh La La!: Contemporary French Erotica by Women

That's what I remember from the first time: it was in Barcelona, in that hotel room with a rancid smell, where I had been dragged by two Russian sailors from Novorossisk, who were wandering, like me, in the alleyways of the Barrio Chino. We had drunk too much, as if each of us wanted to lose some of our life in that bad drunken sate. We made love, the three of us. They rode me, shot all over me, soiled me with sperm and piss. Dawn surprised us, limbs entwined, in sheets soaked with urine. My teeth were chattering, my lips and tongue swollen from far too many bites, a taste of salt and ashes in my mouth, too much sperm swallowed. I was shaking.


I would give my bush, my tuft to eat to anybody I fancied, and if I felt the desire, I would pay – with the money of the man whose name I bear – rough men who, however, don’t ask for anything other than fucking the woman who offers herself asking nothing in return. At the beginning I sought those men at the gates of factories, the men who worked by night. I waited for them in the early morning, I chose one at random. Some were frightened by my offer. The money scared them, they feared a devious trick. Others, fortunately, agreed to make the most of that godsend. They allowed me to slip my hand into their fly, forage around until I pulled out their naked penis, which I masturbated until it went stiff. Standing against the factory wall, I let them work me, but none managed to calm my fury. Like a crazy bitch, from my throat sprang the growls of a trapped animal. I ordered: “Deeper, deeper, smash me!” Then, with a nasty laugh: “Are you scared? Are you scared I’ll swallow you and your prick, and your balls, and all your shit? Scared I will gulp you down, drain you of your blood, drain you of your life? Fuck you! Go deeper, deeper than that! Do as I say!” They did their best. I could see in their eyes desire mixed with fear in the face of such rage. In the end I found those men too servile; they stunk of machine grease and obedience. I was aiming for something else. Men of another consistency – but their bodies always had to be dirty and their cocks had to stink – men whose language I would not understand and who would not hear my words, men coming from the four corners of the earth, with no home, no homeland, like myself. I knew I would find them in ports. Makeshift crews, they arrive from every part of the world, all races mixed, embarked for a mere pittance of a wage on tankers so decrepit that no repairs can save those floating monstrosities from disaster. Indians, Malaysians, Yemenites, they feed on spicy stews and raw onions; they have foul breath and their sweat reeks. It’s them I want, them I need.


He showed me how to gain access to the holds. As I went in, I had difficulty discerning the dozen men sleeping on the bare floor. I slipped between them. The heat was stifling. The first body my hand encountered was half-naked and sweaty. I touched the damp torso and the sleeper woke up, muttering in an incomprehensible tongue. I quieted him by placing my mouth on his. His breath was repugnant and my tongue plunged into a cesspool. At the same time I undressed and lay down on top of him. I became an undulating reptile. My belly rubbed against his and when I felt the hard swollen penis, I undid the man’s sarong and, opening my thighs, I violently forced his penis inside me. There was a long moan, like a powerful note on the barely audible chords of the breath of the other sleeping sailors. My movements became more rapid, more violent, to make the man cry louder and wake up his companions. The first to wake up lit a hurricane lamp and moved closer. I beckoned him to come even closer. I undid the belt that held up his rough cotton trousers, I took his penis in my mouth. I started to suck him as if I was going to draw out the substance in his balls. The one I was riding let out an anguished rattle and I felt he was coming with all the power of a male deprived of women for ages. All the others were now crowding around the three of us. Each wanted his turn, now. I gave myself to all. I offered them my cunt, my lips, the furrow between my breasts, my armpits, my hair, all the places in my body where their come could pour out. I think they were laughing and crying at the same time. It lasted quite a while. Dawn was already breaking. Each part of my flesh was pain and pleasure at the same time, as if I had just gone up the Via Dolorosa on my knees with a crown of thorns on my forehead and the weight of the cross on my back. Transfiguration through abasement, with voluntary suffering. Before coming out into the open air, I threw them a bundle of banknotes, which the men rushed for, with the greediness of famished dogs.


[Finding the man from Albuquerque, he says:]
“I know you’re looking for me. In fact I was told a while ago, and I was wondering where we would finally meet.”
As he pronounced those last words with an ironic smile I saw his teeth, so white in his carnassial mouth. He took his time, pulled a cigarillo from his shirt pocket, and lit it. The acrid smell of tobacco suited him. His voice grew louder:
“I know you’re looking for me. But what I don’t know is why.”
I answered simply:
“Snuff movies.”
“You’re a client? You need that to come?”
“It’s not what you think.”
The voice spoke with a falsely innocent tone. It was a way to make fun of me.
“But I don’t think anything! And I don’t care what others think! It’s none of my business.”
“I’m not a client. I just want to be the next.”


This is how I feel sometimes. Compelled to become forceful. Trying to drag forth a release from a man - trying to assault his senses to corner him into unleashing natural fury, passion, agression, strength, machismo, naked brute reaction.

This is how I feel sometimes. Wanting to slum it, hungry for cock in all the holes, in all the ways. Dirtier the better. Oozing thick black inky corners of my mind next to cobwebs and piles of dead bugs. Dust and oil stains. Cracked, dilapidated, torn floors and windows. Sobering, stark, stinked, like runaway prison sex.

["I have found some kind of temporary sanity in this. / Shit, blood, and come on my hands. I've come round full circle. / My lamb and martyr, this will be over soon. you look so precious. / You look so precious now"]

This is how I want it on the inside. Forgetting the outside. Letting go under all his fault. I am just here. I can't say I want it.

I will it.

Transfiguration through abasement.

I wonder if SirMax would take me back to his dungeon after such a long time gone. I need a good beating.

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