dark

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.

When I drank more

I wrote some interesting shit:



"they say whiskey cures any ailment, honey."
she said it in a southern drawl with tight jeans, elvis belt buckle, white wife-beater, and a straw hat. god she was gorgeous.

"you know it ain't helpin' to smoke while you've got the croup."
she leaned back and forth in the rocker, white dressing gown with lace around the neck, her bony, veiny fingers clutching a slim cigarette.

i got up from the couch and sweat dripped down from my armpits. well, if i can't breathe now, it won't be any better later. i got the laundry basket together with quarters in my back pocket. i heard the music first then the screech of tires stopping outside my window. i bet it's romeo. he knocks on the door instead of bellowing his wild hollar from the alley (must be on his meds again).

"just one drink, lolita, come on..."
"i can't. i just can't. i'm too sick. i've got star wars raging in my lungs and jabba the hut in my head."

whiskey.
it came back to whiskey.
gold rush at my finger tips. they did find that pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, and they put it in a bottle and called it maker's mark. saint mark of makers. there's a macon georgia. is there a makers tennessee?

what don't kill ya, only makes ya stronger. or more numb.

i've been on fire all day. fevers make me horny. sex on LSD - sex with a fever. it's all surreal. each fingertip laid here, resonates a pool of water there. each kiss of lips like burning comets. sweat it out. bundle up and take hot showers. eat spicy, hot soup in the middle of an 80F day.

i put the alphabet soup and crackers to the side of the bed and stretch my legs out and apart. even my fingers are like hot iron about to brand the pink nubbin.

closed eyes and martians appear. cars going too fast rear-ending each other. "you should have just taken it." batteries running out with their juice spilling to the ground. a tick tick tick of a heart pacer. white sands blowing below my body, as strands of my hair fly off to the side. all the naked bodies. "do you want to play?" "no." "i'm picky and you're my type."

i'm fast asleep before i get there.

someone likes the "eighties, nineties, and today" music up on full volume so i wake to the charlie brown theme song. i almost have to peel my naked body from the sheet. it must be a hundred degrees inside and outside my body.

if i can't stop thinking about him, will he never go away?

it's that pleasure place between awake and dead. red face, deep lines, horns, glowing eyes, a tail that wraps around his arm over and over again. an asymetrical pool of jizz in front of a computer with my photo on the screen. shrine. sacrifice. worship. just touch me. just touch.

if it ain't gonna cure me, it'll tie me over until i get a cure. pour a glass. i'll drink it straight. kill all the bugs in my body. raise the fever. i'm hallucinating again.

if i hit my head and died it would take 4 days for my body to start stinking up the place (in this heat at least). who would find me first? not the family, so disconnected. not the co-workers, so patient. not the lovers, so restrained. it'd have to be a neighbor. the next-door neighbor. "hey," pound pound. "hey, it stinks. are you home or what?"

ahhhh and now the rain... the rain outside... i'll go dance in the rain. drench, wash, cool, soak.

shit, need another glass of whiskey first.

7/20/2003

Storytime

"write a story involving a lil green dress, a hot tub, a house that burned down, and bagels please."


My sexy friend Alys got too big while we were in Spain. We were walking all over as we didn't have cars and it was just the expected custom to walk and take buses and metros. But we were compensating, re-building all that energy lost with sweet chocolate croissants and fresh bagels in the morning, fat and juicy pizzas in the night, and topping it all off with a bit too much drinking.

I tried to stop smoking there. It was like trying to go vegan while living in a chocolate factory. So, right after lunch I'd get the guts - which had to be gotten from a drawer way way way at the bottom of all my courage - and put on the shorts, t-shirt, tennis shoes, and walkman and I'd bust out the front doors of the school. That year it was The Prodigy that got me moving up and down the scorched hills and sizzling stone streets. Even if I couldn't run, I walked really, really fast.

But Alys got a bit bigger. After lunch, she'd relax in the cool of her dorm room listening to the hip hop she missed, snacking on Oreos sent from home.

So, when we got to the beach of Alicante over a long weekend she realized she just couldn't squeeze into the dress any longer. I'd been eyeing that thing since the first time I checked out her closet. I'm really not one to flaunt myself. I can be rather shy sometimes, and, I suffer from mirror hatred like we all do. But I knew it was now or never. She kind of shamefully handed it to me and picked another cute dress out of her suitcase.

I never gave that dress back. I'm still surprised I can put it on and not look like a sausage in casing. It's really too short to play pool in, but I do anyway. In the summer, of course, when my skin has been kissed by the sun again.

Two summers ago, I was free and burning for lovin'. I wore the lil green dress out to a night of dinner and drinks with my colleague, her boyfriend, and his friends. It's always a bit difficult and I have to steel the nerves to put the dress on. She requires that I'm in a frame of mind, that I'm bolder, hotter, sluttier, more carefree and careless. She's green neon when she's out and I have to be ready for the girls to hate me and the boys to teeter on the brink of lust and impossibility.

I haven't grown up here - where winter changes everything and affects even summer. So, I'm not accustomed to how exaggerated summer can feel. Everyone and everything is just a bit more alive, a bit more feverish than in other regions where the sun shines longer. And, I'm not used to people owning their own hot tubs like they own a car. "Here's my house, my garage, my hot tub." After dinner and drinks that night, we caravanned out to a country home owned by one of the boys, and that's almost what he said. "Here's my house, the garage, drinks in the kitchen, and the hot tub."

This was the night that changed everything between my colleague and me. They were all stripping to underwear. My lil green dress doesn't afford room for a bra. So, I opted for total naked tubbing. I think the girls were uncomfortable, looking at me like a piece of cotton would make me a cleaner person. I guess the hot tub is usually preferred for winter because it seems almost silly in the summer. Why sweat in a pool of water to get out and sweat some more? It defeats the purpose that my Norwegian ancestors have seeped into my blood: sweat in the sauna or warm in the hot tub, but plan to jump out into the snow to cool off.

All the sweating slowly sobered us all up and one by one everyone started leaving. I wasn't playing footsie under the suds with him, but I'd found my eyes falling on the host of the party over and over. I put the lil green dress back on to say my goodbyes. When it was my colleague's turn to leave - my ride for the evening - I decided I'd be allright left behind. After all, I didn't wear the dress for nothing. This left me and the hot tub owner.

Like I said, I was free and burning. Back then, I didn't really need to or want to let myself go for too long without being touched. Prior to this night though I'd spent an unusual amount of time alone. My first real vacation in years and my first vacation on my own, I opted to spend 3 weeks in the U.P. Camping alone, hiking alone, not doing professional meditation but my own inward journeying and outward appreciation. I had a makeshift shower, lots of easy campfire carb food. I was stinky and I could have grown a beard. My green dress night out was my debutante ball to society again.

After we waved my colleague out the door, hot tub guy and I stripped our meager clothes off on the lawn and went back into the water. Both naked this time. My heart was pounding from a mix of the long minutes soaking and heating and from the fireflies fluttering in my belly. No better time like the present, he slid over closer to me. I don't even remember what the words were because they were insignificant. My temperature rose degree after degree with the proximity of his 98.6F mouth near my ear and neck. I'm sure my heart was at the brink of its fastest pace - opening valves to let blood in, closing to keep balance. Open, close, open, close, the thump thump grew louder. His lips felt like two hot punties burning the side of my neck. My eyes rolled up from the molten bubbles in the hot tub to the burnt shadows of tress and up to the hot, steel blue sky and icy hot, boiling stars. I leaned my head back and heard the sounds of my hair sizzling as it touched the tub.

It wasn't that I had willed my pheromones to spark my hormones to rage in this way. It was out of my control. From the smoking green dress to the stew of sexy hot bodies to the burning hunger inside me. When his hand reached between my melting thighs, there was nothing I could do to stop my internal combustion. The water around us sizzled and sparked. Out of nowhere, flames started jumping from the wood around us. By the grace of luck, he was able to pull us both out onto the cooler grass right before the entire tub burst into flames sending cinders up like fireworks. I was sinking into the warm mud beneath my body but was able to notice him look up in horror as the exploding fires licked quickly up the wooden walls of his country house.

He looked down at me. Smoke was seeping out of my mouth and my cheeks were on bright red. I could tell it was too far, too much. There was nothing to stop the fires from burning down his house.

Weeks later, I tried to explain it to my colleague but she wouldn't let me. I wasn't even sure how to tell her anyway. How would I explain that I had been so bottled up and was so inflamed with lust that I exploded? Maybe I should have blamed the green dress. And I'm sure I should have tossed it into the fire that night, but I didn't.