The Works of Guillaume Dustan, Volume 1

by Guillaume Dustan

  It's been four years now that I've been thinking I'll die next year. I think I still look handsome. I'm listening to Depeche Mode, In Your Room—higher love adrenaline mix. François Kevorkian's mix is really awesome.

  I think about Quentin and me in LA two years ago. Right when we get there, I tell the L.s that the trip has been cut short, I am only allowed two weeks, the time it takes for my platelets to drop back under twenty thousand, after that, there's a serious risk of internal hemorrhaging and the only way to get them back up is by IV drip and you can't do that here because it would cost too much. The L.s leave us after two days, they have to go. As soon as we're by ourselves we start fighting again, as usual. He says terrible things to me, as usual, but nothing so bad that we actually kill each other. I leave to go grocery shopping at the supermarket, I calm down in the car. In any case, it was unavoidable. At the supermarket, since it's late, I find myself almost alone in the canned goods and boxed goods aisle. I buy everything you need to be happy. The lettuce looks like cabbage. There isn't any real cheese, only cream cheese with chives, for salmon. I spend time choosing wine, red and white. Pinot Noir. Chardonnay. From what valley? I read about the regions on the back of the bottle. I go home. It's already the middle of the night. I park on the flower beds. I have all the groceries in my hands when he appears at the entrance to the kitchen. He isn't like he usually is. I realize he isn't going to punish me.

  I don't know why he agreed to making all of this possible for me. The guys emerge from the dense fog that night on Santa Monica Blvd, West Hollywood, two by two, all dressed the same: tight t-shirts, skinny jeans cut into shorts, thick white socks rolled down, and work boots. We dance to En Vogue, everybody knows the lyrics, the bars opened the walls and windows on to the street, like a warehouse. Everyone knows how to dance. We go find a back street to smoke a joint. I have a hard time breathing because of the humidity, but it's nice, me and him forever, that night in West Hollywood.

  Probe. Spike. The Arena. Every night a different place at the end of the world. We go shopping. At Pleasure Chest, some butch lesbians are ordering chains while I peruse the mountain of dildos on display. This is where I discover the soft day-glow pink dildo. I buy two because there aren't any in France. (Actually there was one a few months ago, old and dirty at Yanko4 in Les Halles. I guess nobody wanted to buy it because of its color, too surreal). Miles and miles of desert highway to get to the beach. We go to the gym in West Hollywood. The cruising is half-assed in the hot tub under the greenery, like at the start of a porn movie. We fuck hardly no one, except one or two guys we meet at the cowboy bar in Silverlake. I fuck Quentin everyday— unheard of for us. We drink Coors in front of the TV and eat sushi I found at the supermarket down the hill. I drove really fast to get there. I am happy.

  Stéphane told Jean-Marc that he was leaving him. Jean-Marc kicked him out of the apartment. I offered to let him stay at my place rather than have him look for a studio. The whole time I was telling myself this was a mistake. But I wasn't brave enough to tell him it would be better if he got his own place, we just started dating, I couldn't see myself doing that to him. I knew he had never lived alone and he was scared to. I told myself that if we didn't live together I would inevitably dump him, whereas if we did live together maybe I would love him like I was supposed to. I told myself I no longer knew what love was. I didn't want to be on my own. I didn't want to have to go out searching for someone any more. Stéphane would eventually acquire the qualities he was lacking, and I would love him.

  7 Our Youth Is Flying By

  Saturday afternoon. We are naked in bed. The telephone rings. It's Nico. I say Hi, how are you? Not too happy about the fact that he's about to talk my ear off about his love problems. He says Not good. Quentin almost killed me last night. He bashed my face in with his boots, kicked me all over, I've got bruises everywhere. And how do you feel now? I ask. Uh, I hurt all over, I can't walk, he answers. You want me to bring you something to eat, I say? He says Yeah, that'd be great and could you buy some yogurt, I can't open my mouth that much. OK, I'm on my way, I say. It was Nico, I tell Stéphane. Quentin almost killed him. You want to come? Sure, he says.

  It's true, he was really messed up. I make some tea; he eats some yogurt with bananas. Well, I say, I thought you two weren't seeing each other any more. He says, Actually, I promised myself that I wouldn't see him anymore after I tried to kill myself ten days ago. I'd been drinking a lot. I told myself, You've got a hundred T4s left, Quentin doesn't love you, why bother anymore? I swallowed everything in the medicine cabinet and then a friend called two hours later, I told him, I'm not doing so well, I took ten packs of Y and Z and I drank a bottle of scotch. He took me to the SaintLouis hospital, they pumped my stomach. Do you know what Quentin said? He said That just proves what a stupid little shit you are. That's when I left him. Of course after that he tried everything to get me back. He came over Wednesday afternoon to bring me my things. He had gotten his hair cut, he even did a tanning session, he put on his fancy shirt, the one you gave him with orange and purple squares. As if by accident, he had no underwear under his sweatpants. He'd forgotten to wear them, supposedly, and he wouldn't stop touching his dick. Before he left I told him if you feel like fucking, give me a call. Of course the next day, Hello? I feel like fucking you. We saw each other Thursday night, hugs and kisses, we didn't fuck but it was great. He told me he wasn't sleeping around right now, but his answering machine was full of messages from guys saying I'm calling back like you said. We saw each other again the next day. Quentin wanted to go dancing at the Queen. I wanted to fuck. He had taken ecstasy before I got there, there wasn't any left for me, he said, You see baby, I just took some E, I want to dance, I'll be back home around five and I'll really feel like fucking then, yes, yes, just stay here and relax. I stayed. Around five, Quentin comes home with some dark-haired guy with ears that stick out. They grab a drink in the living room, they start talking rugby (the guy plays rugby). So you'll be around next week? Can I have your number? When should I call? I caught up with him in the kitchen. I told him Quentin, enough of this, for three months you've been acting this way, are you fucking kidding me? He told me Nico you're pissing me off. Can't you see I am not going to fuck this guy right now? I slapped him across the face. He said, As soon as this guy leaves you're going to pay for that. And as soon as the guy left, he jumped me. Five-eleven, one hundred and ninety pounds versus five-two, one hundred and twenty pounds. He threw me against the wall, the shelves fell on top of me, he kicked me in the face and stomped me in the ribs with his boots. Stop! You're going to kill me. Then he stopped, he started crying, Baby I love you, come on let's go to bed, I want to fuck you. I told him No. So he said, Aha! I guess I haven't beat you up enough. I'm going to beat your face in. I love you. You won't get out of here alive. I felt like I was going to pass out but this drove me mad, I kicked him in the balls with my knees, I got free, I threw him down on the bed, I grabbed my jacket, he got back up, he grabbed me, I punched him in the face so I could escape. I was bleeding everywhere. I went straight to the emergency room.

  I leave Quentin a message telling him I'll smash his face in if I ever see him again but that I am going to restrain myself. Actually, it's only because I am too scared that he will kill me.

  The next day I run into Cédric. I tell him things aren't going so well, Quentin almost killed his lover kicking him with his Doc Martens Friday night. We grab a drink, I tell him the story. We catch up, he's very chatty, boasting like the formerly ugly. (Once, Quentin and I were over at his place and there was this picture of him on the cover of a German porn magazine lying around.) He tells me that he's doing better than last week, that they thought he had cytomegalovirus, that he goes through a lot of psychosomatic stuff, that he went out on an audition to host a getting-back-into-shape show, that he never stops fucking, that he has a new lover. I asked about him and it turns out I know the guy. I went to cut some wood at his place in the countryside with Quentin a year ago. Quentin had
sex with him. Cédric tells me his new boyfriend loves getting fucked by him but he hasn't fisted him yet. I ask him if it's with or without a condom. He says You know, nobody uses condoms anymore, not even the Americans, everybody's HIV-positive now, I don't know anyone who is negative (me neither, come to think of it, apart from Quentin. His last test was six months ago I believe), and you know me, I go right ahead and swallow come. I said Yeah that's true, come is good, I want to eat plenty of it, fucking is really good when you can do everything. Cédric is really surprised that I found a guy so quickly. I told him I even had two and that it's because I'm so kind and that guys get attached to me. But when something is not right with them, I replace them. I don't try to make it work. He talks to me about this editor friend of his for my diary who published a book by this masochist chick. It sold 10,000 copies; she just died in a car accident with her master, how awful. We exchange our new contact info. Then we kiss each other on the lips right in front of the cops.

  Two days later Stéphane and I grab a drink at Quetzal.5 We run into Marc, Peter's former eternal benefactor and former lover of Quentin and me. We chitchat. He ditches us to go say hi to some people at the back of the bar, but then he comes back. Are you and Quentin on bad terms? he asks. I'm not speaking to him anymore, I say, I'm not seeing him either but other than that, no, why? Because he's here, he says. Indeed, he is. Ten feet away, with Éric our former housekeeper. He's wearing the blue bomber jacket I gave him, an old white t-shirt and some dirty blue sweatpants. He is pretty scruffy, he still has two blackeyes from his fight with Nico. He looks hunched over, small, wrinkled to me. From the side Éric says something apparently funny in his ear. I say, I think I'm gonna split immediately. We leave.

  The next day I feel depressed as soon as I wake up. The weather is gorgeous. It's Saturday. On top of that I have work to do. I feel like calling him and saying Save yourself. He looked so much like an old lost baby. I tell Stéphane, Quentin's right, I do want to kill him. Maybe I'll want to kill you too one of these days. That way the last thing you'll see before you die is me. I love you. I kill you. And then I start to tear up. I console myself; with Stéphane, you get over things quickly. I listen to Jam & Spoon, Tripomatic Fairytales, something my friend Christophe recommended. The last time I saw him was at the pool at Les Halles. When I asked him how he was doing, he said Not so well. I asked, Why? He said, My test came back positive about a month ago, I don't know how it happened. I wanted to hug him, but couldn't because we were in public. Instead, I'd stroke him discreetly when we met up at the end of the lanes.

  8 Possession

  I penetrate him from the front, it's not bad. He's a little tense and is unaware that I want him to play with my nipples because my dick isn't that hard, I can't feel his ass but whatever it's not too bad, at least his asshole isn't shut or super tense. I grab him from behind his knees, I lock his arms down so he can't move anymore. I fuck him gently but thrust deep.

  I fuck him exactly like Quentin used to fuck me. First I grab him. I take him in my arms and I hold him softly but strongly. From the front, there are a lot of possibilities. From the back there are too, but fewer. With his ankles on my shoulders, I put my wrists around his neck or around his hips to fuck him from the front. I hold him by the ankles, spread his legs: his legs are tucked in against himself, his feet are against my belly or against my ribs. If I grab him from behind his knees, I'm able to fuck him deep, arms extended and all of the weight is in my lower body, it's the best. I can also hold him by his lower back or lift the lower part of his body slightly in the air or by his ankles with his legs crossed like a frog, or else straight out and together against my chest. I can also hold him by wrapping my arms around his thighs or his legs. These positions are the best, the stablest, for mastering penetration, plus, by changing up the positions, I can feel different parts of a dick and ass each time, sometimes the underside of my dick and the bottom of the asshole, others the top side, even right down the middle, a bit from above, or from below… Then there's the arch of the back. That's to make them feel your cock as much as possible. The more I arch my back, the broader and deeper the penetration is for the guy. It relaxes him. Then there is the thrust. At the very end, don't forget to start to push harder and harder from the hips to open him up wider and wider. Hold back from pounding him hard right away knowing that later on you'll be able to pound him for a lot longer and in an ass that is a lot more moist, arousing a lot more gratitude. I'm able to fuck him deep for the first time, he lasts a pretty long time before he comes and I finally get to play with his relaxed asshole, so relaxed that it makes a slurp, slurp, slurp sound and I'm covered in sweat and after, my thighs hurt. Like Quentin with me back in the day.

  The next day I woke up before him, around one o’clock. I puked up all my dinner from the night before. I cleaned up the toilet in the bathroom and then went back to bed. He woke up because of the noise. I asked him to fix me a bowl of hot milk and honey. As soon as I had finished it, I ran to the toilet and puked again. It was a wave of white and green because of the bile. I told myself I shouldn't have drank any milk. Around an hour later I had a glass of water, it went down OK and after I ate two spoonfuls of rice. I immediately puked it all up on the plate and the bed. I fell asleep. When I woke up, I had shit the bed. The doctor from SOS Médecins6 gave me a letter for a week's sick leave.

  9 No Comment

  It's a beautiful day. Stéphane comes by to pick me up after work. We head home in his car. I don't feel like fucking. This morning I told him I'd rape him when we got home. I said that to make myself do it and to make his day. But actually, I am sick of fucking him. I watch the passing scenery. I decide to put a hood on him. That way at least I'm sure to get hard.

  I grab the leather one because it's more S&M and because I am mad at him. I blindfold him. A good idea apparently. It makes him hard. He gives his ass up gladly, I can see he's really obsessed with his man cunt. I fuck him for a little over an hour. This put me in a better mood so the next day I decide to start it all over again. This time I am not pissed at him any more so I put the black latex hood on him. I think latex is more mysterious, more intimate. He opens up slowly, millimeter by millimeter, like an apricot. For the first time I pay careful attention not to hurt him in any way. I chew on the hood. I spit on it and lick it clean with big and long strokes from my tongue all the while screwing him. He moans softly. He grabs my nipples. He's the same way I was when I discovered my asshole with Quentin five years ago. I fuck him for an hour and a half.

  I fuck him until I realize that once again I don't feel like coming. Right then I wish I were dead. I start to go faster to get it over with. When he comes, I pull out of his ass and rip the condom off and I think of squirting on his hole and smearing it all over to really let death sink in, penetrate him and I start to jerk off and then my cock swells up and takes over and since I'm close to coming, I'm not thinking anymore and then I explode in a geyser and it's like in a really good porn movie and right after that I start thinking again.

  10 Try

  It's a beautiful day. I go outside and grab breakfast on the terrace of the Bon Pêcheur.7 Ten a.m. The neighborhood is still empty at this hour. Very calm. I head back home, running some errands along the way. I call Stéphane at work. He picks up. He says Hey I'm in a meeting now, can I call you back? I said No need, I'm just calling to let you know that when you come home tonight, I'll have a dildo up my ass and a hood on, so all you'll have to do is cuff me before you ravage me. He says OK, that's perfect, in a professional tone of voice. I ask What time do you think you'll be home? He says Around eight.

  At ten past eight he rings the bell. I open the door. He looks real aroused. I turn around. I cross my wrists and let him handcuff me to the big leash hanging off my back. Click. I start getting hard. He comes in, closes the door behind him, I'm already on my knees in front of his package, I open my mouth wide but it's difficult because of the leather hood, he unzips his pants as fast as he can, takes out his semi-hard dick
. I take advantage of this and swallow it down whole, all the way to the pubis. I suckle. He gets larger fast. I have to back off but I go right back down on him and since I am really aroused I manage to swallow all of it until the head of his dick is behind the glottis, I massage his dick like that with the back of my throat breathing through my nose as I can, slobbering everywhere.