The Works of Guillaume Dustan, Volume 1

by Guillaume Dustan

  4 Something a Little Sweet

  On Friday during the day, I went to work with M., who had her little three-month-old cousin at her place, the son of the dead woman. I took him in my arms. I noticed, when he started to trust me, that he looked at me the way Stéphane looks at me. I liked it. Then I walked home along the quais. Then I fucked Stéphane. It was the first time I fucked him again after a week of abstinence. I had a huge hard-on. I put one finger, then two and then I shoved the head of my dick all the way past his second sphincter on the first try. It was just like with Terrier but better because I've made a lot of progress these past nine months. It was really great.

  Then we went out for dinner and then we went out to the Queen. We got there at around three a.m., a little early for getting in without waiting in line, but I have an in with Sandrine who's at the door. So I roll up all cool and confident but it's still chaotic, too many people, guys are getting thrown out, the bouncers stop me. Excuse me sir, no one said you could come in, so wait over there. Fine, I don't really care, I know I'll get in. Then Sandrine gives the OK, the OK that means we get to squeeze by all the assholes in line and don't have to pay a cover, and then we go downstairs. It's super packed, there are lines at the bar, lines at the bathroom, it's mobbed, the music is excellent, I almost feel like dancing the whole time. I'm just a little surprised to be acting the way I am without being high.

  Sunday night. Terrier tells me on the phone that now his pharmacist gives him Xanax without a prescription. He also mentions that he hooked up with a super hot Iranian guy who lives near me and who, in this order, fisted him (first time in his life), fucked him with a dildo, then finally fucked him. The guy straight out pissed on him to finish off. I tell him I consider it your duty to give me his number. He tells me that he didn't get it. I tell him that's just like him. He tells me No, you see, it was seven a.m. and we were wasted on beer and hash, the guy invited me to spend the night, I chose to go home. I ask him And you didn't ask for his number? He says No I didn't ask him for his number because he gave it to me without me asking but I threw it out on my way home. I say No way. He says You bet. I say You're really crazy. He says No I am not crazy, I threw it out because I didn't like him that much, that's all. We argue, just for the sake of it, to see if he would have given me the number if he had it.

  Terrier is looking good these days. He's cut out the Prozac and some other stuff so he now just takes Xanax because if he doesn't he gets the shakes. He goes out every night. I tell him that I think you have to be brave to go out alone at night, to go do who knows what with who knows who. He tells me he has to go to Dieppe soon to see a fuck buddy of his in his forties who has a chateau. Today, the guy asked him about a two-week trip in October to the Antilles. The guy hadn't fucked him yet, just with a dildo. It was nice, so he says. The guy has all the right toys: clamps, dildos, latex chaps, leather underwear. Terrier says Yeah but he's a little too femme for me and I don't like it, I need a more manly man.

  We talk for a little while longer and then I tell myself Stéphane's probably a little tired of hearing me have so much fun with his predecessor so I cut it short. Terrier and I, we're getting along these days. He's gotten used to the idea that we'll never live together again. He doesn't soak my doormat with turpentine anymore, he doesn't cut his face with a razor blade any more (actually he used to do this so carefully that the wounds completely healed within five days). In any case, it's going all right. We'll be able to return to our guided tours of Paris during the day. I prefer not to bring him along anymore to pick out porn at the sex shop for reasons that I should have noticed from the start. In fact, I knew this wasn't a good thing to do, but it turned me on to mess with him a little.

  I get close to Stéphane in bed. He snuggles up in my arms. You're like a croissant, I tell him. Butter or plain? He asks. Butter, I tell him. But also a little plain, he replies. That's true, I say, but you're intelligent. So it's cool.

  It's midnight. Stéphane is sleeping. Tomorrow is Monday and as usual he has to get up early. I look at him. I think he looks super beautiful tonight. He didn't get a lot of sleep last night. After the Queen we went by the Transfert and brought home a super hot guy with a big dick which means we didn't get to bed until eight. Stéphane got up around eleven to go have lunch with his friend H. He didn't want to blow her off because he hasn't seen her in a year. He came home around five. He told me that she thought he'd changed, for the better. That she asked him how things were going with me. That he told her He brings me to the edge of the abyss, and then we take off on a hang glider. He says that H. told him I must be a good guy. I shuddered. I didn't say anything.

  I toss and turn, not able to sleep thinking about Serge. It's like he took Quentin's place. I feel like calling him again. Like telling him I want you. I want your skin. Something that excites him. For him to tell me to come over. I'd lord over his bed with the remote control, facing the big TV. We'd try to find ourselves. Demons.

  5 Problems

  Stéphane comes back from his opthamologist friend. The black spots he's been seeing for the past two weeks are signs of a detached retina. He might lose an eye. They have to operate immediately. I think That makes sense, he doesn't want to see what's happening with me. He's checking into the hospital the next day, he comes by after work to pick up some things. I'm in bed, wasted. I say You want me to go with you? He says No no, it's not worth the trouble. So I don't go with him. I make myself something to eat. Then around ten, I head out to Le Bar for a change. I bring home a guy, a cute preppy who turns out to be completely lame and antisex but really handsome. As expected, I fuck him. As expected, it's terrible.

  The next day around noon, Terrier calls. I tell him what's going on. He says he wants to see me. I say OK since Stéphane isn't around. I never sleep over at someone else's place, that's the rule. Otherwise, I can do whatever I want. So this is OK. He comes over on time, I had offered to take him to a restaurant, but I changed my mind late in the afternoon and without telling him went to Dubernet and bought some things to eat, I got some partridge terrine, foie gras brioches, I made a small salad on the side. We have burgundy to drink. After coffee I start seriously wanting sex. I lean up against the kitchen cupboards and push my hips forward to make him drool over my half-hard dick hidden under my faded 501s. He starts to make a fuss but I end up getting him down on all fours sucking me off, it's truly great, he forgets everything else, it lasts a long time just the way I like it, he drools so much it runs down my balls and down his chin, I bend over to kiss him, I can tell that it drives him crazy, I pull away, I lead him to the bathroom so he can wash out his ass, and then we head to the bedroom and I fuck him deep for a long time, I go in and out, pounding him hard, he pants and breathes heavy making faces, he's sporting a goatee these days and it looks really good on him because he's got such a gorgeous mouth, he's completely bunched up underneath me, this is so much better than with Stéphane but I don't care right now I'm looking straight into his eye while ramming him harder and then he's blowing a huge load as he closes his eyes and screams, without touching his dick, and I pull out and spray him with mine.

  The next day, Stéphane's surgery day, I have an enormous amount of work to do and I can't go see Stéphane. I call him when he wakes up to let him know I'll come by the day after. I think about Quentin's operation, last December. After, he got back to fucking pretty quickly. He cruised the Minitel with one hand. He fucked and was fucked with a dildo on his back the first few days to make sure he didn't move his torso. I would undo, wash, and retie this sort of shirt-sling thing he had to wear, everyday. I would feed him. I would dress him. I would bathe him. It was cool. We had quite a few orgies while he was like that. As soon as he didn't need me any more, we grew apart again.

  The following day, I still have a bunch of things to do. I am running way too late for the time I said I would be there, but I can't bring himself to call him because I feel so guilty. I arrive at the hospital around seven thirty even though I am supposed to have d
inner with my dad at eight thirty. By the time I locate the right wing, then the room whose number I forgot, and there isn't anyone anywhere to ask anymore, it's already eight. Stéphane is asleep. I stare at him for a while. He wakes up. We talk. I caress his hand. I'm surprised that there are flowers in the room, usually they are not allowed because of the risk of infection. His ex came to see him earlier in the day and brought them. Me, I brought him things to eat, foie gras, cookies, and chocolate, since the food is always so bland in hospitals. I talk to him about stuff that ran through my head during my hospital stay a year ago. I tell him I saw Terrier and that I couldn't help myself, I had to fuck him. He says he's not surprised. He asks me about Terrier. The eye that isn't covered in a blood-soaked bandage looks at me sadly when he tells me that he thought I wasn't coming at all.

  A few days later Terrier calls me around three in the afternoon. He asks Do you know what time it is? His voice was very hoarse. I say Why, don't you have a watch? No I broke it. I tell him It's three. He says Ah OK and do you know what day it is? I say Friday why? He says Ugh I wanted to know if it's been three days or four days since I've been asleep. I say Not bad! And how did you do that? Simple. After going around to all the pharmacies where no one gave him anything he slit his wrists and then stopped the bleeding and then took some sleeping pills. I say So how do you feel? He says All right, except I'm a little hungry. I say I'll pick up some food and be right over. I bolt out of my apartment, I swing by the supermarket near where he lives and buy Coke, organic apple juice, cheese, saucisson, canned spinach, Nestlé milk, grated carrots, some sourdough bread, endives, smoked salmon, butter, yogurt, little jars of baby food—vegetable-lamb and apple-banana (they have no apple-quince), a newspaper for him to read.

  I get there, he lets me in, all in white with the white sweatpants I gave him. On me they're tight, very provocative, on him not so much, but he's still as beautiful. I take a bite of the celery remoulade, then some saucisson, I insist that he eat some of the baby food. I make him pull the sheets back on his bed, we take a quick nap, he shows me pictures of his parents’ and grandparents’ weddings and I comment on them. We chitchat, we make out some, we squabble, he tells me that while he was away resting in the countryside, he slept with Frédéric, a friend of my mother, so I find out that Frédéric has a very nice cock, eight inches, thick. Terrier sucked it but then said We should stop, we don't have condoms. In reality, he really wanted Frédéric's friend and Frédéric's friend's boyfriend too. Terrier is such a slut, just like me. Oh yeah, I also brought him a jar of greengage plum jam that I made myself and that I was supposed to give him a month ago, a jar stuffed full of fruits as big as porcini mushrooms, with a red lid. I yell at him about his suicide attempt. Well what do you expect? he says to me, You never come by to see me, you never return my messages. It's only when I am sick that you pay attention to me. A little while later he says I was really touched that you didn't eat my jam or give it to someone else. I tell him that it was for him. Eventually we head out to buy some cigarettes and he walks me back to the métro stop.

  6 Diversions

  I wake up at four in the afternoon, after going to sleep at seven in the morning after fucking this asshole that I brought home from the QG because he was the first acceptable guy who stuck. The evening was horrible, I wasn't having any luck at all, even though I kept telling myself, it's not a big deal, there's too many hot guys tonight, that's what kills the vibe, I still felt like a piece of shit, like I didn't exist. A guy I knew whom Stéphane and I had already hooked up with was there. I'd been feeling up his ass through his leather pants, I told him I couldn't really feel it. He undid his belt so I could get a better feel, I put my hand in, shoved my index finger between the crack and rubbed his ravaged hole, he dropped his pants, I fingered his ass in front of the whole bar, he was calmly sniffing poppers, that got me hard. I put his hand on my crotch. Proposed we go back to my place. No response. He went down to the backroom. I was furious that he blew me off like that. I followed him, found him opening a condom to pound some guy in the back corner. I stayed to watch, staring intently, concentrating. Ordinarily no one comes up to me in backrooms because I don't look that interested. In fact, I think it's pointless, that kind of groping. At best, it's a quick fuck standing up. Ugh. But there I was staring at him hoping it would bother him. Then the guy next to me started to feel me up. I returned the favor. We kept going. My enemy stopped fucking. That pleased me, I told myself that it was me who threw him off, I felt somewhat avenged.

  Stupidly, I continued on with the other guy. And the moment he turned towards the wall and started jerking off faster, I felt so depressed that I said How about we finish up at my place. He asked Where's your place? Just around the corner, I answered. I knew there was no point in bringing him home, but I didn't have the courage to go home alone. Once we got home we fucked of course. When I almost had my whole hand in his ass, he started saying Oh yeah, your hand's up my ass, oh yeah, I like that, almost as if he was dubbing a porn movie. I looked at his dick. He wasn't hard. That grossed me out. On top of it all, he wanted to see me again.

  I woke up feeling super gross. I got on the Minitel almost immediately. There was nothing, except a guy I'd chatted with a few times already, he contacted me again, this time about some plan involving ecstasy and women's underwear. I knew he was lame, Quentin told me, they had sex last year, but anyway, there was nothing else and I didn't have enough energy to go out and look for something better, so I told him OK. Later he called me back to suggest the same thing but as a three-way, with a young guy he knew, twenty-seven years old, good-looking, versatile. I said OK, naturally.

  They arrived towards late afternoon. The young guy looked good. The one I knew already was as lame as I expected. Totally out of it, apparently on his second or third E of the day, apparently, and plus his stuff was shitty, he tried to charge double the market price, he was actually a shitty drug dealer. He didn't get hard. Éric and I took care of everything ourselves. Then the old troll left. That was cool. It was still early. We had a lot of time before Stéphane came home, he was supposed to return really late from a meeting. I thought it was good for me to fuck someone beautiful my own age. I gave him my leather chaps to put on. It made his tushie really big. Every time he would turn around, I'd stare at it, it was so fleshy, curvy, white and round. Like a mother's breasts.

  He didn't know how to do anything but suck, piss and fist. But I have to say he did those very well, eyes wide open, dick hard. First I sucked his dick. After that he wanted to play with my ass. He was very precise, I was hard without touching myself, his hand went up my ass all the way past the wrist, I double-checked how deep in the mirror. I could feel myself starting to come. I asked him to pull out quick. I came. He said I'm so moved. I asked Why? He said Because I was hard without touching myself the whole time I was fisting you. I told him That's normal because you did it right, when I used to fuck my ex with a dildo, I would be hard the whole time. I rolled another joint. Then I turned my attention to him. I used the riding crop on his cock, holding it in one hand, smacking it with small precise strokes harder and harder, on the top, then on the sides, then on the balls more softly, then back to the shaft. His cock was raging hard. I gave him my cock to suck, he suckled it really well. My hard-on was heavy, pliable, full, the one you'd have when you've already been doing stuff for an hour or two. We kept going at it.

  He forgot his poppers at my place. He called the next day to tell me. I told him that was a classic move. He said With you, everything's classic. That made me laugh. On second thought, I could have told him that it was simply a matter of statistics. He told me he hasn't done a lot of fucking. In my world, a lot of fucking means like more than three guys a week. That's what I do these days. Quentin had done that a lot before he met me. Even after for that matter. At one time he would have a different regular guy for each night of the week, leaving weekends open for new finds. Fucking is always better with regulars. The problem is you have to manage the interper
sonal stuff. But Quentin is a little schizophrenic, so that doesn't bother him. When nobody really exists, there's room for everyone. I wonder if I am like him. I don't think so, but I am not sure.

  7 It's Starting Again

  The next day is Monday. Stéphane and I go out for dinner to Au Diable des Lombards.14 I love that place. It's the Ritz of the ghetto. Plus, now that I am older, I always run into people I know. Tonight, we run into this tall guy, model-like, but not too bad, to whom we had given our number at the restaurant three months ago. He'd left us a message a week later but we were going on vacation, we called him back and left a message saying we were leaving. When we got back we didn't call him again, it had gone a little cold. I start talking to him again as we are leaving. We'll see. We go for a final drink at the QG. We run into a buddy with whom I had pretty hot hookups two or three times, I call him the Doc because he's a doctor. We bring him home.

  It's already been an about an hour since the three of us started fucking when someone rings the doorbell. Shit, I say to myself. It has to be Terrier. We stop. Then nothing. I get back to ramming Stéphane. Stéphane gets back to blowing the Doc. The Doc starts playing with Stéphane's nipples again. The doorbell rings again. It's got to be him. I pull out. I keep the condom on while I go let him in, to show him that dropping by on people at three thirty in the morning is not OK. But that doesn't work at all because when I open up he falls right through the doorway, super drunk. How much have you had? A bottle of whisky. I look down at the dirty carpet in the entrance. He says I want to sleep. I say Hey, you go back home and sleep. He says I want to sleep here. I say You're a pain, you're really a pain. I split. The other two are still in the bedroom. I tell them what's going on. They calm me down. I go back to see Terrier. OK, you can sleep in the guest room. Since he won't move I drag him into the room and I shut the door.