After, it's impossible to get back to fucking because instead of sleeping, he roams the apartment. We joke that we should tie him up to the radiator and fuck in front of him, that would be funny at least. And then I hear the door to the medicine cabinet in the bathroom sliding open. When I get there, he has this happy look. I immediately look for the bottle of Lexomil I just had filled. It's empty. This little fucker has come to my place to kill himself. It's the third fake attempt in two weeks. At least the last time it was at his place. All right. I grab him by the collar and drag him like a kitten to the toilet. What the fuck are you crazy Guillaume? No, no, I'm not, you're the one who's crazy. But when we get to the toilet he refuses to puke. I'm sure if I put two fingers down his throat he'll bite them. I give up. I leave him there, collapsed on the floor. The others are still in the bedroom. I don't know what to do, I say. What did he take? A bottle of whisky and a tube of Lexomil. Well that's not enough to kill him, he'll just sleep for three or four days. But I don't want him sleeping here for three or four days when I'm not here, he did this on purpose, he knows I'm going away tomorrow, I told him today on the phone. I ask the Doc what one normally does in this type of situation. The Doc says that in this type of situation you call the paramedics, you stop washing your dirty laundry in private, when he wakes up in the emergency room, he'll know that this is serious.
I call the paramedics. I'm high, we smoked two stiff joints, did a bunch of poppers, I'm worried they'll hear it. Hello, good evening sir I have someone at my place who's just tried to commit suicide. What did the person use? A tube of Lexomil and a bottle of whisky. They don't want to pick him up, I explain that I don't have a car and can't take him to the Hôtel-Dieu. OK, they're on their way. We start putting his clothes back on. He resists as much as he can. The Doc takes off but wishes us good luck. We look more or less normal when the paramedics arrive, at least I think we do. They don't seem particularly happy to be here. Come on, sir, you've got to get up now, no, no, you can't sleep here, come on, let's get dressed. Stéphane and I finish dressing him. His boots, we don't bother.
Terrier is truly one organized boy. In his métro-card holder, there is his ID, his insurance card and some money. Phew. They wheel him down in a chair. I follow. See you later. In the car next to the stretcher I freak out telling myself they must think we're a bunch of dirty depraved faggots, but then I say to myself Actually they are probably more used to this type of stuff than I am. The streets pass by through the windows of the ambulance.
At the hospital, there are homeless people looking for a place to sleep who are being thrown out and a bunch of cops. I'm still super high. They unload Terrier. Male nurses, female nurses. They bring him in on the stretcher. The head nurse, a solid brunette, gives me an accusing look and sends me to fill out some paperwork for “my friend.” I walk through the sleepy hospital. The waiting room is open and empty. The Black guy is nice. I ask him how many attempted suicides they usually get a night. He says Oh we see a lot of misfortune.
I go back to the emergency room to give them the paperwork. I asked what was going to happen. The nurse told me they were going to pump his stomach and I'd have to wait. So I waited. I knew there was nothing to wait for but I couldn't leave. I heard Terrier scream my name really loudly. There was a big metal clang. A nurse rushed off. I went up to the desk. I asked the nurse if there was a problem, but she didn't have the time to answer because the head nurse had arrived. They spoke in whispers. Then the head nurse turned to me and said You're Guillaume? I didn't dare lie. I nodded my head. She said He's asking for you. He wants to see you. I said I think that it's better not to.
I waited some more, paranoid from the joint I smoked that still hadn't faded, plus every half hour tons of cops kept showing up with guys who were more or less covered in blood. Terrier wheeled by looking whiter than a sheet, finally asleep, with a drip in his arm. I was told that I could call around noon when he would be awake. I walked all the way home. I got undressed in the hallway and then I went into the bedroom and when I sat down on the bed Stéphane woke up and I told him what had happened and then I took him in my arms as usual and we fell asleep.
I saw Terrier again some time later. Stéphane was at his parents’ in the country. As always, I tried to fuck him. He didn't want to. I told Stéphane I thought Terrier was right. It wasn't good for him to have sex with me.
8 Party Time
I made some jam for two or three days and then I finally agreed to go away with Stéphane for the weekend of the eleventh because it was with a group of friends and we left for London.
Night people are the most civilized of all. The most difficult. They pay more attention to their behavior than aristocrats in a salon. At night, you don't talk about obvious things. You don't talk about work, or money, or books, or records, or films. You only act. Speech is action. Always on the lookout. Gestures charged with meaning. Clubland. All over the planet. Tonight we're in London. I recommend the FF for drugs, it's purely for the connoisseur. They're there by the way. The cream of the crop. The most beautiful, chic, hardcore in the world. The club is full. We each take half an E that I still have from Heaven, but it isn't enough to handle the music here. Too hardcore. I go look around for something else after I've rolled and smoked a joint in the corner of the bar.
Look around
Pleasure
Pleasure
Pleasure
Give yourself over to absolute pleasure
(OPM, Pleasure—Bubble Mix)
In the corner by a pillar there's a guy bent over over a spoon that someone else is holding. I stand next to them, not too close. I wait for them to finish. The one snorting leaves. I ask the other one Do you sell anything? He says No. Do you know anyone who sells anything? He says I'm gonna see if I see someone I know. I'll be back in a minute. He comes back five minutes later with a tall bodybuilder in a body harness. The bodybuilder takes me to the other end of the bar. The dealer is big and black and very sexy. How much for an E? Fifteen. And for acid? Five. The E is five pounds more than at Heaven, but it is surely better here. But I only have ten quid on me so I buy two hits of acid. Stéphane and I each get half. I go back to see the dealer to buy two E's for later.
After another joint, I manage to dance even to hardcore techno, still a little frustrated because the beat is too simple for what I love to do. Besides, all the leather guys dance terribly except for the few who are on so much speed that they can follow the beat. I still end up dancing in the near darkness at the back of the club. The floor is wet, way too slippery. It is so hot that I'm drenched in sweat in one minute. It's cool, it warms my dick up. I had almost forgotten about it because of the drugs. Later, I start getting out of breath, I go and chill by the edge of the dance floor. I don't know where Stéphane is. He doesn't dance anyway, he's self-conscious about that too.
I begin to get bored. I go to say thanks to the guy who hooked me up with his dealer, you never know, and it's a good thing to do out of principle. He's still in the same spot. I say, Thanks for the hint. He gives me a huge glamorous smile. Me I can't. I find Stéphane. I am full of hate for this place. The music is too shitty. The people are too snobbish. The super butch bodybuilder guy who grabbed my package when I went by him is still staring at me with eyes that are both hungry and devoid of any expression. He pisses me off. I tell Stéphane I can't stand these people any more. I only like people who know that there are more important things out there than themselves. And worst of all, there's nothing here but asses patiently waiting for a dick because they know they're cute enough to get one. That pisses me off.
The bodybuilder walks by again. He's 5’7”, one hundred and seventy-five pounds of muscle, at least. Shaved head. Barechested. Not a single hair. Enormous nipples, one pierced with a big chrome ring. Bitch, I say. I look at him, not in a nice way, I think. He stops halfway up the stairs. Apparently he liked my expression.
I've had enough. I suggest to Stéphane that we should split. This place closes in half an hour anyway, and
we might as well avoid the line at the coat check. I grab my jacket. I put it on. Stéphane waits for his. I chill, leaning against the safety barrier that blocks the entrance. He's there. He comes up to me. His pupils are very dilated. I want you to fuck me, he grunts with his awesome Cockney accent. I look at him. I say I'm sure. He says Come. With your boyfriend. I say OK. I go find Stéphane. We head back downstairs. Now there's a line for the coat check. The men's bathroom is full. We go to the ladies’. A stall opens up. I had already noticed the girl who comes out, a brunette with a white top in black trim. She smiles at us, ultra-stoned like us. We go in. We only take off what we need to, pants down to ankles. The head of his dick is pierced, and he isn't hard. He sucks our dicks. When our dicks become usable, he pulls out some condoms. They use really thick condoms here, but it's all right, I'm hard. I fuck him. He's tense and stiff, his ass is a little too high. I'm still able to penetrate him without any lube, thank you acid. The problem is that it's uncomfortable and I don't feel much of anything. I pass him over to Stéphane. Stéphane pounds him. This turns me on. He passes him back to me, so on and so on. We eventually lose what hard-on we have. He wants us to shoot our loads on him. I ask Stéphane You feel like coming on him? Stéphane's like Not really. I say Me neither I don't want to waste it I'd prefer to do something back at the hotel with my regular. So we don't come. I say I think it's OK like that. We get dressed. He says I'm sure to see you around some time guys. His politeness irritates me. I ask Where? Do you often come to Paris? He's like No. I say Then it's not so sure.
At the exit, the Indian taxi driver who throws himself at us staggers so much on his way to his car that we head back to the entrance to get another one, an apparently sober Black guy. He listens to disco. It's cool. We pass by milk delivery trucks parked on the City's huge deserted streets. The Black guy drives well and fast. You're a smooth driver, I tell him, I like that. He's like Oh.
I want Stéphane to fuck me wearing the latex hood, full face with only holes for nostrils, that I bought at Clone Zone this afternoon. I'm sure it'll be great on acid. He agrees. He fucks me. Two times in a row. The bed makes an infernal racket. And then he fists me. I come three times, he comes once at the end. I take some Lexomil to cut the acid and to sleep. Spliff. The vibe is still kind of rough.
The day after, I want to look hot. I shave and leave a goatee, to accentuate my mouth. I give myself some really long sideburns. Black leather pants. Rocker's belt. Rangers. Super tight bright red t-shirt with silver stars, cropped to the navel, with some hair and my stomach showing. First class. I share an E with Stéphane for the depression. It's not working out between us. I dumped him once already last week. I realize I've been trying for some time now to replace him. Yesterday I asked Sandrine, a friend who lives here, if she had a boyfriend. She told me No, I'm alone. I'm waiting for something good. It's good to be alone, too. I said Yeah I agree. I thought that I should also be alone and wait.
Tonight
It's party time
Tonight
It's party time
Tonight
It's party time
(Alex Party, Read My Lips/Saturday Night Party)
At Substation, the evening got off to a pretty dismal start. Not a lot of people. We drop two E's we got at FF. I got progressively higher, very strong, but very good. Started dancing by the pinball machine where Stéphane was playing with tall Christophe. Then to the dance floor. Then I realized that I had just taken the best ecstasy of my life. I danced like I hadn't danced in a long time. Maybe forever, in fact. Less repetitive. Freer. More choreographic. I jumped in the air more times, at the end of the night, spun around ten times in a row. Super DJ. The best set I ever heard, I think, the happiest, and deep house, really massive. At one particularly high moment, I tried to catch his eye, it must have been three already, the place closed at four. I gave him a thumbs up. He did the same. As I was dancing, a tall guy leaned over to me and he said I like you. I pray God for you to stay alive. That threw me a little but still I said Thank you.
The little skinhead danced really well, in this frenzied way. We were the two best dancers on the floor, once the one or two girls who were there at the beginning of the night had left. We watched each other, appreciating each other. At one point when his back was to me, I grabbed him and pretended like I was fucking him. It felt good to hold his narrow, muscular hips. Then I turned around and it was his turn and he humped my ass tap tap tap tap in the middle of the dance floor. We kissed for a long time. Stéphane had run off somewhere. A little nipple play.
I caressed the small of his back, his waist, I put a finger at the top of his crack, he felt soft. I touched him exactly as if he belonged to me. Stéphane came back. I pulled away a few inches and said I have a boyfriend. He said Where is he? He's here, I said showing him Stéphane. He grabbed me by the shoulder. He turned me around. He pushed me towards Stéphane. Don't play around with love if you've got a boyfriend, he said. Or you'll get a punch in your face. And then he left me alone with Stéphane. Stéphane left again. I went and bought myself a beer although as a rule you shouldn't mix E and alcohol.
It was closing. I got in line at the coat check. The little skinhead kept coming and going shouting, Everybody's counting their money! But I want some flesh! And just nobody will give me a shag! Just because I'm a gay national star! I asked the Black guy in front of me Is he really the star he says he is? No, he's just the contrary, the guy answered. He's what we call in English a complete asshole. I feel like he said that because he was jealous.
Stéphane goes to sleep to forget about me as soon as we get in. It's four a.m. We could have been fucking. I jerk off. It's great. This really was the best night out though. Don't play around with love if you've got a boyfriend.
When we got back from London I told Stéphane I was leaving him. He told me that it didn't surprise him. He went on a bar crawl. I jerked off. It was great. And then I listened to one of the house compilations I bought while over there. After that I listened to Propaganda's Duel.
The first cut won't hurt at all
The second only makes you wonder
The third will get you on your knees
You'll start bleeding I'll start screaming
I thought about Eric P. who knew how to choose music so well and who always felt like jumping when he was going near the window after he'd been smoking.
The first cut won't hurt at all
The second only makes you wonder
The third will get you on your knees
You'll start bleeding I'll start screaming
I wouldn't be surprised if he killed me. If he had a gun, that is.
Selling your soul
Selling your soul
Selling your soul
Never look back
Never look back
(Propaganda, Dr. Mabuse)
9 Separation
Stéphane said he'd be out of the apartment at the end of the week. I'm glad he's not leaving right away. Still, it's not too much fun between us. We hardly speak to one another. Sometimes we cry. We sleep together without touching. Finally he leaves for a week to stay with his parents. We call each other. I say that I don't know anymore, that I need to take a step back, that if we continue seeing each other, it has to be under better circumstances, when I would hurt him less, when I'm doing better. When he comes back, he's going to stay with a friend. He moves out while I'm at work. I look for a studio or a one-bedroom for myself. I eventually find something a little out of the way but not too bad. I box things up.
The morning of the moving day, a guy who I hooked up with two months earlier on Minitel called me on the telephone to offer me a free piercing. I asked if we could see each other towards the end of the week. He said he was only free that afternoon, after that he was going away. I said OK, come by. I had been thinking about it for a long time. Lots of guys I had been seeing or knew had it done. Not me. It was one of the only things I hadn't already done. And now I felt like doing something serious. Plus he
's the one who brought it up. Interested in a piercing? I replied Yes but of what if not the face not the nipple not the dick? He wrote That leaves your navel your perineum and your sack. My sack? He typed The balls. I wrote Why not? He wrote that he would call me back.
He came over to my empty apartment with his small case, a little late because he'd just repierced a guy he'd pierced last year. He was very tall, broad shoulders, quite ugly and badly dressed. We chatted over a glass of water. He showed me his piercings, both nipples, the one on the right had two rings, he'd added one recently. I asked him if it was healing well. He said Yes, I just have to disinfect it regularly because it's a little swollen. He squeezed it to make the pus come out.
We talked for a long time because I wanted to be sure I could trust him. He showed me his tools. He told me we'd begin only when I felt ready. After a little while I said that I thought we could go on with it. I sat down on the living room couch, the only piece of furniture left in the apartment. He gave me a shot in my scrotum to anesthetize it. We waited. It was still sensitive. I asked him to give me another. We waited. My scrotum was swelling a little. It was still sensitive. I said that I didn't want to feel any pain, that I wanted more anesthesia. He told me he'd never seen that before. I thought that he wouldn't have minded seeing me suffer. I said There's a first time for everything. He gave me a third shot. We waited. I talked to lighten up the mood. I pinched myself. I wasn't feeling anything anymore. I said It's OK, we can go on now. We went into the bathroom because of the blood. I sat on the edge of the tub. He pulled on my balls, placed the surgical clamps on both sides of my sack. I was watching. He began to pierce, with a needle about two and half to three inches long with the ring attached to the end. The needle went through, then the ring. He had a hard time screwing the little closure ball shut because the blood made his latex gloves slippery. He disinfected it. I held the bandage because it was bleeding.
The Works of Guillaume Dustan, Volume 1 Page 10