The Works of Guillaume Dustan, Volume 1

by Guillaume Dustan

  One guy came during the interviews for the houseboy position. Actually it was a mistake, he thought it was a servant hookup. Quentin had another trick going so I stepped up. I liked that guys could see that we played by different rules, in a different world. The guy was really gorgeous, young, shaved head. He looked me straight in the eyes without blinking. I made him get naked, except his Rangers. He was already wearing a cock ring. I just added a black leather collar and a pair of nipple clamps. Simple and tasteful. I was already shirtless, in chaps, a zip-up thong, German boots. My indoor outfit. I only took my riding crop, which I slid under my chaps, down the right leg, for easy access.

  I told him On your knees. He knelt down looking at me straight in the eyes. I instantly got hard, just with that. I grabbed his head and pushed it against the bulge in my thong. I rubbed it back and forth, like an object, against my bulge, getting harder and harder. Before my cock started to pop out of the thong I opened the zipper, I took it out and he sucked it, very well, deep-throating it. Too bad he didn't like getting fucked. When I felt that he was beginning to get soft I grabbed him by the collar. I led him to the kitchen. At the doorway I pushed him down. On all fours! I said. I made him crawl in like that, pulling on his collar, to the middle of the tiled floor. To get you used to being on the floor, OK? He nodded yes.

  I let go. I pointed to the bottom of the shelf. Do you see that, there's everything you need, I said. I got out some pink Mapa gloves, some floor cleaner, a mop and bucket, and I placed them one by one under his nose. I said, Begin. He got up to get some water. I said No, you're going to do this on all fours, I want to see your ass in the air, that's what excites me, the maid who washes the floor with her ass in the air. He crawled all the way to the sink. It got him hard, the little bastard. In front of the sink he said Now what do I do? I said Now, you get up. He filled up the bucket and then he knelt back down like a good boy. He started to scrub. He was doing it well. Conscientiously, taking his time, arching his back. I put one of my boots on one of his ass cheeks. I pushed down pretty hard. I did the same on the other cheek. I looked at the red footprint my boot left, while rubbing my package.

  Then I knelt down behind his ass. I pushed two fingers into his hole. He was pretty tight, but I couldn't believe that he never got fucked. He seemed more like a married guy who lives out his fantasies somewhere else. I caressed his ass. No reaction. So I slapped it and he immediately froze up and then got back in position, arching his back, and scrubbed harder. I thought OK, now you're gonna get it, and I kept going until his ass was deep red and he turned around and said I'm done. I said Good, let's move on. He asked Can I have a glass of water? I said Yes. I went to the sink, I filled up a glass of water that I held to his lips (gorgeous, pink lips). I made him drink all of it. Did you like it? I asked. He said Yes. OK now you're going to clean the bathroom, I said, thinking that it really needed it. I stood in front of him, I grabbed his collar and dragged him like that until we got outside the room, too bad the bathroom was so close, choking him a little and pushing his head down towards the ground, like a dog.

  I locked the door, I didn't want Quentin to disturb us. I threw him directly into cleaning the toilet bowl. What could be more humiliating. I looked at him. This gorgeous naked man, in black Rangers, in the air, in a dog collar and nipple clamps, was cleaning my toilets. It was beautiful. I got my riding crop out. I placed the supple leather buckle exactly at the seam between the sole and the uppers of his left boot. Then I dragged the crop up, slowly, across the shoe, the rolled-up sock, the calf, the back of his thigh. At the bottom of his butt, I made a sharp turn towards his crack. I focused on the hole. Then I dragged the whip up his spine, still going as slowly as before. He stopped scrubbing the floor. Nothing existed except for what I was doing to him. His mind grew more and more empty. More and more surrendered. That got me hard. When I got up to his neck I slid the crop under his chin. I grabbed the other end and pulled him like that under his chin with the stem until he was levelled with my cock which I had already pulled out of my thong and he swallowed it while I started to whip him, not too hard, starting with his ass and covering, inch by inch, from the left to the center, and then from the right to the center, and from the center to the left and the center to the right, every available part of his body. Harder and harder. After a while he started to jerk off. After a while I pulled my dick out of his mouth, and while whipping him I jerked off for twenty seconds and I doused his back in come. He came all over the tile. Then he asked me if he could clean it up with the same sponge and I said Yes thinking He really is perfect. I wiped his back off with some toilet paper, and then he picked up where he left off.

  19

  (1993)

  Winter came and went. My dad offered to take me on a weekend trip abroad. We hardly ever saw each other, he wanted to reconnect. I said no to Prague, Venice and Budapest. He agreed on Berlin. The ultimate deal we made was that I would only go out once, Saturday night, and that I would be back in my room ready for some cultural excursions Sunday morning.

  * * *

  Saturday night came. I polished my black Rangers, the ones I bought off Jean-Hughes one night when were really trashed at his place in Vanves, Quentin, me, him, and his best friend, an angelic little blond, we sang Precious Little Diamond in unison, an outrageously otherworldly funk hit from the ’80s. I customized the boots with some brown laces to great effect. I got my tight pair of white 501s out of the closet that I would never wear when I was with Dad, a white ribbed tank top, a plaid shirt and leather suspenders that I bought for myself the night before when I did some shopping on my own.

  I smoked a joint and then walked over to the hardcore district. Tom's bar was my first stop. Eleven. There were a ton of people outside and inside, but everyone was over six feet tall, all dressed in leather, I felt a little out of place so I finished my beer while watching the fisting video that was playing above the bar and I crossed the street to go to Connection where the crowd was less leather and a lot younger. I danced to some disco, energized by the atmosphere of the place, this cute little dark-haired boy was a sure thing, and a very handsome little blond was more than a definite maybe. I went down the stairs to the back room, which was huge, a series of crowded caves and hallways, packed. Almost immediately I found myself sizing up this massive cock belonging to a mustached guy in leather chaps and black tights (that's standard, I almost always find super well-hung guys in back rooms. They're probably over-represented in those types of places), the trick with the tights I had never seen that before, it was quite practical, all you had to do was lower the front and lodge it under the cock ring, everything was accessible in a second. I stopped because I didn't want to come right away. I went back upstairs to get a drink and dance. When I went back downstairs, about an hour later, I stumbled just as fast on another mustached guy in leather chaps and black tights, the same caliber, same huge cock, but this one kissed significantly better. So much better that after a while I felt like starting a conversation with him. We went to drink a beer at the bar that was in the back room. I asked if I could go to his place. It was already three a.m., I was going to be out of it tomorrow but I felt like experiencing something.

  We walked for a long time through the trees, the sleeping houses. He was walking his bike alongside him. We didn't talk much, but didn't mind the silences. And then we finally arrived at his place, a sort of loft apartment in an old industrial building with freestyle paintings all over the walls. I was beginning to be able to see the factory chimneys through the window. He closed the black curtains, we smoked a joint while listening to some techno, then I tried to fuck him (safe), but he didn't have any lube so I grabbed some oil to jerk off and I asked him if he was OK with that and he said yes. The oil makes condoms porous so I might as well take it off, I thought. I pulled it off and showed him what I was doing and since he didn't say anything I fucked him like that, face to face and then from behind and then face to face. We kissed. I liked him.

  Afterwards he fell aslee
p. I couldn't close my eyes. I got up. I looked at his records and his books in German, his things, and then I went and took a piss and I came across his closet. All the hardcore gear was hanging in there: latex suit, leather shirt, leather vest, gas mask. It was already seven, I was supposed to meet my dad at ten, so I got dressed. He woke up, I explained to him that I had to go. He offered me some coffee. His kitchen was incredibly convivial, with wood everywhere, and funny things. I drank his coffee and then I started to ask him questions about his life and he started talking about his man and suddenly his voice cracked and he started to cry, I didn't know why, if his lover died or had just left him, I didn't dare ask any more questions, he kept crying in his chair, facing me, tears running down his face, he looked at me without really seeing me. I wondered if it was because of me, about the unsafe sex, if he was sick. He couldn't stop crying. I tried to comfort him, caressing his head saying Shhhhhh. He ended up calming down. I asked him for his phone number in case I came back. I felt guilty. He gave it to me, I kissed him, I left.

  Outside the sun was shining and no taxi would take me, probably because they didn't like guys with shaved heads, black sunglasses, a three-day beard and white jeans covered in stains with a stained tank top tucked under the belt. And then a giant black Mercedes stopped just when I was dreading a métro journey that would last for ages. I understood why when I saw the leather 501s the mustached driver was wearing. He straight-out had an S&M cap on the passenger seat and I got a bit excited at the thought of hooking up with him but I really didn't have the time so I dozed all the way back to Ku'damm only opening my eyes from time to time to see Berlin. The avenue was blocked by a bike race. The Sunday-morning crowd watched as the riders passed by. Delay. It was already half past ten when I got to the hotel. My father who likes drama had left without waiting for me, but he did leave a note saying he was at the contemporary art museum. I had a big German breakfast with cheese and charcuterie so I wouldn't pass out, surrounded by blond tourists, took a quick shower and I left in a hurry, I didn't want to ruin our family reunion, I had already not wanted to go with him to the Jewish cemetery where we didn't have any relatives.

  I took the subway, the line passed through old stations not far from the former East Germany, I dozed off, rocked by the sway of the car. I got off at the right stop. I walked through the flea market drenched in sunlight, there were tons of leather pants for sale that weren't expensive, I tried ones on that didn't look good on me. When I got to the museum, I saw my father through the big glass windows. He told me he had already walked around the entire place. Yeah, was it nice? I asked, and I sat on one of the benches in the hallway, facing the big paintings and massive sculptures, without taking off my sunglasses. He asked me how I was doing. I told him that I hadn't slept all night. I asked him if he wouldn't mind telling me what he saw because I could barely move at this point, and instead of causing a scene, he told me about the paintings. My strength came back. After a while I got up. We toured the museum, with the image superimposed in my mind of a crying man sitting in his kitchen.

  20

  (1993)

  It was an afternoon in June and the weather was miserable. Quentin was at his boyfriend's. I looked out at a gray Paris, through the bedroom window. I was using my oven to dry out some grass leaves I had plucked from the flowerbed, a little at the bottom, the weakest, a little above where they were good. I rolled a joint with it adding what little hash I had left, the size of a nail clipping. The result was really average, but it still gave me a little buzz since I had an empty stomach. I got on the Minitel. As usual there was nothing. I had already been with Fuckmedeep, and it was OK but not good enough to do it again. Manlyman was at our house last week for dinner. The others were clearly worthless or totally on other trips. And then I found this funny profile: Sexy stallion in FF, 35, 5’9”,185 BF BM, want to get wrecked with a fist.

  I wrote back: hey, rd my prfl. A minute later he wrote back: rd, intrst. So I typed back: free now? ur plc mn? jnt? He replied back: free now, whr u? no jnt. I wrote back: les halles. He replied: ok. So I asked him: tel? He gave me his number. I gave him mine too, to make him feel safe. He disconnected. My phone rang (Quentin and I had gotten two lines precisely to not have to disconnect). We came to an agreement. About an hour later he knocked on the door. I opened. As it often is, his profile was far from the truth. In this case thirty-five was more like forty-five, 185 was 200. He was bald not shaved, his face wasn't great. But not repulsive either. The whole thing with the Minitel was that I would often find myself having sex with guys I would have never otherwise done. He seemed clean. He looked at me with an intense neediness. I felt so important that instead of saying Sorry this ain't gonna work, and shut the door, I said Hi, and let him in.

  I came on strong. Turn around! I said. Show me your ass! He put down his backpack. He turned around. I grabbed his wrists and I placed his arms up against the wall. With the edge of my boot I kicked his legs apart so that he was spread-eagle. That's when I realized this guy was a huge slut. His jeans were split open in an L-shape along his crack and at the bottom of the right cheek, and when I touched it, the tip of my fingers came in contact directly with his skin and the ring, a good half-inch wide, already greased up, and half-open, of his pussy. One finger would clearly not have been enough, so I immediately jammed in two, which I pushed all the way in with no problems. It's amazing what assholes can become. His was super flexible, puffy, swollen with blood. I pushed in my fingers as if I wanted to lift him up with them. His second sphincter opened up without much fuss. I massaged his prostate. He moaned. I checked to see if he was hard with my other hand. Yes, but small dick.

  I said OK, come sit on the bed, I led him over by pulling both on his belt and on his ass where my two fingers were lodged so deep that he had to walk on his tiptoes, which was exactly what I wanted. Too bad you can't keep repeating the same thing in life, this stuff was good. Now it bores me. Anyway maybe I would do it again if the guy were blond, really young, super cute, if… I told him to jump in bed. I put him in position. On all fours! No! Ass in the air! There, that's it, knees forward! Ass higher! Yeah, like that, pushing in a third finger and turning it like a clock left and right, I opened the condom with my teeth (not wearing one was still unusual) that I took from the fuck bowl on the shelf next to the bed, I slid it with one hand onto my cock, and dove in.

  I pounded him really hard, it was so loose that I had to go full speed if I wanted to feel something. I was holding onto him by the top of his jeans. We both were still completely dressed. I'll wash my jeans later. For now I was hard, that was all that mattered. I kept pumping, pumping, pumping, he was making a lot of noise, it was not unpleasant, but after about five minutes he was so open that I couldn't feel anything at all so I told myself that he didn't come here for this anyway. I stopped. You can't really say I pulled out since his hole wasn't holding me. I pulled off the condom and jerked off a little while looking at his gaping hole, almost an inch wide. Now that's a slut's hole! I said. He trembled with pride. I said OK, let's get serious. I got out some grease, covered my left hand up to the wrist, with my right I took a big nugget of cream which I jammed right into his hole (he appreciated the attention), I placed my left hand (I kept the right one free to jerk off ) pinching my fingers in front of the entry, I pushed softly, firmly, consistently, he asked Can I have some poppers?, I said Yeah, do you have any? trying to save mine if at all possible, after all, I was doing him a favor. He said Yeah, in my bag, I went and got his bag, it was annoying because my hands were sticky, I gave it to him. I got back into position. He opened the bag, unscrewed the poppers, sniffed nonstop while I pushed more and more inside not wasting a second, without making scissors with my fingers to relax the walls, not one contraction of his sphincter, nothing until my hand was lodged inside, his ass closed on my wrist. I made a fist. I started to turn to the right, to the left.

  Would you punch my ass? He said it in a completely calm voice. It was the first time I heard that expression
(I started using that term, too, in the years that followed. Sometimes), but it was pretty clear. I punched. At first I was afraid that I was going to hurt him, and then I realized that I had to pull on the muscles, towards the back, to relax everything in order to go deeper, just like when Quentin would fuck me, so I brought them towards me, almost opening his anus, and then pushed deeper into his ass that yielded more and more, I squeezed my fist to make it bigger. I started twisting at the same time as I was moving forward and backward, and pulled out, I made a figure eight, a Möbius strip, like the guys who spin cotton candy at the carnival, he was so open that my closed fist could go in and out like that. It was exhausting and he still wasn't coming even though he was making lots of noise, so I went in even harder and he jerked off even harder and finally came screaming. I pulled my hand out dripping in melted cream but there was only a trickle of blood, and I fed him my balls to eat so that I could finish myself off. I jerked off, applying pressure to the head of my penis, thinking to myself that he may have been ugly but he got the job done. I came on him and then I sent him away to wash up. I tossed the sheets and the towel into the washer. Then I washed myself. I made some tea and rolled a joint and he told me about his life which was interesting: he and his partner lived with a slave at their house for one year, something I've always wanted to do.