The Gates of Paris
The Porte de Saint-Cloud parking lot borders on the bou-
levard Périphérique and in places is separated from it only
by an openwork wall. All I had on were my shoes, having
slipped off my raincoat, whose lining iced my skin, before
getting out of the car. At first, as I have said, they rammed
me up against a perpendicular wall. Eric saw me “pinned
up by their pricks, like a butterfly.” Two men held me up
under the arms and legs, while the others took it in turns
hammering against the pelvis to which my whole person
had been reduced. In these dicey situations, where there are
many of them, men often fuck quickly and forcefully. I
could feel the rugged surface of the breezeblocks digging into
my shoulders and my hips. Even though it was late, there
was still some traffic. The thrumming of the cars, so close
they seemed to almost brush past us, lulled me into the same
daze I feel at airports. With my body both freed of all weight
and curled up on itself, I retreated within myself. From time
to time I would glimpse through my half-closed eyes the
headlights of a car as they swept over my face. The men
moved away from the wall, and I felt myself being simulta-
neously levered up by two powerful jacks. A current fantasy,
which had been nourishing my masturbation sessions for a
long time, was to be taken to the dark foyer of a building
by two strangers and to be impaled by both at the same time,
like a sandwich, one in my cunt, the other up my ass, and
here it found substance in an obscure atmosphere where
reality and the images conjured in my mind fed off each
other.
I must have come to, if I can call it that, when my body
was returned to a more normal form of support. Someone
threw a coat over the hood of a car, and they lay me down on
it. ’'m familiar with this position, which is not an easy one; I
kept slipping, and there was nothing to hold on to. I didn’t
always respond well to the different cocks that sought out my
wet, sticky canal. I was the focal point for a theater of shad-
ows, invisible until headlights threw their insipid light over
the scene. From there I could make out the group scattered
far and wide about me; those who had already shot their
load seemed to completely lose interest in the ensuing pro-
ceedings. In front of me was the silhouette of a much larger
vehicle, probably a truck; perhaps it had been chosen as a
makeshift screen.