Les Artistes

J.Brent©1993

For the first couple of weeks or so after I'd moved into the apartment at Convention with the two girls from the Beaux-Arts I was doing them in tandem. The funny thing was that even though I never said anything to Michele about my screwing Quarantine all the time , I just assumed she knew. In fact, she didn't. Normally I'd be diddling Quarantine in the afternoons, and then I'd be sleeping with Michele at night. It was wonderful.

By this time Barry and Mark were hanging around the apartment a lot and trying to get the OK to crash there, too. I guess Nita was getting tired of the bums hanging around her place and had given them the shove. I had been over to Nita's place a couple of times in the interim, and it was just too small for one person - let alone those two Irish drunks and their smelly socks. Mark's brother had gone back to Ireland in a huff to tell mommy and daddy about what a bad boy Mark was being, getting drunk all the time, smoking joints, and hanging around with people like me and Weasel.

I didn't miss Mark's brother much since he always seemed to be in a bad mood and viewed everything with that "holier than thou" disapproving attitude that country bumpkins who consider themselves to be good christians tend to suffer from. Besides, it was difficult to keep a group of six musicians in food and drink with the pennies we were thrown in the Metro. One less mouth to feed and good riddance.

One afternoon I was humping Quarantine, her laying on her stomach with me coming in from behind. Suddenly she said to me "I want you to huwt me". I thought "Oh no, now she wants to get into some sado-masochistic shit". I couldn't figure out what she was on about and I told her so. Then she said "I weawwy want you to huwt me". It was bad enough that this nut case talked like Elmer Fudd, but now she was getting into something that was totally out of my line. I still couldn't figure out what I was supposed to do, if I was supposed to break out whips and chains, or beat her until she was black and blue or what. In any case, I didn't want to hurt her, and I told her so. She said "Pwease just huwt me a wittew". So, I started biting her earlobe, figuring maybe that was it. Hell, I didn't know! Then she said "Not thewe, hewe" and pointed to her butt. Finally it dawned on me. "Oh, so you want me to fuck you up the asshole, right?" She nodded "yes" and breathed heavy. But then my scruples got the best of me. When I refused, she started begging me "Pwease, pwease". So I plugged my thumb up her bunghole and that shut her up just like giving a baby a pacifier.

After that dirty session, we had a shower together and we screwed again in there. I finally came in her mouth but it was hard work. She may have been a sexual gymnast, but her blowjobs were terrible! She was always hitting with her teeth and that "huwts"!

She said she had to go and do something, and I was hanging around the house practicing the flute. After a while Barry calls up and wants to know if he can have the big bed for the night because he's got a hot date. I said "Sure, I've already fucked ol' Quarantine twice today and that's enough for me". At that point I heard Quarantine give a giggle, and then I knew that she had been listening all the time. In France, all the phones in the bars have a little receiver that a second person can listen in on. I didn't give a damn, and in any case it was the truth.

About half an hour later, Qaurantine bursts through the front door and proceeds to give me a lecture on what a bastard I am. I told her to think what she liked. Anyway, I really liked Michele and I was getting sick of Quarantine's wierd fits. If she wanted me to cornhole her today, what new kink would she come up with tomorrow? And I was glad for Barry, it made the whole household scene much clearer now that him and Mark had more or less officially moved in.

Michele was away at her folks or some place and just to get out of the heat, I went over and stayed at Isabelle's. That night Isabelle taught me the song "Michelle" on guitar, and the next day when I came back to the apartment the guys told me that John Lennon had been killed by some fucking maniac.

I didn't believe them, but the morning papers didn't lie. In the years that have passed since, I've read quite a few articles about Lennon, his life and his death, and there's one thing that really pisses me off. Every time you read an article about Lennon, the always mention the full name of his killer! Now this is was exactly what that sniveling son-of-a-bitch wanted! In order to get famous you don't have to do anything great or wonderful - All you have to do is kill somebody famous.

It's the same with JFK, Bobby Kennedy, Martin Luther King, etc. And it's the Press that's to blame!!! These sick motherfuckers who go around killing famous people just so they can read their names in the news SHOULD NOT be given that satisfaction!!! The Press should make a concerted effort NOT to mention the names of killers and other lunatics who commit crimes out of a deranged desire to "have their name in lights".

I don't care what the name of the cunt who killed Lennon is, so don't shove his name down my throat every time I read an article about Lennon, don't dirty the page with his full name or even his initials - Just say "John Lennon was shot down in cold blood by a psychopath" period. When I think of Lennon, I don't want to be reminded of the name of some cringing little coward whose only claim to fame is that he could afford a gun. When I think of Lennon, I want to remember his accomplishments, his dreams that some people still share, and his hopes that may some day become reality. Lennon can't do anything more to make those goals come true, the ball is in our park now, and the game is in deperate need of players.

We stayed at that apartment at Convention through xmas and almost till Spring. We had a lot of terrific parties and lots of good jams. Barry and Quarantine seemed to be getting along fine, and me and Michele went great together. Michele's wild artistic energy and fiery spirit turned out to be combined with a very even temper and a sensitive nature. The perfect kind of girl for me.

One day Barry came to me and said that Quarantine wouldn't screw him because she wasn't taking the pill or anything. I told him to wear a rubber, and he said "We tried that, it didn't work". This was long before AIDS hit the scene and I hated rubbers myself, so I let it slide. Then I just quite simply told him to stick his dick up her butthole, and added that she'd love it.

Boy, did that ever piss Barry off! You see, he had this idea that Quarantine was a sweet, maligned little angel. According to the story he'd been told, I'd just fucked her like a pig with no concern for her "artistic temperment", and had abused her in every way possible. Barry, his senses blinded by his heroic love, was going to "take her away from all this" and soothe the injuries she had so wrongly suffered at my hands.

Anyway he refused to believe that I was serious about screwing her Greek style, and was positive that I was being deliberately malicious and disgusting to boot. It was simply beyond Barry's comprehension that what I was saying was the whole truth and nothing but the truth. It's just incomprehensible to a nice country boy that a lovely and innocent girl like Quarantine could ever possibly in a million years want to be reamed up the poop chute. Truth is stranger that fiction, Barry.

Then one day Quarantine got a letter from her beloved fiancé in America, Chris. It said that he'd be arriving in Paris in a few days. "Cwis, oh, Cwis! my dawling!" So, Barry and Mark had to lay low and weren't allowed in the apartment, and nobody was to supposed to mention that she'd been fucking half the continent since she'd last seen him. She had told the ever gullible Barry that "Cwis" was just an old friend and not to worry because she would save herself for him. Barry swallowed that hook, line and sinker.

Well, when Chris finally did show up, he came with two girls that looked like they spent three hours a day in front of the mirror recreating their personal version of the Mona Lisa. No, it wasn't carnival. And Quarantine couldn't understand what these two girls were there for, and started screaming at him. "I save myself foh you, all these yeaws, waiting, and you bwing these two bitches. What awe you doing with them anyway?" Chris said "I can't help it if they fuck better than you" and left.

Quarantine was heart-bwoken. I was in the living room with them all so I had a front row seat. Then there was just Quarantine and me left alone in the apartment, and she started in on me. I got the hell out and then went over to where Barry was at to send him over to console her. I guess he must've helped a little, but she somehow had it in her mind that she was going to marry this guy one day, and just couldn't accept that he was screwing other chicks. Nothing like a double standard, is there?

Once that had blown over, things had got pretty much back to normal. Barry was head over heels in love. And I had come to the realization that Michele was madly in love with me. Even so, I still used to go over and see Isabelle every once in a while, if for nothing else but to play guitar with her and listen to her beautiful singing.

One time Michele and Quaratine said that they were both going out and wouldn't be back until the next afternoon. I decided in that case to bring Isabelle over to show her where I was living. Naturally Isabelle didn't like the fact that I was living with two girls, but I told her not to worry "there's nothing going on". We slept in the double bed and made sweet love through the night. In the morning she had to get up early to go to her job at the bank. When she got up, she said "I think I started my period". The sheets were soaked in blood, and we were both covered and caked red literally from head to toe. I'd been licking her like a dirty dog the night before, and I can't even describe what my beard and moustache looked like! She was in a big hurry to get to work on time, and suddenly I was in a big hurry, too. One of the house rules was "No other girls", and if I got found out I would be out on the street in a quick second!

We only had one set of sheets for that bed and they had to be washed, bleached out, dried, and on the bed before the girls returned. Boy, was I sweating it! The chlorine damn near killed me, and then I hung them over the doors and dried them with a hair dryer. I had just got the sheets back onto the bed when they walked through the door. Whew! "Hi, have a nice morning?" "Oh, just hanging arround, sleeping late, you know". Mr Cool ...

The business with the records and cassettes that had been recorded was now starting to get us a few gigs here and there, and the group "Dalriada" with its first album "Ten Franc Piece" was getting its little following. There was a girl named Florence that had been hanging around for a long time and would come to all the gigs and she seemed to fancy Weasel. Of course, Weasel spent every night with his schoolteacher girlfriend in the suburbs, but he would always try to get as much pussy as possible on the side. I remember asking Weasel about this girl once, and he said "Oh, man she's just a cock teaser. I tried it on once, but it was no go. I told her to fuck off, but she keeps hanging around."

Through the record producer, we had got an agent who had booked us several gigs in the south of France around St. Patrick's Day, and just a few days before we were supposed to leave gray Paris for the sunny south, we had a concert in this folk club near Montparnasse. The gig was a real success, there were a lot of people there (including Florence), we sold a bunch of records, and the folks loved it.

After the gig, as we were walking away, we were talking about a crash for everybody until we had to leave. I remember saying "Well, I'm still cool chez Les Artistes, unless I fuck myself out of a place to stay", we all laughed. The lot of them were going out for a drink, but I begged off and when I got home Michele was alone in the apartment in bed waiting for me. We made love twice, and I told her how much I really liked her, and although I didn't tell her I loved her I got as close as you could without actually saying "Je t'aime". And it was true, I really was feeling strong emotions, and I wanted to let her know how special she was to me.

We were already more or less asleep when Weasel and Florence rolled in the door. They went into the little room, and Weasel was trying to get the pants off her. About twenty minutes after that Quarantine burst into the apartment in one of her shitties. She started screaming and yelling about these two, and etc, etc, etc. Christ what a noise! So the two of them were obliged to come into our room. Neither Michele or Florence could speak English, so I asked Weasel if he'd been fucking Florence when the nut case showed up. He said something like "This is the last time I waste my time on this cow. Trying to get into her knickers is like trying to break into Fort Knox. If she doesn't want to screw, what does she keep hanging around for?

Florence got into the bed, I was in the middle, Michele was next to the wall, and Weasel was laying on some blanketrs next to Florence. It wasn't long before he was trying it on again, but Florence wouldn't have anything to do with him. I thought to myself "Give it up, man, and let's get some sleep".

Well, he finally did give it up, and the next thing I knew Florence was stroking my dick. Now, I'd already come twice with Michele that night, but it didn't take me two seconds to get another hard-on. I assumed that Michele was sleeping, but in fact I really didn't care. After a while I stuck my fingers down into Florence's wet muff, and started giving her my famous "hand jive". This brought Weasel back to life, and he started trying to feel her up but she kept pushing his hands away. I thought to myself "Baby, you might get away with teasing Weasel's cock, but not mine!" and rolled over and stuffed my stiff straight up her. It only took a couple of strokes to shoot my wad, and the atmosphere was absolutely electric, because of Weasel's horniness and Michele pretending to be asleep. There was an incredible feeling in that room! I was pissed off at Quarantine because of the stupid scene that she'd made, AND I was pissed off with Florence for the stupid games she kept playing. Don't start something you can't finish little girl, and if you get too close to the fire you just might get burned. After I came inside Florence, I rolled over and cuddled up to Michele.

I didn't do it to hurt Michele, but Oh, man! What a thrill! In the morning I asked Michele if she was pissed off with me. She smiled in a funny way and said something like "To the max!" Well, there I'd gone and done it - fucked myself out of a place to stay. And after all the things I'd said to Michele the previous night just before everybody had shown up. Damn it, if that nut case bitch Quarantine hadn't made such a stink, and if only that stupid cow Florence had just left my dick alone. Oh, well, life in the fast lane.

The next day Barry had heard about all of this from Quarantine's point of view. In her mind this was proof positive that I was the most despicable motherfucker that ever lived. And Barry just couldn't understand how I could've done something like that if I really felt the way I did about Michele. In fact, there were a lot of things that Barry couldn't understand (besides how to make a rubber "work").

One of the things that Barry hadn't cued in on was that Quarantine didn't really care about him at all. Barry was so madly in love with Quarantine that he would immediately start rolling up his sleeves anytime anybody said anything bad about her, but she was just using him as a stooge until somebody better came along. I wanted Barry to get that sorted out before we left for the south of France, otherwise he'd end up with a badly broken heart. So, I said to him "Barry, you don't have to believe me when I tell you that she doesn't give two shits about you. Do yourself the masochistic favor of asking her this question : 'Given the choice between me and Chris, who would you choose?'"

I called up Isabelle, and went over to stay at her place for a couple of days until we were due to leave. Barry and Mark were still over at chez Les Artistes, and when Barry stupidly told Michele that I was staying at Isabelle's, poor Michele broke down crying. There was some other scene too, where Michele had brought some guy home that she'd met in the Metro, and by the end of the evening he'd made such an asshole out of himself that Barry and Mark kicked his face in.

On our last day in Paris, I had to go back to the apartment to get my duffle bag. Everybody was there, Michele standing in the corner looking very lost. I had to apologize to her, but there was no time, Quarantine just wanted me out of the house as quickly as possible. As I went out the door, Quarantine was spitting on me and trying to kick my shins. She hated me. What a nut.

Finally, we all got into the blue Renault van called the Mars Bar, and headed south. Goodbye, Paris. Glad to get the hell out. As we reached the peripherique, Barry said "You remember what you told me to ask Quarantine?" "Yeah, sure. What did she say?" "She said 'I'd pick Cwis, of couwse'" "And what did you say to that?" "Just 'Ciao'". Barry was hurt of course, but not as hurt as he would've been if he'd had time to build up too many romantic illusions.

About a year after that, Weasel's schoolteacher girlfriend received a package from Quarantine addressed to me. They didn't bother to forward it, because it had been damaged in the post and the contents were rather messy. Whether it was dog or human shit is irrelevant, it's the thought that counts.

Michele and I continued writing each other for about ten years after that. Last I heard she was pregnant and working as an interior decorator. She knows how I felt, but it was a different world then. I wasn't looking for a permanent relationship, I just wanted to have fun and lots of wild experiences.

Isabelle Reina continued writing me for a long time too. She finally got married to one of the guys that worked at the bank.

 

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