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In the kitchen, I searched through the fridge and the freezer in search of something edible; I finally found a few frozen langoustines that I sautéed in a saucepan with olive oil and garlic. I ate them with a delicious very cool white wine, separating the shell from the abdomens with my fingers and cracking the pincers between my teeth to suck out the fibers and juice. The meal over, I quickly cleared the dishes and carefully washed my fingers, which smelled of garlic and seafood, before returning to finish the wine with a thin little cigar in front of the bay window in the living room, contemplating the saffron light of evening through the tangle of wisteria. When the light faded completely I lit the living room lamps, one by one. I also tried to put a disk on, but the stereo was dead, something must have blown. Finally, I went upstairs. Near the bed, the bedside lamp still illumined the bedroom with its dirty light; my gaze ran over the wrinkled, unclean, stained sheets; when I tried to beat the pillow, a cloud of dust rose up, making me sneeze several times. Annoyed, I took off the pillowcase and removed the sheets, then dug into a cupboard to find clean ones and hastily remade the bed. I dragged the bedspread to the stairway to shake it; the space filled with dust, I slapped it several times against the stone steps, sneezing convulsively, before returning to throw it over the sheets. Through the gaps in the wisteria, the moonlight barely filtered, spotting with little white dots the long green grass and the golden background of the cloth. I quickly got undressed; a fine layer of sweat covered my skin, it was still just as hot, I felt as if I were suffocating. I lay down on my belly, stretching out my arms and stroking with my fingers the thick weft of the embroidery. My member had gotten stuck under my stomach and I freed it; my buttocks prickled and I turned around to look at the tall upright mirror standing near the door: but it reflected nothing other than an empty corner of the bed, a section of white wall, the edge of the window. I fell asleep this way, my naked body on the grass of the bedspread, bathed in that uneven, hesitant light. An indefinable noise drew me from a dream where I was trying to convince a young blond woman, her bun artfully disheveled, to take driving lessons. Without turning around, I looked over my shoulder toward the door: it was open now, whereas I was sure I had closed it. The black rectangle of the stairway stood out from the doorframe, I scrutinized this darkness, in vain, there was nothing there. When I woke again the sky, behind the wisteria, seemed to be growing pale. Apart from a very slight rustling of leaves there was still no sound. I got up, quickly pulled on my tracksuit and went down to the living room. In front of the kitchen door, I briefly entertained the idea of making myself coffee, but I immediately gave it up and went down to the lower floor. In the child’s room, I tried to head toward the bed, but the tin cavalrymen scattered over the carpet were in my way, I was afraid of crushing them and I remained for a moment near the door, contemplating the empty bed and the sheets rolled in a ball, before turning round and walking down the hall to emerge into the garden. Dead leaves and twigs crackled beneath my feet, the morning heat clung to my skin, the profusion of uncontrolled vegetation filled me with a dull, vague anxiety. I headed for the door at the back which opened easily beneath the pressure of my hand. As soon as it closed behind me I began to run, relieved by the relative coolness that reigned here. The cadence of my breathing gave rhythm to my stride; everything seemed slightly blurred, indistinct, I couldn’t even see the ceiling, if there was one, but that didn’t bother me, I could guess at, more than I could make out with precision, the walls, the darker grey that here and there indicated a juncture or at least a recessed corner, I avoided all obstacles to follow the long sinuosity of the corridor, cheerfully striking a wall from time to time to assure myself of its solidity and of the softness of its covering. This is how my hand fell on a metal protuberance: I grasped it, turned, and pushed. Past the threshold my foot burrowed into something soft and I stopped short. I found myself in a rather large room, quite clear, sparsely furnished; on the walls, the golden vines of the wallpaper intertwined up to the moldings; a dark red, almost blood-colored carpet covered the floor. Across the room, separated from me by a bed covered in a heavy golden cloth embroidered with long green grass, stood a figure with close-cropped jet black hair. The shutters were closed, but it was staring at something in the window, perhaps its own reflection. I gently pushed the door, which closed with a muffled sound; the figure turned round, and I saw then that it was a man, a handsome young man who as he saw me let a fleeting little smile cross his dark, angular face. He was of an unreal, almost perfect beauty, a beauty that definitively isolated him from the world. With a supple, feline motion, he skirted round the bed and without a word grasped my neck to draw my mouth against his. His stubble scratched my skin, but I greedily returned his kiss, at once intoxicated and put off by his smell of cheap cologne mixed with musky sweat. In one motion, he laid me down on the green leaves of the bedspread and knelt above me, leaning on his powerful arms, which I stroked with my fingertips along with his shoulders, neck, and sides. My member, stuck a little sideways, hardened beneath the tracksuit; he straightened up, I held out my hands and began undoing the buckle of his heavy leather belt, he withdrew some more and stood up, my fingers searched to free his member, wedged beneath the elastic of the briefs, finally it came free, swollen already, soft and firm, and I leaned over to lick its tip before sliding it between my lips, it hardened some more and filled my mouth, pressing against my tongue and the back of my throat, I rolled it between my lips, savoring its sweetness and its power, his hand, on the nape of my neck, pushed me against the curls of his pubis, I breathed through my nose, driven to a frenzy by his insipid, acrid smell of urine and deodorant, sucking in the taut member with my tongue and lips, finally a retch made me gag and I tore myself away from him, swallowing convulsively. His moist cock struck my cheek as he emitted a brief chuckle, his hand still pressed against the back of my neck. I wanted to bring my mouth to his member again but he took a few steps back, letting it beat to the rhythm of his heart between the open fly of his jeans before shoving it back into his briefs and buttoning everything up. “Wait. I’m hungry.” He picked up the receiver next to the bed, dialed a number and, holding up a cardboard menu, named a few items. I rose, shaking my numb legs, and went into the bathroom, where I opened wide the heavy porcelain faucets of the shower, one hand under the stream of water to gauge the temperature.