Paincourt Antique

Title: Gazelle Cunt

I sit alone and thinking, I try to remember everything about that place. It was a good time wrapped up snuggly in a blanket smeared in feces. I remember seeing it through a thick fog as the ship inched mile by mile, closer and closer. Each second one more small vision breaking through obscurity. It would be welcoming bosom, a gorgeous moist nipple where I could satisfy my infantile thirst.

I was a little nervous when all was said and done, the ship tied to the pier, orders of the day being handed out. The sun was bright and quickly burning off the remaining fog. It seemed as if God was lifting the dismal veil that had been over me for the past two months. I would soon be free, even if only for two days. By the time I was completely released from my duty and obligation of that day the sun was in full bloom and had revealed palm trees and an unforgettable Mediterranean city that was thriving with life and action. And I could only think of two subjects: Wine and cunts.

As I stared at the city presenting itself to me, Baker came up behind me and told me about many of his previous debaucheries and sailor stories related to this city. He was a monkey man, possibly closer to an orangutan with blond hair. He was slow and lazy, similar to an orangutan. He always talked in nonsense. The life of booze had irreconcilably cleared his mind of any intelligent thinking. Fortunately his boozing and whoring stories were usually entertaining and even though his manners were that of an ape his eyes sparkled with excitement and genus. It was if there really was something he knew that no one else knew.

His stories were provided with a sound track of waves sloshing and lapping the hull of the ship. The sea gulls calling out over head pleading for another piece of trash for them to take back to their chicks. The sound of ship horns blowing in the distant. As he told his stories I saw in my mind the traditional vision of what a French whore should look like, complete with an accordion player in the background. He broke my daydream. He stated that we needed to go that the women of Toulon awaited us.

I walked off of the ship together with my comrade Baker. The first mission was to eat. Eating actually took precedent over all things as the choice of food on a military vessel is not what anyone would actually desire to eat. There were vendors on the streets selling sandwiches… Beautiful smashed sandwiches choked with meat and vegetables and various sauces. I gorged myself on two of them. This was turning out to be a great day.

Soon we were on our way to find a place to drink, which didn't take long. We found a bar named The San Francisco, which housed a number of gorgeous "waitresses."

The day slowly blended in with the night and I remember a brilliant purple/blue sky slowly fading into the blackness. I had been doing shots
with some French sailors and they were trying to teach me their drinking
songs. They were good men, the whole lot of them. They were fascinated with America, I thought the French were supposed to be snobbish. I was the snob. I knew nothing of France. My barmaid for the day ended her shift with me and gave me a nice long kiss. I tipped very well. Her replacement was Tania.

I found myself comparing all people and their features to animals. As Baker was an orangutan, Tania was a giraffe or maybe even better, a gazelle. She did not have the ugly out of context portions that the better portion of us has. She seemed graceful and had the kind, knowing brown eyes. Initially I really didn't speak with her that much as she did have other patrons. However, the rum and cokes were beginning to have their way with me and I had to sit down. I was commanded to sit down. When you sit down you then become the property of the bargirls that descend upon you like vultures. A cock rub for 50 bucks, a private session for 80, and so on.

I felt blessed that Tania had sat with me. She wasn't the most beautiful girl in the place but seemed interesting for she seemed out of place. I had always felt out of place, I felt that we would have something in common. Being drunk it was easy to be immediately friendly. I had been with a few whores before but this day I wanted conversation more. Of course that was soon to change as my drunken body and lack of sex for months on end had reduced me to a man nearly capable of rape. A disgusting thought but a thought is nothing but a thought until it is realized.

My friend Baker must have realized this as the shore patrol had hours before taken him back to the ship. He was flailing and screaming about murder and whores. It was embarrassing and I was happy to see the idiot go. It seemed he wanted a girl a little more than she wanted him, you had to negotiate these things…it wasn't a street corner. These girls weren't "really" whores.

I looked out the window at the street corner, which was cobblestone and covered with dew. The neon signs of this little bar district shimmering and sparkling as the staggering men staggered by looking for another place to find something…anything. They all seemed ugly and barbaric to me. We Americans have a rule it seems. The rule is to get as drunk and stupid as possible and to be as ugly and obnoxious as possible at the same time. At the time, I still hadn't learned that rule.

Tania had asked me in her accent what I was looking at out there. Now she seemed like a parrot that smoked too much, however she quickly transformed back into the gazelle. Our conversation started with music, I had thought that all western Europeans liked bands like the Cure, so I listed my favorite black clad British and German bands. She was disappointed by that statement and told me her love was Reggae. She told me how she imagined herself out of her own personal hellhole and taking it easy in the Caribbean. I found it pleasant that here was a person that was as uncomfortable with her home as I was with mine. We all want to escape; it doesn't matter where we are. I told her this loudly as if it was something important. She giggled at me and told me I was silly and pulled me up from the booth to dance with her. She had the bartender play Peter Tosh and it was wonderful. I am no dancer, but I found on that night that I was. It was easy to sway with a graceful girl to the sound of the islands. As we danced there was a madness that appeared in her eyes and she grabbed between my legs and led me back to the private area. She then demanded 80 bucks to suck me off. I said fine and gave her the money. First we kissed but not a whore kiss, a real kiss. I hadn't had one of those in 6 or 7 months and I didn't want it to end. When we finished I thought well that was it and sat back down in the booth. Tania had disappeared as well. I was thinking that she had reached her quota and went home. But she soon came back out and sat down again. Began talking as if nothing had happened, she began to go on about her life, she was studying nursing and had to do this to get through as her father had died when she was young and that since she was half Algerian and the French were bigots that it was difficult to survive. She told me everything and I sat and listened. I wanted to talk but was mesmerized by her eyes. Staring into them was an ample conversation. I can still see them to this day, and I can still them sparkle.

I believed every word she said. I began to want her, more than I wanted a fuck; I wanted to know everything about her. French girls have a way of seeming sophisticated even if they are dumb as an ox. I was petting her; her skirt was a velvet like material. I was thinking to myself that every damn thing about this girl was beautiful. She was no longer a gazelle cunt, she was beginning to transform into a goddess before my eyes. I looked outside again, more Americans screaming for blood in the streets and I had found what they were looking for. I had found a meal to placate the beast inside me. All of the frustration and anger of months at sea with a crew of semi-retarded heathens would be relinquished. I was receiving a fresh breeze of love in a sea of hate. I really didn't feel lucky, only relieved.

She proposed to me that I stay until the club closed and wait for her outside and then join her for some wine and hash at her apartment. Of course, my answer was immediately in favor of the idea.

We walked down ancient cobblestone streets that were glazed with moisture.

I found a striking similarity with the night and the situation. I was no longer thinking of animalistic observations, things were growing ever nearer to the elements around me. No longer were we monkey boy and horny gazelle cunt but she was the sea and I was the sky forever exerting pressure, forever longing to be one.

Her apartment was pretty barren with few knick-knacks to secure small conversation. I made a comment to this effect and she replied that ones surroundings usually mimic their lives. We drank and fucked and smoked the hashish. We listened to weird some really African music, she danced for me. Eventually I fell asleep.

I awoke and it was high noon, she was gone. I had to go back to my ship. She left me a little note that said, ' Thank you for the great time, I took the liberty of borrowing the hundred bucks you said I could have last night. I cannot thank you enough for helping me out. Please lock the door on your way out and write me.

I thought, how sweet? Now she has turned back in to a little gazelle cunt and run away. I really didn't remember saying she could have 100 bucks but I had to be on my ship in an hour and didn't know where the fuck I was. I went outside and hailed a taxi. I jumped in and the driver looked at me in the rear view mirror with a big smile and laughingly said in a thick Arabian accent, "Aahhh! American! Getting the pussy! Back to ship and get the cock!"

I smiled, because it was somehow funny. I was fucked even after getting fucked.

Addendum 2010: Delusional account of something somewhat true.