At the Rex I felt for once in my life that I was amongst true libertines. And I was afraid I was potentially not up to the task of an orgy. But perhaps the best part of the Rex club was that it put people in the mood to do anything. Even wife swapping. Or girlfriend swapping. Or whatever. Nothing makes you feel freer than getting high and dancing all night long. It releases all the endorphins that the drugs alone cannot touch. It can eliminate the faulty patterns of thought that build up over time like lime scale residue in the bathroom shower head. The kind that clogs up the flow of your life water.
By perhaps the 20th of our weekly Thursday visits to the Rex, we were considered one of the regulars and got in even without Jasper and Marianne. And soon we started to get invited to come to the basement of the club with some of the hipper Parisian couples for regular and proper powdering of noses instead of sneaking a few in the bathroom.
Now the thing about clubs is that when you have a girl like Nina with you she attracts attention. I knew that if I ever showed jealousy I was history. The best I could do was to let her have some freedom. It was either that or find someone else with no sex appeal to other people. And I wasn't into dating Margaret Thatcher.
The trouble with me was that deep down inside I was romantically in love with Nina. I honestly never considered looking around at other girls. Not many could compare to her in beauty or style. I felt like a burden had been lifted from my shoulders. I did not need to obsess my thoughts with getting in other girl's underpants. I reserved my right to play around on the side, but only when we were temporarily broken up, when I was away on business trips in Amsterdam, or else when I came back to the States for a holiday.
Nina, however, was a highly sexual being. She loved men the same way most boys liked girls. And that meant the more the better. She did love me though. I definitely felt that. But staying faithful for her was a chore- almost an exercise in futility. I felt at times she honestly wanted to do it, but it was just not in her nature. Especially after a few drinks and lines of cocaine. Then she was a mad flirt. Of course she would never take the boys home or give them her phone number. I felt this was okay. I pretended my best not to be jealous. I knew that if we did go home with another couple that the worst thing that could happen was that I might get laid by some other beautiful girl. Then the thought of that would make her jealous and more attentive to my smaller needs in the process.
I also understood that it was an important thing for steady couples to continue to flirt, both to gain a reputation and also to keep the partner a touch realistic. To show that you could be shagging other people if you so desired. A boy or girl in demand deserves more respect than one sitting at home masturbating to porno movies. According to Aristotle anyway. He said that in life there are no extremes, only means. I liked that philosophy. It seemed very organized and fair.
Not like life. Some girls have looks and some girls don't. It's 99 percent genetics. Truth is, Nina would have been an expert at flirting even if she hadn't had an amazing body. So with it, she could pick up the richest, best dressed, and coolest guys in a manner of seconds. Even the guys from the Mediterranean whom I hated most of all because of their natural eurotrash panache that I, being American, could imitate but never quite duplicate.
There was one guy in particular from Monaco or somewhere whom she talked to all the time. I thought he probably flew to Paris every Thursday just to go to the Rex Club and talk to my Nina. She would sometimes flirt with him for hours only to go home with me. That is what I loved the most. At first I thought she just did it to make me jealous. Jealous enough to kill? Probably not. But jealous enough to try my hand at picking up on other girls at the Rex just to show her I could do it too if I wanted to.
Nina had for a long time made hints that she wanted to swing. There were things like, "wouldn't you like to snog Marianne?" or "I bet Katrina would love your nice big cock." These things worried me. As much as I tried to deny it, I was mid-western American and too insecure for these desires. Although the idea had of course occurred to me, and was intriguing me more and more. But no matter how much girls like dick, it is still easier for girls to flirt than guys. Nature has bestowed them the perfect flirting tools, such as shapely behinds, long hair, and lickable breasts. Sometimes all the assets make me forget that inside girls have brains very similar to boys. I keep having to remind myself that they want it as bad as I do. Sometimes it doesn't seem logical.
Another problem is that men go out by themselves to clubs all the time, because they are into the music and the vibe of the place. Women, on the other hand, are not as instinctively drawn to underground clubs unless they come escorted. So finding a girl as good as Nina alone at the Rex was enough of a challenge, but then actually getting up the nerve to go up and talk to her in whatever language she spoke was next to impossible.
And just forget it if she was French. Not in the Rex. The typical reaction to expect after addressing a Parisian girl in public whom you don't know is: "Why are you talking to me and how soon can you stop?"
But I needed a miracle and I found one. An African princess. Her native language was French. It was too perfect. And she was something Nina could never be, black. Her name was Martika. She was from Nigeria. Her father owned a cocoa plantation. Or so she said. And Martika had a body that would make even Gandhi get busy. Her ass was absolutely mythical and she wasted no time rubbing it against me on the dance floor.
I returned to her table after we danced. Martika was sitting with a few random girls. They were all very attractive, and I kept the small talk to a minimum. I couldn't be distracted from my grace-saving new friend. I had to study her every move for signs of chinks in her armor. I asked Martika in French if she wanted a drink. She asked me in English if I wanted some coke. I said yes to be polite and she held a little spoon under my nose.
I told her I liked her dress. She asked me in French where I was from. I said California. She asked me where, I said Los Angeles. So far so good.
Martika told me she wanted to move to Los Angeles and become an actress. Every girl you meet in Europe says this. It is a confession European girls feel they must make to all Americans. I told her it is a sign of weakness to want to be an actress. She agreed with me and laughed but lamented that she still wanted to be one anyway.
I told her she would probably enjoy Los Angeles, but that I was tired of it and moved to Paris for a few years to work on a novel. Martika told me Paris was boring her and that she too needed a change. I offered her the mythical keys to my mythical apartment if she ever wanted to go there. She smiled and told me Los Angeles was sexier than Monaco. I told her she was sexier than Monaco or Los Angeles and we both laughed. But why all this talk about Monaco?
"When you were a girl, what did you want to be?" I asked her.
"I wanted to be a model." She assured me.
"But you are a model," I reassured her.
"Yes so now I want to be an actress," she said.
I told her anything was possible because Hollywood was into youth and beauty and that is perhaps the only positive thing to say about it.
The strange thing is, I knew instinctively that she was a model. Without even asking. True the whole Rex Club was full of models, but hadn't I seen this lovely in one of Nina's women's magazines and taken notice? I couldn't believe she had come here unescorted by a male. So she was beautiful and black and cool. A triple play.
Martika smiled and I promised her I would tell her more about LA when I got back with her drink. She told me she always wanted to go to America but being black she was afraid to go alone. That comment alone made me forget all about my Nina. What honesty. Nina who?
I asked her what she wanted to drink "Mais qu'est-ce que tu veux boire, cherie?"
"Un verre de vin rouge"
"Cumming right up!"
When I returned to the table with two glasses of red wine we started talking all the bullshit that people talk about when they first meet each other. Why do we even pretend to care? Or do we care? Isn't that the ironic part? That we pretend not to care but we really do care. Meeting a sexy girl is like licking the ear of infinity. Just when I felt things were starting to go well, not well enough to score anyway, but well enough to make Nina jealous of her new rival, I realized that Nina had not even noticed us yet. She was still across the club talking to the same guy; the prick from Monaco or wherever, who was no doubt talking about his yacht and his manservants.
Eventually Jasper came over, introduced himself, and invited us downstairs for a line. He said the ecstasy I gave him wasn't working too well. I told him it was working, but he was just a Jew killing nazi drug czar and that God was punishing him for being German by rendering him eternally sober. He laughed for about a minute. Germans are so easy to entertain. I invited Martika along and her beautiful black body followed closely behind me. I gasped as her hand slipped inside my hand. I considered grabbing her and running back to my flat at Git le Coeur. My dick stood at attention in my tight Dolce & Gabana jeans and I had to talk it down.
"Not now, boy, don't give yourself away so easily. Du calme. Du calme."
When we got the basement I looked across the room and saw Nina's pink laced underwear and blond ponytail locks over the side of the table snorting up lines of cocaine. She is such a girl, I thought. I love her too much. I would in fact kill for her. She is my girl, after all. Now and forever, world without end.
And then it hit me. Nothing could change that. Not even the prick standing next to her with that big smile on his face. The prick who was probably from Monaco with a yacht and a big house with manservants who had never and would never work a day in his life. He stood there... fantasizing about putting his knob up Nina's nice pink pussy. I said these words over and over again in my mind
"That prick wants to fuck my Nina and she probably wants to fuck him too."
Pain and shame so red it burned in my heart like a flame. But I didn't let it show, and the two of them stood there together chatting and smiling and the Monaco prick looked at me and goes to shake my hand and asks me my name. I do not extend my hand. And then he looks at Martika and frowns and drops his hand himself.
Man to man we stare. In hate.
Strangely Martika breaks the silence.
"Jean-Marie" she says in French. "What the fuck are you doing in the basement with this blonde whore?"
"Moi?" said Jean. "You are the fucking whore. And who is this boy here?"
"He is an American. He lives in Hollywood and is now my new lover."
Nina looks at me in bewilderment. I try my best not to smile, but fail. Then I make my best eurotrash smug face. Jean-Marie is not impressed. He snorts and makes an indescribably smug facial gesture- one that revealed his true nature as one of the masterful aristocratic eurotrash elite. For that moment and that moment only I believed in the class system.
Finally I could not stand it any more. I let forth a burst of laughter and smiled at Jean-Marie. Jean-Marie smiled at Martika and she smiled at Nina and we all laughed at each other. Marianne laughed too. Only Jasper was unaware of what was going on, as he was too busy huffing up his lines.
Jean-Marie was the second to speak. "Ha ha, it's all very funny. I see you are a couple. It's funny that you picked up my half and I picked up your half. I am not so mad now. I also did not know you lived in Hollywood. Very nice girlfriend you have. She told me all about you. I am impressed. You have good taste indeed. You must come visit me in Monaco sometime, and we can go on a helicopter ride to my vineyard in Italy."
Monaco? I thought. But yes of course. Who could be jealous of some guy from Monaco? He was probably a puff deep down inside anyway. He just needed women like Martika and Nina around to feel better about his own queerness. I decided to be nice to this motherfucker. I was not homophobic anyway. And I thought knowing him might even be good for business.
Nina certainly seemed to like him. I definitely liked Martika. And that was final moment of clarity. The trade off. When you let some guy fuck your girl and you fuck his girl then its all good if they are both in the same class of looks. I loved Nina to death but being raised by racists in xenophobic Indiana the idea of fucking a real African princess overpowered my mind. I wanted her. And so it was set. Almost at once everyone knew what was up. Even Jasper.
Jasper and Marianne went back upstairs to dance and then Jean-Marie and Martika got to snorting up their lines. My turn was next. Jean-Marie's cocaine was uncut. Even though I had probably already done a gram that night, it felt like the first line again. His shit was much better than even my Amsterdam connection.
When everyone was high we decided to go dance. Farnier was getting deep into his set and people were going crazy. One could easily tell a new era had awaken. These were the days of acid house. A truce in all human conflict was called. The Pax Americana had ended and the Pax Acidus had been realized. It was all so new that no one knew how to handle it. It was a symptom of post 80's Reaganism when people rediscovered a hatred for their money and all the things it could not buy like a good time with your best mates.
We danced for hours under the disco ball and made a few more trips to the basement. 5 a.m. came and Farnier quit the deejay booth and sent one of his underlings to play some chill out music. We retired to the table and Jasper bought us a round of drinks that came to nearly 300 francs. It was expensive to get drunk in the Rex but we were all so rich it might as well have been free. Even Jasper. His grandfather was one of the major shareholders of Siemens, a large and strangely named European conglomerate. His trust fund alone paid out over 100,000 marks per month.
We left when the club closed at 6:30 a.m. and went to Jasper and Marianne's apartment for an afterparty. A few clubbers came as well. Marianne announced in our cab that she and Jasper were going to do a live sex act in the living room and anyone who wanted to join was welcome. Jasper and Marianne were already married and totally in love, but this didn't mean they didn't want to fuck in front of us and play around. They had been to Ibiza clubs too many times to have a fear of public sex.
I can't properly describe the feeling of being sexy and high and about to get laid with an African princess. It probably means nothing to those who have expected such things from birth. But I felt I was cheating destiny. From reading my Nietzsche I knew destiny was just what you made it. And I wanted to make my destiny in Paris, a city 90 miles past heaven. I was in the best club on the best night with the best people in the world with the best coke up my nose. I was truly happy and content with myself. I no longer even felt human jealousy. I was happy and secure for the first time in my life.
Japser & Marianne had a large apartment in the 16th arrondissement with an especially spacious salon and a large screen tv, huge stereo, and art deco style furniture. Being German and obsessively clean, they went to the shower together, sprinkled off the sweat, and returned naked to the living room. It was nice to finally see Marianne's tits and her beautiful beaver glistening in the morning sunlight through the window. It worked for me anyway.
Jasper looked ridiculously German like he always did with his uncut sausage weiner waving around and bouncing off his pale chest. Marianne knelt in front of him and took his whole member in his mouth and started sucking while rubbing his balls. After several minutes of this he sat back on the couch and grabbed Marianne and placed her in his lap she guided herself on to his boner where she began bouncing up and down riding his cock like she was a six year old on a playground ride. Watching her tits bounce up and down transported me to my own special place. I thought of what it must be like to do her like that in front of everybody. She moaned so exquisitely. I thought for a moment she was the sexiest girl in the room because she looked so natural in the act fucking.
At that time the rest of the party arrived, two young gay boys and a good-looking couple from Italy who saw what was going on and immediately turned around and left. Luckily they dropped their croissants before leaving and the gay boys picked them up, put them on a platter, stripped naked, and served them to the guests before engaging in 69 on the living room floor.
After a few minutes Jasper turned Marianne on her stomach and started to fuck her from behind. Now she was moaning and making high pitched orgasm sounds like a turbine winding down. About this time Martika grabbed Jean-Marie by the cock and took him out standing tall. Another uncut cock. Instead of me thinking these people were au natural uncut freaks, suddenly I would be the strange one for being circumcised. Oh well.
Jean-Marie started to gasp with laughter when he noticed the gay boys in 69 and copied the position with Martika for a few minutes before switching to the standard missionary style fucking position. It was the first time I saw a black woman naked in the flesh. I felt foolish for thinking this. I was a deep down inside a little racist like everyone else. I hated this because I knew she was no different from any other girl, in fact a lot better than almost anyone. But she was not human, she just couldn't be. She was just a sex beast and I could not even fathom fucking her because it would not be like any experience I had had before. That dark skin with its own distinct musky smell. It would be like fucking a gazelle. I couldn't wait to get started with her.
Meanwhile Marianne had come for the fourth time and Jasper was still plowing away. I imagine all the cocaine and pills made it hard for him to come because he took his dick out and plunged it into Marianne's hot ass and started making noises that I didn't know were possible. He was riding her like a German cowboy. He even screamed "Yippee ki yi ya muthafuckah!"
Meanwhile Nina and I munched away at our croissants and tried not to stare too hard. I looked at her and she looked at me with a big smile. Then she pulled me out of my pants and started jacking me off until I overcame my initial shyness at being exposed in public. I got hard and she placed me lovingly in my mouth and sucked me good while she massaged my dance tired buttocks.
I don't know how to describe this action but I felt like I was in a very good porno. It was an orgy. Everywhere I looked my friends of mine were fucking their girls. The gay boys looked more interested in the cocaine than all the nakedness and got to work getting high.
Nina stripped me of my clothes and I her. Then she started getting aggressive like she was trying to get me off quickly and it was making me horny as fuck. I picked her up and laid her on the coffee able and stuck myself inside her, pushing the German clubbing and automobile magazines off the table and onto the carpeted floor of the living room.
I felt so primal and relaxed as I fucked my nubile Nina I hardly even noticed Marianne's legs straddling me from behind and holding a spoon under my nose.
"Not until you come, Marco! Not until you cum!" Marianne urged. The sound of her voice addressing me while I was fucking Nina made me cum and I felt her tits brush against my shoulder as I snorted up the contents of the spoon and extended my high out past the moon into the stars until I could see Alpha Centari burning as bright as the sun. So free and animalistic. At one with the universe. Heaven must be like this all the time, I remember thinking.
When all of us had gotten off there was a round of drinks. No one bothered to clean up the cum or get dressed. Finally Jasper passed around a few hand towels. Marianne put Primal Scream's Screamadelica on the stereo and we danced naked all the way through it. A few more grams of cocaine were laid out on the table for whoever wanted to snort them. And we all did of course; so it only lasted another two hours. It was 9 a.m. by now and we had some more screwdrivers and croissants to give us sustenance for another round of fucking. I kept thinking about Nina and Jean together. I still couldn't bear it, but I knew to win this battle would mean losing the war.
My consolation prize of course would be getting to fuck Martika so I took another line and grabbed her and pulled her into the shower to rinse the cum out of her before I went down on her. I wasn't going to wait for them to start without me, so I decided to take the initiative and set the pace. We slipped quickly into 69 position. She tasted not like human but like grenadine, mainly because she poured the syrup into herself from a bottle. It made everything more pleasant because I have a notorious sweet tooth.
Suddenly Marianne enters the room. I think there is trouble in paradise but it is not trouble it is just more unbelievable fun. Marianne starts to eat Martika's pussy while Martika continues to suck my dick. After a while I cannot stand the thought of not being inside a pussy and I mount Marianne's ass and try to fuck her from behind. But Martika is mad and calls foul. I pull out and tell her there is plenty of dick to go around and she grabs me as I slip on top of her chocolate colored breasts and she greedily shoves me inside her. Her chocolate animal cunt grips my alabaster penis like a vice. The drugs make me another being. I suddenly realize that my last line was K and not cocaine. Now I am a satyr fucking two female gazelles. It has nothing to do with humanity anymore. It's all about mythical creatures and bestiality and it feels so fucking good I don't ever want to stop.
I wonder if the girls are feeling the vibe like me.
"Don't ever stop fucking me!" Martika yells.
I suppose so.
I hadn't planned on it, but soon I feel Marianne on my back playing with my ass. Then she tries to lick our conjoined genitals while we fuck. It feels kind of nice but she is also getting in the way. She is rubbing her pussy on my butt and it's wetter than a water park slide. After she gets hot, Marianne backs off and begins to lick my ass and then my asshole. She sticks her tongue inside and I almost cum immediately. I relax my fucking motion while Marianne continues to probe. She is a dirty and horny little German and now I want to fuck her even more than Martika, which is theoretically impossible because I want to fuck Martika so bad I can't stand it. But Marianne is such a naughty nazi princess that she is not going to let me fuck her she is going to fuck me.
Marianne leaves the bed and comes back with a strap-on dildo. As I was fucking Martika missionary style, Marianne lubes up the dildo and then plunges it into my asshole. I don't have the will to resist. I have fucked girls up the ass before but never been the recipient. It hurts like hell and I feel as if I've been stuck with a knife. But it also feels good and with the numbness from the cocaine and alcohol I start to enjoy the sensation immensely. In fact I shoot of the biggest orgasm of my life and am still hard and fucking away.
Marianne is not through shocking me with her dirty little mind and pulls me out of Martika and cleans the fuck slime off my dick and balls with her mouth and jacks me off with one hand while eating out Martika with her long tongue. When I am hard enough again she guides me to her own ass and I enter her. Martika is now the odd person out and grabs the strap on. She takes Marianne from the front. The three of us rock back and forth to two or three more orgasms apiece. I pass out from the pleasure.
I awoke around 3 p.m. the next day, laying naked beside Nina. My private parts felt like casualties of some sexual revolutionary war. All my squishy bits were red, raw, and cracked. No more sex for a few days, I think. It would hurt too much. No shitting either, I guess. Suddenly I realize what girls must feel like after being fucked up the ass. But I think you could get used to it. I know I did. As long as it was just a girl with a dildo and not a real one.
I gazed at Nina and still felt the same way about her. She was just the same horny girl as before and I still loved her and respected her. Who cares if she had two dicks inside her at the same time? If I wanted to have a lame girlfriend there was always Indiana to go back home too.
What I wanted was Nina, a sexy girlfriend who gets me two pretty pussies to play with. And if in return she wants to be a cock sandwich amongst mates then so be it. I felt my experience had actually been an awakening of sort. A harsh introduction to my female side. Something people like Ginsberg and Orlevsky did every night in New York and Paris. It was nothing sacred. It was just sex. Sexual love. And it felt damn good.
I pulled on some boxers and a t-shirt and walked out to the kitchen. The gay boys were awake laughing and drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes. Jean-Marie and Jasper sat and talked of surfing in Corsica. These times can't last forever, I remember thinking as I poured myself some orange juice from the refrigerator. We can only get older, uglier, and poorer was the general theme of my thoughts.
I took a sip from my orange juice and I noticed that someone had poured vodka directly into the container. Convenient. I thought they ought to sell it like that in the grocery store. I told everyone and they all laughed. I finished the glass and poured myself another. Jean-Marie and Martika were bickering about something, and so I went over to Nina in bed and kissed her and took a 200 franc note out of her purse so I could start snorting up some lines because the coffee wasn't working well enough.
I noticed the argument between Martika and Jean-Marie was getting louder and more heated. I started to get paranoid about what was being said. But the argument was not about me. It was about what color curtains they wanted to buy for their as yet theoretical new house in Los Angeles. I rolled a cigarette and popped a few of Jean-Marie's prescription painkillers and tried to relax. As the painkillers took effect I was subject to the occasional smile from Martika and Jean and a few embarrassing questions about my ass.
The two gay boys, Jean-Marie, and Jasper all grabbed their own assess in remembrance as well, which made me wonder what really went on in that other room. Generally, now that we had all known each other carnally, we seemed as close as people could get. I fried up some eggs and ham knowing that it would rouse Nina from her slumbers and when the smell wafted to her nose she got up and walked into the kitchen in bunny pajamas she borrowed from Marianne.
Marianne appeared minutes later and being the queen of the household, wore nothing but a t-shirt. And she marched right to the stereo. When she bent over to insert the new James disc, I caught a glimpse of that ass that I had recently fucked, so natural and so German and so right.
After dancing a few minutes Marianne turned down the radio for a second and announced that her neighbors were out of town, and that there was going to be a celebration of life that would last all weekend. Oh my God! I contemplated 72 more hours of this lifestyle. It seemed possible and yet completely so impossible. It was contrary to my normal preference for Fridays, which was staying in bed with Nina and ordering a pizza and watching movies.
The weekend party idea seemed unlikely but nobody objected. We had in fact slept five hours or so. And with a few drinks in us the rest of the day would soon be nothing but a fond memory. That night we ended up hitting a new club opening in Pigalle before meeting up at a rave and then back to Marianne's place with some new friends for another orgy.
When we awoke the next afternoon, Jean-Marie broke out the biggest bag of cocaine I had ever seen. He said it was a kilo. I believed him. He was the richest kid I ever met. While in Paris, he lived at his parents' house, but he had use of over 10 homes around the world. In his Parisian chateau in the 7th arrondissement he even had a live-in cook and a maid. Proper manservants! Jean and Jasper and I became great friends over the years, spending perhaps one or two nights per week together in pubs or clubs.
Those guys showed me the haute culture side of things, while I introduced him to the seedier side of Paris. Jean-Marie even gave us keys to his little getaway house in Nice and said Nina and I could stay there whenever we wanted to get away from Paris, which for reasons that should already be obvious, wasn't really too often.
But the thing that really connected and bonded us eternally was that first night of fucking I have just described. It made me believe in God and miracles. And it solidified my already gelling opinion that the Rex Club is the sex club.