"The Mouths: Jean Pierre" by Rodrigo M. Malmsten

I was in Paris that summer rehearsing an experimental play with French actors, a text I had written myself, which I wanted to stage at the Nesle theatre in the Saint Germain de Prés district. We were at the beginning of January, I was opening in March, I had little time, getting actors in Paris in the summer is very complicated.

I left the theatre, had a coffee, got up and went on foot to Le Pont des Arts, crossed over, walked through the Bastille, then went straight to Menilmontant, I was going to meet a young boy, a native of Marseilles, he owned a rehearsal room, where I would also find the actors to perform my play.
I met Benoît, the owner of the theatre, and we talked about the possibility of working together in the future.

I was living at the time in the Montmartre district, very close to the house of a great friend, an artist.
Montmartre is one of the most characteristic and beautiful districts of the city of Paris. It covers two very different areas; in the vicinity of the Place Pigalle, neon lights reign announcing an infinite number of bars, sex shops, cafés and some cabarets among which the famous Moulin Rouge stands out, the latter always being full of tourists.
By climbing 197 steps, or using the funicular, you can reach the beautiful bohemian Montmartre on the Place du Tertre, located at the top of the hill. That's where I lived.
It is one of the most pleasant and beautiful areas of the neighborhood, one can have dinner on a terrace, and enjoy the works of art of the artists, which are everywhere.

The small streets are many, they cross each other, the steep streets of the neighborhood lead to the Basilica of the Sacred Heart ( Sacre c?ur ), a splendid temple from which you get extraordinary views of the city.
The stairs under the basilica are usually full of tourists and Parisians, who go for a walk enjoying the climate, the bohemian atmosphere and the beauty of the neighborhood.

I used to have a drink at the Café Montmartre in the afternoon. Its facade is covered with wood, very elegant, bohemian, with its lanterns, and its tables on the terrace, with its wicker chairs, on the terrace.
I was sitting there, and I saw a young man singing a song by Edith Piaf.
The young man sings very well, he must have been about 32 years old.
He finishes singing, I applaud, I stand up, I approach him.

-Hello, how are you?-
-Very well and you?
-Would you like a drink?
- Yes, thank you.

His name was Jean-Pierre, he was born in Paris, he was an actor, he was only 32 years old, he lived with other friends, in a small apartment in the Bastille district.
We sat down.

I stretch out my hand, and I say to him.
-Alfonso. I'm happy to answer.
-Jean-Pierre. How do you do?

We were talking, we asked for wine, a cheese board, to accompany the afternoon, after all we were making the aperitif.
The hours passed, drinking, reading poems, watching the sunset, we were there until late at night.
Jean-Pierre, is very nice, funny, his eyes are big, greenish, his hair is light brown, long, his complexion is very white, his mouth is well formed, voluptuous. He was an advanced student of theatre, had a good presence, sang well, spoke eloquently in public.

I decided to invite him to my house, my intention was to show him the play, which I wanted to stage in Paris, and that to do it, I was missing 3 actors.
Jean-Pierre accepted. We arrived, climbed four flights of stairs, and went in.
The dome we see from outside my building is where I live. My apartment is in a dome, it's wide, it has windows on all sides, it's in a corner. It's very bright, from one of the windows, you can see, the sacre c?ur and the Tour Eiffel.
We arrive, I pour you a glass of wine, I give you your glass, I put Nina Simone. I sit down, and we start a dialogue.
I watch him, he is very sensual, nice. I feel a bit intimidated, I let him talk.
We read the synopsis of the play, we talk about his character, the weather, we talk about the opening dates. And the possibility of working together.
I give him the play, translated into French, he takes it in his right hand...

Our fingers brush against each other, and we watch our hands approach, caress each other, walk around, discover each other.
Then we slowly approach each other, until our mouths are facing each other, just a few inches apart, I discover his hand again, I hold on to it, and we kiss each other subtly, gently, slowly and delicately.

I feel her tongue, which travels across the night horizon towards mine. I embrace him, he embraces me, we kiss passionately, we throw ourselves on the couch, we undress as we can. I touch him, he touches me, I give him some kisses, while I masturbate him, I brush his buttocks with my hands, I dilate him, I kiss him in the center of his lips, I kiss his eyes, while I touch him.


I discover his skin, I caress it, I kiss him again. His skin is smooth as velvet, his hair is soft, smells like lavender, his ass is beautiful, round, strong, I force him to give me oral sex. I smell him, I feel him, I turn him over, I slap him on his buttocks, between his buttocks, I put him on all fours, I practice a long black kiss. He moans, he enjoys, he vibrates, he throbs. He goes crazy.
Now, he is very open, to the mystery of pleasure, I caress him with the head of my virile member, his buttocks.

...I take him by the waist, I start to penetrate him, he screams, cries, enjoys, I take him slowly, hard, opening his buttocks, so that my pelvis, is closer and closer to mine. And my penis is well inside, penetrating it.
I fuck him, I have him, he's mine, he moves, he moves his body against mine, I feel his ass that makes him enter, more and more my dick inside his body, it continues, it moves, I shiver, I vibrate, until I finish, on his buttocks. He masturbates, sitting in front of me. I kiss him, I kiss him with fury, with passion, with fire,
while two fingers of my right hand are inside Jean-Pierre, to make him enjoy, while I, say some indecent words to him... My tongue runs along his lips, he ejaculates, shouting of pleasure, freedom and abandonment.

We take a deep breath, drink some wine.

Then we kissed, we stayed in bed, I lit a joint, we both smoked, until we fell asleep, hugging each other, deeply.

Jean-Pierre and I traveled in the time of love, which travels in another time, where the mouths meet, lost and unavoidable. To erase cliffs, to inhabit the nights, to be flooded with solitude, or to fall in love, under the light of the moons of Montmartre, which penetrate inexorably through the windows of that blue painted dome.