Chapter 13 - Abused by a carnival man
Several months had passed and the winter was in no way less eventful than my "summer of love" had been - the word love, of course, fitting only loosely in this case. When summer turns into autumn in Paris, there are a few weeks of pleasant weather before the evenings become shorter and the temperature begins to drop. Winter can be cold and at times make the city quite unwelcoming -- at least for tourists visiting who want to walk the cobbled alleyways of Paris' Marais or Montmartre districts. My own focus has shifted away from these quintessentially Parisian, yet -- for me -- boringly bourgeois areas, and I had begun to appreciate the city for its diverse mix of communities and the burgeoning suburbs, which seemed to produce a healthy stream of men of all backgrounds, whose desires awaited satisfaction.
The character of the woods had also transformed with the change of season; summer saw impressive crowds of men gather in large groups in the undergrowth of the trees carrying out their mating rituals; looking for the perfect specimen they could either drag of to a distant corner or even have sex right in front of the crowd -- no doubt fulfilling for many of them their fetish for exhibitionism. The winter brought a much less intense scene, but one which I was personally more at ease with. Of course, the men came whatever the weather -- even at times when I wasn't sure if I would go due to rain or frost, there would still be men there. The crowds from summer were gone though. Occasionally, I might pass a small gathering of three or four men surrounding a cocksucker on all sides, but more usually I would come across men alone.
Although it might seem that this could be a hindrance to a productive night -- it often felt to me that the opposite were true. I suppose that, in a way, fewer crowds meant less competition. I was prone to avoid the crowds, even in the summer when I generally found lots of men equalled too much standing around and not very much sex. As I traipsed the well-worn, muddy paths in the cold of the winter, I discovered the men that I passed were more willing to slow down, took the time to assess the person crossing their path and finally, more often engaged in a short conversation to see if a match could be found.
There were certainly fewer 'regulars', and I found myself visiting the woods at more irregular intervals too so that I rarely saw the same guy more than once. Over the months, my tastes had begun to be ever more refined to a 'type'. I had long lost count or wouldn't even have been able to guess with any reasonable confidence the number of men I had sucked off over the past several months since my arrival in Paris. Equally I wouldn't have been able to say with any accuracy how many men had mounted me, and bred me in the forest at that time.
This meant that to some degree I was losing interest in what I would now consider a 'vanilla' guy. My walks and encounters would frequently present me with an opportunity to hook up, if I wanted to, but on sliding my hand down the trousers and into the pants of my latest potential suitor the resounding disappointment of feeling an average -- or even, god forbid, small -- penis was enough to turn me off the idea immediately. I now only hooked up with the well-hung or very well-hung, unless I was feeling particularly in need of being bred that evening. It had been a gradual progression and only a few months before it would have been embarrassing and more than a little awkward for me to admit such a thing, yet now -- more and more -- I was growing confident and forward in my own desires
Only sucking cock had gradually become somewhat mundane and no longer satisfied my desire to be a total cumwhore. Little by little, I had moved with greater frequency to seeking out men who wanted to fuck ass. I now usually went to the woods with one thing on my mind; getting my hole bred. I was so fixated on it, that some nights I would walk for hours along the same worn paths, staying out much later and longer than reasonable, knowing that I would be exhausted at work the following day, because I wouldn't feel fulfilled unless I left with a cumload in my hole. Often, on a good night, I would leave for home with more than one man's viscous juices buried deep inside my anus. The more that I did this, the more that I fed into the behaviour in my mind that my destiny was to be a cumdump for the men that came to these woods with a need to unload into any willing asshole. I felt that I was fulfilling my life's meaning. One of my self-imposed rules was that if I met a black, or Arabic, man who wanted to fuck, I could not refuse. My asshole was there for the use of these men, whether I was in the mood or not.
As had been the case now for some time, I had developed a routine on the nights that I felt horny for sex. My hole had to be clean and open for business. I ate and then would get under the shower, douching my hole for at least 30 minutes, until I was sure it was absolutely spotless. I would sit and drink a beer in front of the TV contemplating the night ahead, wondering who I might meet, how many guys I would be bred by and reminding myself that I was obliged to go there that night for the use of the men who needed their weekly release. Before leaving on this particular night, I rolled a small spliff, hoping it would help me to get even more in the mood. I packed my small, over-shoulder bag with a brand-new bottle of silicone lube, and a full bottle of Jungle Juice poppers. I had my tracksuit bottoms on, and I was ready to head out the door.
As I left the apartment and pulled the door closed, I already began to feel the haziness of the spliff I had smoked several minutes before. I put in my headphones and chose some music to allow my mind to float away as I walked to the woods. Nightfall was earlier now - as early as 7pm - so I could safely go out for a few hours of cruising even if I was working the following day. This was a Sunday night and I knew the woods would be busy. As I walked, my mind wondered and I passed men walking alone on the street too. My focus was fixated on their crotches as they passed me and I tried to imagine the shape and size of their genitals - hidden away, yet so close by. I wondered too if any of the ones whose eyes caught mine, might not be coming from the woods themselves - having already been there to relieve their most carnal desires in the anonymity of the night.
