I am Johnathan Kell
I am 44 years old, I smoke cigarettes on cigarettes. I fuck whores on whores.
I like smoking and kissing.
I’m waiting for two girls in a trendy café on the slopes.
The place is clean, like the Perrier in front of me, cold too, especially.
They are Colombian, I have to fuck one.
I’m waiting for their message.
They suck. I go from excitement to depression.
I have to eat something, I’m hungry.
I will dine alone certainly.
Isabelle must suck, shame …
For me, the first quality in a woman is its application to oral sex.
We have never been so sucked … More certainly … but bad …
Who is Kell?
Kell was born at 44, a summer. He did not know if he was still young or old. It’s an old age.
The corpse of the prince-warrior still lay at his feet. Not quite dead, no longer alive.
The fall had been long, a few steps though.
Boum Ba Da Bang ♫ Zang Tumb Tumb ♫
He had become what he loved most in the world …
A noise. Noise and silence.
Johnathan is the music, the beautiful, the one we hear sometimes, that we do not listen any more.
He has fun with ♫ Debussy ♫ and ♫ Satie ♫ . ♫ Chopin ♫ the hell out.
Wagner too, despite the ♫ Tannhäuser ♫.
But he band listening to “ ♫ Mozart ♫ “, he masturbates on Mozart, he ejaculates on Mozart.
He loves to ejaculate. He fucks a lot, a lot of whores.
He loves escorts. Besides their kindness, this is the gift he appreciates.
It’s nice to fuck a girl without requirement.
Some moan.
He does not like that much. With others he does not like it, so with the fare…
He prefers their silence. The worst is Dirty Talk …
First it makes him laugh and then he debates, he hates it.
The habit of watching porn without sound probably …
No noise …
What he likes is ejaculating.
It belongs to a small community of men who ejaculated in many pussies without ever procreating.
It measures 1.80m, 70kg, chestnut finishing its alopecia.
It is said handsome man …
He masturbates, his cock is pretty, he knows, about fifteen inches of ideal penis.
He loves to be sucked.
Kill Kell Kill
Johnathan had sucked Siegfried’s heart to put it in his balls.
It was Siegfried’s heart and head that killed him.
Johnathan would do without it.
He was dead between two women.
There was one missing at the start, certainly.
Johnathan did not care, he would live in all, as much as possible.
John thought with his cock and fucked with his brain.
His cock was pounding. The women were looking at him, he loved it.
At first, he was not too used to it now he played with ease.
A smile heard. Expected
I am orgy
Johnathan is right of course.
Socialism disgusts him, egalitarianism disgusts him.
He hates the bourgeois, he hates the poor but not as much as the middle class.
What a shit the meanness.
Kebab 4am. Fries. Sprite. I want to fuck. I’m waiting for a bus. I lose my hair. I look like Dick. I do not have Plan B or Plan Q.
Endless summer
After a shabby winter of eight years.
How many pussies before being satiated.
I am far from the account apparently.
Such pretty pussies. Never the same.
So many origins.
Nigger Paris
Paris is a slut, it’s so true. Paris is the slut.
Beautiful whore.
Whore to Negroes now.
Disgusting.
I saw her descent. Just had time to see the city of light. Child.
Already I was intrigued by women. Those of the street, passers-by but especially those who do not pass,
girls who walk a lot but do not move forward.
From point A to point A. Incredible outfits. At the corner of the
Rue Saint-Denis and the Passage Basfour,
there was a Negress with waders in black leather, a whip at his belt in a
white molding.
I was afraid of her and others.
I was hiding in the car in which I was waiting for my father.
They teased me.
I knew what they were doing.
It was forbidden in the middle of the street.
On the cobblestones, the journey.
November. 11:00. In a coffee shop. The Marsh, what a shit neighborhood.
I hate this city. I knew him before all that. It was nice, dark, a little dirty.
A Paris before Haussmann and GayMan.
Train
Beside a blond square and black fishnet stockings.
I am tired but her slender legs are terribly attractive.
I would love to cum on her legs. She must be a saleswoman …
Two days that I did not masturbate, no desire, I do not see enough asses around me …
Coffee Bellecour
The coffee is pretty, many couples, mixed-race couples, it’s fashion, it could fail anyway. I’m hungry,
they do not serve for a long time, they shit in France. I can go see a girl but I’m tired.
The guy next to me signs a life insurance, 70 years maybe. I never understood what it was for.
Maybe someday. The dark skins do not attract me decidedly, yet a few meters, I have the address of a
very pretty Swiss mulatto.
Tudesque eyes on a black ass.
A very good sucker, I fucked the gazelle alpine pastures.
All moms except my whore
The sun, the wind, asses. The week is starting well. I am free, proud, angry. Everything is fine. I’m coming back to the world. I confront him, I observe him, I judge him. I wish a war. A wicked, long. A good 14. Unable to participate, I will see them leave. Leave alone to comfort his abandoned asses.
Lipstick
I arrive in a red era. The lips are red. Again red. It is beautiful these traces on my sex.
We should force women to suck with carmins lips. Red tattoo love.
Kell honor for a woman to find these marks on a shirt collar.
Kell is proud to know that his man is still the original hunter-gatherer.
From now on, I will keep the marks of its marks. My butterfly collection.
Scarlet Rorschach.
The Shrink
She had the voice of the South. Very beautiful. She listened to me with her pretty legs.
I tried to answer him the most objectively. But my goal was still to skip it. She spoke little,
I did not speak.
Sessions in silence. She knew my intentions …
She was certainly waiting for me to get tired.
Generally it was only in the last quarter of an hour that I decided to make the session profitable.
To put me to the test, she was wearing more and more sexy outfits.
His first question was:
– Why a guy like you do porn?
– What’s a guy like me? … Egocentric … Perverse … Not a revenge, a story told, a danger to find.
The fear. I like fear. I had lost it. I found it.
The Man advances only in fear.
Camouflage
With winter, they disappeared under their warm clothes. The best seasons to contemplate are spring and fall. In summer, I hate to see them naked and sweat. We can not have everything …
La Verpillière
I like that name. No doubt the La. Her name is Lola … 20 minutes to cross the virtuality of reality. I really like his voice and his eyes. She does not like what I write, too bad. At the end of November, the sky is beautiful around 16:30, sunsets squeezed. I hope to see her before dark, in the light. She’s afraid, she told me. I answered him too. I lied. In the distance, I can see the steam of the cooling towers. It warmed down this summer, I was born at the foot of towers a few hundred meters from the 10,000 degrees … I stole a few in passing. The train is coming. She’s waiting for me in her pretty lipstick car. His are very beautiful. She is in a short skirt with pretty black boots. I think she did it on purpose, I too am well dressed. I immediately want her. I accompany her to her patients, I watch her work, she knows them intimately. A lot of kindness and sweetness in his gestures.
Many smiles.
Many of them are Muslims, I do not see any aggression or distrust of this model nurse. The kind of person who soothes.
I look at her, I do not speak much. I do not know if she knows I want her.
I think she too.
I strive to try to see her panties, her color, her shape …
I saw her. Red.
Weekend fasting
I am in the train of holy wrath to start the week.
At the end of November the summer resists.
I did not fuck this weekend, that must be it.
I’m hungry too.
Kryptonik
To be John, I need to fuck.
This absence of fucking for 10 days makes me become the other.
I have to fuck quickly, the fuck is my Fáfnir.
This absence of fucking for 10 days makes me become the other.
I have to fuck quickly, the fuck is my Fáfnir.
La Verpillière (continued)
Our messages are becoming more and more erotic. It is revealed little by little. Today, she confessed to me being a fountain woman. Obviously, my brain has exploded from this information. Obviously, I imagined gushing on my face. Wonderful challenge, finally a visual confirmation of the enjoyment woman. I do not believe in their moans anymore. On equal terms this time. My sperm against his water.
To write
I write with a feather pen. That of the goddess who offered it to me. It’s childhood and the secret. Nobody can decipher my writing, I have ink on the fingers as at 11 years old. There is a real difference between digital and handwriting. You do not write with your brain, you write with your balls. These disappeared from the kingdom of France apparently.