Ma Petit – Mon Choux
A photo-novel.
“Ma Petit” I shouted as I saw her coming towards me on the platform. “Mon Choux” she shouted back. Seconds later our tongues touched.
“You can buy dogs in SAMARETINE as well” she says, looking at the gorilla above the entrance. We went inside, bought two croissants and fed each other with soft doughy bits standing in front of a mirror.
We went up the escalators in the Centre Pompidou. Suddenly she grabbed my dick and said: “That feels so good”. Next to us the houses vanish into the ground.
From above we looked into the hall on the third floor. She leaned against me and said: “You have to hold me - it’s like at the seaside here”. I slid my hands under her armpits and cupped her breasts.
In the Institute du Monde Arab library I called her to look at the computer screen where I pointed out “Le Palmerei de Figuig 3151 (610) BON”. She read it while she slowly sat down on my thighs.
From a bridge above the Seine I directed my camera on a tourist boat. “Taking a photograph is shooting” she said and bit the nape of my neck. I shot twice.
“Regardez” she cried in the Jardin de Plantes, with her body pressed against the fence, while she pointed at a sprawling plant. I leaned forward and banged my teeth against the iron.
It was muggy and storm clouds were reflected by the dome of the Cineplex of LA VILETTE. “Et apres?” she asked me with a smile before we entered and watched EN DIRECT DEL ESPACE.
