When I suggested to my friend that we go to the Odessa Gardens, near Montparnasse, I knew he was as slutty as I was, and that he wasn't going to refuse. After we got home, still a little embarrassed to hand over my bank card at the ATM, we went to the locker room where I got naked, and where I only put a red towel around my waist. We had decided that we would each go our separate ways, he went swimming in the pool, but I went where I knew I would find whores as quickly as possible. And I wasn't wrong... With an unequivocal whore's look, I looked at all the guys, all of them, without exception, with a look worthy of an invitation, like a slut—which I am—in need. The floor I chose, I know it well. It's the floor for bitches who decide to give themselves to anyone. After two or three turns in complete darkness, I touch all the bodies I pass, and there are many. I move my hands down to the cock, and I squat in front of the first one I grabbed. Mouth open, hands on the back of my neck, I lick balls, I suck a cock, and that's when everything happens. Because I want to be able to tell my friend, I told myself that I would count the number of cocks that would go into my mouth and my ass. I didn't even know if they were the same ones or others. I had lost track. Despite my mouth full, I managed to make it clear, by rubbing and opening myself, that my body remained a living invitation. In total, I'll see the time when I leave, but I counted no less than 22 cocks that decide without asking sometimes, with or without a condom, in one hole or the other or both, or even while switching from one to the other, to come or not. It's bliss. If I could have, I would have asked these guys to call me on ...

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