Hervé Le Tellier - The Sextine Chapel

A few days later, Oriane notices that the chlamydiæ Dennis gave her are not ornamental plants.

Oriane and Zach. Making the most of the fog and the eight fleeting minutes of the ascent of the cabins of the Montriond-Avoriaz ski lift, Zach and Oriane have ardently unclasped their Fusalp™ ski-suits which are now dangling like banana-skins over their boots. Oriane offers her buttocks to Zach, whose hardened member penetrates her welcoming vagina. From time to time, the icy metal zip of his ski-suit touches Oriane’s skin, making her tremble. The steam they exhale frosts over the windows.

Luckily enough, Oriane thinks, she doesn’t like sodomy, otherwise she’d obviously end up getting sodomized, and how dreadful that would be.

Zach and Katia. Katia stands up and goes over to Zach, who is leaning out of a window surrounded by Virginia creeper. If it weren’t pitch-dark, they would be able to see the “Aiguille Creuse.” She lays her head on his shoulder and her hand slips down to his penis, which swells under her gentle pressure. The name of the blue pill (which, to Zach’s delighted astonishment, is performing its second miracle of the evening), is supposed to have been chosen because it begins like virility and ends like Niagara. What a strange idea, to choose the name of a waterfall to stimulate an erection.

“According to Aristotle, the penis and the heart are the two organs that set themselves in motion,” Katia whispers. “When Aristotle was young, no doubt,” Zach replies.

Katia and Vincent. Vincent is asleep. He is even snoring gently. His regular breathing raises Katia’s brown hair. Without making a sound, she gets up and looks at this tall young man, who has not made her come, and this room with its dull, dated pink walls. A comedian’s joke comes back to her: after making love, one man out of ten goes to sleep on his right side, one out of twenty on his left side, while the rest get dressed and go home. She sighs, silently puts on her clothes, and decides to do the dishes.

Two hours of cooking just for this. How much did that come to? One minute of sex per fifteen minutes of preparation. Not counting the cooking time.

Vincent and Galata. A summer storm has taken the two cyclists by surprise: dripping wet, Vincent and Galata take shelter in the nearest barn. While their clothes are laid out to dry around them, Vincent delicately slips his tongue into Galata’s tawny mane. The youthful freshness and firmness of this mature woman’s body surprise him. As Queneau said, her mantelpiece is as good as her fire.

Is cunnilingus devilishly good or divinely good? Galata plumps for the devil; Vincent does too, because of the aftertaste.

Galata and Rémy. In the intimacy of a fitting room in a Lyon department store, Galata is trying on rather a severe suit. It hugs her hips perfectly, proof that she still has the hourglass figure of her youth. She is almost naked. A twitch of the raw silk curtain reveals her long legs to Rémy. He goes inside, grabs her firm breasts and tanned hips. She kisses him, then takes hold of his penis which she guides into herself. She yells with pleasure. He comes almost at once.

Of course, this is just a waking dream sustaining Rémy’s masturbatory efforts. Because he has never dared, and never will, admit to his aunt the desire he has felt for her ever since he was twelve years old.

Rémy and Chloe. In a maintenance room, whose grubby dormer window looks out over the keep of a fairy-tale castle, Mickey has taken off his round-eared false head and has knelt down in front of Snow White. The princess has hiked her dress up and placed one leg on a bench. His face is now rummaging into Chloe’s mane, his hands squeezing her soft buttocks, and his tongue working its way in among her fine hairs, looking for her little pink clit. On the main boulevard, a band is playing the theme tune from The Aristocats .

A scarred uniformed officer enters the empty room where she is standing, naked. He walks over to her and fingers her neck — this is what Chloe has to picture to herself so as to come at last.

Chloe and Niels. On the legendary beach of Boucan Canot, on Réunion Island, the sun is at its zenith while the pheromones diffused by the apocrine glands situated under brown-haired Chloe’s armpits, allied to the euphoric effects of the sea air, are stimulating Niels’s libido. His brain then produces a reasonable dose of phenylethylamine, inciting him to stroke her tiny breasts. She at once drags him away into the Indian Ocean, where, amid the waves, she grabs his penis and masturbates him rapidly, until he ejaculates.

Before long, a huge secretion of endorphins will make Niels nod off, and so he will never forget the terrible sunburn he got on Boucan Canot.

Niels and Yolande. OK, it’s almost healed up completely, Yolande tells Niels, as she examines his scarred penis with delicate professionalism. This is all far more medical than pleasurable, but the situation remains so tense that her heavy breasts beneath her white coat are making his still-convalescent member swell. Niels is panting. Yolande grants herself a few more lingering seconds of palpation, before asking Niels to pull his pants back up. He puts himself back inside with a deal of difficulty.

His eyes come to rest on Yolande’s badge. She smilingly says, “Yes, I know, this photo’s so old that I look young in it.” He blushes.

Yolande and Johann. A fart once released can never be caught, according to the proverb of a great and wise nation. The one that has just escaped from Yolande, at the very moment when Johann was thrusting his penis deeply inside her, was thunderous. But the television is reeling out advertising slogans, while the powerful diesel engine of a garbage truck is making the windows vibrate, so this flatulence goes unnoticed. What’s more, this really isn’t the right moment to lose concentration.

What would Teishi Hiro have written, Johann wonders in petto?

A coquet fart of joy

Welcomed my entry

With giggling

Johann and Ursula. Tongue or lips / whatever is she doing / with my dick? Johann wonders, quoting our now familiar poet. The answer is “lips.” Then, once again, Ursula presses the canister of whipped cream (0 % fat content) and sprays snowy spirals around his penis. And, once more, she licks him, swallows the cream, and her tongue slithers as far as his testicles, before she cautiously sucks one of them, then the other. She’d like him to come quite fast, because this is starting to make her feel a tad nauseous.

Does Johann know that the Google search engine features 2,890,000 pages containing the word “fellatio,” including one in which it is (mistakenly) presented as a character in Shakespeare?

Ursula and Farid. On the flat 16/9 screen, a visibly excited male octopus is sliding its hectocotyle tentacle full of spermatophores into the palleal cavity of a half-consenting female. The television is opposite the double bed on which Farid, in company with Ursula, is carrying out a rather similar act, except that he has no intention at all of propagating his species. Ursula has lost her concentration, and cannot drag herself away from the commentary of the wildlife documentary.

She says to herself that, when you think about it, the design of the new pedestrian precinct is really rather nice.

Farid and Qiu. The camper has been parked on a dirt track, in the middle of some scrubland. Its bodywork seems to be shimmering in the hot air. On the lower bunk, Farid, chest against Qiu’s back, lubricates his member with a knob of pink jelly before trying to penetrate her youthful anus. Are you sure you really want this? he asks again. Panting, she nods. Her skin smells of chloride and musk. When you’re a pretty girl, Farid says to himself, then life is a bed of roses. At the same moment, Qiu is thinking the exact opposite.