"You really have to see men from above. I put out the light and went to the window; they never suspected for a moment you could watch them from up there. They’re careful of their fronts, sometimes of their backs, but their whole effect is calculated for spectators of about five feet eight. Who ever thought about the shape or a derby hat seen from the seventh floor? They neglect protecting their heads and shoulders with bright colors and garish clothes, they don't know how to fight this great enemy of Humanity, the downward perspective. I leaned on the window sill and began to laugh; where was this wonderful upright stance they're so proud of; they were crushed against the sidewalk and two long legs jumped out from under their shoulders."
...
One night I got the idea of shooting people. It was a Saturday evening, I had gone out to pick up Lea, a blonde who works out in front of a hotel on the Rue Montparnasse. I never had intercourse with a woman: I would have felt robbed. You get on top of them, of course, but they eat you up with their big hairy mouth and, from what I hear, they're the ones - by a long shot - who gain on the deal. I don't ask anybody for anything, but I don't give anything, either. Or else I'd have to have a cold, pious woman who would give in to me with disgust. The first Saturday of every month I went to one of the rooms in the Hotel Duquesne with Lea. She undressed and I watched her without touching her. Sometimes I went off in my pants all by myself, other times I had time to get home and finish it. That night I didn't find her. I waited for a little while and, as I didn't see her coming, I supposed she had a cold. It was the beginning of January and it was very cold. I was desolated: I'm the imaginative kind and I had pictured to myself all the pleasure I would have gotten from the evening. On the Rue Odessa there was a brunette I had often noticed, a little ripe but firm and plump: I don't exactly despise ripe women: when they're undressed they look more naked than the others. But she didn't know anything of my wants and I was a little scared to ask her right off the bat. And then I don't care too much for new acquaintances: these women can be hiding some thug behind a door, and after, the man suddenly jumps out and takes your money. You're lucky if you get off without a beating. Still, that evening I had nerve, I decided to go back to my place, pick up the revolver and try my luck.
So when I went up to this woman, fifteen minutes later, my gun was in my pocket and I wasn't afraid of anything. Looking at her closely, she seemed rather miserable. She looked like my neighbor across the way, the wife of the police sergeant, and I was very pleased because I'd been wanting to see her naked for a long time. She dressed with the window open when the sergeant wasn't here, and I often stayed behind my curtain to catch a glimpse of her. But she always dressed in the back of the room.
There was only one free room in the Hotel Stella, on the fifth floor. We went up. The woman was fairly heavy and stopped to catch her breath after each step. I felt good: I have a wiry body, in spite of my belly, and it takes more than five floors to wind me. On the fifth floor landing, she stopped and put her right hand to her heart and breathed heavily. She had the key to the room in her left hand.
"It's a long way up," she said, trying to smile at me. Without answering, I took the key from her and opened the door. I held my revolver in my left hand, pointing straight ahead through the pocket, and I didn't let go of it until I switched the light on. The room was empty, They had a little square of green soap on the washbasin, for a one-shot. I smiled: I don't have much to do with bidets and little squares of soap. The woman was still breathing heavily behind me and that excited me. I turned; she put out her lips towards me. I pushed her away.
"Undress," I told her.
There was an upholstered armchair; I sat down and made myself comfortable. It's at times like this I wish I smoked. The woman took off her dress and stopped, looking at me distrustfully.
"What's your name?" I asked, leaning back.
"Renee."
"All right, Renee, hurry up. I'm waiting."
"You aren't going to undress?"
"Go on," I said, "don't worry about me."
She dropped her panties, then picked them up and put them carefully on top of her dress along with her brassiere.
"So you're a little lazybones, honey?" she asked me. "You want your little girl to do all the work?"
At the same time she took a step towards me, and, leaning her hands on the arm of the chair, tried heavily to kneel between my legs, I got up brusquely.
"None of that," I told her.
She looked at me with surprise.
"Well, what do you want me to do?"
"Nothing. Just walk. Walk around. I don't want any more from you."
She began to walk back and forth awkwardly. Nothing annoys women more than walking when they're naked. They don't have the habit of putting their heels down flat. The whore arched her back and let her arms hang. I was in heaven: there I was, calmly sitting in an armchair, dressed up to my neck, I had even kept my gloves on and this ripe woman had stripped herself naked at my command and was turning back and forth in front of me. She turned her head towards me, and, for appearance, smiled coquettishly.
"You think I'm pretty? You're getting an eyeful?"
"Don't worry about that."
"Say," she asked with a sudden indignation, "do you tink you're going to make me walk up and down like this very long?"
"Sit down"
She sat on the bed and we watched each other in silence. She had gooseflesh. I could hear the ticking of an alarm clock from the other side of the wall. Suddenly I told her:
"Spread your legs."
She hesitated a fraction of a second then obeyed. I looked between her legs and turned up my nose. Then I began to laugh so hard that tears came to my eyes. I said, simply, "Look at that!"
And I started laughing again.
She looked at me, stupefied, then blushed violently and clapped her legs shut.
"Bastard," she said between her teeth.
But I laughed louder, then she jumped up and took her brassiere from the chair.
"Hey!" I said, "it isn't over. I'm going to give you fifty francs after a while, but I want my money's worth."
She picked up her panties nervously.
"I've had enough, get it? I don't know what you want. And if you had me come up here to make a fool out of me..."
Then I took out my revolver and showed it to her. She looked at me seriously and dropped the panties without a word.
"Walk," I told her, "walk around."
She walked around for another five minutes. Then I gave her my cane and made her do exercises. When I felt my drawers were wet I got up and gave her a fifty-franc note. She took it.
"So long." I added . "I don't think I tired you out very much for the money."
I went out; I left her naked in the middle of the room, the brassiere in one hand and the fifty-franc note in the other. I didn’t regret the money I spent; I had dumbfounded her and it isn’t easy to surprise a whore. Going down the stairs I thought. ‘That’s what I want. To surprise them all.’ I was happy as a child. I had brought along the green soap and after I reached home I rubbed it under the hot water for a long time until there was nothing left of it but a thin film between my fingers and it looked like a mint candy someone had sucked on for a long time.â€
Both selections are from: Jean-Paul Sartre - Erostratus
