First Sentence

"Yes, life's gone right through me, I didn't dream these thousands of men in my bed, my mouth, didn't invent their sperm all over me, in my face, my eyes, I've seen it all and still do every day, or almost, tips of men, only their cocks, tip ends of cocks turned on by I don't know what, since it isn't me they're getting hard for, never has been, it's my whoredom, the fact that I'm there for that, to suck them over and over, gulping down these cocks one after another as if I were going to empty them once and for all, finally get what they have to say out of them, but anyway, I'm nothing when it comes to all this gushing out, it could just as well be somebody else, not even another whore but some doll made of air, a piece of some spun-sugar image, a mouth positioned at a leaking point that opens as they come from the idea that they have what it takes to make you come, as they get it on in the sheets, causing a face, hard nipples, a wet, quivering slit to materialize, as they try to believe that these bits of women were made for them and that they're the only ones who know how to get them off, the only"