There is a lone statue in the Tuileries Garden. Well, it’s not “lone.” It stands among many others. However, it is truly the only variety of its kind in the garden. For it is bound and gagged by the cloaking of something like a canvas bag (colored in oppressive dark gray). Or what would be a canvas bag in the United States. Here in France, the material used to cover up the products of art are decidedly more gentle. As though the French understand that art has value in a way that few other places do—least of all Amérique. Sure, it’s not satin covering up the poor figure…but it ain’t crude and coarse canvas either.

Christiane was jarred by the sight of the statue the first day she noticed its “alteration.” Having come to the garden every day for the past month since she arrived, she thought perhaps it “owed” her something—i.e., consistency. But it takes fresh-off-the-boaters little time to understand that a metropolis owes them nothing other than pain, degradation and broken dreams. Even so, something about the statue being covered up—like some sort of “secret shame”—triggered her. After all, that’s how she had felt for most of her life living with her family. Everything she did was “wrong.” The way she presented herself was “wrong.” So finally one day, she opted to move away from their narrow-minded country milieu and go to a place where she might feel less wrong: Paris. Was it the freak world capital in the same way as, say, Berlin? No. But it was definitely freakier than motherfucking Labarthe-sur-Lèze.

Having secured a job as a cashier at the Carrefour Express on Rue Saint-Honoré, Christiane would often take her break in the garden, or even go there when her shift was over just to walk around and think (she was never much for sitting down—it opened the door for an unwanted stranger to talk to her; stay moving, stay safe…from unsolicited social interactions and/or male advances). The statue that ended up being bound and gagged was L’Automne by François Barois. None of the other “seasons” were covered up though, so what was the rub? It’s not as though L’Automne was too grotesque to be seen—he was the most beautiful statue out of all of them, and certainly more attractive than L’Hiver. They—whoever “they” were—could lie all day about the supposed need to allow for the “restoration” of that particular statue, but Christiane wouldn’t have bought it. Deep down, she knew that something sinister was afoot. Some odd kink that a person in charge (or with a viable loophole to feign being “in charge”) had and wanted to fulfill with L’Automne. Considering the garden fell under the jurisdiction of the Louvre, there was no doubt in Christiane’s mind that there were all manner of sexual freaks working for that institution who might want to do something untoward with L’Automne after hours, when the rest of the city wasn’t looking.

Christiane decided it was her job to look. To find out the truth about what was really going on behind closed gates when that statue was no longer bound and gagged. Or maybe the museum worker kept him bound and gagged during “the act,” for all Christiane knew. Whatever was going on, she was determined to expose it. And, talking of exposure, that’s what she discovered was happening after hiding inside the garden (wielding the interior of a bush as her camouflage until the coast was clear, which it never really was). A man emerged, as though out of thin air, fully nude. He wasn’t bad-looking either, and the “focal point” appendage was rather sizable. So what the fuck did he need to do with a statue if he wasn’t some kind of troll incapable of getting sex from a human?

She remained crouched inside of the bush trying not to move a.k.a. make rustling sounds that would spook the museum worker. Christiane had to watch whatever was about to go on, no matter how grim or horrifying. As suspected, when the museum worker removed the ties and the covering from L’Automne, the statue looked perfectly fine. Pristine even. Probably from avoiding contact with the generally foul and polluted Paris air during the day. What happened next was shocking to Christiane’s small-town sensibilities. The museum worker proceeded to mount the vague pedestal and hug the statue as he slowly caressed its back. He then looked into L’Automne’s eyes and kissed him with passionate abandon while simultaneously stroking himself. It took him no time at all to orgasm, and Christiane wondered if maybe that’s why he preferred the sexual companionship of a statue: there was no worry of a critique about endurance.

What was most remarkable about watching the whole thing was how careful the museum worker was not to get any cum on the statue itself. Christiane observed this night after night as she kept returning to the scene of the sexual deviancy. Such care and concern for ensuring the statue never bore any trace of the museum worker’s genetic code. In Christiane’s mind, that was the “hottest” thing of all to observe—such reverence for art while simultaneously desecrating it. She could no longer be sure why she still returned every night after two weeks had passed. What was she really hoping to gain? When the museum worker at last caught sight of her in the bush, she had her answer. She wanted him to know. To see that she was there. To understand that she wasn’t disgusted by what he was doing, but completely turned on.

As he approached her in a manner she initially interpreted as “angrily,” he plucked her out of the bush, causing the wetness in Christiane’s underwear to intensify. Afraid he was going to beat her up or something, Théo (that was his name, she later learned), instead started ripping her clothes off, leading them back to the statue as he placed her down on the ground and stuck his aforementioned sizable appendage inside of her.

Seeing the two go to town on each other as though he wasn’t even there, L’Automne decided he had just about enough of this bullshit. How the fuck was Théo going to use him and abuse him like this for weeks, only to turn right around and bone someone else in front of him? It was the cruelest of the cruel. So he jumped off the pedestal and walked out of the garden. Christiane and Théo didn’t even notice. All L’Automne knew was that if he wanted to be bound and gagged again, he would have to walk all the way to Le Marais.