Chapter 4. Paris


Pardon my French, when it comes to staying naked on the balcony facing shiny tower I learnt quickly how to speak French in bed.

I know, it is difficult to believe, but French are very talented people, through the long centuries of their existence they have managed to find an exclusive recipe for love and pissing other nations off. The execution of the last one is guaranteed more or less 5 minutes after arrival to France. Short after walking out of the metropolitan, all shaking of excitement and deep fear I have finally overcome the natural feeling of hate to everything around and occasionally dropping my suitcase started to get closer to the Mexican Square.

I met him in Armani club somewhere in the darkness of Milan City. His cousin reached me all alone and dressed in black, and suggested to talk to this Americano. Oh my God! Another one? Seriously, guys, I have seen this trick already, just a week before another Italian „macho” was pretending to be Brazilian…

…in the world of Italian men there is no time to decide, after 3 seconds I was pulled into the company of this charming curly suit next to the bar.

What would you like to drink followed in a nice manner. I asked for the same thing as he drinks (not suspecting to get a glass of vodka with a tiny drop of lemon juice) and let myself fall into a soft but entertaining truly English conversation…

This is where the sex journey began. Three weeks later I flu to Paris to meet him over the weekend. I walked into the hotel room all nervous… Ulala, I saw Eifel tower from the window and his voice reminded me why exactly did I decide to take this flight and meet this handsome stranger. He was well equipped: there were at least 4 bottles of vine on the table. A few more minutes and my shaking body surrendered to the cold of Rose and warm of his hands. February in Paris is not as warm as you would expect, so grabbing his hand 10 minutes after the meeting seemed to be natural reaction to the bad weather and lovely atmosphere of Pari.

Oh, yes. Half an hour drunk swim made his affection very visible. We came back to the room, I changed for the bathing rope leaving some space for his imagination and some freedom to my breasts, but shhh nothing happened yet! My drunk desire of him became even stronger. I want you to kiss me. Kiss me, oh please. Those nasty thoughts did not give up on me and…his hand slided under my rope carefully palpating my shapes.

Believe it or not, the next thing coming out of his mouth was: never rush with sex. All my sexual confidence faded immediately…

And then came the evening. A little bit of alcohol and then a little bit more, dancing in the VIP club just across the street from Louvre and the view of Eifel from the hotel room removed all the moral barriers to what people call graphic experiences.

We walked back to the hotel in a fever of thrilling desire to taste the unknown…now, onto the balcony facing the Eiffel tower.

On the couch, I went on top of him spilling my vine all around the room, but I did not care. This was the first time when I let him inside. I felt instantly spreading warmth and satisfaction, and I said it,

I said as loud as one can imagine: You are so big!

He asked me what I wanted…I told him, take me from the back. He took me to the balcony, pulled my hair provocatively stimulating my breast and making me all wet down there. I bent moving hips closer to him and took it from the back, being pushed to the wide window with my nipples facing Eiffel dream. He did exactly what I wanted. Gentle. Kissing. Fast. Taking my tongue. Saying nothing. Still feeling nervous and impatient. Stroking my body. Deep and slow. He was so hard, I felt him totally, spreading me so wide. Then he left me for a moment! I felt how much I desired him….and he came back!

…the fact that taxis were still passing beneath our balcony at this midnight hour made  our sexcapade even more intriguing.


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