Tony

Question: Is sex dirty?

Correct answer: Only if it’s done right.

This next tale from the vaults probably ranks up high as one of my sluttier encounters but it also makes me smile when I think about it as it is probably one of those events in my life that could only ever happen in Paris.

It was my friend’s birthday and the plan was to go for dinner and then dance, dance, dance! Of course, when you throw 15 people around a table conversation flows and the wine flows even more. Sadly for me, sometimes the energy also flows…right out of peoples bodies along with their motivation to continue the party and that is exactly what happened. One by one people started to express their desire to go home until I was left proclaiming “But it’s a Saturday niiiiight!”. People started to make their leave whilst I was left standing all dressed up in my lucky black dress with nowhere to go – quel dommage!

Once the party had broken up I stomped off to the metro, intending to switch onto the RER for the fastest route home. Most annoyingly however, the RER had already ceased to run that night and so I was left with no choice but to switch onto Metro line one. This combined with a night of non-partying plus copious amounts of wine made for a very irritated Angloslut and, to make matters worse the metro wasn't due for another eight minutes! In a rage I stormed over to the closest bench, sat down and started ranting away to the random person sitting beside me.

That person just so happened to be a young, attractive Frenchman.

Some people would perhaps be a little alarmed to have an intoxicated stranger blabbering away at them after 12am on the Metro platform but he took it all in his stride and seemed happy to talk back. By the time the train arrived we were deep in conversation and by the time we had arrived at the stop for the Champs Elysees he asked me if I would like to go for a drink. Tony wasn't my usual type, his hair wasn't floppy in the least and he was shorter and stockier than the men that I had become accustomed to. However, he didn't give off axe murderer vibes plus he was cute and so, I eagerly agreed. Soon we were sitting outside a bar on the Champs Elysees drinking mojitos and getting to know each other and actually, had it been a conventional date I definitely would have classed it as successful.

After several mojitos the bar we were sitting at started closing up around us. You know that awkward feeling when a date is coming to an end and you don’t know if you should be giving them a goodnight kiss or hopping in a taxi? Take that feeling and imagine how it would feel if you were with someone you had met on public transport only a couple of hours before. Even in my very drunken state that feeling still put in an appearance. Before I had time to dwell on it too much Tony sheepishly told me that he had missed the last train home. Well, it would have just been rude if I didn't invite him to stay at my place…right…right?! A male friend has since told me that this is a technique used by guys when they want an invite back but I’ll (perhaps naively) assume that he really had missed the train. Luckily I lived only a ten minute walk away and we headed back to my humble abode.

Very humble. I feel that it’s important at this point in the story to describe Parisian accommodation to those who have never experienced it. Housing in Paris is extremely difficult to come by. In most countries, the tenant chooses the accommodation they like the most, not in Paris. In Paris you can find yourself in competition with 30 other people for a place that you wouldn't even consider elsewhere. If the landlord decides that you are the most suitable/attractive/flirtiest/wealthiest candidate you can expect to have to provide a shitload of documents and sometimes up to 3 months deposit upfront. The studio that I lived in was on the 7^th floor with no lift and was a grand total of 14square metres. When I say a studio I mean that almost everything was in a room the size of most people’s kitchens. The (private) toilet was on the landing but the shower, ‘kitchen’, clothing space and foldaway bed were all in the one room.

Anyway, Tony and I arrived back to my place and after the compulsory polite small talk (we both knew what was coming…no pun intended) he leaned in for a kiss. We got into bed and things started to move swiftly along. I won’t go into explicit detail about what happened but I will say that we did everything but…if you get what I mean….and I will say that it was very enjoyable! J

That’s when things took a bizarre turn. As soon as Tony climaxed he jumped out of bed and straight into the shower. I don’t mean like 5 or 10 minutes later either, literally as soon as he shot his load he was out of bed and in the shower! As mentioned, my place was very much on the small side and all I could do was sit and wonder WTF was going on whilst he scrubbed himself down with my mixed berry shower gel. Mutely I found him a clean towel whilst he took a very long shower. Personal hygiene is an absolute must but this was just weird! When he eventually finished, he dried off and climbed back into bed as if nothing had happened. Exhausted, we both drifted off to sleep, by now it was very early Sunday morning.

When we woke up Tony dressed to leave and asked for my number which I unenthusiastically gave him. In the sober light of day the whole event felt completely smutty and Tony’s late night shower did nothing to calm these feelings (did he think I had a dirty vagina?!). I had had fun but the feelings of smuttiness combined with my bad hangover made me feel that I didn't want to see Tony again. Saying that however, I am a great believer in the philosophy ‘Never say never’….who knew what the future would bring.

PS. Have you noticed the amazing new artwork on my blog?! Isn't it wonderful?! For more awesomeness such as this, please visit my very good friend’s blog at peculiarjayne.blogspot.com  . Merci bcp!