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!

Breaking resolutions...

As detailed in a previous entry I had promised myself that 2012 would bring only liaisons with hot, sexy Frenchmen. There was to be no more Anglo boys entering my life..or bed...or vagina...you get the idea.

That resolution lasted about a month.

The night that I met Charles I had consumed 3 bottles of rosé wine with a friend. And of course, because I still haven't learnt my lesson about drinking on an empty stomach (even though I'm now in my mid-twenties) I was well on my way to being on the wrong side of merry.  Note to self: "Eating's cheating" was fine at age 20, now, it's just a downright stupid philosophy.

After the aforementioned wine I was far too drunk to care that I found myself in an Anglo bar. Yes, my snobby attitude had disappeared and, according to the pictures that I found on my phone the next day, I had had a great time talking to my fellow boozers in some tiny pub in the Marais whose name now deserts me. My memories are hazy but I remember one such fellow boozer as being a hot English guy in a suit who I had a drunken kiss with right in the middle of this tiny pub. Classy! The next thing I remember is him giving me  his name (Charles) and number on a piece of paper before he made a hasty exit.

After I had gotten over my hangover the next day I text Charles. His quick exit had left me wanting more and from what I remembered he was very attractive. We text back and forth for a few days, I was loving the British humor and so was very quick to agree to a date with him that weekend. He told me that he was relatively new to Paris so I suggested that we went to Chez Justine, one of my favourite restaurants ever! So on the Friday I got home, got myself dolled up and headed to the 11émé.

When I came out the metro station and met Charles I silently cursed my beer goggles. Charles wasn't bad looking but he was ever so slightly shorter than me (eek!) and was very baby faced. Even though I like my men tall I overlooked it, after all he had made the effort of wearing a suit and we were going to my favourite restaurant, things could have been a lot worse. As we walked towards the restaurant Charles asked me how my day had been. I told him about my day at work and mentioned how I had went to the gym after. That was when strike one happened. Charles actually stunned me into silence by actually saying out loud "Yeah, I really need to join a gym. At the moment I look like a Holocaust victim when I'm naked." Seriously, who says things like that?! Especially when on a FIRST DATE!!! Thankfully it was dark so I doubt he saw the look on my face. I told myself that perhaps he was just nervous and decided that I would ignore his faux pas.

Once seated inside the restaurant however, things went from bad to worse. In passing I mentioned that he had also been in a suit the last time I had met him when strike two happened. Charles informed me that he did not own a single pair of jeans and that he wore suits every single day, not for work, just because he wanted to. Not only did he wear suits but he often accompanied them with a fedora hat. BOOM! This was closely followed up by him talking about how much he just loved smoking. I try not to judge people on how they dress and if people want to smoke it's their choice but living your life like you are on the set of Mad Men is a little deluded. Predictably he also loved the music of Frank Sinatra and Dean Martin and scoffed when I told him that I like a little of everything,  aaaaand strike three!!!!

Over our (delicious!) meal the topic of age came up. Charles had implied to me that he had a very good job and so, the topics of education and work came up. Something wasn't quite adding up though until he admitted that he was a mere twenty years old and that his birthday had been one month before! His very good job was an internship! Strike four! Charles cheerfully asked me if this was a problem and even though I said no, there was no hiding the expression on my face. Now, I know, I know, 'age is only a number', blah, blah, blah but take that 5 year age gap and add a big dose of immaturity and then it becomes very relevant. The very final straw came however when Charles asked me what year I had graduated. When I told him 2008 he actually laughed and declared "Oh wow, that's the year I started!". BOOM, BOOM, BOOM!!!! Strike five! Thankfully he lived in the suburbs of Paris and had to catch the RER home (explanation for his quick exit the night we had met) so there was no time for post-dinner drinks. Very sweetly, he did try to pay for my meal but there was no way I could let that happen, he was practically still a child in my eyes!

As we said goodbye I silently praised the 'bisous' for giving me a polite goodbye without that awkward kiss avoidance. We exchanged a few more texts before I (truthfully) told Charles I didn't think we had much in common. My foray back into the world of Anglo boys had been a disaster. From now on I would stick to Frenchmen. 

Welcoming 2011 in Style!!!!

Picture the scene, New Years day 2011. After an immense party I was taking a break from the clean up effort from the night before. The guy who I had mildly fooled around with and shared a bed with was still asleep and those still feeling alive were dancing to ‘Empire State of Mind’ whilst drinking toffee vodka straight from the bottle.  After sweeping the floor I sat down and checked out my Facebook messages on my phone. Pretty much as soon as I logged in I received an unexpected message from someone I absolutely did not expect to hear from again.  Ahhhh Guillaume! Suddenly my impending hangover seemed very far away. We exchanged polite chat for a while before I somewhat boldly informed him that in my country it is very good luck to have sex on New Years day, of course it was a lie but it did the trick and we arranged a time for him to come to my place to ‘catch up’. I had to ask myself what it was about this guy that made me so quick to invite him into my home/bed/ummm…y’know…but I quickly pushed those thoughts away as remembered that:

a)      He was probably the best looking guy I had ever been with.

b)      He was like a well oiled machine that could go all night.

c)      He spoke dirty to me in the sexiest way imaginable.

I had to get home from the suburbs and fast! Luckily I got a ride and had just enough time to make myself presentable. However, when one has not had much sleep she does not look her best and does not feel particularly sexy, there was no way I was going to win a fight with a suspender belt when I was still half drunk yet I spruced myself up as well as I could and awaited Guillaume’s arrival.

When he finally arrived my legs felt like jelly and my heart was thumping. Damn, life would’ve been so much easier if he had become ugly since the last time I’d seen him but it was not meant to be. And to make it worse he was being sweet, funny and completely charming – this was nothing like our previous and very awkward coffee date. We chatted and caught up for a while until he interrupted me mid-sentence with a kiss that almost made me swoon. I did try to play it cool but the guy was such a great kisser that he could’ve had a degree in it. On shaky legs I went to close the shutters when he came up behind me and kissed my neck, of course he had to go for my weak spot and within minutes any resolve I had to play it cool went straight out the window. The next thing I knew I was pressed up against the wall in nothing but my underwear and G’s clothes were being removed at a rapid pace.

Since the last time I had seen G there had been others but none of them really compared, this guy was just sex on a stick and of course I loved it when he started saying things so filthy they would make a porn star blush. When he asked me if I had missed my big toy I was 100% honest when I replied that of course I had, the pleasure it gave me was unforgettable. G was very vocal during sex and not just verbally, I like that – it’s nice for a guy to show his appreciation and he definitely appreciated it when I told him ‘ma chatte est pour toi, do whatever you want with it.’ What a hussy, but he loved it!

It continued this way for the rest of the night, we fucked, we drank a bottle of cheap champagne I had in my fridge (and of course I found other uses for the champagne if you know what I mean ;) ) and we occasionally slept. I jokingly told him that his New Years resolution was to see me more but somehow I doubted that he took me seriously when I said it.

In the morning he left and I was unsure if I would ever see him again. I wasn’t too bothered though, 2011 had got off to a great start and I was determined that the rest of the year would follow suit!


PS! A male friend of mine was recently talking to a woman who said that she did not believe in wearing stockings and suspenders because she said they were 'cheesy'. Listen up ladies! Anyone who agrees with this statement needs to invest in some sexy underwear (including stockings and suspenders) and some killer heels and fast! Even if you just wear them to do the housework you will feel great! I just had to share that! ;)

New Year 2011, New Resolutions....New Adventures!!!

As 2010 drew to an end I was delighted to be waving goodbye to a totally crap year. I was determined to make  2011 a good one though and I was well on my way: my heart had gone from broken into tiny pieces to only slightly fractured, work was going well and I had fantastic friends. Aaaand to top it all off I had been invited to a New Years party in a large suburban apartment that promised to be full of hot Frenchmen! Tim, who invited me, is a friend who had studied at my university for a semester and we got back in contact again after I moved to Paris. Although he is a very very fine specimen of a man there has never ever been anything between us but friendship...but that didn't mean that I couldn't engage in a little more than friendship with one of his nice, handsome friends that I knew would be at the party. As I got ready (what to wear?!) I pondered my New Years resolutions:

• NO MORE BRITISH BOYS!!!! - I was in the land of les frogs and the most beautiful men in the world. The time had come to take advantage of that. Lets never go back to boring old burgers when surrounded by amazing steak!!!
• GO TO THE GYM 3-4 TIMES PER WEEK - Don't we all make this resolution at some point in our lives? I actually (for the most part) managed to keep this resolution even though I tend to go 2-3 times these days rather than 3-4.
• CUT OUT CHEESE - This was never going to happen! My vices in life? Cheese, shopping and Frenchmen. None are all that good for the body, mind or wallet but are perfect for short-term happiness.
• CUT DOWN TO ONE BOTTLE OF WINE PER WEEK - Again, never.going.to.happen!
• START A BLOG  - Enough said.

So off I ventured to the party with a bottle of champagne in one hand and various alcohol/petite fours in the other. I was a little early and when I arrived I was greeted by several familiar faces including Oli. Oli was a guy that I had only met a couple of times before. The first time I had ever met him I garbled away in Franglais for about 10minutes before I gave up and asked 'Do you speak English?' only for him to answer 'Yes' in the clearest, most perfect Americanized accent I had ever heard on a Frenchman. Oli was very attractive guy but he totally knew it and was just that little bit too arrogant for my liking.  Also present was 'D' who, like Tim, had studied at my university for a semester. We had once shared a very drunken kiss or 3 and had never been allowed to forget it.

Soon the party was in full swing. I tried not to show too much delight at the fact that out of around 30 of us there were 4 girls (myself included) and the other girls all had boyfriends. I drank champagne, ate escargots, danced and flirted lots with the many handsome  men present. After midnight things did not die down and I was very very drunk. I made a trip to the bathroom (once you pop, you cant stop right?!?!) and upon exiting I was accosted by Oli who had been waiting outside. The next thing I knew he was kissing me and walking me towards one of the bedrooms. This was a guy who knew what he wanted and would use all his charm to get it...but as I said, although he is very handsome I just wasn't that into him. After some slight groping where he tried his best to get into my pants I used the old safety-net question of  'Do you have a condom?'. He didn't but unlike all my other Frenchman encounters he didn't see it as a problem and tried his best to convince me to have sex with him without one. Studying in the US had obviously taught that guy some bad habits! 

As we continued this horizontal dance (with clothes on) of him trying to have his wicked way and me (mostly) rejecting his advances one of the other guys from the party burst into the room waving Olis phone about. One the phone was someone who he called 'baby' and who was told that he had been sleeping. Yep, of course this guy had a girlfriend.  I thanked my lucky stars for my near miss and rolled over and went to sleep. In the morning I left Oli the cad sleeping in bed while I went to join everyone else in the cleanup process. I had to ward off a million questions and laughter about what had happened but I was too hungover to care.

The party was a success. Yes, Oli was a bit of a bastard but I still had an amazing night and later that day I was happier than ever that nothing had happened between Oli and I us due to to a very unexpected text message....

Until next time!

Julien - Part 2

After the first date with Julien we continued to text and chat on Facebook, often his texts made no sense to me and I'm sure he would say the same about my garbled French, or Franglais as I more realistically refer to it. He was still pulling the old trick of asking me out at 10/11pm but I figured it  was no big deal, I didn't  really like him enough to care.

That was until I discovered that C was to be in town that weekend and although I wouldn't be seeing him I knew that he would be meeting up with the bitch/skank/whore that he cheated on me with. (Oops, feminism just went right out the window there!) I weighed up my options: stay in and obsessively look on his Facebook and that of his friends to see if I could find any clue of his and the skanks whereabouts OR I could get myself dressed up and go on a date of my own. The latter of course won. I was happy if a little surprised when I text Julien and asked if he was free to discover that he was. I told him that I wanted to go dancing and we arranged that I would go to his place before heading to a club. 

I made a big effort that night, low cut but not slutty dress, sleek hair and perfected make-up, sexy matching underwear and to top it all of, stockings and suspenders!!!! If you’ve never worn stockings teamed with a suspender belt then you absolutely must! I mean, ok, it can be tricky to get them on and you may scream with frustration a few times but once they are on you will feel so sexy and confident that it is SO worth it. Whenever I wear them on a date it's 60% for me and 40% for the guy...in fact, I've even been known to wear them under my skirt at work but hey, no one in the office needs to know about that! ;) 

Anyway, Julien certainly seemed to appreciate the effort made too. As I walked through his front door we kissed and his wandering hands soon found my little surprise. "vraiment jolie…would you not rather stay in tonight?", I didn't but I appreciated the  compliment. We drank wine and listened to The XX while Julien got himself together. He explained to me that his bank card had a crack in it but that if I paid the taxi then he would buy our drinks. We hopped in a taxi to my 1st but certainly not last time to Bus Palladium. So this was where all the cool and beautiful French people hung out!!! Rather head straight for the main room we went upstairs to the restaurant/bar and sat on tall stools. Julien ordered a glass of champagne for each of us and we actually had a good time talking and laughing. (He thought it was super hilarious to put his champagne glass between my cleavage, I didn't think it was so hilarious.) We finished our drinks and went down to the dance floor and I have to admit that Julien was a great dancer. We went to get another drink and then...uh oh...his card was declined. Luckily it was payday so I stepped up and bought the drinks. (Not a huge deal anyway, I like to pay my own way and he had bought the 1st round.) Maybe at this point the alarm bells should have been ringing but I was having too much of a good time to notice them. 

Shoulda, woulda , coulda.

The next thing that happened DID send those bells ringing. Two girls that Julien knew came over to say hello and there was only what I could describe as a weird tension between the three of them, it was clear that he had sex with one of the girls if not both. They were both pleasant enough to me though and I didn't really think too much of it until a short while later. We were dancing and I was aware that Julien was continuously looking over my shoulder. Yes, he was trying to make someone jealous! I should have walked away then but I never, my mistake. Soon after that I started to be aware of someone deliberately pushing into me on the dancefloor, yep, the two girls who had pleasant to me earlier were both acting like stupid brats. Julien, of course, seemed to think that the whole thing was funny and in an attempt not to turn around and punch them both in the face (and him too!) I stormed to the bar and ordered myself another champagne, not before shouting at him though "THAT IS NOT FUCKING COOL, SORT IT OUT!!!" Again, I probably should have taken that opportunity to walk away but I was drunk and really like the club. When Julien went for what was probably his 80th cigarette a guy with a massive camera came over and asked if he could take my photo for his  website, I awkwardly agreed, I don't really like being in those situations but hey, I liked the ego boost and it did wonders for my bad mood.

Julien was turning out to be a total dickhead but it didn't stop me from going home with him. Nor did it stop me from getting naked with him and bumping uglies. I was surprised to find that what he lacked in height he more than made up for in the trouser department however, I wasn't surprised to find that he was a very selfish lover. And I absolutely wasn’t surprised to find the ever present stash of condoms by his bed.

In the morning I reflected on what I had gained from meeting Julien: a larger than expected dent in my bank balance, a scene in a club which saw me go mental at someone and, a night of not so great sex. Yep, all too late the alarm bells rang clear. I left and thankfully, never saw Julien again.

Julien - Part One

So after the Didier disaster things really quietened down on the Frenchman front and it didn't help that my two main wing women both got boyfriends and were less inclined to prowl in bars with me. I was feeling sorry for myself and I was needy for some male attention. (Yes, I know exactly how pathetic that sounds but seriously, I was one more lonley Saturday night in away from stuffing my face with Ben&Jerrys and screetching the words to Celine Dions 'All By Myself'.) Then my dear friend K convinced me to join the dating site adopteunmec.com. Now I know what you are probably thinking because I was thinking the exact same thing..aren't dating sites for middle-ages, divorcees who are basically past it? But K told me about all the fun dates she had been on via this site and eventually I signed up myself to see what all the fuss was about.
I was pleasantly surprised, some of the guys on this website were seriously good looking! And after looking at some of the stupidly beautiful girls on the site I decided that maybe it wasn't just for desparados after all. I never actually spoke to anyone on it however, until a wine fuelled night with a friend where we giggled our way through the male profiles on show. (Interesting fact: My friend became in contact with her now boyfriend via that site that very night and they are now living happily ever after!).

Anyway, lets cut to the chase. There was one particullar guy on this site who contacted me and was hot, hot, hot. Floppy hair? Check. Designer stubble? Check. French?? Errr, check. Julien described himself as an artist and we gradually started messaging. His English was pretty bad, but hey, who am I to judge?! He asked for my facebook which I gave him and he would often 'like' one of my statuses or photos. I had the feeling that of course he was just after one thing, and when he would ask me for a drink at 10pm at night I would always say no. This continued for a few weeks until eventually I figured I may as well bite the bullet and go on a date with him.

When date night arrived I got myself ready and headed to the bar in the Buttes Chaumont parc. He chose the bar and I was pretty impressed that he didn't just go for somewhere at Bastille or Oberkampf. I text him when I arrived to find that he was already in the queue to enter the parc and into the bar. As I headed towards him I was feeling really nervous, I really hoped his pictures were representative. My worries were unfounded though, I spotted him in the crowd and he was just as he was in his photos and everything he had said on his profile seemed to be accurate until I actually reached him. Omg, he was tiny!!!! As I've mentioned before I am a little vertically challenged (or fun sized as I like to say!) and Julien was the same height as me. Lucky I had worn really small heels or it could have been really embarassing. His face was nice though and I really wanted to run my hands through his floppy hair. Once settled with our drinks (I asked for a glass of rose - he bought me a bottle.) we started talking and got to know each other. It was a mixture of my bad French and his bad English but I thought we were getting on pretty well until he exclaimed "Deux ans en Paree et tu n'ai parlez pas francais?! C'est un catastrophe!!!!'." All I could think was 'Easy tiger, I think there are worse things in life'. Anyway, after a bottle of wine I was pretty drunk. We danced, we kissed and I actually had a really good date.

At the end of the night it was pretty difficult to get a taxi so Julien suggested that I stay at his place 'just to sleep'. I was drunk and tired and knew that I shouldn't go home with him. Although I was having fun I thought that he was just a tad on the strange side but when does sense ever take over?

Once back at his appartment I was impressed by how nice and big it was. I thought artists were supposed to struggle?! However, it was really dirty and I don't just mean untidy I mean overflowing ashtrays and dirty dishes everywhere. I was too tired to care though and off we went to bed to sleep. Actually sleep with only the minimum of fooling around!

I left the next day feeling a little confused. I had a nice night and Julien was handsome but there was just something a little off about him. I agreed that I would see him again but it wasn't until our next date that I realised exactly how weird he was....

Courting via SMS - How NOT to do it....

10/09/2011. 05.59 am: It's Olivier

10/09/2011. 06.26am: Hi. What're you doing? Do you feel like drinking some wine at our flat? Olivier

14/09/2011. 12.02pm: Hi ******. How ru since last Saturday? This weekend I'm going to Barcelona to meet some friends but what about getting a drink next week? Olivier (Shit, I really need to stop giving my number out to randoms, who the hell is this?!)

14/09/2011 13.40pm: Hey Olivier, um I'm really sorry but I don't remember meeting you at all on Friday, I was really drunk. Did we meet in the brasserie? (Let's try to narrow it down here....)

14/09/2011 13.43pm: Yep :-) it was in the brasserie near the Cafe Oz. I was at a table with a friend.

14/09/2011 14.48pm: Do you remember a little more? Anyway we should meet next weekend, that alright for you? Olivier

14/09/2011 14.55pm: Um honestly? I don't remember!

14/09/2011 14:57pm: It was at the brasserie near the pavement close to Argentinian guys drinking beer. You told me you were living in Paris and I studied in ******* near ******. What about meeting in a pub soon? (Insert name of university close to my home town.)

14/09/2011 15.07pm: Sure, add me on FB and see if it jogs my memory. My surname is *******. (He could be hot right?)

14/09/2011 15.31pm: I'm not using FB anymore. My surname is *****. I'm only using linkedin but it's a bit more professional. (Hmmmm, something to hide?!)

14/09/2011 16.09pm: Ok. And we actually had a full conversation yes? (Because I remember nothing! Damn you wine!)

14/09/2011 16.15pm: Yep :-) I do not remember everything but it was pretty good I guess,

14/09/2011 16.33pm: Do you often go near Blanche to go out?

14/09/2011 16.48pm: Yes, quite often. Bus Palladium is my favourite club and there's a few bars nearby that I like.

14/092011 16.52pm: Ha ok. Never went to Bus Palladium. I should try it though.

15/09/2011 22.59pm: Hi. R u going out tonight? Olivier

15/09/2011 23.04pm: No, I have work in the morning.

15/09.2011 23.07pm : Oh sure? I will leave the company party in 20min and will be in Blanche in 45min. Lets meet in a pub alright? (I guess my last reply wasn't clear.)

15/09/2011 23.15pm: No! I'm at home in bed and going to sleep soon.

15/09/2011 23.18pm: Noooo. Even for me?

15/09/2011 23.22pm: Yes! Especially for a guy I dont remember meeting and have no idea what he looks like! (Ok, maybe a little harsh but I was trying to read a good book!)

15/09/2011 23.25pm: Ooh, I text you when I'm nearby Blanche. (Oh God.)

15/09/2011 23.28pm: Um if you want but I'm home in bed and sleeping soon.

15/09/2011 23.31pm: Ok, I'll travel quick.

15/09/2011 23.41pm: I'm not meeting you.

16/09/2011 00.10am: Seriously?

16/09/2011 01.58am: Are u in?

21/09/2011 19.52pm: Hi. How r u? What about meeting tomorrow to have a drink? (Jesus, Mr Persistant and I'm pretty positive I didn't even kiss the guy!)

21/09/2011 20.17pm: Tomorrow I'm busy! Sorry!

21/09/2011 20.47pm: Ah ok. Saturday?

23/09/2011 17.42pm: Sorry, this whole weekend is difficult for me!

28/09/2011 20.13pm: Hello, Just leaving from an afterwork cocktail. What about getting a drink tonight near Blanche? Olivier (Does this guy ever give up?!)

28/09/2011 21.32pm: Sorry, I'm really exhausted, I had a late night last night. I'm going to Spain on Friday but going out tomorrow night. (Lets give him a chance....)

29/09/2011 18.50pm: Hello. At what time do you go out? is it for the happy hour? Olivier

29/09/2011 21.36pm: Hello, no, I'm going to the VIP Room!

29/09/2011 21.42pm: Ok so lets say we'll meet when you come back from Spain. Can't manage it for tonight. Have fun!

05/10/2011 20.12pm: Hi, r u back to Paris? How about getting a drink tomorrow or Saturday? Olivier

06/10/2011 19.09pm: Hello, I'll be free after Monday! (I had friends visiting.)

18/10/2011 10.52am: Hi, how are you? How about getting out this weekend? Cheers, Olivier.

18/10/2011 15.59pm: Sure, I think I'm going out on Friday so I'll let you know where! (Lets get this over and done with and as 'K' said, it's blogging material and I have nothing to lose)

18/10/2011 16.04pm: Ok perfect :-)

21/10/2011 11.53am: Hi , do you plan to go out during happy hour too? We can meet to have a drink before party. I'll be with 2 friends, Olivier.

21/10/2011 18.53pm: What do you do tonight? Olivier (Argh, be patient!)

21/10/2011 19.46pm: I'm going out in Oberkampf.

21/10/2011 19.50pm: When? Now?

21/10/2011 21.30pm: Ok, when do you go to Oberkampf?

21/10/2011 21.57pm: Now

21/10/2011 21.59pm: Ok, what is your program? We can be there in 1hr. Olivier.

21/10/2011 22.09pm: I'm going for dinner, then drinks,

21/10/2011 22.13pm: Ok, we meet for a drink after your dinner in 1hr in Oberkampf?

21/10/2011 22.17pm: Will probably be more than an hour , it's a busy restaurant!

21/10/2011 22.20pm: Alright, I'll text you when I'm there. With whom r u?

21/10/2011 22.22pm: Friends. (Who do you think?! My Mother? Father Christmas?! The Pope?!)

21/10/2011 22.33pm: Ok, how about taking the apero tomorrow afternoon with my two friends and your friends? (Hmmmm, trying to pimp my friends out to your friends?!)

21/10/2011 22.40pm: Sorry, I'm busy tomorrow!

21/10/2011 22.45: Ok, I'll text you later. You're gonna be up all night?

21/10/2011 22.47pm: No

21/10/2011 22.48pm: When do you plan to go to bed?

21/10/2011 22.50pm: We are out for dinner so can meet in Cafe Charbon in about 1hr.

21/10/2011 22.52pm: Ah Grands Boulevards could be better no?

21/10/2011 22.59pm: No. (Ok, I'm just irritated now)

21/10/2011 23.03pm: Ok, I'll try to be there on time.

22/10/2011 12.43pm: Hi, sorry for last night, I didn't make it. I'm taking the apero with friends. You're invited. It's metro Brochant. Olivier (Hmmmm, I believe I already told you I was busy!)

23/10/2011 04.33am: Hi *****, Ru up? We could meet. Olivier (Early morning booty call with someone you probably did'nt even kiss?! How desperate are you?!?!?)

01/11/2011 16.55pm: Hello, how are you? Could be nice to catch up this weekend, are you going out? Olivier

04/11/2011 21.09pm: Hi, we should meet tonight. Do you go out? Olivier (Please go away.)

04/11/2011 21.32pm: Hello, I've actually started dating someone I met a couple of weeks ago so I can't meet you. Sorry! (Ok, ok, it's a lie...if that makes me a bad person then oh well!)

07/11/2011 23.19pm: Ok, tell me when you're available. (AAARRRRGHHHHHHH!)

07/11/2011 23.50pm: I won't be available. (Harsh but true!)

It's been a week so I'm hoping that no more texts will arrive. It's true that the grass is always greener but I think I'd still rather have the aloof rarely texting Frenchie than the overly persistant version! And yes, I know I probably shoud've nipped it in the bud far earlier but a little voice kept telling me 'it couldn't hurt', another lesson - don't pay attention to the little voices in your head!

Goodbye Didier....

So I thought Didier was a keeper but it turned out I was wrong. After Christmas we arranged to meet up via Facebook a couple of times. Each time he had said to me, "text me when you want to meet". The 1st time that I text him after a conversation like this and he didn't reply I brushed it off. The 2nd time it happened though I got mad!

It was a Saturday and we had arranged a little rendez vous the night before. Didier had told me to text him the next day to make arrangements and so around 3pm I text and asked when he wanted me. As I waited for his reply I went through the good old female routine that you painfully go through when sleeping with a new guy: shaving, exfoliating, moisturising, plucking, nail painting, underwear choosing (actually, that part's not so painful), outfit choosing, blow drying, hair straightening, perfume spraying and above all - criticitzing!

By the time I was finished this loooong beauty routine I expected a reply from Didier but nada. I figured he was just busy and would get back to me soon. I was wrong. Around 5pm I text him again. By the time 7pm rolled round I was majorly unhappy and decided that I would just treat myself to a couple of bottles of wine instead, oh and maybe some chocolate. (the endorphins in chocolate are supposed to mimic the pleaseure of sex right? Take that and the wine and it would be just like the first night I spent with Didier!)

An hour (give or take), half a bottle of rose down and copious amounts of chocolate later I was in no way feeling any endorphins, I was just plain pissed off and I sure wasn't doing myself any favours by watching 'danse avec les stars' (is that programme good in any language!?) and engaging in plentiful Facebook stalking. And then I saw it, the f**cking, bast***ing, c**t, dic***ad, frog was online! (excuse my French!) Fuelled by the wine I wrote him a somewhat snappy message:

 Me: Thanks for not getting back to me, had I known you were going to cancel I would've made other plans.
Didier: You were supposed to text me to arrange.
Me: I did and you didnt reply!!!!
D : No you never
Me (getting agitated) : Oh yes I fucking did, is this not your number, 06*********?

And then...he went offline!

Oh and a little thing I forgot to mention...I had got a new phone approx 2 weeks before this whole exchange took place. Not everyone had my new number so I was still keeping my old phone charged and switched on. (Can you see where this is going?!)

About 5 minutes later my old phone started vibrating with a message: 'Hello, this is the correct number for me.' Oh yeees, you guessed it, I had entered the wrong number into my new phone. All that while being mad that I had received no reply to my texts and I hadn't even been texting the correct number - what an idiot!!! I replied and asked if Didier still wanted to meet up. He didn't, he had made alternative plans. Plenty more wine had been consumed during this exchange so I will blame that for my hot-headedness, 'Fine', I replied 'but I can't be bothered with this and therefore I never want to see you again!'

Of course it was totally irrational and over the top but Didiers response totally floored me. I swear it was the worst thing a guy has ever ever said to me and I had got some great abuse from 'C' (stupid fucking slut being a personal favourite). Never had abuse like this from a guy made me stop and think so much and really question myself. Over and over I played it in my mind, so mortified, upset and embarassed.

Didier had told me that I had bad breath!!!!


Yep, you read that right. I brush x2 a day, floss and chew plenty of gum. Jesus, how had this happened. Why hadn't any of my friends ever told me about this problem? How could I ever kiss a guy again?! I was so embarassed but I had to know the thruth and so the next day I called my great friend K (she gives tough love) to ask her if it was true. She of all people would tell me if it was. As I mumbled the awful 'Do I have bad breath?' down the phone I could feel my face burning. Thankfully I got the answer I wanted to hear: 'Whaaat?! No you do not!!! What a fucking arsehole! Do you really think I would let you go on dates with guys if you had bad breath?' K tells it like it is and even though she had to reassure me several more times I believed her.

Needless to say, I didn't contact/hear from Didier again.

But here is the lesson in this...if you ever want to make someone really paranoid, self-doubting and embarrased - tell them they have bad breath, not everyone is as lucky to have such a straight talking and honest friend as me!

Didier - Part 2

So despite the inevitable wine head the next morning I had had a really nice time with Didier..and not just because of his glorious wine cave. Ok, it was due to the visit of said wine cave that I couldn't remember much about the actual sex (clearly I had still been drunk the morning after the night before) but I did remember that it wasn't horrible and that is always a good start right...riiight?! Well, that's what I chose to tell myself anyway.

Even if I couldn't remember the exact details of getting frisky with Didier I really had the impression that he was a bit of a keeper - he was hot, had a great job, was super sweet and best of all seemed to be really into me. So it was with this in mind that I debated doing something that this Anglolut doesn't really do. I decided that perhaps it would be a good idea to hold off and not have sex with him the next time I saw him. Now , I know that this is nothing unusual for most people but my mind goes more like this:

• boy likes girl
• girl likes boy
• boy and girl fancy each other
• boy and girl are capable of giving each other great pleasure
• boy and girl have great (hopefully!) sex and may or may not live happily ever after.

So it was with my virtual chastity belt on that I tottled over to Didiers in the snow (in heels) the next weekend. He's really into old movies and had never seen Roman Holiday, I love that movie and also happen to have it on dvd so we had arranged to watch it. Again he proved his sweetness when I got there and had a variety of chocolate biscuits waiting and introduced me to carambars (yummy!). We snuggled down on the sofa and watched Roman Holiday and I realized that if I wanted a boyfriend this would've been the perfect scenario: huge snowdrops falling down outside whilst all warm inside with a handsome man to keep me warm. I should have been concentrating on Audrey Hepburn running riot around Rome but all I could think about was how sexy Didier was and how hard it was going to be to say no....

It wasn't long before my resistance was tested. Throughout the movie Didier had tried it on with several sneaky attempts to stick his hand down my bra/pants only to be met with a slap on the hand. After the movie finished he really turned on the charm with the oh so familiar 'you have such beautiful eyes' followed up with a 'but you know that already'...huh? I do?! Do I walk around with a sign around my neck saying 'I have beautiful eyes'?! That wasn't what charmed me though, after a particularly passionate kiss it was very clear by the bulge in Didiers jeans that his mind was no longer on the movie and that he reeeally wanted to have his wicked way with me. I was really good though and I totally resisted.

For about ten minutes.

We both had plans for later on that evening and so wrapped up warm for the bitter winter evening outside. My silly heels teamed with my big coat, cozy hat, scarf and gloves must've made me look like a walking contradiction but I didn't care. As Didier switched off the living room light somehow we ended up in one last kiss for the evening and well....I guess I couldn't resist just checking to see if he still had the huge erection going on...As soon as my had ahem...grazed...down there it was like an explosion! Coats were being ripped off, gloves and hats discarded and the next thing I knew Didier was fumbling with the button on my pants and was pulling them down. In true Frenchman fashion a condom seemed to appear out of nowhere (still a mystery to me where that came from but I imagine he had had it in the back pocket of his jeans all afternoon the expectant devil!) and the next thing I knew we were doing it up against the wall - woohoo for shorter than average men after all! It was so hot and passionate and really was like a scene out a movie. And this time there was no doubt about it...it was fantastic!

Afterwards Didier walked me to the metro and we said goodbye with huge grins on our faces. He told me it was a moment that he would never forget and I absolutely had to agree with him.

 

Older But Absolutely Not Wiser...

This week I celebrated what was my 4th and very likely last birthday celebration in Paris and it made me think about what I have learned about men over the past few years of Parisian living. My 1st birthday celebration in the city of lights was spent with two mecs (guys) that my friend and I had hung out with a few times. One of them I got on with very well, there was lots of flirting and some potential for a little French romance...well, that's what I thought until it emerged that he was engaged, stupid of me I know not to have spotted the ring on that all imprtant finger. (what kind of guy wears an engagement ring anyway?!) Funnily enough, that friendship fizzled out soon after.
My next encounter with a Frenchman was with an not-so-attractive guy called Phillipe. We met in a nightclub when I was stupidly drunk and had been abandoned by my friend who was erm...busy(!) with some 18 year old in the corner.  He told me "you eez so beautiful, such beeeautiful eyez...I zwill take you for a nicce deener in an nicce restaurant", maybe it was the French accent and the compliments that made me abandon my poor friend and leave the club with Phillipe (actually it was probably the large amounts of vodka that I'd consumed but we wont go into that) and the next thing I knew I was in the back of a car zooming down the Champs Elysees. To this day I still have no idea where Phillipe's place was located. What I do remember was the feeling of revulsion as we got back to his place and he rammed his snakey tongue down my throat. Along with the immediate groping (where was the anticipation??) and the feeling that I was going to throw up, it was not going well. When a guy takes your hand and tried to shove it down his pants to be met with an involuntary shudder I think even he knows it's not going well and so Phillipe stopped his advances and we both went to sleep. The next morning he prodded me awake (with his fingers and no, not down there) and told me "you mussst go now, my son eez coming". Ha, what happened to the promise of my romantic meal?!
Of course at that point I should have put my shoes on with dignity and made a hasty retreat, but oh no, things never plan out so smoothly. With a sinking heart I realised that I had absolutely NO cash. In my drunken exit from the club I had taken our flat keys but had left all our cash with my friend. (sorry once again for that one J!). At this point I had lived in Paris for under a month - I had no idea how easy it is to jump the metro here. What could I do? The obvious answer was to ask Phillipe for the 1.60 it would take to get me home but seeing as he was no longer the romantic Frenchman he was the night before and had rolled over and had gone back to sleep after giving me my marching orders I thought better of it. I was pretty much freaking out and had that awful sick feeling in my tummy (I was wearing 4" heels - was I going to have to walk home in them?!) when I spotted Phillipes wallet on his bedside table. I have to stress that I was only going to take 1.60 for the metro, I'm not some skank who stays with a guy and then steals from him but at this point I was utterly freaking out and wasn't thinking straight. As I picked up Phillipe's wallet hoping to find change he suddenly jerked up awake. Quickly I put it back down and asked him where the closest metro was but it was too late - he had clearly seen me. Without a word he picked up his wallet, phone and camera and locked them in the bathroom with him as he took a shower. I have never been so ashamed and so made my very fast exit! Funnily enough he never did call me for that dinner date. It took me a long time to get home that day but that is a whole other story in itself. The lesson here? Never abandon your friend in a club, especially when you have no money.
Other lessons that I have learned since then? I'm not sure I have learned many. What I have learned though is that a French accent still makes a guy seem sexy, I still fall for insincerity and I absolutely put far too much faith in people.I have no problem with casual sex but some men will say anything to get you to bed, they will lie, cheat and will say whatever they think you want to hear, they will promise you the world just so that they can have their wicked way with you. I cant stand liars and am begining to think that the next guy that gets me into bed will have to be one who is honest and utters something along the immortal line of "you and me baby aint nothin' but mammels so lets do it like they do on the discovery channel". At least there is pure honestly in that.

Encounter 4 - Didier, Part 1

I don't remember much about the very first night that I met Didier except that I was pretty hammered after indulging in too much wine in a bar. My friend had been talking to his friend, we shared a quick kiss and the next day I discovered this verrrry handsome new guy added to my facebook friends. He worked in advertising for a very well known French company, seemed utterly adorable, very sweet and very French!
About a week after we met he popped up on my Facebook and started to chat away, en francais bien sur! Chatting to cute guys online is a great way to practice your French and is far more enjoyable than paying lots of money for boring French lessons. However...my French isn't so great and it led to a little misunderstanding. Didier asked if I would like to meet the next night for a drink and of course I did. He said something about a wine cave near his place and we arranged where and when to meet the next night. So the next night we met up and I have to confess that he was shorter than what I remembered, at 160cm I am not exactly tall so it is bad news when I think that a guy is short. Nonetheless he was really hot with green eyes and floppy hair...even if he was sans designer stubble! He started to lead the way to where we were going and led me right to his front door! I was pretty confused - I thought we were going to a bar and yes, I know it was stupid but I got good vibes off the guy so rather than admit my pathetic level of French I decided just to see it through and when we entered his flat and he produced a lovely bottle of expensive champagne I knew I wouldnt regret that decision.
I love being in peoples homes for the 1st time, I think you can tell so much about them. In my home I have photos on the wall, loads of books and DVDs, cute cards sent from my family and you can tell I like pink. Didiers place was minimal to perfection. There was no books/cd's or anything like that lying around, it was impossible to tell what his interests were! He wasn't from Paris and he asked me why I was single, I asked him same thing. His answer? "It is so difficult to find a wife in Paris, these women are very cold. But I am very glad I have met you"...like just whoa!!! What can a girl even reply to that?! However I just smiled and drank my champagne and tried not to get weirded out. After the 1st bottle of champage Didier regretfully told me that all he had in his kitchen was red wine. Me, not being a fan of red wine told him that water would be fine but nooooo.... He told me to put my shoes on and follow him....
As I followed him down the stairs and towards the cellars I was beginning to wonder if my instincts had failed me and this guy was infact a crazy serial killer who was going to chop me up into tiny pieces. I was pleasantly surprised to find this wasn't the case and was shocked by what I saw: in his small cave there was wine EVERYWHERE!!! I do not exaggerate when I say there was hundreds of bottles. There was wine glasses, books on wine, wine in boxes, wine in bags, bottles of wine and champagne just sitting on the floor...as Didier selected another nice bottle of champagne (worth like 60euros, I totally checked it out in a shop a few days later!) I could only stand open mouthed. I'm sure I must've looked very attractive! We headed back upstairs and well, after two bottles of champagne I'm sure you can figure out the rest. I wont go into detail except to say that yet again there was a plentiful stash of condoms right beside the bed,,,,
The next orning I woke up at 9am (urgh, so early!) to find that Didier was already up, dresssed and eating breakfast. Not wanting him to think I was a lazy cow I got up and did my best to pretend that I was a) not hungover and b) perfectly used to getting up at such a ungodly hour at the weekend. Here I witnessed Didiers 1st weirdo Frenchism...he was drinking his tea out a bowl! Like a breakfast bowl that a person would eat their cereal out of. Why do French people do that?! Why not just have 2 mugs of tea? He also seemed to have endless amounts of energy and enthusiasm and weirdo Frenchism number 2 - he always said 'hup!'...Just.dont.get.it! Anyway, he told me that he was up early because he had to go and meet a friend. I figured that I may as well take advantage of him while I had him and dragged him back to the bedroom to make him late. When I finally allowed him to escape my clutches he told me to stay in bed and to stay for as long as I wanted. Very trusting you might think but as I said this guy seemed to have nothing but wine for belongings...
So he said a very sweet goodbye and left me lying in his bed and despite his strange Frenchisms and apparent search for a wife it was another a bientot to another handsome Frenchman.

The Anglosluts guide to bagging a Frenchman...but not keeping him!

This year the British singer Jessie J released a song entitled "Do It Like A Dude"...personally I think the song is shit but some of the lyrics make me chuckle...for example:

Boom Boom, pull me a beer
No pretty drinks, I'm a guy out here
Rollin' rollin' rollin' rollin' money like a pimp
My B I T C H's on my dick like this

So ok it's little crass but it's making a point. It's 2011 and women can have as much sex as she wants to, she craves it, enjoys it and often wants it more than her male partner(s). She can be the one that pulls the condom out from the bedside drawer, she can leave without giving her number the next day and she doesn't have to be the one sitting by the phone waiting for it to ring (although lets be honest, we've all had out hearts in our mouths at some point waiting for that all important text!).

So for all you ladies out there who just want to go out and have no strings attached here is my guide to bagging your Frenchman...but not keeping him!

• First of all (and this is not essential) - be thin! I KNOW!!! That is ridiculously un-feministic of me but it's true. It's never going to be easy to get laid in this City if you have thighs like tree trunks. What's even better is if you are thin but with big (real) boobs - the poor Frenchmen just don't seem to understand how this is possible and will be temporarily facinated.
• Choose your location carefully. Anglo bars seem to be rife with ugly Frenchmen there to pick up "easy" Anglo girls. The few time I have been I have found this to be particullarly true of O'Sullivans on Grands Boulevards. Generally I would say avoid but if you are desperate....
• Your outfit - don't look trashy BUT don't go the Frenchgirl route and be classic either. Short and tight works as does low, but please, do not team these together! Bright colors are a sure way to show off your non-Frenchgirlness, especially in winter when everywhere you look you see drab greys and blacks.
• Drink alcohol, have fun! I'm not saying you have to be dancing on the bar tops but the girl who is laughing is of course going to appear easier to pick up than the girl quietly sipping her one glass of wine over 3 hours! Loud laughing in this city seems to be seriously frowned upon  - fuck it! Smile and be happy!
• Dumb down your level of French (unless he has perfect English). Your Frenchman isn't going to be inclined to introduce you to his friends/family if he thinks you can't communicate with them. So speak English with him and boost his ego by letting him think that is language skills are superior to yours.
• If you want to have sex with him the first night then do it - you're not looking for a husband here.
• Similarly if you want to text him for a 1am booty call then go ahead and do it!
• Make it known that you are avaliable for sex if that's all you are after. Wear your sexiest underwear/stockings/suspenders on the 1st date, not only will he love it but you get to feel like a sex kitten!

The most important point though is be safe! Don't put your sexual health at risk for a quick roll in the sheets and always let a friend know where you are!

Feminists please do not hunt me down and kill me - it's tongue in cheek...honest!

Guillaume Part 2 - When Mr Perfect isn't Mr Right...

For a good couple of days after meeting G my inner thighs hurt like hell...sexercise is absolutely more enjoyabe than the gym and if done right can give just as good as workout. It was a week before I saw Guillaume again. We were supposed to go for drinks the next Saturday but he cancelled at the last minute - needless to say I was NOT impressed, he told me that he had been working like crazy all week and was really tired. I just figured he was blowing me off.
That was until the next day when I got a super apologetic text from him and an invite to lunch...now I know , I know, I should have claimed to have been busy and said no but instead I just asked when did he want me. His reply? 'Now, I want you now!'..Ahhh , swooooooon, I don't even know if he meant it in a sexual way but I certainly took it that way and got myself ready, excited for the day ahead of me.
When I met G at the metro station I was so nervous/excited and when I saw him coming towards me I could have died - he was every bit as beautiful as I remembered and my legs were actually shaking as he greeted me with a bisous. Lunch, what to eat? I like to think of myself as a bit of a feminist but I also wanted to appear attractive to this god-like man and so my internal dilemia about what to eat started...sounds stupid I know but here were my thoughts...

• A good old burger? - Noooo, what if it was greasy and I got grease all over myself? Plus not to mention that I still feel stupid eating burgers the French way i.e. with a knife and fork.
• A salad? - Hmmmm, well it would certainly make me more Frenchgirl-esque but actually I'm not a huge fan of salads, I was hungry and what if I got some lettuce stuck in my teeth?!
• A croque monsieur? (cheese toastie with a fried egg on top for anyone that doesn't know) - Noooooooo....I'll end up with egg yolk all down my front/chin.

In the end I settled for a croque madame (monsieur mais sans egg) while G had steak tartare (so manly!). After lunch we went for a stroll along the Promenade Plantee (an elevated garden) which is a really romantic place to go. I felt like I was walking on air...for over a year with C this is what I had longed for...long romantic strolls round Paris with handholding and lots of kisses. I never once got it and here I was with a guy that I'd known for a week having the full-on boyfriend experience! The perfect day sadly couldn't last forever and I had to leave for some pre-arranged dinner plans with friends. It was hard saying goodbye when all I wanted for G to do was to take me home, throw me on the bed and give me a good seeing to!

Luckily for me I didn't have to wait too long for that.

A couple of days later fueled by my absolute need to have this guy in me again I texted G and said something along the lines of 'it's going to be a cold night, keep me warm?'. Yes, I'm sooooo smooth, but it worked. A short while later I was in his appartment drinking wine with my sexiest blank underwear under my clothes. This is when I started to notice small cracks, I kinda realised that me and G didn't have much in common or alot to talk about. I pushed it to the back of my mind, especially when after a long kiss he placed my hand on top of his big erection and asked if I wanted him as much as he wanted me. What a silly question! Within minutes we were rolling around his bed in our underwear and then another crack appeared (no, not that kind of crack!). I was keen to pleasure this guy and was kindly (so I thought) putting his needs before mine. So there I was on top on him kissing my way doooown when i noticed...argh, no erection anymore! This cock had been rock hard and ready to go only minutes before - what was going on?!? When I expressed my confusion G told me that he 'doesn't like to be dominated'! Wtf?! There were no handcuffs, blindfolds or whips present (sadly!), was he for real?! He was. It passed soon enough though and soon he was fucking me and asking me if I had missed my big toy as well as the delicious French words that drove me wild, comme ca, oh ouiiii! And like the time before it was non-stop, I really have never met a guy who is always so ready to GO...just when I thought it was over for the night and I started to fall into an exhausted slumber G started touching and...ahem..exploring...and whispered in my ear 'I think this pussy needs a hard dick in it', and there we were off again, no complaints from me.

After that night though it was a month before I saw Guillaume again, part of me wondered if it was something to do with the 'dominating', part of me wondered if he had met someone else and another part wondered if perhaps he too had felt to same small cracks I had. The next time I saw him we met for a coffee and he was like a different person. He was so distracted and really didn't seem like he wanted to be there. I felt awkward and uncomfortable and the couple who had their tongues rammed down each others throats at the table next to us didn't help. We were a ten minute walk from his flat but it was clear that sexytime was not on the cards and after an hour or so we said goodbye for the last time.

My vagina cried but in my head I knew it was for the best and so it was au revoir to my favourite Frenchman so far...

Special Mention....

Thanks to the Expatriates in Paris Facebook group for letting me post the link to my blog on their wall! For lots of fun ways to meet new people in this city check out their website. :)

http://www.expatriateparty.com/

Encounter 3 - Guillaume, Part 1

In September two significant things happened: One - C left Paris for good and two - I met the hottest guy ever who ended up being the 1st Frenchie that I really liked.

The reason I mention the 1st point is because it was after my ex left Paris that things really took a turn for the best. I moved to Paris to be with C and I had never really been in this city without him, I was expecting slight panic when he left - who would I turn to if something happened to me? But in actual fact when he left it felt like a weight had been lifted off my shoulders...no longer would I be walking around on eggshells terrified that I would bump into him and the girl he replaced me with a couple of weeks after we split up.

And so, it was with this newfound carefree feeling that I got dressed up one Saturday night to head for some drinks with friends. Incase you havent noticed already, I like sex and have probably what is considered a much higher than average sex drive. By this point it had been FIVE months which felt more like a year. So with this itch that needed scratched that I delibretely dressed an un-Frenchlike as possible. I was only going to a bar in Oberkampf (one of my favourite areas to go out in Paris!) but I wore a short dress with no tights, high heels and lots of red lipstick. I've found that French girls dont get all that dresssed up to go out, nor do they wear much make-up.

After drinking a bottle of wine (to myself, yeah I guess I still was drinking too much) at my friends place we headed to a small bar. We were chatting away when the guy at the table beside us heard us talking English and asked me where we were from. I almost died and went to heaven, he was tall with floppy hair, gorgeous brown eyes, designer stubble, a gorgeous smile...you get the idea! When he asked if I wanted to go outside and join him for a smoke I couldn't have said yes fast enough. I don't smoke but I still took a few draws from his rollie (yuck) and tried to disguise my disgust at the taste of it (probably not very well, I've been told I have a very expresssive face). The rest of that night is pretty hazy, I remember we went back into that bar, he bought me some drinks and then I demanded that we went dancing (I get bossy when drunk). We went to the Nouveau Casino where I remember ordering shots of vodka (I just don't know when to stop sometimes - le sigh) and then after that...everything is blank.

Have you ever woken up and had NO IDEA where you are? And I don't mean when you wake up and forget for a second, I mean proper, 'Oh my God , where am I?'. I have, this one time and it was not fun. Thankfully the first thing that I noticed was that I was still fully dressed, the second was that the ineviatable hangover was absent (probably because I was still abit drunk) and as I sat up the third was that the guy lying next to me was well and truly delicious!!!!So what do you do in that poition? Well I smiled and said good morning and acted like my memory was not a total blank. Which backfired when he asked if i remembered his name :

Anglosluts Mouth :  Of course I do..it's uhhh...erm...
Anglosluts Mind : Fuuuck, what's his name...will he be offended that I can't remember? Is there a bill, anything lying around? Fuck, he's looking at me expectantly...fuuuuuck, damn you wine!
Anglosluts Mouth : Erm...ahhh, maybe you'll have to remind me. I bet you don't remember MY name!

He did. He also had by the bed a glass of water and an asprin for my expected hangover. Is it wrong to use a strangers toothbrush? Between the choice of alcohol morning breath and using a toothbrush I'll choose the latter. So after a brush of the teeth and a quick wipe under the eyes to remove smudged mascara I returned back to G's bed where things started to heat up. I was so happy that I had chosen to wear cute matching underwear! And I can tell you...the wait was SO worth it! G was just so sexy in every way and he was like a total machine. He was the 1st guy that I noticed the large box of condoms beside her bed though, and really I wasn't too sure how to take that. Careful or a he-slut? I somehow managed to convince myself that he was just careful.

That was a great day which I deemed 'Sexy Sunday', we literally stayed in bed allll day, only getting up around 8pm to go get some dinner. To me G was pefect, totally gorgeous, smart, well travelled and owned his own sucessfull buinness. I consider myself very average so it was a real case in internally high-fiving myself. After dinner we returned to his place and continued our sex-a-thon. He'd lived in his flat for 2 years and had never fucked on the balcony so I took care of that. Sex on a balcony is always fun - whens it's directly accross from a hotel window it's just downright naughty! AND unlike the fool Arnaud before him, G's command of the English language was fantastic. I didn't expect for someone I'd only just me to ask me if I 'liked his hard dick in my pussy' and could only mutter a feeble yes thanks to the surprise but as Sexy Sunday went on the chat became dirtier and sexier until I finally found myself muttering 'say it in French'. He obliged. Wow. Just wow, that's all I can really say. if you haven't had a hot Frenchman talk dirty to you in his native tongue then put it on your to-do list. Seriously, even if your married to an American guy and have 5 kids.

Sadly Sexy Sunnday came to an end (after having sex 8 times, yes I counted, yes it's a little pathetic, no I don't care) and I had the joy of going to work on Monday morning with very sore thights but a huge smile on my face. G walked me to the metro, asked for my number and promised to be in touch.

And so it was an a bientot rather than an au revoir to encounter nuber 3!

Encounter 2 - Frank

I met Frank on a night out when I was gradually getting back to normal and at the time when C was starting to no longer be the 1st thing that I thought about in the morning. I still wasn't myself, I was still drinking too much and I was hitting the rebound bigtime but I was getting there.

I met Frank through a friend of a friend at a boat party. I was drunk, he was drunk and we ended up kissing. He was your stereotypical geek, kinda tall and lanky with glasses and he worked in the Apple store. He was also 2 years younger than me..I thought he was super hot though and I still kinda think he is. After a night of dancing and snogging we eventually left the boat party at 6am and headed back to Frank's friends place where we all partied some more until exhuastion started to kick in. It must've been around 8am when we finally left his friends place to stagger back to Franks - for want of a proper bed if nothing else! Once back at his place and comfortably into bed things started to heat up. After some time though it became clear that Frank wasn't going to..ahem..rise to the occasion. I put it down to tiredness, too much alcohol and coke then rolled over and thought nothing more of it.

Later in the afternoon I finally found the energy to get myself home. Frank walked me to the metro stop, asked for my number and kissed me goodbye. Over the next couple of weeks we exchanged texts, became friends on Facebook and discussed going for drinks sometime.

One Sunday I was out with my amazing friend N who was my absolute rock at that time. I was drunk of course and was blabbing on about how I really felt I was getting better which of course made me think of C and made me all emotional. Le sigh. Once we left the bar I went home and texted Frank and invited him over to my place. I guess I wasn't really bothered about seeing him but it was a classic rebound thing to do. Of course it turned out not to be such a good idea since he accepted my invite and hopped on the nightbus...from the other end of the city!

An hour and a half he finally arrived and by this point I was pretty much asleep. As i recall I said a groggy and drunken hello and then announced that I was going to sleep. This guy was a freakin hugger though so it was easier said than done. Then out of nowhere he started talking about our last encounter, how keeping it up was a problem for him and how he was going to go to the doctors about it. In my head all I could think was 'Uhhh, why is this guy trying to talk to me about FEELINGS! Can't a girl have some good old fashioned sex without having to talk about things?!'. Of course I'm actually a pretty nice person so rather than berate him I told him that he needed more confidence and kissed him goodnight.

After that I let things fizzle out...I had enough issues of my own without worrying about someone elses too!

And so it was Au Revoir encounter number 2!

Encounter 1 - Arnaud

When I went through a messy and painful break-up with my ex (hereby referred to as 'C') I went through 3 stages before returning to normality:

1. Crying - like all the time. At work, on the metro, in the shower, in the supermarket...you get the idea - I was a wreak.
2. Replacing food with alcohol. This was a fun time (note the sarcasm). Instead of enjoying the summer sun I kept myself company with a bottle of vodka shunning invites for picnics and other fun activities from friends. The heartbreak diet was effective though :)
3. The slutty phase - This is when I started going out and would basically kiss/fool around with anyone with a penis.

I had my first encounter with a Frenchman between stages 2 and 3. Arnaud was very tall, dark (but not floppy) haired and had a pretty poor level of English. I met him in a bar/club called Truskal. My friend and I used to say that this place is a sheer sausage fest due to the number of sleazy men who use the small, crowded conditions to press their gross sweaty bodies up against unsuspecting females. The night in question however I was the sleazy one...
Fueled by the huge amounts of alcohol in my veins and the need for attention I had wandered away from my friend to do some creeping. I spotted this guy who I thought looked pretty hot. After spying on him for a few minutes to establish that he wasn't with a girl, I marched up to him , took his hand and demanded (in English) 'come dance with me'. Five minutes later we were on the small dancefloor with his tongue rammed down my throat. And I mean literally rammed down there. Kissing someone new after C was always going to feel strange but this guys long tongue was just disgusting! Despite this and the fact that up close his eyes were slightly googly like a goldfish I continued to allow him to rape my face/mouth/throat with his tongue for the rest of the evening. After the club closed we went to a 24hr cafe and drank cocktails until 7am when I decided that I had to get some sleep. At this time I was still living with C (damn you Paris and the difficult process of flat hunting) so Arnaud and I shared a sloppy kiss goodbye and exchanged mobile numbers.
Arnaud and I exchanged a few texts and then he added me on Facebook where I was able to examine his resemblance to a goldfish through sober eyes and viewed his bad dress sense. We chatted on Facebook a few times and then he went on holiday to America for three weeks. During those 3 weeks I (finally) moved into a new flat. On his return Arnaud and I discovered that we now lived rather close by. Now something makes me wonder if this was what spurned on what happened next. From going to a guy who seemed relatively normal Arnaud suddenly turned into a sex texter. Nothing wrong with that - I enjoy a bit of dirty talk probably more than the average person. However, as previously mentioned Arnaud didn't have such good English. In his texts which he probably thought were very sexy he told me that he wanted to 'eat up your pussy', 'hold you down and rape you' (I get that some guys/girls have the whole rape fantasy thing but save that for lovers you actually know!), and 'put my hard cock in your throat'. The best text of all though was when Arnaud told me that he wanted me to 'swallow my sperms'. After that I strangely enough stopped replying to Arnauds texts and deleted him from Facebook.

Au revoir encounter number 1!

Introduction

Welcome to the adventures of this Anglo-Slut. If you happen to have stumbled across this then I apologise in advance for any raciness you may encounter. If you are looking for the typical blog about someone living in Paris talking about long walks and museums and the beauty of it all then you will be disappointed. The only beauty I will refer to is that of the Frenchmen that I am surrounded by. There is a reason for this blog...my dear dear friend hereby known as NC dared to move to the other side of the world, we are both rubbish at emailing and recently she asked me to write a blog so...voila!
I won't write much about me except that I am an anglo who has been living in Paris for over 2years now. Just over a year ago I split up with my English boyfriend, so this blog will document all past and current Frenchman encounters, all for the benefit of NC!
As it is stupid o'clock in the morning here I will keep this 1st post brief but as an introduction here is some observations about the most beautiful men on Earth (the Frenchies)

• Frenchmen are the only nationality in the world that can pull off that floppy hair.
• They seen to have a rule book that they use for chatting up Anglo girls - the favourite seems to be 'you have such beautiful eyes' - bleugh!
• It is perfectly normal for them to approach a girl walking down the street and ask for her number/a date.
• They always seem to have a large stash of condoms by their bed and whip them out fast. Unlike Anglo boys they dont try to just stick it in. If its hard then it's wrapped up.
• Kissing in a club generally makes them think that sexytime is automatically on the cards.
• 'Tres jolie' appears to actually be sincere. 'So beautiful' seems to be used when they are trying to get laid.
• A Frenchman talking dirty to you is exhilirating. If you have never had the pleasure then it sucks to be you.
• Anglo girls tend to be viewed as easy - I'm not gonna lie, I'm the kind of Anglo girl that adds to that reputation.

Might be worth mentioning that I seem to have a 'type' of Frenchman that I go for. In general they have floppy hair, designer stubble and brown eyes like pools of chocolate you could swim in. Oh and I also seem to be attrated to the he-sluts!

So introduction over - I'm off to sleep. Enjoy NC - you owe me a fucking good email now! ;)