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!
