finalmente

It sounds like "fee-nahl-mohnt" and it means exactly what it looks like.

Well.. well.. well... heh wink wink nod nod the Lola-caper strikes again! I remember Andy saying that he was jealous of the guy walking around Paris, oblivious to what I'd do to him, oblivious to what was coming.

Well, I was supposed to meet Julien on Friday night and we were supposed to go to a punk rock indie lesbian show at La Fleche D'Or (thanks to Wilfried for the link on the show, thanks to some random Parisians on the Siene at sunset who gave me the first hint to the place). But I had the opening welcome with cocktails for my program at 5:30pm and then we carried the party out. We went over to the student director's apartment - this flaming Indian guy who laughs like silver and stinks like earth, who has the best edgy, crazy, border-break-down-insanity personality. So, I made a big deal (to myself and Julien) to call him and apologize for ditching last minute but this was a unique opportunity. Well, I thought it was. It was the first party time that 1st and 2nd year MPA students would hang out. 2nd years are like oysters, they have rich information about 1st year (if they went here and aren't dual-degreers from Columbia NYC or London LSE or other places) and they're delicate to pry open. So a bunch of semi-toasted 1st years hopped the metro - with our school books, bookbags, and boring cocktail attire - and headed over to the party. We bought crap wine on the way over (it's ironic, but there is crap wine in Paris - the 4E slightly bitter wine from cornershop groceries .. which I hear are called "Le Arab" because they're almost all run by Arab folks. This doesn't mean only Arabs have crap wine, mind you. It's just what I heard the cornershops are called.)

Mingle mingle with the students and then Colombian Ana shows up with 2 of her Egyptian friends. You see, there is literally an Indian CEO of software company in my class, Korean journalist, member of the Ministry of Finance of Japan, etc... Colombian Ana was a marketing specialist of some kind who travelled all over and made friends all over. So, Egyptian guy is an illustrator/comic book guy and he's hot. We make conversation in the kitchen and I get swept away with the Egyptians, Ana, and a couple of other colleagues. I ditch my bags at Gay Indian's apartment and only leave with my wallet. Egyptian boy starts chatting up Iranian girl (who is in a steady relationship) and gives up on me. Whatever.

We end up at some tiny, smoky dance club in the 5th neighborhhood. We get in and go upstairs for our bigger group. The waiter/server is only wearing tighty whiteys and some kind of gripping surfer shoes. He gives us menus, comes back and goes around the table one-handed unsnapping each girl's bra. He then climbs over the table, over to me, pulls the straps of my bra out of my sleeves, down my biceps and over my arms and then crawls up on my chair and pulls the bra out of the of top of my shirt. I guess there are photos - which will for sure be here when available.

The kids go downstairs and dance it up. I'm feeling overly tired and decide to head home. Only, I left all my things back at Gay Indian's, including my map. I have no idea where I am and it's 2:30am so the metro has stopped running. I have no idea how far I am from home so I don't want to hail a cab. I start walking. Guessing a direction and heading in it. I'm tired, a bit depressed, a bit drunk, a bit lonely. I stop at the bus stops and try to ask people if the Noctillen (night bus) runs this way to my neighborhood. No one seems to know. So, I keep walking, realizing luckily I'm on a street that I know.

Ok, so it was only 2 miles or so, but I was starting to feel the cold, tired, desperate, lonely side of Paris. All the cabs - even when I realized it wouldn't be that far or that expensive - were full. Not a single one empty. It is not like NYC at all where you can walk a foot and hail one. So I kept trudging along. I was about to cry. I tried to call people. I didn't want to have walk the whole way. Whine whine.

Anyway. Here's my walk. I stopped after befriending some fashion model boy from Faith who explained that it was Fashion Week in Paris so, of course, there'd be no taxis. But if I waited in this line for 5 minutes (ahem, 30) then I'd get a cab. When I got one I invited him in thinking that I could do him a favor to get him closer to his destination -- no, not that I'd get in his pants. I'm sure he was gay.

So, relief. At like 4am.

Saturday day I walked around in lovely strength. You know, challenges just make us stronger. Friday night I was alone and tired, cold and weary, all I wanted was to get home and had to walk this long, strange, dark way home - feeling rejected by every cab and more alone in this huge city. But I remembered to befriend myself and was able to turn a dragon into a princess. (Thanks to Andy for the reminder.) So Saturday was full of sun and made for living contentedly. I went down by the Hotel de Ville where they were showing the rugby game on big screen (just like this, but less people and more sunlight).,

Saturday night Julien and I met up and had a beer. He invited me to go to a friend of a friend's birthday party and then do the Nuit Blanche tour. I'm starting to understand more about this boy. The birthday party was of this lovely Iranian goth chick in her boyfriend's place. Only about 10 people were there so it was nicely intimate but I did not have the best time of my life. I'm really not into goth so much. Hell, I'm not into dressing up so much which seems to be the way that Europeans celebrate their subculture. I'm not saying it's bad - I mean liked to dress up a bit for Halloween or for a bdsm event but even that dressing up was minimal and really only consisted of throwing on a corset, a stripper latex skirt, fishnets, high heels. I barely wear make-up and I'm not hiding a closet of kink anywhere. It's just a different culture so I keep thinking how I need to go out and buy outfits and get some crazy make-up so I can make the most of the bdsm events -- which are more called s&m or fetish events. I'm learning a lot.

Anyway, after all our SMSing (not texting here), and all the playing hard to get, Julien came up and we talked shyly until we finally got to the futon.

I realize I really don't miss bdsm so much when my basic needs of sex aren't met. It's only after I can be fulfilled in the most basic, boring way do I note the craving for kink. Submissiveness and bottoming is always in my soul and I know it's yearning and starving and craving, sadly unfulfilled. But so is my lil devil cunnie, trapped inside dying and hungry for touches. And, usually the latter wins out as the more important necessity. So, I crawled on top of him and undressed him and gently bit his nipples (sigh - total wuss, too, I mean I wasn't even biting it was like pressure not even a nibble). I haven't given head to an uncircumsized cock in a while so that was an interesting twist under the influences of drinks and excitement. I put the condom on. I sat on top and took my own slow pace to break my 1-1/2 month virginity as he said, "Gho slohwleee Looolaaaa.. gho sloh."

It wasn't fulfilling in the least, but it was a Big Mac with no meat and a side of fries when my sugar level drops and I go slumming. Ok, ok, it wasn't that bad either. He was very nice and it was kind of sexy. I was just .. I guess so built up with desire and he'd played hard to get so I was expecting a bigger cock (I've been spoiled) and more interaction. Instead, after we came, I curled up and tried to explain how I was more like a man than a woman in that I could totally go to sleep - while he stared longingly at me.

[insert throwing up sounds]

Sunday I meant to go do the walk against breast cancer, but that just wasn't going to happen this year. Cheers to Wilfried and Sarah who did I'm sure. Instead I lazed and did laundry and read 100 pages of homework on the balcony while I peeled off more and more layers during the nice sunny day [finally in my bikini top and boy shorts].

A week or so ago the neighbor across the hall, Eric, was hanging out the window into the courtyard chatting to a guy across the way. Eric gave me his wifi password at that point and I met the Scottish neighbor. A few days ago when my landlord came to take me to Castorama (essentially a Home Depot, but picture it in an old building, expanding into the basement to seem huge) to buy bar stools for the kitchen, we ran into the Scottish neighbor. "I'd like to invite you over for a glass of wine," he said to me. A guy about my age, about my height, nice jeans, nice smile, short blond hair and short close-cut beard.

We finally arranged that Sunday at 6pm would work. After all the laundry was left hanging to dry, I headed over to the Scot's - literally my floor (6th) up all the stairs across the courtyard. I wasn't sure what to wear. It was like, hm, maybe he'll pop his girlfriend out or maybe he's gay, maybe it's just a friendly glass of wine, or maybe I can get some tail. So, I went with jeans, a black low-cut tank, and black Converse no socks (Converse are a total fashion item here for some reason).

We chatted nervously for a while until the wine took hold. He's been in Paris for 3 years and remodeled his apartment to put in a -gasp- bathtub (a rareity in these parts) and expand the bathroom and kitchen. He was a software designer in Edinburgh and ditched it to live here after he'd grown up rather transient. He's headed off to the south of France where he bought a barn and is going to convert it into a house. So, we're on a short time which is always refreshing. No commitments, no holds barred.

After our second bottle of wine and lubricious talk of French lovers and independent fucking, he offered to be my neighbor-of-need in case I wanted and then suggested perhaps he should kiss me now. He put his glass down and took mine, leaned in and two lush, full lips slowly peach-kissed me.

Again I found myself rolling over to straddle him on the couch. His hands pulled my tanktop down and lifted my tits free. Back into his bedroom I slipped him out of his pants and inwardly sighed - yes, I have been spoiled by many but at least he was a mouthful! Such a delightful surprise when men are trimmed, too. Smooth balls I put into my mouth and in a wine haze I remember "God, my prick is so hard... Yes, yes, god that feels so good...." and moans. I love vocal lovers. He pulled me up and over and forced me into a 69. I wasn't sure he wanted to be there really - it's my own insecurity. So I lifted up from his cock and stared at the darkness around us. "Are you sure you want to do that? I mean, do you like doing that?" I peeked down between my legs at his chin and lips. "Yes, I want to do this! And later I'm going to eat your ass!"

Pudding heart, taffy knees.

When I crawled off him, he told me to turn around. I got on my hands and knees and asked for a condom. He put it on and grabbed my hips slowly sliding in from behind. Ohmygodyes. The slow pick-me-up rhythm, that slight friction from being lapped up dry, the re-start of sex drool all over his cock, the expanding and contracting as his cock slid in and out, arching my back and looking upward, leaning my face downard into the bed, reaching back and finding my clit, looking back over my shoulder, his hands on my hips, his hands on my ass, his hands on the small of my back, "God you're so fucking sexy... fuck your skin is so soft..." And then the pace picks up. His fingers tighten around my hip bones using me like a handled lovetoy. His smooth balls slapping the tender, sensitive V of my lips, sliding my hand under them. I know I could go on and on like this tonight. Take it from behind and above and backward and over and over again, but I say the magic words, "Fuck I'm going to cum all over your cock!" And I grabbed the bed in my left hand and push the clit button with the right to speed up and get there.

I don't have to ask him if he came like I did to Julien. I can tell he's fucking cumming over and over by the way he gives the last grasps and pulls me hard into him.

We lay down and he doesn't peel off the condom, but we lay and breathe and wish we knew each other last week. It's 1am and I have to get up in 5 hours for my first French class. There are more soft, jello, suction kisses and a walk to the door. It's too bad I've had too much wine to climb over the rooftop so I go back down and back up to my apartment. He waves from across the way.

I accidentally set my alarm to 6:30PM and scramble out of bed when I realize it's 7:20AM and I have to take the bus which takes 25 minutes and I have to make coffee and shower and brush my teeth. I make it 25 minutes late but get to speak French without a hangover and make it all through my day until 5:30pm (with one 15-minute lunch break and one 1/2 hour break).

I'm hoping I get to see the Scot again before he leaves for the south. Aside from the sex, he had some great suggestions of places to go - like Hotel du Nord, rue Cail for curry, metro Barbes for wonderful fruits and veggies, and rue de la Goutte D'Or for food.


Finalmente, indeed. I have popped my Paris cherry and am so much happier and nicer for it.