/// Part I
V. invited me to *meditate* with him beneath the luminous rose at 11 am. Dressing quickly, as I was late, I rushed out of the house, hoping to catch the Montmartrobus. Just missed it ! I can see it turning the corner, but I have a trick: I raced up the two fights of stairs on the rue de Mont Cenis, catching it at rue Lamarck. Jumped into the funicular, alone in the cabin. A glorious, sunny day for my birthday ! As the car descended, I could see a huge crowd of people waiting at the bottom, & I felt like a princess in a coach going to greet her people. Hopping out, the man from the RATP stepped out to greet me... I skipped & tripped down the cobblestone road to Anvers, crossing over to bd de Rochechouart. Ran up the three fights & V. was astonished at how fast I had arrived, as if I had wings...
As we lie on the cushions beneath the rose, V. lifts up my dress to kiss my vulva, to finger it... hushed sweet words, kissing & licking together. He lifts off my lacy panties, I still have on my clothes, my stockings & my shoes... but I'm very exposed. He puts his fingers inside me, until there are three, opened inside me, one tickling & caressing so deep inside, feeling so huge until I come, electric.
I ask if he would like me to touch him, & he opens his pants, a bit shy. He's not hard yet, so it's easy for me to take him into my mouth. As he starts to swell, I swirl my tongue around him, feeling him harden until he almost comes. I imagine my mouth stuffed with your cock in an hour or so...
Kissing & whispering & fingering & stroking each other... I whisper about how men can see everything, unless they're men who don't want to look & turn off the lights. I whisper how it's so unfair that women can't see their orifices being opened & penetrated, that men could see all these orifices opening... this vision... and his cock becomes so rigid that he explodes ! I cover the tip with my hand, not wanting him to come on my dress...
We talk and soon it's time for me to go. I've just put my panties back on in the bathroom when I get your call. What confusion !
/// Part II
For eight years I lived right on the Place Pigalle — that's another story about my marriage. I know all the streets by heart. I flew down the ave Trudaine, across la rue des Martyrs, along la rue Victor Massé, making a left on rue Pigalle to catch the top of the rue de la Rochefoucauld where a friend used to live. Looking for you until I reach rue la Bruyère, where I see you with your bike, on the phone. You signal me to be quiet, and I realise the obvious, that you would be calling your wife. I stop where I am, remaining silent. I think how this silence ressembles my silence when I open the door for you. Almost the same thing. I watch you as you inspect your bike, tapping the wheel with your foot. I'm fascinated by your black shiny shoes, so long they remind me of your cock, & I wish I could touch them.
Finished with your call, you kiss me directly on the lips, a hard, dry, tense kiss. You show me your scratched ankle & calf & I try to imagine the scene. You must have been scared at that moment, but thank god that you lifted your leg & didn't get badly injured or maimed.
***
A man on his motorcycle racing up the hill to meet his mistress on his lunch hour, hoping to grab a bite to eat beforehand, gets hit by a car coming from the left. As he falls, which woman crosses his mind first ?
***
You bring up the subject of *Z*, & I could feel your concern for me, especially talking about this after your accident made me realise it was important to you. But I had already met him, & didn't intend to see him again because of his impulsive impatience. "Je ne peux pas empêcher les gens de fantasmer sur moi" — as I said this, a soft look came into your eyes, as if you were remembering your dédicaces...
— Ne me fais pas trop attendre, sinon je te laisserai tomber...
— Ah, tu ne me feras pas ça...
You looked down & then looking me in the eye, called me *Garce!*
I caught my breathe & answered back *Salaud !* and smiled because I didn't really mean it & I liked the deep sound of *Garce!* on your lips, and I could tell that you cared about me.
Tu sais bien que je ne te laisserai pas tomber, que je t'apprécie trop, que je t'adore... même si j'avoue que les intervalles sont trop longs à mon goût.
I leave, as your wife is coming to rescue you in 15 minutes. I show you the stains on the hem of my dress, on my sleeves. I feel sad, almost like crying as I go up the street, so I call my friend F. to catch up with him, and drink champagne together to celebrate our birthdays, by the Canal de l'Ourcq.
Later you tell me : Si j'ai dit *garce* c'est parce que le mot était approprié sur le moment. And you said you had ways to make me avoid saying mean things to you again.
I'm sorry that I said those mean things, that I acted like a bitch when you needed consolation, especially since you were on your way to see me when you had that accident. I suppose that I felt a bit strange about your wife's invisible presence, I almost wished that I hadn't come, since the obvious reality was that she would take care of you.
— with Phallus —
V. invited me to *meditate* with him beneath the luminous rose at 11 am. Dressing quickly, as I was late, I rushed out of the house, hoping to catch the Montmartrobus. Just missed it ! I can see it turning the corner, but I have a trick: I raced up the two fights of stairs on the rue de Mont Cenis, catching it at rue Lamarck. Jumped into the funicular, alone in the cabin. A glorious, sunny day for my birthday ! As the car descended, I could see a huge crowd of people waiting at the bottom, & I felt like a princess in a coach going to greet her people. Hopping out, the man from the RATP stepped out to greet me... I skipped & tripped down the cobblestone road to Anvers, crossing over to bd de Rochechouart. Ran up the three fights & V. was astonished at how fast I had arrived, as if I had wings...
As we lie on the cushions beneath the rose, V. lifts up my dress to kiss my vulva, to finger it... hushed sweet words, kissing & licking together. He lifts off my lacy panties, I still have on my clothes, my stockings & my shoes... but I'm very exposed. He puts his fingers inside me, until there are three, opened inside me, one tickling & caressing so deep inside, feeling so huge until I come, electric.
I ask if he would like me to touch him, & he opens his pants, a bit shy. He's not hard yet, so it's easy for me to take him into my mouth. As he starts to swell, I swirl my tongue around him, feeling him harden until he almost comes. I imagine my mouth stuffed with your cock in an hour or so...
Kissing & whispering & fingering & stroking each other... I whisper about how men can see everything, unless they're men who don't want to look & turn off the lights. I whisper how it's so unfair that women can't see their orifices being opened & penetrated, that men could see all these orifices opening... this vision... and his cock becomes so rigid that he explodes ! I cover the tip with my hand, not wanting him to come on my dress...
We talk and soon it's time for me to go. I've just put my panties back on in the bathroom when I get your call. What confusion !
/// Part II
For eight years I lived right on the Place Pigalle — that's another story about my marriage. I know all the streets by heart. I flew down the ave Trudaine, across la rue des Martyrs, along la rue Victor Massé, making a left on rue Pigalle to catch the top of the rue de la Rochefoucauld where a friend used to live. Looking for you until I reach rue la Bruyère, where I see you with your bike, on the phone. You signal me to be quiet, and I realise the obvious, that you would be calling your wife. I stop where I am, remaining silent. I think how this silence ressembles my silence when I open the door for you. Almost the same thing. I watch you as you inspect your bike, tapping the wheel with your foot. I'm fascinated by your black shiny shoes, so long they remind me of your cock, & I wish I could touch them.
Finished with your call, you kiss me directly on the lips, a hard, dry, tense kiss. You show me your scratched ankle & calf & I try to imagine the scene. You must have been scared at that moment, but thank god that you lifted your leg & didn't get badly injured or maimed.
***
A man on his motorcycle racing up the hill to meet his mistress on his lunch hour, hoping to grab a bite to eat beforehand, gets hit by a car coming from the left. As he falls, which woman crosses his mind first ?
***
You bring up the subject of *Z*, & I could feel your concern for me, especially talking about this after your accident made me realise it was important to you. But I had already met him, & didn't intend to see him again because of his impulsive impatience. "Je ne peux pas empêcher les gens de fantasmer sur moi" — as I said this, a soft look came into your eyes, as if you were remembering your dédicaces...
— Ne me fais pas trop attendre, sinon je te laisserai tomber...
— Ah, tu ne me feras pas ça...
You looked down & then looking me in the eye, called me *Garce!*
I caught my breathe & answered back *Salaud !* and smiled because I didn't really mean it & I liked the deep sound of *Garce!* on your lips, and I could tell that you cared about me.
Tu sais bien que je ne te laisserai pas tomber, que je t'apprécie trop, que je t'adore... même si j'avoue que les intervalles sont trop longs à mon goût.
I leave, as your wife is coming to rescue you in 15 minutes. I show you the stains on the hem of my dress, on my sleeves. I feel sad, almost like crying as I go up the street, so I call my friend F. to catch up with him, and drink champagne together to celebrate our birthdays, by the Canal de l'Ourcq.
Later you tell me : Si j'ai dit *garce* c'est parce que le mot était approprié sur le moment. And you said you had ways to make me avoid saying mean things to you again.
I'm sorry that I said those mean things, that I acted like a bitch when you needed consolation, especially since you were on your way to see me when you had that accident. I suppose that I felt a bit strange about your wife's invisible presence, I almost wished that I hadn't come, since the obvious reality was that she would take care of you.
— with Phallus —
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