The Week


Now that Bob's wife had had her kid, I was still looking for a place to crash until Quarantine got this apartment she was on about. In any case, I never thought she'd come through, so I looked up Fanoche, who I'd come over from Ireland with.

She was in when I got to her house. And so I asked the usual questions about her little friend the strawberry blonde and her boyfriend, Jean. Well, there wasn't much news from either of them. And she was really uptight about the fact that Jean hadn't called or written since we'd all got back from Ireland. She went on and on about it. Well, I'd heard that story before, and I'm never too busy to help a damsel in distress.

But first, I needed a little haircut. She took out her scissors and WHACK! took out a huge hunk of hair on the first swipe. That pissed me off, so I grabbed the offending weapon out of her hand, and took her straight to the bedroom.

We screwed three times that night, and you could tell she was absolutely dying for it. especially since her boyfriend had just dumped her. I thought to myself, "I may not have got an Irish girl at the match-making festival in Lisdonvarne, but I ended up with TWO French girls out of the deal - not bad!"

The very next day, Fanoche was going sailing for a couple of weeks with some friends of hers, so she left me with the keys to her place, and a kiss on the cheek.

Barry and Mark had also been booted out of Bob's place since his wife and new baby came home, and they were staying over at some junkie chick's place. They invited me over there for a little party, and I figured what the hell, there's bound to be some smoke.

I got there and there were the two Irish guys, this chick and some mangy looking little dude who was jonesing it. There was no smoke, and about every half hour some desperate looking character would pop in to see if there was any smack in the vicinity, which there wasn't. The night turned into one endless vigil of sweaty punks waiting for the dealer to show. He never did.

That was fine by me. Barry and Mark just got stuck into a bottle of wine (like I say - I don't drink wine so I only had a couple of glasses to be hospitable). After a while I started asking which of the guys was dorking the junkie chick, or if that scrawny guy rocking back and forth in withdrawal was her boyfriend.

Well, Mark was a virgin, and it seemed that Barry's only love was for the bottle, and as far as our trembling friend in the corner was concerned, he was just somebody she felt sorry for.

Finally, it got so late that I couldn't make it back to Fanoche's place even if I'd wanted to. And so I asked the chick if I could crash there. Barry and Mark were already laying out their bags on the living room floor, the guy in the corner just sat there shivering with a blanket around him, and me and the chick laid down on her matress on the floor.

At first she told me to just leave her alone, keep my paws to myself. Then suddenly the bell rang, the cat suffering in the corner was hoping it was the connection. Mark just groaned, Barry farted, and the chick opened the door.

It wasn't the dealer, and it wasn't another junkie looking for a hit. It was some girlfriend of hers who had just had a big fight with her boyfriend and needed a place to crash. Well, the floor of the living room was already taken, and so there were the three of us in bed together, with me in the middle.

I tried to pretend I was sleeping while the two of them thrashed through a whole post-mortem of this girl's fight with her boyfriend. Yes, I agree, he's a real bastard, now will you please shut up and go to sleep? Finally, she cried herself out, and they put out the lights. During the night I'd sometimes cuddle up to one and then to the other. The one who'd had the fight definitely wanted nothing to do with me, but the junkie chick started giving me positive signals.

Still, she wasn't about to get into anything heavy until her friend split. And when that girl finally did get dressed and leave in the morning, me and "our hostess" got into some old fashioned French romance. Her boobs were big, plump and firm. I was surprised that she looked so good with all her clothes off, and she was riding me like a rocking horse. It was great for me to shoot my wad after having laid all night long between two foxy chicks.

Shortly after that we got the hell out, and I told Mark and Barry that they could crash at "my place", meaning chez Fanoche, of course. They thought that was great, especially since it meant that they could get out of that sick scene over at the junkie's.

Later that day, we were back in the Metro again, playing at the bottom of the row of escalators at Nation. The idea of being at the botttom there, was that the people had plenty of time to hear you and then decide whether or not they wanted to throw anything into the hat. The other advantage was that during the escalator ride their hands are "free" to search around in their pockets for spare change. Whether that psychological busker's trick holds any water or not, should not be the study of a team of specialists on the psyche of your average Metro zombie.

Nontheless, like usual, there were a fair few people standing around watching us and digging the music. Mind you there were a lot of us, and we were jumping around like crazy. And then a girl appeared on the scene, with that enchanted look I got to know so well in those days: "The music is so wonderful, and so are you, please fuck me".

Like I said, Mark was out of the running, Mark's older brother was so busy disapproving of everything that his scowl ruined his looks, Barry was oblivious to the fact that some day a girl might want him, Bob had to be back at home "after work", and Weasel (of course) was staying at his schoolteacher girlfriend's. That just left me.

This girl wasn't going to leave until we had packed up, and finally I pulled myself together and went over to have a chat. We made arrangements to go out for something to eat, and then after dinner and a little talk, we ended up at her sister's place.

She was really young, and it was difficult finding something to talk about. That's one of the troubles with teenage girls - they've had so little life experience that you soon run out of areas of common interest to keep a conversation alive. It was already late, and I hadn't gotten much sleep at that junkie crash the night before, so I hopped into bed and figured it was time to get to the point of our little date.

Then she simply took off her clothes and I nearly shit myself!!! If Bo Derek was a "10" this girl was an "11". The slope of the line of her breast and their size(!) was so perfect, her shape was extraordinary, her hips, her legs, omigod!! She was so beautiful that I was actually terrified of her. I touched her like a china doll, afraid I might make a mistake and she would break.

We kissed tenderly, and then she lay on her back and spread her legs. As I entered her she gave a little sigh, and then as I started thrusting in and out she just lay there. And she just kept laying there doing nothing. Now, I knew she wanted it, and I knew she was enjoying it, but I couldn't figure out why she wasn't moving.

Then I changed our position so that she was on top of me, and I started rolling her hips with my hands to sort of try to show her how I'd like her to move. When she didn't cop on to that I finally said to her "Look, you've got to do something too, you're not supposed to just let me do all the work". And then she told me "I'm only seventeen years old, how do you expect me to know everything?"

Although I didn't say it at the time, I've known plenty of seventeen year old girls that could nasty just like the older ones. Instead, I decided to get my own end away and call it a day. I reckon that sex is like dancing, or playing music - some people got natural rhythm and some don't. On the philosophical side, it makes you wonder which is better: A beautiful girl who's lousy in bed, or a merely pretty girl who can make the Earth shake for you?

The next day we were booked to play the pit at the Pompidou center, which is a real rip-off because you don't get paid anything for it, and you can't actively bottle the spectators (who think you're being paid by the French Ministere de Culture, so they don't cough up). I brought "Miss 11" along.

After listening to the guy's lewd jokes about my night's sleep, and playing our little pitch, Quarantine showed up. The first thing she did was start screaming "Whewe have you been? I've been wooking aww over fo' you! And who is this ghouwew?" I explained to her that I was with the this girl today, and asked her what she wanted to talk to me about. Then she started telling me that if I had another girlfriend that she didn't have anything to talk to me about. Then I quietly said that she had not reserved the day with me, and if she wanted I would reserve tomorrow for her. Quarantine said "OK, fine! I've got the apawwtment. Meet me a 10 o'cwock tomowwow mowning!" And stomped off.

Françoise (the young girl) just looked at me sort of strange, and I said that Quarantine was just some nut-case I'd run into. Then me and Barry and Mark and the girl all went out for a beer together, and as she was leaving us, waving goodbye, she stepped in a big pile of dogshit. Now, they say (in France) that if you step in it with your left foot that it's good luck. Anyway, I hope she did have good luck in the end, because we creased ourselves laughing at her. Poor thing.

Then we went back to Fanoche's. The three of us were all laying there asleep, when Fanoche comes clattering through the door. I was sleeping in her bed and Mark and Barry were on the floor. She looked around and said something like "Merde, alors". I sat up and asked her why she'd come back so soon (she'd only been gone a couple of days, and she was supposed to have been gone for two full weeks). Then she turned on the light, and explained that there had been a big storm on the second day and that she'd got hit right across the forehead by the boom of the sailboat. The scar on her forehead went right the way across both eyebrows, was about a dozen stitches lon and real ugly. She came and slept in the bed with me, but she was in a lot of pain and it was a bad night for her.

The next day she announced that she was going to stay with her parents until her head healed up. So, we still had the apartment for a while.

After that I met up with Quarantine, saw the apartment and met the other girl Michele, who was going to live there. I didn't stay very long, and after the usual niceties, I was off. Then I went out with Bob-a-loo-bop running around town looking at stand up basses. Bob has three gold medals from the Paris conservatory, and is an excellent Classical player as well as a real Jazz man. We must have gone into every store in town checking out the price and quality of contrabasses, but at that point Bob could only pipe-dream because he didn't have bean.

We were on our way home, coming out of the Metro talking about Jazz legends, when a girl who was on the escalator behind us (eavesdropping), introduced herself. She said something to the effect that she just "had to get to know us". She spoke with a posh London accent, but she was from India, a freaky dark girl with the eyes of the mysterious East. She invited us to go over to a friend of hers for dinner and a smoke. We both said what the hell, and shortly we were over at these people's apartment having a nice little party.

After a while, Bob had to get back to his happy home, and that left me alone with Nita. I lied to her saying that I didn't have any place to stay for the night, and so we went over to her itsy-bitsy attic room near the Gare de l'Est. What a hole! But these are the places where you have to live if you're broke in the big shitty.

We had our candlelight romance with incense burning and a couple of j's, but I decided I didn't want to stay there on a regular basis. So, the next thing I did was invite her over to Fanoche's. We spent the afternoon there while she fed me peeled grapes and wine, a regular Bacchanalian feast.

Then it was back to the Metro again to try and make some more bread. I told Nita that I'd look her up in a couple of days (never intending to), and met the guys at the pitch.

There was this one place that we played a lot down in the Metro that was a junction point for people going in two different directions. And this was the third or fourth time we had played there. We had all noticed this one girl who would stay for a while and listen, but she would always leave just as we were about to pack up. Well, there she was again, and Weasel said "Why don't you go over and say hello to her then? No point in just standing and staring!" Well, Weasel was right about that, and I made a date to meet her at 8 that evening at a bar near Fanoche's place.

I showed up about twenty minutes late, and she was just about to leave thinking that I had stood her up (that's something I've never done to anyone in my life). We had a chinese dinner together, and talked about music. She was Spanish, and her name was Isabelle Reina just like the queen of Columbus fame. I didn't really want to go to Fanoche's with her because Mark and Barry were staying there, so I got her to invite me back to her place. She had a very nice flat, and there were a couple of guitars in the corner. I picked up one of them and started to play. After a couple of songs, she picked up a guitar herself and then started playing and singing. She had the voice of an angel, and her face was beautiful, especially when she was singing. She knew lots and lots of songs, and was really good at chords too. In fact, I learned a lot of nice songs from her.

In due time, we went to bed and I could see that she was a mother by the stretch marks on her belly. I tried asking her about the kid, but she didn't want to talk about it. I really liked her, but when I told her that she had a beautiful face, she said something like, "Yes, the face of an angel with the body of a mother."

In the morning I had to go and see Quarantine about the flat again. Everything had been sorted out and I could move in just as soon as I paid some money. Michele was there too, and seemed like a very friendly girl. She also went to the Beaux-Arts and took to me right away.

Meanwhile, Mark and Barry had told me that Fanoche had showed up again and that she wanted everybody out and the keys back. No problem, here you go - get well soon.

So I talked Nita into taking Barry and Mark for a while (Barry got to screw Nita in the bargain), and I went to Quarantine's new apartment near Convention.

Quarantine was there when I showed up so we had a fuck to christen the place, and then it was back to the Metro. When I got home in the evening, there was Quarantine, Michele and another girl sitting around drinking wine and talking. Now the way the apartment was set up, there was one big room which had a double bed and also served as an art studio and a smaller room with a single bed which served as a dining room. After a while I went into the double bed and fell asleep.

The next day, Michele and I were alone together for most of the day, just talking and arranging things. It's always fun moving into a new place, shifting boxes and getting everything set up the way you want it, kind of magic like. According to the story, Quarantine never told Michele that I was knocking her off now and then. She was trying to pretend that we had a brother/sister relationship. So when I came back in the evening that night, the three girls were there chatting again, and I went off to the double bed waiting for Quarantine.

When she finally climbed into bed, she got real close to the wall and said that she didn't want to make love. Well, I fully remembered that this girl liked nothing more than to be forced, so I started moving closer to her making little love noises. This time though, she jumped out of bed and ran into the other room where the girls were still talking and said "Help, help! Jeff's going 'uh, uh, uh' at me!" At this this point all three of the girls rushed into the room and jumped on top of me and started trying to pin me down. The four of us were wrestling all over the bed, and suddenly, on cue, Quarantine dragged the other girl (both of them giggling) out into the other room, leaving me alone with Michele on top of me.

Well, they'd obviously planned this all out beforehand, and I was plenty happy to be alone with Michele. I had planned to act real cool around her, and not try to make any moves just in case Quarantine got jealous, and here I was wrestling with her in bed and Quarantine had set it all up! Michele was a Jewish girl, with an extraordinarily handsome face, and she was fighting like a wildcat! She was really strong, and I'm not sure I could've pinned her even if I'd wanted to.

And so there Michele was, sitting right on top of me, with her clit rubbing through her trousers right on the shaft of my hard-on. She was holding both my hands and looking straight down into my face saying "I've got you! What are you going to do now?" I thought to myself "What am I going to do now?" And then I pulled my arms apart like a maltese cross, which forced her face right down to mine. I held her like that while she pretended she was trying to get loose, and then she kissed me with such passion and fury, I'll never forget.

She was a tigress, with the strength of a lion and the grace of a gazelle. While we were making love it was like a crucial encounter between two elemental forces where the outcome would decide the fate of the world. The intensity was incredible! This was not casual sex, this was an all-out struggle of the survival of the fittest.

Finally, she came. And when she did it was with such power that I could feel her every spasm rolling through her body with tremors that would have measured on the richter scale.

When it was all over and she had recovered from her earth-shaking orgasm, she told me that I was the first man that she had ever had a climax with. She was in love, and though I didn't realize it at the time, so was I.

I lay back with her head on my shoulder feeling not only the golden glow of achieving satisfaction by my own release, but the much greater satisfaction that only comes from making someone else happy and fulfilled. I was just about to nod off when she attacked me again! What a woman!! She had to have me another time and there was no stopping her.

When I woke up in the morning, I sort of reviewed the events of that past week and realized that I had just had seven women in as many days. Most of them more than once, and often two in the same day. Ah, the magic and mystery of Paris!
copyright 2005 Jeff Brent

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