I like to wander around the streets of Paris during tourist season and try to pick out the tourists from the locals. Most of the time it isn’t very hard, especially since “tourist” in Paris means someone from almost anywhere in the world. They are also the ones looking all around in wonder and very often are carrying cameras.
When I see someone taking pictures of their companions, I usually offer my services on the assumption that they would prefer to be in the picture if it were possible. I don’t remember ever being refused and they are usually quite grateful.
On this particular day, I had already volunteered as a photographer several times. The sunlight had that special Paris quality that day and people were almost giddy with the atmosphere, the sunlight and the realization that they were visiting the true center of the universe. If not yet, they would become convinced as soon as they went to the observation deck of the Eiffel Tower.
Yes, I’ve been to the top of the Empire State building and the World Trade Center (sigh). I know that Paris is not in the same league with NYC as far as tall buildings go, but nowhere on earth is there the feeling that emanates from my beloved Paris.
He was portly, balding, sweaty and red faced. She was Summer and sunlight and gossamer and lace and daisies and Cinnamon. I stood in awe of her as he clumsily attempted to operate the camera. I quickly snapped off a couple of shots of her pose with my own camera before offering my services, just in case they were declined. I would kill myself if I allowed this vision to be permanently gone, although she was seared into my retina to a degree that just might remain there forever, if I was lucky.
She accepted radiantly. He was more reluctant. He had heard stories about strangers simply walking away with cameras.
They posed with bright smiles, arms entwined. I offered to make a series of shots. Anything to stay in her presence. At my urging and direction, they waved, assumed touristy-type stances and even followed my instructions to stand apart, bend at the waist and kiss on the lips, framing Notre Dame in the arch of their bodies. I know, I know, but they were tourists, right?
When I couldn’t remain inventive any longer, I reluctantly returned the camera and steeled myself for the loss of her company.
“Well, hey fellow! You did a great job. How much do I owe you?”
I explained that it was very much my pleasure and that it would be unthinkable to accept money for being allowed to photograph them.
She smiled radiantly and suggested that they could treat me to a coffee or aperitif, at least, and could I suggest a nice, quiet place, her feet were killing her?
As it turned out, I did know a very nice place right around the corner. As we sat and watched the other tourists, I introduced myself and explained that I lived in Europe and devoted a lot of my time to people-watching, but they were the nicest people I had watched, so far.
While he mumbled something, she fully grasped my meaning and gave me another sweet smile, with a shake of her long auburn hair.
“Daddy and I are here to celebrate my graduation from high school. Mom couldn’t come and they wouldn’t let me come alone, so here we are, Daddy and I.”
AHHHH! The prayers that I had not even been aware of uttering had been answered. She was not a child bride, nor was she eye candy for a business man or his trophy wife. She was fair game--beautiful, somewhat innocent and uncommitted --maybe.
“What about your boy friend. Couldn’t he come?”
“There’s no way that son-of-a-bitch is ever laying a hand on my Lisa again. I threw the bastard out of the house for what he tried to do at her eighteenth birthday party. He won’t be back.”
“Daddy, Daddy, Daddy. You can’t protect me from everybody.” She wiped his sweaty forehead with her hanky while her eyes told me she had decided he wouldn’t protect her from me.
My heart pounded. Surely they could hear it. The sound of blood coursing through my inner ear was so loud I failed to hear the next thing she said.
“I said that I really appreciated what you did for us, but I’m wondering if I might persuade you to do me one more little favor?”
As long as it didn’t involve the torture of small animals of the loss of both arms, I was ready and tried to let her know in a dignified manner, assuming that a fast head nod that spilled drool qualified as dignified, that is.
“Well, after all, it is Paris and we all know its reputation for being a wide open sex city, don’t we?”
“Oh, Daddy. You might as well hush. You know I can twist you around my little finger, don’t you?”, said with a devilish smile while she traced her pink fingertip across his lips.
“Well, um, huh, well err.”
“Hush, Daddy. You’re out of your league. I was just going to ask this gentleman if he would mind giving us a guided tour of the dark side of Paris. I’m sure he knows it well.”
She had me there. Of course I was not a taxi driver or a resident, but I was one hell of a voyeuristic, frequent tourist. I knew the places she meant, but none that would be too dangerous to take her. I even knew a few things that most Parisians would not notice, that she might find intriguing.
We started our walking tour along Boulevard Sebastopol. Within a few blocks, we were in an alley that is probably a red light district at night, but during the day is sparsely populated with people. Several sex shops offering various wares surrounded us.
“Let’s go in that one!”
“Daddy! Do you want to go back to the hotel?”
“Just hush, Daddy. When we get back to Boston, you can be the big, bad daddy. Right now, we are in Paris, it’s my trip and we have a great guide. I want to see the things I could never see at home. Now do you want to go with us or not?”
Talk about your sales closers. All of his choices included she and I taking a sex tour of Paris. All she offered him was the opportunity of dragging along.
“Ok, hon. You know I can never refuse you. Just try not to walk too fast. Ok? My feet are already killing me.”
“Poor Daddy. Just sit here on this bench and wait while we check out this shop. Maybe you can get a few pictures of those naughty French girls who don’t wear underwear.”
“You’re bringing me down, Daddy. Last chance.”
“Ok, ok. Don’t be too long”, accompanied by a look at me that promised multiple lifetimes in Hell if I did anything bad to his baby.
“Come on! Hurry!” She grabbed my hand and ran into the shop as if they might put everything away if she didn’t see it immediately.
“Oooooh! What’s that?”
“Just what it looks like, Baby. It’s a rubber dick.”
“What’s it for?”
“Just what it looks like. It’s for stuffing up tight little twats.”
“You mean like mine?”
Be still, my heart! “Is your twat tight?”
“Umh huh. Is yours that big?” Her hand found where I keep it. “Oh, my! I think maybe it is! Show me!”
“Do you always get what you want?”
“Umh huh, always. Show me your cock, please, pretty please. I want to see the big man’s big nasty cock. Here, I’ll make you a deal. I’ll give you my panties if you will show me your cock. Deal?”
It was a rhetorical question, at best. She flipped her mini up and wriggled her thongs to her feet then stepped out of them and stuffed them in my shirt pocket. “I’ll just put them here so you can smell them better.”
At least she allowed me to face away from the sales clerk as she unzipped me and wrestled her prize into the open air.
“Oh. It is bigger.” Her head bobbed below my waist as she took a taste test.
Too late, I noticed the anti-shoplifting mirrors. The sales clerk was watching everything with a smirk. From that distance, it was difficult to tell whether he was admiring her technique, her toy or her ass. After all, it was Paris. He made no move or sign to stop us and Lisa was quickly rewarded for her efforts by a blast that must have bruised her tonsils.
“Umm. Too bad we don’t have time for you to try me, but maybe this will hold you. Her fingers that had apparently been in her cunt while she sucked were now in my mouth. Her lithe body pressed into mine. “Buy me one of those, and those and two of these. Those look interesting, Get them, too.”
The clerk explained the purpose of the vibrating Ben Wah balls with the remote control. “Shall I wrap them or will you wear them.” I suppose the smirk was painted on. Hope the bastard’s face froze in that position.
“Wear them? Why, what a great idea.” Lisa bent from the waist and motioned for me to insert them. I warmed them in my mouth for a few seconds before pressing them far back into the recesses of her cunt. At the helpful clerk’s suggestion, we inserted three, to help keep them from falling out. He advised that only one or two might slip out, but three should make a bigger clump. Guess he worked on commission.
The first time he demonstrated the remote control, Lisa’s feet left the floor.
“Whoohooh!, as Homer says! Wow! That has quite a KICK!!!!!”
Apparently, he had turned on the second ball. I couldn’t wait for the third one.
Lisa probably figured that one out, too, and had her feet braced against the base of the counter and her arms around my waist when the tsunami rolled over her.
.... There is more of this story ...