Best Vacation Ever Ch. 02

Ch. 02: Positioned in Paris

I left the station in London with only a faint idea of the English countryside. I had a brief sight of wilderness on my descent into the airport, but only a fleeting glance before it turned to gray cityscape. This being my first trip to Europe, I did not know what to expect on the train ride over to France. Our train had to go through a Chunnel (English Channel + Underlying Tunnel = Chunnel I later found out). It's an amazing feat of engineering, being able to bore a tunnel not only underground, but also under water. While it is a wondrous project, there is absolutely nothing to see inside the tunnel, save for a few guide lights passing underneath us. Other than that, darkness reigned.

The knowledge that Ariana was traipsing through Europe with all my stuff still sat uneasy with me. I really didn't care about the money she was stealing from me. I could always get the bank to refund it. I just wanted my camera and laptop back, if she hadn't already sold them. Frankly, I hadn't anything better to do than to chase a goddess of a thief through Europe. I'll admit it was a silly thing to do, but it was either that or go home and admit defeat. Plus, I wanted to know why she had screwed me so bad, of all people. She was too damn pretty for me to stay mad at her for long. I sat there trying to think of a better plan to get my stuff back. I couldn't think of anything.

I sat alone in a cabin with a lavatory behind my back, and dreading the thought that someone else may use it for its intended purpose. Up until this point, I was lucky enough to be on a train with people who did not have to use it. I spoke too soon. I heard the cheap door slide shut and lock into place. I thought about moving to another cabin, but could not see my way in the darkness. Giggling then wafted through the thin walls of the lavatory. It was soft and muted, I wasn't sure if anyone else could hear it. I listened more intently and heard a voice speak in a foreign tongue. With my ignorance of the local languages, I couldn't discern which one it was, but the voice belonged to a woman with a talent for encouraging others. She urged whoever was with her on. I could feel her press against the wall behind me and it groaned with her bodyweight.

Her head or some other body part rubbed against the partition, adding a new sound to her vocal symphony. Her urging coos graduated into gasps as she received pleasure from her source. She stopped pressing constantly and her backside began to grind into the wall instead. I resisted the urge to move with her and vicariously join her in her experience. As her pace gradually quickened, her breaths became shorter, more interrupted. Her muted gasps grew into moans and finally graduated to cries for mercy as she recoiled faster and faster. She stopped grinding through the wall and instead started to smash the whole of her back against it, at one point knocking my head forward. Finally, she finished with a climax that I could not help but find restricted. The mystery woman quietly exploded with an exhale and ended with an elevated whimper. I think she didn't want to scream her lungs out in such a confined and personal space, as if it made a difference.

After a few silent seconds, I heard the latch unlock and the door slide open intently. Two pairs of feet carefully shuffled their way to the door of my cabin and paused. The door opened slowly and the head of a young female poked in. She was not overly tan, but far browner than the Englishwomen I had last seen at the station. Striking ice blue eyes offset her straightened black hair. I sheepishly smiled and turned my eyes down. Her friend pushed her in. When I looked up, I was surprised to see that her friend was a female of about the same age. The latter had short brown hair with highlights that complimented her soft brown eyes. When she turned her head, I could see her teased hair in back, as if to let the world know how much of a wild streak she had.

When they sat, the second one daintily dabbed her chin and licked her lips once. Both were quite thin, the first one wore a short dress that revealed her nicely slender figure. Her companion was of the same weight and build, but wore jeans and a tight collared shirt that also showed off her outline. I would've bet money that they were French lesbians. I cheered silently in my head and thanked any number of deities for such a creation. I just hope they couldn't see the erection through my pants.

The pair sat opposite of me, facing back at me. They turned towards each other and grinned, admitting their guilt even though I didn't speak their language. I bit the knuckle of my thumb and grinned widely. The one with the short brown hair in jeans curled up and fell asleep on the shoulder of her lover and the one with long black hair followed suit. I said nothing and turned my eyes back to the window.

The train emerged from the inky blackness and the countryside dimmed under a passing storm. The spring rains made the countryside all the more green. As far as I could see, farms and hedgerows dominated this otherwise unremarkable world. Being from Arizona, such lusciousness was another foreign thing to me. As we sped by, it would not last.

Before long, the greenery turned to suburbs and the suburbs turned to a dingy gray city. We pulled into the train station in Paris, a huge structure with a glass ceiling covering the open space. Our conductor announced in French and English that we arrived. I left the girls to fate in their sleeping bliss. As I stepped down off the train, I soon became lost within the myriads of people. All I had to go on was the name of a café where Ariana last spent money with my credit card. Escadrille 23. I had no idea what it meant or where it was, but I bet I could find somebody who knew.

When I left the train station, the storm I encountered on the ride over lifted to reveal patchy skies and the clean smell of wet asphalt. Looming in the background, the Eiffel tower followed my every movement, a pillar of the city. Aside from that, the other things to strike me were the roofs of the edifices. Every other building seemed to have an exquisitely colored roof. Weathered green bronze or ceramic blue tiles on the neoclassical-inspired structures. Modern buildings enjoyed their stainless steel cap, reflecting the few rays of sunlight. Some were even home to small garden terraces and provided a sanctuary against the chaotic city life. Steeples, gables and minarets gazed down at me and mocked me through the canopy. It seemed there was more happening above the city than below.

I stumbled around for a while in awe and eventually made my way to a Metro station. I found a place to exchange Nadine's money into Euros and had about enough left to get something to eat, ride the Metro or maybe catch a cab to wherever this boutique may be. Money would be tight again, so I'd have to play my cards right.

I asked the clerk at the currency exchange booth to help me get the Champs- Elysse. Fortunately for me, he spoke English and pointed me in the direction I needed to go. Because of his accent, I had no idea what he said, but I found my way through the dirty white tiled corridors and onto a train with a tour group. This being such a popular city, they were all over the place, much like London. I knew that if I followed them, they would eventually lead me to where I wanted to go.

The doors of the Metro car closed and a quick female voice in French announced what train it was. From her speedy, accented voice, I couldn't make out a word of what she said. Not being used to a subway, I nearly fell over once we started moving. How graceful of me... I asked a nearby elderly couple, which were part of the tour group, if they could help me get to where I was going. It turned out they were German tourists who spoke little English. We communicated well enough and they motioned for me to stay in the back of the group and follow along. I got the message that we would eventually get there.

The train made a few stops on the way to pick up more commuters. I got used to standing on a moving car and we eventually made it to our stop. I stumbled out after the tour group and followed them through winding, half-dome corridors. We made our way up to the street and I found myself near the river Seine. The rain had flooded the river with sewage and it stank. Otherwise, it was moving swiftly under the innumerable bridges that spanned the muddy brown fiend. Upstream, I could see the bell towers and spiral tower of the Notre Dame cathedral off in the distance. It stood as a proverbial 'fuck you' to Father Time himself, too old to die.

The German tourists motioned me off down a cross street and we made our separate ways. I eventually came to the famous boulevard. Even for a rainy day, the sidewalk was as busy with pedestrians as the street was with cars. I meandered down the wide sidewalk and saw mostly big-name, commercial shops. Most of them had an American influence. With that in mind, I went into a few and asked about Escadrille 23. They either didn't know about it or didn't speak English. Frustrated, I decided to break for the day. It was getting dark and my day didn't look as if it would end well.

A little café caught my eye across the street. I couldn't help but think of the Beatles as I crossed the street. The Arc de Triomphe sat at the end of the street, dimly illuminated in the waning daylight. I ventured down the intersecting avenue and made my way to the open-air café. The place seemed deserted save for a girl in an apron wiping off the small tables. She was about my age, maybe a year or two older. Gracing the top of her petite, feminine figure was her mane of cinnamon brown hair, which ended just above her shoulders. When I sat, she noticed me. I motioned over and asked if she spoke any English.

"Oui, a little." Her accent was obviously thick, but still intelligible.

I asked her about Escadrille 23 and she denied any knowledge of its existence. I cursed silently to myself and ran my fingers through my hair, trying to think of a new plan. I asked her for a mineral water. The cute Lolita disappeared back into the café and left me with my machinations. I sat a while and watched the café slowly fill up with people. When she returned with my drink and a small cup of steamed espresso, barely larger than a thimble. She sat opposite of me at the table and asked:

"What is matter?" With a loveable attempt at consoling me.

She seemed genuinely concerned and I told her of Arianna and my misfortunes. French girl watched me intently with an unshakable gaze. I could tell she was interested, but I showed no emotion on purpose. I didn't feel up to the task of sweet-talking another Nadine, plus I felt depleted from the day's venture through the city.

"Do you know where I can use a computer?" I asked, still hung up on tracking my lost belongings.

"I have one at my flat." As she said this her nearest hand guided itself over mine, seemingly willed by its own accord. I introduced myself. She mentioned her name, which I promptly forgot, my mind being elsewhere.

We chatted for a while longer. She let me in on the little secrets in her life that made her that much closer to me. She told me of her passions for reading and writing. She even told me of how posing for artists while nude gave her a thrill. Late into that night of our discussion, she invited me back to her place. Out of energy and willpower, I agreed to let her take me to her home. I never had much success attracting women back in Arizona. Here, I didn't really have much of a choice.

We strolled together through the now-dark streets. Her slender arms wrapped themselves around the crook of my arms. At first, we said nothing as we walked. Light rained down on us from the antiquated streetlamps above us as she led the way with certainty. The wide boulevard with spacious sidewalks gradually shrank into smaller avenues and finally into twisty little roads. Densely packed, multi-tiered buildings loomed over us as the streets switched from paved asphalt to cobblestone and brick. By now we had taken so many turns and short cuts, I could never find a way out without her.

Only after we had left behind the busier streets did she become playful. At first, an ass-grab here, a reach for my cock there. She caught me off guard and we laughed and giggled with her lusty advances. I managed to get her to let go only after a firm slap on her ass, with an audible echo. She released me briefly only to try again. I had to dodge her because, God knows, she liked to squeeze hard. The last thing I needed was her accidentally squeezing my balls instead of the erection; that could ruin the whole night! After an eternity of stumbling through the dark alleyways, we reached a small black lacquered door leading into an apartment building. Right on cue, it started to rain again with a fury. We decided to make the best of such a romantic moment and I eased her back against the door and pressed against her with the whole of my weight. She exhaled with excitement in her voice. I kissed her softly on her satin mouth and held there. With her backside in my hands, I hoisted her up. She drew me closer by folding her arms across my back. The door finally gave in with our weight and I fell on top of her. We giggled together and hoped no one heard. If we weren't so wet, I would have been happy to take her right there and drill her into the tiled floor. Instead, she escaped from me and I chased her up the stairs. On the third floor and to the right was another lacquered door. She let us in, quietly this time.

Inside, I could only see three colors: black, white and candy-apple red. The walls were red while all of the furniture was either black wood or black leather. White trim moldings and baseboards capped off the floors, ceilings and any other appropriate place. Past the foyer, she motioned to a black laptop in a suspend state, denoted by a blinking green light on the thing. I sat down in front of it and my host disappeared behind me, calling out something like,

"I'm going to put away my coat..."

I couldn't tell if she said 'coat' or 'clothes'. It was difficult to tell with her accent and fading voice. I revived the computer from its suspended animation and found everything appropriately in French. A picture of her with a man who looked like a cross between Johnny Depp and Dave Navarro greeted me on the desktop wallpaper. Her outstretched arm in the picture indicated it was a self-portrait of the two. Both had comically forced grins with puckered lips and scrunched-shut eyes. I wondered who he was for a second before starting my search on the Internet. Her figure appeared in the hazed reflection of the computer screen, just over my own head. I felt her hands work over my shoulders and towards the base of my head, just behind my ears.

"You don't waste any time, do you?" I said, still facing the computer screen. She padded off on the hardwood floor and called for me in French... at least I think she did. I turned around to look at her and saw that she was already naked, waiting for me. She leaned with her back on the far wall, her hands behind the small of her back. One foot pushed on the wall while she held her body from sliding down the wall. Her skin was of the pale Anglo-Saxon, but entirely homogenous sans tan lines. She wore a big grin on her face, encouraging her already-apparent intentions.

I stood from the computer and made my way to her by the wall. When I was close enough, she slid her hands out from behind her and crossed them over my shoulders and behind my head. She drew herself closer and pressed her hips off the wall and onto mine. I felt a leg slide around my own and tease my calf.

I heard keys at the door to the apartment. The door opened and there stood Johnny Navarro with a bag in one hand and a quiet intensity on his face. He stood in the doorway studying us with his eyes.

"Oh, shit ..." I felt my erection dying against the girl.

"Nicolette, you should have told me about him. I am not ready."

I heard her speak French followed by the word 'American'. I gather she told him my nationality. She released me from her embrace and walked over to him. He gave her the bag and she disappeared into the kitchen.

"In that case, my name is Etienne." He offered me his hand.

"Eh... Eth... Ethan." I managed to meet his hand.

He noted my puzzled state and said,

"She speaks little English, but understands most."

"And you two are ... seeing each other?" I offered.

"She is my wife. We like to... how you say? Bring other people in for fun?"

"Oh ..." I squeaked in return.

Nicolette reappeared minus the bag. I admired her moving figure as she neared. She smiled sweetly back and leaned on her husband.

"I should tell you- I'm not into guys."

"Nor am I. I'll watch." He replied.

Nicolette led me by the hand into their bedroom while Etienne vanished into a bathroom. She pushed me back onto the bed while she straddled me and massaged my cock. I hardened involuntarily, but I was still uneasy with the swinging couple. I found it hard to concentrate on Nicolette's welcoming smile and hand gestures. Etienne reemerged in the nude and walked by to sit on a nearby black leather easy chair. He crossed his legs at the knee and leaned back.

Put off by my lack of attention, Nicolette squeezed the base of my penis followed by a quick shaft rubbing. She fondled the head between the tips of her fingers and the tip of her thumb. Instantly, she had my attention again.

I thought about erupting then and there, but I decided to wait for her. I guided her hips up my thighs and onto my hips, where I entered her. I slid in easily and she, delighted in my presence, moaned softly. Nicolette's hands guided mine to her small, but firm, breasts. I was happy to oblige her and massaged them intently, with the nipple working its way from my palm to between my thumb and forefinger and back with her every breath. She led our pace and I rocked with her hips. Nicolette pressed her hips firmly into mine, which pushed my cock back and up, rubbing her inside wall. She recoiled in pleasure and kept at it, each repetition quicker than the last.

The spongy, wet feeling on the head of my cock became too much for me and I released inside of her. She kept at her ever-increasing pace and either did not notice or did not care. Ten seconds later, at her most fevered pace, she cried out in a mixture of breathlessness and ecstasy. Her face made a concentrated, determined look as she reached her apex. I felt her petite yonis contract around my still-throbbing erection and a warm liquid sensation running down the underside of my penis and onto my balls. Nicolette hovered for a few seconds as she savored the lingering effects; her face then took on a peaceful, serene facade. She yielded to gravity and collapsed on top of me, out of energy. I felt my erection bend like a joystick with her movement. Patiently waiting, Etienne finally announced, "My turn."

I could see his figure rise behind Nicolette. Still in a post-orgasmic haze, she rested on top of me, pinning me between her undulating figure and the bed. Etienne took no notice of me, but instead focused on his wife's lovely ass. He entered her subtly from behind and subjected her to his own forceful pace. I could feel his stiffness through her despite the layers of flesh between us. Even with the recoil, she barely seemed to notice. For her, this was bliss. She smiled so.

Suddenly feeling uncomfortable, I transferred Nicolette fully to her husband's loving control and slid out from underneath her. Her sticky juices dripped over me in the process. I had my own work to tend to. I still had to find out where Ariana was spending my money, or if I could find a lead on Escadrille 23. I didn't have to search for long. My online credit card statement led to an address, but I had no idea where. I'd have to wait for the happy couple to finish with their bed frolicking.