Living for Myself

"Well you was in here for a big birthday meal a few months ago, so I reckons she's like you -- mid sixties?" She burst into laughter. "Only kiddin'. I assume if you've known each other so long you must be the same age, but honest, ladies -- I'd have said not a day over forty."

I looked at Leigh in amazement. "You tell her to say that?"

The girl looked most put out. "Hoi, I mean it. Lovely ash-blonde hair. Wish mine were so soft. I'd kill for skin like that and don't get me started on that figure. The twins saw to mine, so they did. Well them and the cakes and the chocolate and the wine boxes, but hey-ho, a girl's gotta have her excuses, eh?"

She leaned towards me as I sat in shock. "Any pal of Leigh's is a pal o'mine, and you are what we call around here, 'fuckin' lush', lady!"

She nodded to Leigh. "Happy now?"

Leigh pointed to me as I sat open-mouthed. "Someone's happy!"

"Glad to hear it." The girl walked away shaking her head. "I'll struggle to look half as good as that when I'm bloody forty, never mind fifty!"

Three

The apartment was everything I had hoped for. The view was as advertised and I could look out over Paris from the small balcony at the Ile de la Cité to my right, the Eiffel Tower away to my left and the bulk of Montmartre dead ahead across the Seine as it twisted into the distance.

I had a week to refamiliarize myself with the sights, but I had little hope of emulating my younger self when at nineteen, I spent six months in the City of Light, having what at the time seemed like quite a racy rite of passage, but in retrospect was relatively tame. I got a taste for French food, cheap champagne and bed-hopped energetically for a while before a guy I had a crush on slept with my flatmate and I retreated back home with my tail between my legs.

I had a plan mapped out -- museums, art galleries, a bateau-mouche ride and had a few nice solitary meals booked. The cruise had been wonderful, but my lukewarm attempts to 'get back in the game' were pretty uninspiring. I didn't hold out much hope for an improvement in my situation as my week progressed and as per usual, my nocturnal activities were confined to solo flights of fancy.

It was the third night that things began to change. I had been to Montmartre and Sacre Coeur and had a very nice rustic meal in a restaurant on the edge of the seedy Pigalle district. I returned to the apartment with a bottle of fine Bordeaux and settled down for a quiet evening of wine and a bit of catching up on social media.

As I lounged on the sofa, I was aware of raised voices from the apartment next to mine through the wall behind me. It took me a moment to realise that this was not a domestic. I knelt up and put my ear to the wall and recoiled in shock as I heard a staccato French voice and the creaking of bed springs.

The sounds went on in a breathy, singsong voice for what seemed like an age. The girl was obviously enjoying herself far more than I had in my Starboard cabin. My bedroom French was not exactly up to scratch after so long, but I could envisage the girl exhorting her partner to go harder, to come in her mouth and on her face. I knelt there way longer than I should as things subsided into gentle purrs and thought I may have to bring my scheduled vibe session forward a little.

Instead, I refilled my glass and went out onto the balcony. I leaned on the rail and took in the spectacular view of Paris as I savoured the wine and the amazing panorama in front of me.

I had no idea who she was or what she looked like, but I wanted to be the girl next door. I wanted to see her lying there with her face covered in cum, her chest heaving, a contented smile on her face.

I was about to go back inside when I heard a sound away to my right. The door to the adjacent balcony opened and light flooded out, illuminating the small area. My heart stood still as she emerged into the night. She was tall and elegant, wearing a silky silver robe and long brunette hair tumbled down her back in a thick plait. The look on her face said it all -- it had been as spectacular as it sounded and she looked utterly stunning in the moonlight.

She walked the short distance to the rail and stood as I had done. She stretched her neck and sighed as she ran her hands through her hair, a long, low purr emanating from her throat. Her lovely face lit up in a mesmerising smile and I felt a deep pang of envy as I wished I could be that young, beautiful and happy once more.

As I made to go back inside, she turned and saw me as I watched her with rapt attention.

"Oh, pardon. Bonsoir, ca va?"

The voice was every bit as singsong and melodic as it had been using her gutter language earlier and I shuddered at the thought of this beautiful girl doing the things I had heard.

"Bonsoir aussi. Je vais bien, merci. Et vous?"

She smiled again and it seemed to light up the night. "Oh, English, yes? Sorry -- I hadn't realised the apartment was occupied. It seems to be vacant a lot of the time."

Her English was heavily accented, but otherwise perfect.

I smiled back. "Yes, English. And as usual our French neighbours put us to shame with their linguistic skills!" I didn't add that they put us to shame with their other skills as well.

She moved towards the dividing rail between the balconies, looking like she should be on some catwalk in Milan, given the grace and natural beauty she exuded. "Ah merci. I studied English in London before settling here in Paris. Are you en vacances -- on holiday?"

"Yes, just staying a few nights, taking in the wonderful sights. Been a long time and it's nice to be back."

She narrowed her eyes in surprise. "You are alone?"

I smiled ruefully. "Yes, just me. A little solo tour to celebrate a significant birthday and something else I won't go into."

She inclined her head. "Then joyeux anniversaire et bienvenue a Paris." She held out a slim hand across the rail and I took it, trying not to think of what she may have held in it a few minutes earlier.

"Nicole."

"Enchanté, Nicole. Robyn. Comme le petit oiseau!" Like the little bird.

A wicked smile crossed her face. "Well, little bird -- I hope we didn't disturb you and ruffle your feathers earlier."

I squeezed her fingers gently and laughed. "Don't worry - I can remember what it was like to enjoy it that much. Just."

She gave a Gallic shrug. "Pardonnez-moi, I get a little -- carried away." She gazed out into the night and shivered slightly. Her voice was quiet. "Fuck, it was good."

Her head snapped back towards me and a hand flew to her mouth. "Oh Mon Dieu! I did not mean to say that out loud!"

Her sweet giggle sent chills through me and I laughed to cover another little frisson of envy. "Oh to be your age again, Nicole."

In answer, she gestured to the door behind her. "He's gone. Come round for a glass of wine?" She leaned forward conspiratorially. "Maybe help me cool down a little?"

My heart almost stopped. Had a girl half my age just come on to me? I began to stammer and bluster, making no sense at all.

She sensed my discomfort and began to move away. "Ok, no biggie -- just a suggestion."

I managed to find a coherent sentence. "Sorry, I'm not that way inclined but thank you for the offer. It's very flattering at my age."

She shrugged again. "Pah, what is age? What does gender matter? If I see someone I like, I make an offer. I rarely get a refusal, but I won't take offence in this case."

She backed away towards the door. "Don't worry - I won't disturb you tomorrow. I am being wined and dined across town, so I will need to work very hard to repay his generosity."

"I'm sure you'll manage. Oh and Nicole?"

"Oui?"

I pointed to a spot on my left cheek. "You missed a bit..."

Touching the same spot, she burst into laughter, a gamine grin lighting up her face. "Tres amusant! I like you, little bird. Numero Huit if you change your mind."

She gave me a wink as she closed the door. "I hope you do!"

I finished my wine and went back inside cursing myself for my craven cowardice. Just a few weeks earlier, I had boldly declared my new fantasy of making out with another woman to my best friend. I'd just had the chance in the palm of my hand to get it on with a stunning French girl half my age and I dismissed it without a second thought.

Three times I almost got up to go and knock on the door of Apartment Eight, but each time my courage failed me. Or more correctly, I just did not have any courage at all. If I had, maybe I'd have spent the night in the arms of a nubile, Gallic babe instead of once more cranking up what, thanks to Leigh, I now thought of as my Spaceship.

As Leigh had ordered me to after our pub lunch, I went hard. As I arched off the bed, screaming silently at the ornate ceiling, in my mind's eye a long-haired French girl nodded at me with narrowed eyes as she rubbed herself before holding out glistening fingers towards my mouth.

The next morning, I did my planned trip to the Louvre and spent hours in the long corridors, losing myself in the exquisite artwork in a bid to get the girl out of my mind. It was late afternoon as I returned to the apartment building and settled into an outside seat in the café-bar at the foot of it -- a typical Parisian affair with crowded tables along the pavement and virtually no-one inside.

I ordered an Americano and began to watch the world go by. I love people-watching and as I sat, I gave little life-stories to some of the teeming masses. One woman was on her way to an affair with her husband's best friend. A seedy looking man was waiting for a bereted, Gauloise-smoking hooker to arrive and blow him in a back alley. A third woman, sitting alone as I was, hoped a handsome stranger would sit down opposite her before taking her upstairs to make passionate love to her.

It was only when her boyfriend or husband arrived a few minutes later that I realised I was the one hoping, not her.

I was on my second coffee when I looked up and saw Nicole speaking to a waiter at the café entrance. I couldn't discern what she said but clearly heard her melodic voice above the general hubbub. The waiter shook his head apologetically and held his hands out, gesturing to the full tables.

Obviously wanting an outside seat, she reluctantly began to follow him inside when she glanced in my direction. Her face lit up as she grabbed him by the arm and pointed at me.

"Ah, c'est mon ami! Espresso, s'il vous plait, Albert." She made a bee-line for my table and without a word, plonked herself down in the seat opposite and gave me a huge smile. "So, enjoy your day, little bird?"

I recovered my composure a little. "Bon aprés-midi, Nicole. Yes, you can sit there -- I'm not expecting anyone and I've had a fine day at the Louvre, merci bien."

The waiter put her coffee in front of her and she nodded her thanks. "Pah, le Louvre -- it is a dull place. Musee d'Orsay or Centre Pompidou are much more fun."

Slightly miffed at her intervention, I shrugged back. "They are on my list, thank you. I still have three days left here."

She sipped her coffee. "Ah bon -- three more days to get you into my bed. Three more days to hear the little bird sing!"

I swallowed hard and tried to hide my discomfort. "Dream on, dream girl. I told you I'm not interested and besides -- I'm old enough to be your mother."

She gave me a sly grin. "I haven't seen my mother in a long time, but if she is now as she was then, she is forty-one years old and still fucking anything with a pulse like a rabbit in heat." She winked at me. "How does the saying go? The apple does not fall far from the tree."

Feeling rather discomfited, I changed the subject and we made small talk for a few minutes as she asked me about my day. I looked at this beautiful girl opposite me in the late afternoon sunshine. Her long hair shone, her grey eyes sparkled and her wide mouth frequently broke into a life-affirming smile. I was mesmerised by her voice, her accent, the way she tucked her hair behind her ear.

I recalled the sounds she had made the night before; the language she used in exhorting her lover on. I envied her youth and beauty. I'd had a year, maybe two of it back in the day before I succumbed to conformity. She was in the midst of it and by the look of her, had a lot more to come.

I very rarely feel envy, but I realised that I was beyond that and into the murky waters of pure jealousy.

As I finished my brief summary of my day, she fixed me with a beady eye. "So why is a very attractive lady of a significant age all alone in gay Paris?"

I laughed. "If I am honest, to see if I can recapture a fleeting moment of my youth. My best friend bought me a ten day cruise of the Med for my birthday and as it finished in Marseilles, I added a few days on here to complete the trip instead of flying home. I was here for a while on my gap year a long time ago. I was more like you in those days - though not quite as pretty or adventurous."

She sipped her drink. "So how was the cruise? Any exciting liaisons?"

Her forwardness should have shocked me, but I was so entranced by her, I couldn't help myself. I felt almost compelled to unburden myself to a complete stranger. "There were... liaisons, yes. Two of them, but unfortunately neither were exciting; and certainly not as earth-shattering as yours last night."

She made a little moue with her mouth. "Ah, quel dommage! Pourquoi?"

I shrugged. "I've been out of the game for a long time, Nicole. The first guy was nice, but he had been out for even longer. He talked a good game but was even more nervous than me. I barely had time to get the condom on him. After that, every time I saw him on board or on one of the excursions, he ran a mile."

She put a hand to her mouth. "Pardon, I shouldn't laugh, but - oh, pauvre petit oiseau!"

"Poor me indeed. The second was a little better but the only movement I got was from waves rocking the ship and not him. I was as much to blame. As I said - out of practice and a little unwilling to use the skills I learned in my gap year. Had I done so, it may have ended better, but..." I merely shrugged.

"Half-hearted sex is like the Louvre. Dull and worthy. You deserve better, Robyn. You are a beautiful lady -- elegant and sexy. Don't settle for the Louvre -- it is the same painting done a million times over. Be like those other musées I mentioned -- bright and vital, daring and bold."

She paused. "You said this trip was for a significant birthday, oui?"

I nodded ruefully. "The big five-oh."

"I would have guessed at forty." She gestured around us. "I've lived here a few years and I know a lot of these women. When they are fifty, they will not be able to hold a candle to you. Have you really never been with another woman, Robyn?"

Oh shit, she was off again. I recalled my nineteen-year-old self in a small bedsit somewhere in the Latin Quarter in the latter part of the previous century. It really did seem like ancient history. I recalled my flatmate Odette and a boy named Louis I had a crush on. I recalled stumbling in on them one night as Odette bounced energetically on Louis and exhorted me to join them.

I then recalled that silly little Robyn ran away like a scalded cat and moved out shortly afterwards.

Thirty-one years on, silly little Robyn still regretted her decision and often wondered what would have happened had she stayed.

Back in the present, I shook my head, my voice firm. "No, Nicole -- I have not."

She downed the rest of her coffee. "Then come along, Robyn -- come up with me now and find out what it's like."

I gritted my teeth. Ninety percent of me wanted to say 'yes' and spend a blissful evening in her arms, but somehow the other ten percent stayed dominant. Thirty-one years of regret and 'what-if's' had seemingly not taught me anything. In my supposed Voyage of Rediscovery, I'd had two less-than-stellar bunk-ups with men near to my own age. Now when offered the chance to make love to a stunning girl in her twenties who could probably change my life, I was still in denial.

Once more, I screamed at myself in silent anguish as the words I didn't want to say came out in a rush. "No thanks, Nicole. Flattered once more, but I've told you twice now and I won't say it again."

A pair of steely grey-eyes sparkled at me. "You won't say 'non' a third time because you'll say 'oui'. I can see it in your eyes, Robyn. You want to, I know it - but something inside is stopping you. I've seen it so many times. I was like that once myself." She gave a wicked little chuckle. "Well, for a few minutes, anyway!"

I stared at her mutely for a moment as anger welled in me -- more at myself than at her. "So last night I was going to be your cooldown. This afternoon you want me to be a warm-up for your evening of debauchery. Great -- let's make your first time extra-special, Robyn. Let's make you the support act to the divine French girl getting wined, dined and shagged to pieces, shall we? Well thanks, but no thanks, Nicole."

"If you wish, but it will be red-hot, not a warm-up. I don't do dull sex."

I sneered. "So you want to bed me, but only as a sideshow to your main event."

She narrowed her eyes. "I just want to bed you. Full stop."

I didn't trust myself to say anything more so merely shook my head.

Nicole gathered up her bag and tucked a ten-euro note under the saucer. "Tomorrow, I have no plans after four. You would be the main event, not a sideshow -- not an aperitif or a digestif. I finish work at the same time. I will be here for my usual espresso at the same time."

She stood and leaned forwards, her face close to mine. I could smell her musky perfume, the scent of her hair. The air seemed charged with pheromones. "If you are here at the same time, I will take that as a sign that you have reconsidered and wish to spend the rest of the evening making love with me and drinking wine on the balcony. If you are here tomorrow, petit oiseau, I will make you sing and fly!"

In dumbfounded silence, I watched her walk away. Her long hair tossed in the sunshine, her pert bottom strained at her tight black jeans. Heads turned as she walked the short distance to the main door of the apartment block. At the doorway, a smouldering look lasered into me across the intervening distance before she disappeared inside.

The waiter approached and I shook my head when he asked me if I wanted another refill. I knew if I didn't act now, I'd still be regretting my decision in another thirty-one years. If I reached eighty-one, I didn't want to look back in anger or regret.

As he turned away, I stopped him and asked if it was possible to book tables.

He nodded. "Oui, madame."

I pointed at the table and my watch. "Bon. Le meme heure - demain?"

He nodded once more. "Oui, madame. D'acors."

"Merci."

I got up in a daze and left him a generous tip.

Nicole's perfume permeated the air in the elevator.

I prayed that tomorrow at this time, she would be with me and my heart raced at the thought of it.

Four

I was up early and into the galleries of the Musée d'Orsay as its doors opened. Nicole was right -- it was bold and vibrant and I found myself mesmerised by the modern art on display in the wonderful, converted railway station a kilometre or so down the Southbank from my apartment. I spent a few happy hours in there, now with a sense of resolve following my actions the day before.

I was comfortable in my decision and felt at ease. I'd had two recent lovers, both of whom passed over me in a shallow dive. Whatever I got from my forthcoming liaison with Nicole, I was pretty sure she would not come the instant I touched her and had every hope that I would get a great deal of pleasure at hands that were not my own for a change.

My only slight worry was that she may not turn up or the table would be double-booked. I decided to keep the uncontrollables out of my thoughts and concentrate on things I could influence.