Paris

It was in the beginning of spring. I was travelling to Paris for a week, wanting to enjoy a solitary trip to this destination that was both familiar and unpredictable. I arrived in the afternoon. The first thing I felt stepping out in the street was the warmth of the sun on my hair. I touched it and in a second, a slight shiver traversed my body. I felt new and beautiful in this town that was not mine.

My hotel was situated in the vicinity of the Tuileries Gardens. I was given a room with a view over a small pedestrian place. As soon as I entered, I found the windows open and a gentle spring breeze hit my face. It was quiet and tastefully decorated in tones of light pink and ivory. A large bed was reigning in the middle, covered with white rosy sheets. The freshness of the air and the light bathing this scenery were so intoxicating that I let myself fall on the bed all dressed with a desire to laugh happily, strange as it may have seemed. I was alone and yet I did not feel lonely at all.

I stood up, got undressed and walked all naked to the bathroom. It was covered in white marble with a comfortable tub on the right facing a large mirror. I left the hot water flood in while returning to the room to close the window. As I was pulling the heavy curtains, I glanced outside and saw people strolling in the newly born sun, indifferently. I was looking at them from a distance risking at my turn to be seen, naked and smiling, at this anonymous window of a Parisian hotel.

Minutes later, I was sinking in the hot water, slightly excited by being in this new place. My body relaxed, my eyes closed, and I could scent the vanilla perfume climbing out of the water, enveloping me in an imperceptible cloud of steam. Then occurred the calmness of a moment when objects vanished in the heat, and I was swept in the aura of a sudden instant of pleasure. My fingers were sliding under water. I opened my eyes and gasped with a startle...The mirror was starring back at me.

Purified from the trip's fatigue, I got prepared to meet my friend Julian for lunch. He was an English architect living in Paris for several years. Tall, dark haired, warm grey eyes, a large forehead with locks of hair falling in disorder, he was hardly a typical forty years old man. A permanent smile tinted with shades of sadness never ceased to evoke in me the image of a resigned artist, a young one, who never realized the passing of time. He had a way of looking at you that was both intriguing and moving. The same smile was welcoming me that day, at the table of a café.

"Jane, my dear, it's been so long" said he, almost shyly, then kissed my cheek.

I smiled. He wanted me. I could read it in his eyes. He took my hand in his and. Those tender grey eyes started to dive into me, as was his habit, in search for whatever secret I did not want to reveal. I was stirred, and for a moment, I fell into believing that he was in love, and that his eyes were his way of confessing it. I stared back at him, in sign that I understood, and that I, too, could felt the same. And so the mirage took place again, as every time we met. But, an instant later I would wake up, tamed and unquiet.

Struggling between things and feelings that didn't exist, I noticed that a man seated across from us was looking at me in wonder. I didn't pay much attention to him.

An hour later we were out. Julian took me in his arms and kissed me. We started walking.

"Jane, let's run away together!" he whispered.

"Darling, if only you meant it, but we both know better, don't we", I answered calmly.

He smiled at me then. I hated that smile that cynically gave me confirmation of what I would have preferred to be a wrong assumption.

"Let me enjoy you then, while you are here" he offered.

We returned to my hotel room. Patiently, he started to undress me. I was standing at the bottom of the bed. I let him do, without moving. He unbuttoned my shirt. His eyes were shining with impatience. His hands gripped my shoulders, caressing down my arms, and my waist. Suddenly, he turned me around, unzipped my skirt, and pushed it at my feet. I could now feel his hands cupping my ass, and then going up my back, in a firm massage. I felt him approach me from behind; the warmth emanated from his body. One hand reached to my throat and caressed it, gently pressing on it. I gasped.

While I was facing the wall, Julian was slowly taking possession of me. He was still dressed. He unhooked my bra and, as my gasps would accelerate, he grabbed my breasts, massaging them, taking the nipples between his fingers and teasing them. A hand strayed along my body and delicately lowered my panties up to my knees. I was now almost naked, with only my black stockings on, and I was shaking in anticipation.

I heard a noise, as he moved behind me. He then bent me over the bed, parted my ass and pushed into me with a vigour that made me startle. He had prepared me well, for the entrance was easy, permitting his penis to slide into me directly and deeply. He murmured my name and thrust in deeper. I could not have been more vulnerable to him. With my hands on the bed, I took the thrusts jealously, accepting his power within me. We matched perfectly. He was hard, harder than I remembered him; stronger and more asserted than ever.

"You are mine, Jane" said he, loudly. "Say yes!"

I did not say a word. I imprisoned him within my womb, and squeeze his penis. My silence and strength were my way of possessing him. He was desperate that I show him my surrender. But I would not say a word. Instead, the moans intensified, the pleasure made its way into our bodies. In a final struggle to own, he released in me and I took it all in.

"Do you love me?" I asked while kissing him deeply. "Yes, I love you..." "Handsome liar" I said with a sad smile.

***

I woke the next day with the sound of raindrops against the window. The rain seemed to pour interminably, so I decided to spend time reading in the café next to the hotel. At my utter surprise, I noticed at a table the man who had stared at me a day ago, during my lunch with Julian. I chose a quiet corner to read, deciding not to be seen this time.

"A very enjoyable author, Anais Nin." I startled. "My favourite is The woman in the dunes, what is yours?" The stranger had a voice, and it had just brushed me impertinently. I felt hustled and pointed out. I answered trying to keep my calm:

"Marcel".

"Ah, the strong woman, leading her lovers on the tip of her fingers. Very good".

"So many fantasies into just one story!" I added. "That is a courageous woman. Who would not admire her?"

He smiled. I could see he was satisfied of the way I responded. He was older than Julian, more manly and confident in himself, less emotional and more firm. Surely, he had a lot of experience. I wasn't altogether dissatisfied with this encounter, although I was shaking inside: was it with fear or with anticipation? Images started to defile in my mind, incessantly.

He was now watching the invisible tumult transforming me, and waiting, in silence. Then followed some glances back and forth, in a dangerous game of silences that only enhanced the tension of the situation. It is what he wanted.

But suddenly, I stood up in a haste, and headed towards the door. It was still raining, I didn't care, I needed to walk.

Half an hour later I was back at the hotel, only to notice that I had misplaced my keys. I was given a double and could access to my room. The door was open.

"Are you ready now?" the stranger said to me. He was sitting in an armchair against the window.

I closed my eyes. My lips couldn't move. The snapping sound of the door shutting behind me was still resounding in my head and I was feeling the pulse pounding in my veins. Inside that room, I was prepared to lose something. But the excitement of not knowing pulled me from this reflection and I said.

"Yes".

I wondered if he saw my impatience and nervousness in the flicker of my eyes. Then, my lips parted in a gasp to reach for air. I was warm. I was restless. He came towards me and took my face into his hands, kissing me, first only lips touching, then the meeting of tongues, the swirling and agitation of a deep powerful kiss that said "you cannot escape me". I felt as if a dense cloud of poison was surrounding me, ready to inject drop by drop that intoxicating liquid in my veins. My arms around his neck, I surrendered to his kiss and pushed my body into his. His hands dropped to my shoulders, caressing my arms and my waist, circling it and pulling me to him even closer. I felt his hardness and I looked up; his eyes were shiny. Mechanically we started to undress, rushing, gasping. Facing him in only my underwear, stockings and heels, he, already naked, I heard myself say: "Yes!"

"You are used to men admiring and serving you, don't you?" he said in a serious tone. I nodded.

Then he pursued: "You know that this time things will be slightly different. I hope that you are prepared to it".

I feel blood rushing to my cheeks. I was extremely nervous.

"Don't be afraid. You know what to do". He kissed me again deeply and said loudly: "Just let go".

As in a trance, I approached to his body. My hands started travelling on his back, his waist, and his buttocks that were firm and tensed. I was afraid, but I slowly lowered on my knees, kissed his torso, and below, met his hardness, a penis that was vigorous and firm, long and smooth. I looked at it, touched it with my fingertips, while his hands were brushing my hair invitingly. My tongue touched the tip of his penis, feeling its warmth, and then I inserted it in my mouth, closing my lips around it and starting to suck gently. He moaned and said "yes, go on". As I accelerated my movements, I was getting wetter and wetter to the point of dripping on my thigh. But he didn't want me to continue. I stood up and stared at him. His face was transformed by a violent lust.

He pushed me against the cold wall facing the mirror, and started undressing me of my underwear. My breasts exposed bare to the cool air were begging for his mouth to suckle on them, which he did, first softly, teasingly, then more urgently. His hands were everywhere. We both breathed so violently, as if trying to expulse something in us, to cast aside our separate beings and reach the other to mingle together in one body. His fingers touched the inside of my thighs, feeling my extreme wetness, and rubbing against it. Once the panties were pushed aside, he lifted my right leg and suddenly thrust himself into me, groaning in a wild excitement. And there, he fucked me with the rage of an animal that had been starving for too long.

He was sitting in his chair looking at me as I lied in bed, exposed, naked, and languid. No word was spoken, but the silence of the moment was broken when a knock resounded at the door:

"Jane, it's me, open up darling". It was Julian. I looked at my right and the man said: "Tell him to come in". I did.

Julian stepped in. "Jane". His voice was trembling His face was flushed with shame.

"Don't say anything. At least pretend to understand." I replied, still languid in my nakedness.

He came towards the bed, with eyes that were bathing into an intense light. I knew that he could either hate me from that moment on, or begin to truly love me. I didn't care. He kissed me, and then whispered in my ear: "I deserved this." The next minute the door was closing on him.

***

The days that followed seemed very empty. Paris was empty, and so was I.