Standing On A Chair

Telling it like I see it…

Stories from the Chair: My One-legged Lover in Paris – Part One

[Author’s Note:  If you haven’t read the Foreword on this series, posted on 3/20/12, you may want to do so before reading Part One.]

Let me begin by saying I am extremely pissed off, as I have been for like, two years because that’s how long I’ve been looking for my journal, and have failed to find it.  I’m speaking of the journal I kept on my first two weeks in Paris, back in March of 1970.  The reason I’m telling you this, is that I have forgotten lots of details, like the names of places where I stayed or where I went shopping or ate, and the names of the people I met, street names and other such things.  I’ve still retained the obvious:  the Champs Elysees, the Arc de Triomphe, the Louvre, the Palace at Versailles, the Eiffel Tower, Notre Dame and other such things.

What’s important, though, is that I remember living the story.

And also, it occurred to me that I should tell it now, while I still have any memory left at all.

I don’t want to brag or anything, but I flew first class on a Pan Am Stretch DC-8.  First Class, I tell you!  And that was back in the days of linen napkins and crystal stemware!  Why?  Because there was space available for an upgrade.  The round trip air fare from SFO to LAX and then thirteen hours nonstop to Paris cost me $68.15.  I don’t have any trouble remembering that.

I didn’t sleep for the first three days I was there, unless you count a couple of hours of fitful dozing in the arms of a total stranger who was gorgeous and spoke only French.

At 6:30 a.m. Paris time I checked in at a tiny, upscale hotel across from La Seine, in a tiny, upscale district which shall remain nameless.  Too excited to even breathe, I hadn’t slept at all on the flight over.  I threw my bags into my tiny cute room and went out to tear up and streets, which I did all day long.  The feel of the air, the vibe, the sights, the sounds, the smells and the people all quite frankly just blew away my senses.  I topped off the late afternoon with about four café au lait and a crust less cucumber sandwich at a busy outdoor café, where I watched people, rested my throbbing feet, and anticipated how amazing my first night in Paris was going to be.

And so it was.

Because after returning to my room, writing some post cards and showering, I put on my newly purchased and very trendy hip-hugging, thick-belted mini-skirt, my knee-high boots, my scoop-necked leotard top, and literally burst out of that hotel, on a mission to hit a hot nightclub, find the hottest French boy in the room, dance my ass off with him for hours, and then take him back to my hotel and have my way with him.

And so I did.

Stay Tuned for Part Two


March 27, 2012 - Posted by | Foreign Travel | , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

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