Standing On A Chair

Telling it like I see it…

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

There have been a few complaints from my readers, all of whom of course I adore, because they actually care about what I write, which I feel is a gift from God. 

But they want me to get to the “one-legged lover” part.  Right now.

I ask, however, for their indulgence, because my gut tells me the back story is pretty important.

So anyway, moving right along…

After my twenty-six-hour restorative hibernation, my new best friends and I stayed joined at the hip for like the next five days.  I think they were on some kind of spring break from classes.  It was, after all, in late March.  Although I’m sure I enjoyed all of them, the two who remain steadfast in my memory are Lang, and the seventeen-year-old darling “Sarah” whose American diplomat parents scooted her out of the nest really early to attend the Sorbonne, all on her own.  She was so young and sweet, that both Lang and I kind of watched out for her.

How did we spend all those days together?  Frolicking around Paris and surrounding areas like the children we were, gleeful and excited and immensely happy. 

I recall a time spent in the Meat Packing District, meandering in and around hanging cow carcasses inside a freezing warehouse;

I recall darting through Place Pigalle near Montmartre, the official Parisian Red Light District, giggling at the real life whores, the sex shops and peep-show store fronts. 

I recall Montparnasse, where we imagined the ghosts of brilliant artists-past who gathered there;

I recall Lang insisting we attend the Friday twilight service at Notre Dame, where a choir sang

A Capella, and how the acoustics of that ancient cathedral affected their voices in such a way you thought you’d gone straight to Heaven and heard the angels sing;

But most of all, I remember the day we all got on a bus and headed out to the Palace at Versailles.  We spent the entire day there.  We danced through the gardens, not yet in full bloom, and we wandered through the enormously vast rooms and halls of the palace, content to be without a formal guide because Lang knew everything about the place.

Except when we hopped in with a group of American tourists just for fun, just for a minute, just in time to hear the guide speak with authority on the fact that King Louis XVI required all his women to abstain from bathing for one month before he would have sex with them.  Seriously, I am not making this up.  I may be wrong on which King Louis this pertains to, but it’s true, nonetheless. The older ladies on the tour gasped, hands over mouths in horror!  We were completely grossed out and laughed our asses off about it for days.

Finally, I decided it was time for Sarah and me to have a “girls’ night out.”  We’d been hanging with the “boys” almost constantly, and when Sarah complained of wanting a real date, I told her the “boys” were clearly cramping her style.  Who was going to hit on her with four guys getting in the way? 

While Sarah was mature beyond her years, she was still so young.  But I was confident that since I was a “much older” twenty-two, I could protect her from evil.  Lang and the guys felt differently though, worried we wouldn’t be safe without them, two girls running around Paris and all.  Especially at night.  But we both assured them we’d be totally fine.

So we hugged them goodbye on Saturday night and ran off, just the two of us, to see what the night would hold.

We started out doing things right by picking an upscale outdoor bar/café on the Champs Elysees where we could actually see the Arc de Triomphe from our table on the sidewalk.

We started out doing things right by sipping our drinks slowly, and savoring the very fact of where we were, like in the middle of a postcard or something.

We started out doing things right by just enjoying each others’ company, telling stories and making each other laugh.

And then I had to go and fuck it all up.

Because when we were suddenly approached by two amazingly gorgeous, tall and swarthy young men asking in heavily accented English if they could join us…

…I, with all my vast wisdom and maturity, said yes.

Stay Tuned for Part Five

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April 17, 2012 - Posted by | Foreign Travel | , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

4 Comments »

  1. Now I really hate you! THIS suspense is the worst! I have been there only the young gorgeous man was Greek and I chose, perhaps wisely to decline his offer. No, now that I recall, it wasn’t ME who declined, but my friend who was also invited to join Mr. Hunky Adonis along WITH me (or I with her). Apparently, it was the threesome he was after, not a twosome, and THAT was not on my bucket list at the age of 20.

    Comment by gerinomad | April 17, 2012 | Reply

  2. HAHAHAHA… I love THIS cliffhanger!!!

    Comment by Peggy | April 17, 2012 | Reply

  3. Okay, Jill, I can see that this isn’t going to end well! At 22 I was married with a baby and pregnant again but I was pretty dumb about a lot of things, I think I was 30 before I had any real brains.

    Comment by Linda Wines Stokes | April 17, 2012 | Reply

  4. Anxiously awaiting part five – I know it will be excellent – the build up has been great no matter what I said before – so don’t hurry it on my account! 🙂

    Comment by Eve Irwin | April 23, 2012 | Reply


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