I was about to say that I understood perfectly when she threw herself
back against the cushion, took hold of my hand and, with a roguish
smile which was meant to reinforce her candor, said: "Look, I am a
thoroughly lazy creature. I haven't the patience to read books. It's
too much for my feeble brain."
"There are lots of other things to do in life," I answered, returning
her smile. So saying, I placed my hand on her leg and squeezed it
warmly. In an instant her hand covered mine, removed it to the soft,
fleshy part. Then, almost as quickly, she drew my hand away with an--
"Assez, nous ne sommes pas seuls id."
We sipped our drinks and relaxed. I was in no hurry to rush her off.
For one thing, I was too enchanted by her speech, which was distinctive
and which told me that she was not a Parisian. It was pure French she
spoke, and for a foreigner like myself a joy to listen to. She
pronounced every word distinctly, using almost no slang, no
colloquialisms. The words came out of her mouth fully formed and with a
retarded tempo, as if she had rolled them on her palate before
surrendering them to the void wherein the sound and the meaning are so
swiftly transformed. Her laziness, which was voluptuous, feathered the
words with a soft down; they came floating to my ears like balls of
fluff. Her body was heavy, earth-laden, but the sounds which issued
from her throat were like the clear notes of a bell.
She was made for it, as the saying goes, but she did not impress me
as an out-and-out whore. That she would go with me, and take money for
it, I knew--but that doesn't make a woman a whore.
She put a hand on me and, like a trained seal, my pecker rose
jubilantly to her delicate caress.
"Contain yourself," she murmured, 'it's bad to get excited too
quickly."
"Let's get out of here," said I, beckoning the waiter.
"Yes," she said, "let's go somewhere where we can talk at leisure."
The less talking the better, I thought to myself, as I gathered my
things and escorted her to the street. A wonderful piece of ass, I
reflected, watching her sail through the revolving door. I already saw
her dangling on the end of my cock, a fresh, hefty piece of meat
waiting to be cured and trimmed.
As we were crossing the boulevard she remarked how pleased she was to
have found someone like me. She knew no one in Paris, she was lonesome.
Perhaps I would take her abound, show her the city? It would be amusing
to be guided about the city, the capital of one's own country by a
stranger. Had I ever been to Amboise or Blois or Tours? Maybe we could
take a trip together some day. "Ca vous plairait?"
We tripped along, chatting thus, until we came to a hotel which she
seemed to know. "It's clean and cozy here," she said. "And if it's a
little chilly, we will warm each other in bed." She squeezed my arm
affectionately.
The room was as cozy as a nest. I waited a moment for soap and
towels, tipped the maid, and locked the door. She had taken off her hat
and fur piece, and stood waiting to embrace me at the window. What a
warm, plantular piece of flesh! I thought she would burst into seed
under my touch. In a few moments we started to undress. I sat down on
the edge of the bed to unlace my shoes. She was standing beside me,
pulling off her things. When I looked up she had nothing on but her
stockings. She stood there, waiting for me to examine her more
attentively. I got up and put my arms around her again, running my
hands leisurely over the billowy folds of flesh. She pulled out of the
embrace and, holding me at arm's length inquired coyly if I were not
somewhat deceived.
"Deceived?" I echoed. "How do you mean?"
"Am I not too fat?" she said, dropping her eyes and resting them on
her navel.
"Too fat? Why, you're marvelous. You're like a Renoir."
At this she blushed. "A Renoir?" she repeated, almost as if she had
never heard the name. "No, you're joking."
Classified
New Travellers Companion
