“Now what are we doing back in Paris again?” I said to La Belle Lee.
“And it’s Paris in Spring,” La Belle Lee said.
When I touched her cheek with the back of my hand, the glow in her sky-blue eyes held me like a soft pillow hug.
“Such a cliché, as they say in French,” I said. “Paris in Spring. Romance. Young French kissing lovers by the Seine.”
“Oui,” La Belle Lee said, “the sweet curve to the language of love. True that.”
“How true is this?” I pressed my lips down to her full mouth and slipped my tongue over her tongue. Then, to meet me, she slipped her tongue over my tongue.
After I broke off the French kiss, she said, “OOO. La, La.”
“I can,” I said, “can do.”
“I remember when I first saw you,” said La Belle Lee. “At the Eiffel Tower Carousel. You were sitting on a wooden unicorn in your black beret and turtleneck, just watching the world go by, around and around. Our eyes met, we smiled together, and you made a grab for my heart as if it were a ring.”
“When I heard you speak French, I never thought you were American,” I said, because I wanted to kiss her full mouth again and feel the French American tongue, wanted a taste of the candy in the perfect Parisian accent she had mastered. So I did and, once again, she slid her tongue over mine.
La Belle Lee smiled at me slyly when we broke off that kiss. Then, curiously, she said: “Did you ever look at the Eiffel Tower like a penis?”
“Like a what?” I said.
“You know, like that.”
“But women never refer to the Eiffel Tower looking like a penis,” I said. “A woman I once dated told me that.”
“Sounds like one hot date you had there.”
“No, you’re always the hot date, since you seem to be the only woman in the world who refers to the Eiffel Tower looking like a penis.”
“Maybe that’s the reason we found ourselves in Paris in Spring again,” she said. “That Sexy Eiffel Tower is such a tourist trap.”
“My love towers for you,” I said. “Ready to make the climb?”
“Rough and ready,” said La Belle Lee.
No comments:
Post a Comment