I hosted a contest for my friend Heather's book, Naughty Paris. The contestants had to submit a real or fictional sexy story set in Paris. The winner is Gina Verster, and here's her story. Be sure to check out her blogs about Paris, too!
A Pleasurable Way to turn 40, à Paris bien sûr...
[as heartily recommended by a sated Madame V.]
You are luxuriating on a sumptuous bed in an 18th century salon-sized chambre à coucher. The clock in the hall chimes midnight and you have reluctantly arrived at that not so youthful sounding number - that dreaded round number that will barely escape your pouting lips now when queried about your age.
But never mind, your heavenly hot French Lover leaps into the room and throws himself wholeheartedly on top of you, singing "Happy Birthday" with his breathy french accent into your ear. He then proceeds to make mad passionate love to you, giving you many more happy returns than you could possibly bear. You black out, in a good way, of course!
Morning comes and you wake from the blissful abyss, smiling coyly... and glorying in your love-imprinted but still fairly firm body, forgetting that it is now officially four decades old - almost considered vintage, or at least somewhat cured. Definitely ripe, you convince yourself - no, perfectly ripe, like that Camembert you squeezed for its readiness at the fromagerie.
Ahhh, but you are ever so lucky to have such a considerate amant to help you feel like a fervid teenager again! It is time to thank him once more, and with the most ardent sincerity that you can muster before le petit-déjeuner...
Forget breakfast now. The lunch hour approaches and time again to untangle your hungry bodies for some gustatory sustenance. He takes you to an intimate celebratory lunch at a cozy lost-in-time bistro tucked behind the Palais Royal. You are cosseted and indulged throughout the longest eyes-only-for-you lunch you will ever have. When you finally emerge into the wintry street, the light is already waning, and a Jacques Prévert poem floats along with you, as sung only by the uber-siren Ute Lemper... "immense et rouge, au-dessus du Grand Palais, le soleil d'hiver apparaît et disparaît..."
It is shivery cold. He whispers an urgent suggestion. You couldn't agree more. It is time to head back in to a warm bed for a late afternoon sieste. The fateful day is almost over, and you have lost count of everything, again! As it should be...
Later, (perhaps even 40 voluptuous turns later by now, you devilishly concede), a gentle evening stroll along the Seine, in the direction of its flow... a softly lit metaphor flowing on and on, liltingly through the heart of Paris... toujours Paris... "comme lui mon coeur va disparaître, et tout mon sang va s'en aller... s'en aller à ta recherche, mon amour, ma beauté... et te trouver, là où tu es..."
Submitted by: GINA VERSTER, who can be found at:
Paris Primitif Project Blog , an image blog of salvaged street ephemera and temporal images on planet Paris.
Parigigi a spirited and sensual romp through the City of Love]