In Paris, sometimes, the boys come running, but nothing ever comes from it. The smile, they wink, they flirt then they move on. It was nice to get a little attention from the other sex that seemed to stick. The other night, while out with my girlfriends, at a wine bar/art show I stumbled upon two handsome french bachelors. The night was filled with possibilities. Which one to give my number too, and hopefully kiss. There was E from Cote D'ivry. He is exactly my type. Tall, dark and handsome. His short comings lay in his ever changing personality. As the night went on, and we moved from one bar to the next, I saw a different side of the care free guy, I was enjoying getting to know. He turned out to be sort of argumentative, not with me. You know I don't play that. But, with the wait staff. I can't stand when men are mean to the waiter/waitress. That kind of gig sucks no matter where you are. He took himself out of the running with an ill timed argument, and I ended up in the arms, of another. . .
B. The true Parisian. Sweet looking and funny. I couldn't resist his charms. Not to mention his kiss, made my knees weak. His hands found their way up my body, making each hair on it stand on end. We spent the night talking among other things, and trying to get to know each other. When we finally said our finally adieus, he whispered au revoir ma petite coquette, and sealed the deal with yet another knee shaking, belly aching kiss. They didn't lie about the French. They have mastered the art of seduction.
He leaves for vacation this Monday for a few weeks, leaving this chapter in the story open ended. Those are the best kinds. Maybe nothing will come of it. Maybe everything will. But the possibility has my synapses firing off in every direction, ready for whatever's next.
