New Lines Added

I was on my way home and I heard some nice noise coming from above so I looked up and I saw two girls on the roof of a rather decent Haussmann. It and I were on rue Charonne, just past Lappe and going towards Pere Lachaise.

Being young and half-tipsy I thought I’d investigate. Judging by where I was standing I reckoned on the correct entrance, which opened onto a large courtyard. Taking the staircase to the right I took the lift to the top floor and knocked on the door with noise behind it, only to find it open.

There was no question asking (people too engrossed in themselves while fawning to their company) so I sauntered into the kitchen and grabbed a beer from the fridge. A man was chopping lines of coke on a glass breadboard so I thought I best befriend him. We talked about nothing but I figured out it was a fashion party when he threw the knife on the table, beamed a smile at me and said, ‘new lines added’, to which I replied, ‘shall we remove a few lines before they go to prêt-a-porter?’ He obligingly drew the breadboard up to my face so I picked up a straw and snorted a line. Breathing deeply I held his gaze. ‘Une tranche n’est pas assez, deux tranches suffit,’ I proferred and thankfully he got the joke, referring to the distance one should drive behind a vehicle on the autoroute suggested by government officials, and he let me snort another line. ‘Adieu,’ he said, adjusting his arm in the manner of a waiter and taking leave purposefully towards the living room.

I could hear him announcing that new lines had been added and watched as one very tall, elegant woman took a straw and snorted up two more lines. I saw some stairs to the roof, where I knew from the timbre below that there was some pretty high pussy up there.

Once up, I was struck by the view around me. The calm of the place from such an elevated position was made eerie by the effects of the coke starting to take hold so I looked around and found that there were two women sat together talking quietly. One tittered after glancing my way for a second and then it was quiet again. I knew they wanted me to go over and talk to them so I strolled over with my little beer bottle in my hand.

They looked up and held my gaze without a word. The prettiest one, who was probably in her forties, said bonsoir in a precocious way. I replied bonsoir and they asked who I knew there. I wondered whether to lie but got the sense they liked a bad boy, especially in the absence of obligation, so I told them I heard some ladies laughing up here from the street and had taken the trouble to investigate. The prettiest one, who had started playing with her hair, asked if my investigation had been successful and I replied that all seemed as it should. The prettiest one held out her hand and introduced herself as Ann-Laure so I took it and knelt down to kiss it. For a brief moment she recoiled ever so slightly but, looking into her eyes, I noticed another shift, this time towards compliance. She smiled greedily and allowed me to kiss her hand.

Her friend announced that she was going to powder her nose and I suggested that it was good timing, adding after a short silence that new lines had been added. Thankfully, she got my meaning.

Me and Ann-Laure started kissing the moment she disappeared down the stairs and then she asked me where I lived. I told her Place d’Aligre, which was a ten minute walk, and she suggested we go there. Parfait, I said, so off we went. At the top of the stairs she asked me to leave ahead of her and I understood that she wanted to deter any unnecessary detection of her shenanigans. I didn’t ask why when she joined me in the street because all pretty women are taken one way or another and so must work harder for their small freedoms.

When we turned down a side street she asked for another kiss and this time she revealed her passionate longing for unbridled sex. Walking on she took the outline of my erect cock in her hand and rubbed it until we reached the open space of Place d’Aligre.

It must have been about midnight and I knew Tony would be at the flat because he’d just split up with Celia. We shared the living room as a crashpad and Ulrich, the tenant of the place who’d taken us in, had the bedroom.

On arrival, Ann-Laure quickly surveyed the situation (Tony was snoring) and asked where we should go. I pointed to the window, under which she could see the three square cushions that acted as my bed. She took my hand and we quietly made our way to the window across the room, where she undressed as I made the ‘bed’ up.

The intensity of her desire was quite unnerving at first but when she took my cock in her mouth my questionable thoughts quickly died away. Being relatively young to her years, her expert loving was making me want to come in her mouth, which would have served neither of us well, so I raised her up from my crotch and asked her to slow down a bit.

We lay there kissing and cuddling for a while with two of my fingers inside her fabulous pussy but temptation rose again and before I knew it I was on top of her writhing inside her. I tried thinking of my grandmother on my father’s side but even that couldn’t delay the inevitable and after only a few brief minutes I’d come inside her. Ann-Laure groaned with me as we kissed and then it was over.

She said she had to go so I saw her to the door and we shared a smile of happy conspiracy before she turned on her heel and left.

The next day I had to meet a DJ who’d given me his mix tape at a party. Knowing I organised all-night parties he was eager to know what I thought of his musical taste. The tape was amazing, full of rare grooves from the seventies that I'd never heard before. I didn’t want to show too much interest because he may have upped his price so I had to play it cool.

We met at Café Beaubourg and I told him I’d listened to his tape, which was ‘pretty good’. His collection was worth thousands, he said, assuring me that no one else in Paris had anything near the rare quality of his sounds. I agreed that they were ‘pretty good’ and tentatively asked if he’d like to play a set at an upcoming party in an old glass menagerie but he was playing his cards close to his chest, not even enquiring about dates. I’d secured the place after going to a catwalk there a few months back, which was how I got most of my venues. I had an excellent record for successfully securing places because the managers presumed I was a loaded American who could pay in cash, which deterred authorisation from the prefecture and thus gave him an opportunity to squirrel away the venue fee out of sight from the prying eyes of the building’s owner.

Me and Conroy talked about things. He was a budding fashion designer from Camberwell and had come to Paris to gain experience in his industry. He was openly gay and impeccably dressed in blacks and whites, the only colour, bright green, a tasselled silk tie poking out from his neck under an achingly trendy crinkled waiter’s shirt.

I’d had a few picon beers so I decided to tell him about my latest sex story with Ann-Laure but as I went further into the story his gaze turned from blithe interest to notable anxiety.

I’d told him she was a designer and that I’d met her at a fashion soiree at a top floor apartment in the Bastille the night before. He asked her name and I told him, which was when he literally broke down in tears. I asked what was the matter and he told me she was his boss and that she was married to one of the greatest fashion designers in the world. According to Conroy, he was also one of the nicest guys in the world too. As he got up to go, he grabbed his satchel lovingly made from old tyres and told me I’d made a bad mistake. He threatened to tell Ann-Laure’s husband so I told him to do what he needed to do, after which he smirked and said he couldn’t make the party before turning away with his nose in the air.

The next day I got a call from Conroy. His tone was back to normal, if not a little excited, as he told me how he’d raised the subject with Ann-Laure’s husband, who’d laughed before telling him that they were only still married for business reasons. The husband had then placed his hand on Conroy’s shoulder, thanked him for his honesty and revealed that he’d be rewarded for his discretion and soon elevated to the fourth floor of the prestigious fashion house.

Conroy then asked if he could play at the party so I decided to savour the moment by delaying my response for a few seconds. He was very happy to play for free so long as I kept Mum about Ann-Laure.