Sketched and Seduced in Paris Pt. 01

I gently fasten the silk blindfold, pull the duvet up to cover you, and you feel my lips against yours. "I'll be back in a few... just relax."

At first you do, letting the soft music drift over you. You hear me in the outer room of the suite, opening a cabinet, then a door. After a minute or two, your mind drifts back to the afternoon.

We were sitting in a cafe near the Seine, sipping wine (you) and coffee (me). You had a sketchbook out, I had my laptop. Our legs and elbows would occasionally touch, and you tried to ignore the jolt of desire that always accompanied the unexpected intimacy.

We were playing our usual game: imagining the back stories of the couples around us. Every time a couple sat down, we watched them intently, murmuring to each other. We examined their clothes, their body language. Watched how they looked around the room, what they did when the other went to the loo. You sketched them and I typed the story, sometimes giggling as we did so, excited to post on our Substack for our thousands of followers to enjoy.

A Paris cafe is usually a wonderful place to people-watch, but today was slow. A few tourists, a clearly unhappy married couple, a model and her beau - perfectly dressed and absolutely boring. Then it got more interesting: a bearded man and a striking woman a few years his junior. As they walked to their table, we both noticed how he was gripping her arm: not firmly, but not gently either. Interesting.

We watched them sit down. They were sitting across from each other and something felt formal about their posture. The man was brooding, clearly upset or on the verge of it. His dark curly hair was slightly unkempt, his beard a day or two beyond stubble. There was something sensuous about him, the sense that he was about to lose control, to fall apart, an urgency that felt almost sexual. I began to work up a back story. Definitely star-crossed.

Then I looked at the woman. She was gorgeous, hair up with cleavage slightly exposed, her long neck open as if begging to be kissed or bitten. Every move she made was purposeful, elegant, sharp. Her eyes darted from her menu to her nails to the man to the waiter and I wondered if she was nervous. She seemed trapped in her chair, like her body wanted to leap to her feet but she knew she had to sit, a staccato energy that fought the mellow vibe of the cafe.

I glanced at your sketchpad and leaned over to whisper in your ear, "What do you think? I have a few ideas but I can't quite nail it down. Do you think they're lovers having a fight? He's clearly upset with her, and she's on edge."

You looked at me with a wry smile and said, "Maybe she hooked up with his best friend and he's furious but also in love with her, and she's trying to figure out whether she wants to leave him."

I nodded and started to type.

By the time their food came, I had written a few paragraphs. In my story, they had been dating for a few months before deciding to move in together. At the housewarming party, she had spent the evening chatting intensely with his best friend, and at the end of the night he accused her of flirting. Two nights later she didn't come home, and sent him a text: "not just flirting." This was the first time they had seen each other since.

You looked at my screen and grinned. "Nailed it! Let's see what happens."

We could both feel the tension as they ate, the sense that either of them could throw a glass to the ground and stomp off. Then their conversation died out, nothing left to say, and he chewed angrily as she leaned back, food barely touched. She looked around the room and her eyes stopped on us. She looked at you for a moment, watching you sketch, and then her eyes met mine and I saw her eyebrow raise, just slightly. I raised my eyebrow back and her mouth twitched, like she wanted to smile but knew she shouldn't. You saw none of this, head to the page.

I patted you on the shoulder and went to the restroom. As I opened the door to wash my hands she was next to me. "You are watching us, no?"

I looked up at her, just inches away, captivated by her elegant features. I gulped. No, I'm far too sophisticated for that. I am sure I stared fearlessly into her dark eyes when I said, "Well... we are doing more than that."

She smirked as I told her our game. "So what did you write about me?"

I may have gone slightly pink. "It's against the rules to show you."

"What could I do to convince you?" She stared directly into my eyes, long lashes and sword-like eyebrows teasing for a response.

I had a sudden inspiration. I leaned toward her as if to kiss her, and at the last moment I leaned toward her ear and whispered an idea. She was momentarily surprised, clearly expecting a different proposition. She cocked her head and I saw a different look in her eyes, one I hadn't seen all night: curiosity.

When I sat down at the table, you looked up and smiled at me. I smiled back innocently and returned to my laptop with renewed vigor and focus, very pointedly not looking at you. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the woman grab the man's hand to pull him close. It was the first time they had touched since sitting down. She whispered in his ear and he stared at her, as if unsure how to understand what she said. His lip twitched. She reached over and touched his cheek. His body twitched as if enchanted, as if trying to escape and failing. Then he nodded and slumped back in his chair.

A minute later, you looked up to compare your sketch to the couple and you saw the man staring at you. His fierce eyes met yours and I had the image of a wounded mountain lion preparing to fight for a last meal. Your drawing hand stopped in midair as you felt his gaze. I could feel you starting to smile playfully as you so often do, your innate joy so constant and kind and inviting, but his intensity stopped you. You saw his shoulders and chest through his open shirt, his furrowed brow, the muscles of his neck rippling slightly. Then he turned back to the table and waved to the waiter for the bill.

The woman, feeling us both watching her, made a deliberate attempt to show us her breasts as she reached down for her purse. As she picked it up she looked directly into your eyes, licked her lips, and walked away, leaving us both watching her swaying hips through the cafe.

Your thigh pushed into mine. "Do you think they figured out we were watching them?"

"I think so," I said, "and I don't think he liked it. But maybe she did?"

And so you lie on the bed, naked, blindfolded, waiting for me to return, anticipating the drip of warm oil on your legs, your arms, your stomach. The feel of my hands gently rubbing the oil into your skin, kneading. The helpless moment when I lift effortlessly into the air and turn you over. Oil on your back, shoulders, buttocks. My hands tantalizingly close to your pussy but never quite getting there. My fingernails raking your skin, anticipation building.

As you lay there, your mind goes to the couple we sketched. You imagine his strong hand holding your arm, his anger bubbling into passion, the outrage turning to lost control. Her tongue flicking across her supple lips. Your fingers slowly trickle down your stomach toward your clit, feeling slightly treacherous to be thinking about them while waiting for me. You remember her brown eyes staring into yours, her lack of any self-consciousness, the sense of invitation. You remember his eyes full of pain and desire and frustration. You imagine what it would feel like to feel that fire on top of you, of those angry eyes tearing you apart as he fucked you, trying to get her out of his mind, lost in his passion and desperation and desire.

I stand across the room, watching your fingers slide up and around your clit.

I walk over to you and put my hand on yours, lifting it away, holding it to your side. So lightly my tongue strokes up your waxed pubic hair, up your stomach, around your nipple. You feel my warm breath and my soft beard, the strength of my hand on yours. The anticipation builds and you wonder what is coming next. Will I be slow or fast, hard or soft? Would I whisper a story while I touch you or take you in silence? You knew you were mine to do with as I wished, and I wished very much to make you come and come and come and come until you forgot everything else but my tongue and penis and hands and breath.

You feel my beard move down your body, and my hands pulling open your legs and my wonderfully familiar tongue teasing, refusing to dive all the way in. You feel my breath on your clit, my tongue millimeters away, and your hips reach up, trying to reach me. Then I begin to gently suck and lick and swirl and penetrate, lapping up your juices, feeling your perfect rhythm, refusing to let you get anywhere close before pulling away to your inner thigh.

In the darkness of the blindfold, you try not to imagine her tongue in you, or maybe his. You wonder if I know your mind keeps wandering there, if I would be offended if I knew.

I feel that hesitation and I know the moment is right. I wave my hand and suddenly you feel a tongue on your breast, making little circles around your nipple. A hand firmly on your other breast. A mouth creeping up toward your neck. Hands in your hair, hands gently on your throat, and your mind screams with curiosity and fear and desire and you are desperate to know who is touching you. You can barely control yourself and you reach up to kiss whoever it is, feeling her long hair in your hands and starting to orgasm even as you realize the lips are hers. You shudder again and again, tongue deep in her mouth as my tongue is deep in your pussy, stimulated beyond control or conscience or thought, thumping against the bed until you push us both away and collapse.

When you open your eyes an hour later, we are sitting on the sofa sipping wine, waiting for you. You groggily pull on a gown and sit by me on the sofa. "Oh, my god. That was incredible. But... what's your name? It is, um, nice to meet you."

"I'm Nathalie. It is lovely to meet you. You are, I must say, a wonderful kisser."

You blush and we all laugh. I look at you and say, "Nathalie asked if she could see your sketch of her and read my story. I told her there was a condition... which she has now fulfilled. Are you ok if I show her?"

You nod and I get the laptop and sketchpad. She looks intently at your sketch and says, "Martel is sexy, no? You draw the best of him. I see this and want to tear this shirt off of him. The problem is that when I find a man like this, he falls in love and wants to own me. I just want him to fuck me, no strings attached, and we'll see where life takes us."

You grab my thigh and say, "I don't mind a man falling in love with me!"

She says, "Yes... but your man isn't jealous. He's strong enough to love you and fuck you and let you go and wait for you to come back. And you're clearly strong enough to do the same. I want to be loved like that."

I reflect on this, taking a long sip of wine. "I think that sharing your deepest truth with someone is terrifying, whether that's a sexual fantasy or an insecurity or a transgression. True love, to me, is seeing someone fully, accepting those hard things and even falling in love with them too. For you, the need to have space is a deep truth. And Martel seems like he can't love that part of you."

She squints at me. "Tell me one of your deep truths. Something difficult. Something I will have a hard time accepting."

I smile. "But then you'll have to fall in love with me."

I feel you snuggle up next to me. "Mm. This I want to see."

I wrap my arm around you and hold you close. I look into her eyes. "Long ago, when I was young, I fell in love. One summer evening I waited and waited for her but she never came home. This was long before cell phones, and I had no way to find her. I called her parents' house but they didn't know where she was. I paced in my front yard, heart thumping, helpless. Finally, she showed up and explained that she had gone out with a co-worker - a boy - and lost track of time.

"My feelings of betrayal and hurt fought with those of longing and love. For a moment I stood there, wondering what to do. She begged me to forgive her and I let myself say yes, heart breaking as I did so."

I pause, letting the moment sink in.

Nathalie cocks her head. "So what happened?"

"A few weeks later, we left for different colleges, promising to stay together. I found out that she was hooking up with a football player and broke it off."

"You are better off without her, that is for sure. But what is the deep truth?"

I sigh. "The deep truth is that I am still that boy standing in the front yard, waiting. I am still that boy saying yes to the woman who hurt him. But there's one more part of the story."

You look at me. "Do I know this part?"

I shake my head. "One day, many years later, I bumped into her on the street in New York. She told me she was engaged and I congratulated her and invited both of them to a party I was having that night.

"By the time they showed up, the party was getting a bit wild. A gaggle of models were getting progressively drunker, falling all over my basketball buddies. I was standing on the top deck flirting with one of the models when she walked up to me. I shook her fiancé's hand and we made small talk. After a few minutes, she nudged him to get us some drinks and it was just the two of us. She pulled close to me and I felt her breasts push into my arm, her lips near enough to kiss, and whispered in my ear: 'I would rather be with you.'"

Nathalie gasps. "No! Please tell me you said no."

"In that moment I saw her deep truth. I saw the little girl whose father had left. The girl so afraid of being left again that she couldn't stay. The girl who couldn't forget the boy who said yes, the boy who forgave, the boy who loved her the way she had always wanted and would always want.

"With love in my heart, I gazed into her eyes, smiled, and walked away. And I never saw her again."

Nathalie slumps slightly in her seat, pondering. I see her eyes flitting back and forth into space as she thinks about what I said. I feel your body snuggle closer to mine, pressing against me like a second skin. Her voice has a hitch as she spoke. "Your deep truth. It is also that man on that deck with that woman - and everyone else - staring as you walk away."

I notice the music just then, a cello line cutting through the dwindling light. I watch her face, shadowed, eyes curious, as she asks, "But why is this deep truth difficult?"

I can't find the words, but you reach over and put your hands on mine and say gently, "The scars. So many, from her and so many others. And yet he still says yes, again and again."

I squeeze your hand. "Yes."

She looks at you and shakes her head. You chuckle and say to her, "That's why I let him write the stories."

You reach out your hand and she takes it, and you pull her toward us on the sofa. She leans against me and I feel her bare leg wrap around mine. Against my will, I feel myself becoming aroused at her touch and I feel your hand gently stroke me through my shorts. "Your turn," you whisper, and then you look suggestively at both of us. "I need the loo."

As you walk away Nathalie reaches for my face and turns it toward her. Softly, her lips touch mine. Her fingers caress my cheek, then the back of my neck, and her mouth parts to put mine to hers. She lifts my hand to her chest and I feel myself slipping away from my thoughts and into the electric charge of her smooth skin. She pulls her blouse over her head and sits in my lap to pull my shirt off. We make out, bodies rubbing together, and I barely notice you slipping back into the room.

She pulls me off the sofa toward the bed, and I see you sitting with your sketchpad, large grin on your face. I drag Nathalie to you, kneel on the floor, and kiss you ferociously, not stopping until you push me away. "I love you," I say with a smile, and you roll your eyes and shoo me away.

I shake my head with amusement and lift Nathalie into the air, laying her gently on the bed as I begin to unfasten her lingerie. I see the flicker of orange as you light candles, and I gently kiss and lick her nipples, then make my way slowly down her stomach.

I look up at Nathalie and see her smiling at me as I taste her for the first time. I tease my tongue around her vagina and feel her tense, and then I lick up toward her clit, letting the sensations resonate as I explore her body. After a few more cycles, I slip my tongue inside her, then lick her juices up and around, up and around, letting her set the rhythm. I feel you come to the bed and lie next to her, returning the favor, holding her breasts as you kiss her. As she gets more aroused, I feel her sit up and pull my head to hers, kissing me, and I slide back up the bed between these two beautiful women.

As I lie on my back, resting blissfully for moment, you climb on top of me and, with a grin, you tie the blindfold around my head. I feel momentary panic at the loss of control, aroused and anxious and helpless. I feel a hand reach down to grasp me and I have no idea whose. Someone kisses me and I feel fingernails twisting down my chest, lips on my nipples, my abs, and finally onto my penis. I feel myself slide inside a mouth, my balls in cupped one hand, a tongue licking up and down my shaft. A tremor rips through me and I can barely breathe. My body shakes and I feel my conscious mind disappearing.

I try to reach my hand between your legs and you push me away. The mouth pulls away from me and I feel someone climb on top of me, rubbing a moist pussy against me, then sliding me inside. I reach up to find breasts, stomach, something other, figure out who is riding me but again hands push me away.

I hear your voice in my ear and huskily, you say, "This is so hot," and pull of the blindfold and I see her on top of me, breasts radiant, tight stomach undulating as she pushes me deeper and deeper with each thrust. You kiss me and I pull you into me, wanting nothing more than your lips on mine. The corner of your mouth twitches and you say, "I want to watch you fuck her."

Wordlessly, I sit up beneath her and flip on top of her, breasts in my hands and begin to gently slide into her. "Like this?" I tease.

You both growl at me and I laugh and let myself go, thrusting into her as deeply as I can, biting her nipples then grabbing her ass to pull her into me. I fuck furiously, hands on her shoulders to get more leverage, kissing her and biting her neck. I look at you and your eyes are wild and your fingers are racing on your clit and then I see her hand join yours and your head rocks back as you orgasm and I can't help myself as I come and come and come and collapse, spent.

As the world goes dark, the last thing I hear is your voice in my ear, so quiet I wonder if I've dreamed it, full of warmth and love and adoration and compassion. "Yes."