As promised, here is part two of our two part Paris Storytelling edition.
If you remember correctly, last time you read about me in Paris I had just encountered a psycho that any Scientologist would be proud to call a friend who blabbed away and forced me to leave a fine enough bar to go drink off the crazy he put in my head WITHOUT ME ASKING HIM TO. This story picks up where the last story ended,
And then I saw it. Blue lights pulsating in the windows, techno music flowing out into the streets and lasers. There was a goddamned laser show and black lights.
“This is it,” I told the boys and we all walked in.
And as I looked around, I found myself in a dream. And by dream I mean a sea of hot and topless and hungry men.
So there I was, all wide-eyed, wine buzzed and hot in the pants in seeing 100 delicious French men hanging about in this fantastic little spot called RAIDD. Now let’s be clear. I know they all enjoy cock, want nothing to do with The Jage, and don’t care that I’m there but I CARE because girl needs a little eye candy once in a while and I just got handed 100 pieces of candy by walking in one door.
“They’re ALL gay?” I asked the boys.
“Yes, Rhonda. They’re all gay.” Rhonda was my lesbian name. The boys told me on numerous occasions that I look like a lesbian, that I was acting like a lesbian or sometimes it was just, “DO YOU REALLY WANT TO LOOK LIKE A LESBIAN???”
Not that I care one bit about lesbians but gay men hiss over lesbians like straight girls hiss over…hmmm….other straight girls? Maybe really annoying and loud and tacky ones? I’m not sure what to compare this hatred to. Maybe I’ll have to ask some lesbians who THEY hate and then I’ll understand this all better.
In any case. So we’re standing by the bar, leaning up against the wall, previewing the selection we have before us while drinking rum and cokes. The boys are going on and on about how sexy everyone is and how there aren’t that many old perverts there to get angry with and how sexier the French men are then say, any other country in the world (which I will not weigh in on. this was their club, their night) and how mmmm, mmmmm, MMMMM, they would just do x, y and z trillion nasty, dirty things to him, him and oh yes, most definitely HIM.
At first I was amused and mesmerized by all the beauty and yummy smelling men around me. No one was particularly sleezy, no one pushing, no one violating my personal space, no one paying attention to me.
Wait. That was the problem.
NO ONE IS PAYING ATTENTION TO ME. Then I started pouting. Then I looked down to check and make sure my tits were still there. Then I flipped my hair. Then I put lipstick on. Then I made eye contact with a pretty young fellow and kind of cocked my head which I don’t know if that look I was going for ever worked in the past but it must be something I’ve done before because it was my go to, Look at me and smile back like you just pictured me naked or stare at my boobs or DO SOMETHING LIKE WINK EVEN IF YOUR EYES ARE DRY.
But nothing. Every time I made eye contact, it was over within .001 seconds, by THEIR CHOICE and I was left standing there slamming back rum (in a classy way, obviously), casually brushing my side boob with my hand without staring down to make sure my boobs really were still there. What was going on, dammit? Men love boobs. Any boobs. RIGHT?
Now I’m not trying to be a self-absorbed, arrogant fuck. I’m not even trying to say I’m attractive. But I will say this. Any amount of top boob showing or smiling usually gets someone to at least smile back. Once upon a time I could get taken home even on nights I wore a turtleneck BUT NOT IN THIS FUCKING HELL FOR VAGINAS.
Point of this straight girl in a gay world sob story is that 100 men, all clearly hungry for The Sex, had the ability to make me feel like I did not exist and my vagina not only could not sway any of them into even talking to me but it seemingly was a carrier of anthrax, or so you’d think with the distance all the men kept from me.
I’ll tell you what. This attention whore didn’t like that feeling ONE BIT.
Then it happened. The screens along the wall that had previously been playing clips of men dancing in chaps, men being led on chains, men getting their goodies photographed, all these TVs switched to a scene with an empty shower.
That’s weird, I thought. And then a young lad entered the shower wearing black skivs only meant to be worn by Italians and Olympic swimmers. Well that’s even more weird, I thought, until the boys pointed to the part of the wall I assumed was just a mirror or something but no, it was the shower. It was kind of like standing in front of a door (placed not where it should be by the floor but in the middle of a wall about five feet up) in any red light district with a half-naked woman posing in lingerie, giving you the, come to me and pay me for my snatch, motion with her pointer finger, except this time there was a hot guy and he was about to turn on the shower.
That was probably when I decided to not care that he liked cock and my mouth dropped open. I was so impressed by the start of this shower show that I had to lean back against the wall to make sure I was comfortable enough and also that I didn’t pass out from my surprise at the public showering aspect.
“You look like a dirty old man,” Kyle said to me. “Stop making sex eyes at him. He doesn’t like you.”
The showering went a little like this:
Water all over body
Be sure to rub the water all over your body
Kind of pull your joy stick out of your fancy underwear
Push yourself up against the steamy glass and make sex eyes at me, I mean every guy in the place
Put yourself back in your pants and then rub more water on you
Pull your pants down but be sideways so I can’t see everything I’m now standing on my toes and leaning over like a protractor to see cock
Rub yourself more
Peak show more
Look exhausted from showering
Well, that was something. If he was exhausted by that, I was more so just by watching. I’m sorry but I have the great ability to block out other people and so as far as I was concerned, it was just me and naked shower boy sharing a moment.
“I’m going out for a cigarette,” I told the boys because it was either that or a diddle and I didn’t feel like getting arrested in Paris for public diddling, and I’m quite positive there’s such a thing.
After being told I had to go downstairs to the smoking room, off I went to have an after you watch someone showering drag. In said smoking room, though, it was only me and two men and no one was making eye contact. Either no one AGAIN wanted to talk to me or they were far too interested in the porn playing on the tv in the smoke room. I too began to watch the TV and lean against the wall alone because no one wanted to talk to the American fag hag and FINE, I can be quiet once in a while.
Just as I was finishing my cigarette and porn, someone else came in and I heard a him light his cigarette. Not trying to be nosey, I looked up because staring at the floor I’m sure just made me either look like a creep or desperate or both.
Holy FUCK. This couldn’t be happening. MY GOD, Mr. I WAS JUST PULLING MY COCK AROUND IN THE SHOWER was standing one foot from me. I tried to look back down but then he caught my eye and I didn’t want to seem rude since he gave me such a nice show five minutes earlier for not even a dime and so I decided to chat him up at bit, of course as classy as possible.
“I’m sorry but haven’t I seen you,” I made a circling motion with my finger around towards his junk and then just pointed and cocked my head, “somewhere? You were just in the shower five minutes ago…weren’t you?”
He smiled, said yes and asked me what my name was.
“It’s Heather. More important question. So. Do you like to sleep with men or do you like to torment men that want to sleep with you but you secretly like to sleep with women? Just throwing it out there.” I bet I just reeked of desperation but COME ON, someone in this fucking building had to like a little pea pod now and then.
“I’m (something that wasn’t Jean Pierre or Jean Luc or Francois or Gerard whats his face so basically I wasn’t interested) and I’m from New York and I like sleeping with men.”
I think I actually HMPH-ed.
“Well GEt OUT OF HERE. The guys I’m with are from New York. Let’s go see them!” I blacked out for a minute and forgot I was upset he didn’t like pink taco and figured I had probably just found my newest gay best friend, WHO WAS A SHOWER DANCER, and so I paraded his ass right up the stairs, across the bar and straight over to the boys.
They caught my eye as I was walking Mr. Wet and Wild over to them with “Gurrrrrrlllll, NO.YOU.D’NT,” look on their faces, which I JUST LOVED.
“Boys,” I said, “Meet so and so. I do believe you just saw him in the shower.”
And that was the best fucking gay club experience I’ve had to date. Beat that, gays. I dare you.