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Gathering up the glasses, and the remains of our pastry dessert, we begin our descent into the warmly lit streets of Montmartre arm in arm. All the way back to our hotel, we talk excitedly of the next few days: the Musee d'Orsay and no more of the Louvre than we feel like, walks in the parks and the grounds of Versailles, strolling the Marais, and her long-anticipated tour of the Galeries Lafayette. We're so lost in the particulars of travel and ideas and planning, we only notice we've arrived when we've passed the door by ten meters. Laughing at ourselves, we pass into the lobby and, picking up the room key from the front desk, pass through, up a flight of stairs to room 27. As soon as we pass through the door, the wineglasses are set on the nearest table, and she's in my arms again, her body fitting into mine perfectly, all soft skin and sheer fabric and that entrancing, enticing scent I can never place, but always lets me know: she's here. It lightens my heart, excites and relaxes. I kept my both hands to my back and kept my right wrist imprisoned in my left palm. Often I kept opening and closing my right palm. I did not know why I did. Ten minutes later someone stood directly behind me. It was a young woman and her breasts pressed against my shoulders and my right hand came between her thighs. I knew at once she did that deliberately. She slowly moved her hips back and forth. I had an instant erection as she leaned on me and placed her hands on my hip. I too rested my shoulders on her soft breasts. Then she took my hand in her both hands and caressed it softly. A minute or two later she pulled my hand backwards. I was bit confused for a second and when she pulled them once again I understood her signal. She was already out of the church and moving towards the parked caravan when I turned to see how she looks. I was hesitant to follow her and watched her. When she reached the caravan she turned around waved her hand and smiled. She was tall, thin, buxom and.
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