A Paris Affair

by Adelaide Cole

  Oscar was a charmer, and he made her laugh with stories from his business travels in the world of pro sports. They held hands and shared ice cream. They kissed in the street. Oscar took her hand everywhere, and put his arm around her at every opportunity.

  They ended the day with a stroll through the Jardin du Luxembourg, resplendent and majestic at the height of the season, topaz-toned sand and stone bright in the summer sun. “I’d forgotten that Paris is such a fabulous city,” she said, “or maybe you are what’s fabulous?” She looked at him.

  He smiled and winked. “It’s the moment we have together, and it’s you.” He drew her to him and kissed her.

  “There’s a restaurant I want to take you to,” Oscar said as they were leaving the gardens.

  “You took me out last night. I’ll make you something at home,” Valérie replied.

  “Didn’t you say that this is a little holiday?” he said playfully. “And on holidays don’t you eat in restaurants? Let me take you. My wife buys all those food magazines, but they just sit there, so I read them. I love to eat. I read about another new bistro.” He took out his handheld and searched for the address. “Here it is. Let’s go.” He looked up and down the street, scouting for a taxi.

  “Your wife…” Valérie started.

  Oscar stopped her midsentence, putting his index finger to her lips. “‘My wife,’ ‘your husband’—don’t worry about anything. This is our little ‘lost weekend’ away from everyone. When it’s over, we’ll go back to our worries.” He kissed her, and soon flagged a passing cab. She thought, in the taxi, as he held her hand, that he was right. There was no point in overthinking a little tryst, and she promised herself that she wouldn’t mention it again. Reality, she knew, would return soon enough.

  They ate in a stylish bistro that celebrated classic French cuisine done with global flavors. They fed each other grilled sardines dipped in miso-rosemary sauce from lacquered chopsticks. They drank a dry white wine, and ate French favorites—woodsy cèpes, aubergines and courgettes—in Sichuan spices. They nibbled and shared desserts of apples with burnt sugar, folded into layers of paper-thin Greek phyllo pastry. “I love to eat with you,” Oscar said, brushing her cheek with his hand. “You enjoy food like you enjoy sex, and that’s a very sexy thing.” He reached underneath the table and caressed her thigh.

  “Here’s to us and our little holiday together” she replied, raising her glass. He raised his, but before they drank he took her other hand and brought it to his lips. She smiled and exclaimed, “I think I’d like a vacation in New York!”

  “Why don’t you come to my hotel tonight, and enjoy a four-star room? It’s no fun for me all alone.” He brushed a finger against her cheek again and smiled in turn. “Let’s start walking, and if we get tired we can grab a cab.”

  They walked toward the river, stopping in front of small gallery windows to look at paintings. They passed a bookstore having an author’s reading and stopped in the doorway to listen. They continued on, sharing favorite authors.

  The only sour note in this symphony of romance was when Valérie realized she couldn’t be away from the apartment for a night without an excuse for Philippe. She hated lying to him—hated the feeling of guilt in the pit of her stomach—but her desire for Oscar was greater than her wish to examine her life outside the confines of these few precious days.

  “Listen,” she said to Oscar, “I have to make a call…to Philippe…. I’ll just step over there a moment,” she said, gesturing to a large doorway entrance into a courtyard between two ancient buildings.

  He nodded in agreement. “I’ll wait here.”

  She flipped her cell phone open and speed-dialed. “Mon amour!” her husband answered brightly. “I left a message this morning. I didn’t get you at home and I called your cell, but you didn’t answer….”

  “Oh, maybe I was in the métro and didn’t hear it. I’ve been out a lot, just shopping and in the stores—it’s so much easier without kids, you know.”

  “Of course,” Philippe answered. “You should be having some fun.”

  “Well, I am…just meeting old girlfriends I haven’t seen in so long. But listen, I have to go…. I just wanted to tell you that I plan to go to bed early and get a good night’s sleep with no interruptions, you know? I’ll probably turn off the phone tonight, so if I don’t answer, I’m just at home asleep. Are the children fine?”

  “Yes, they’re having a wonderful time, and they miss you and love you, like I do. I won’t call tonight, and you have a good, restful sleep. Je t’aime, mon amour.”

  “You’ll all be back soon—the day after tomorrow? Je t’aime…bye!” She hung up.

  Valérie glanced up the street to find Oscar. He was standing in a doorway looking at his messages on his phone. He lifted his head and their eyes met. They both smiled. She walked to him.

  “Everything fine?” he asked. “Fine. Let’s go.” He took her hand and they walked together. Afternoon turned into a warm evening. Streetlights blinked on and Oscar pointed to the sky. “Let’s walk down to the Seine. Maybe we’ll see a star or two.”

  At the bottom of the narrow street they arrived at Pont Neuf. They walked across and stopped to admire the Seine, its current glistening in the evening light. Boats moved along under them. Oscar tugged Valérie toward him and kissed her. He took her face in his hands and kissed her deeply and slowly. She heard other lovers whispering to each other as they crossed the bridge, and she heard bicycle wheels whirring past. She felt the night breeze brush past them, and the cool scent of the water wafted by. She felt the spirits of a thousand lovers on this ancient bridge, all having embraced and loved, as though it were a place where time stood still for passion and tenderness between souls.

  “Come,” Oscar said, after what felt like a kiss that flowed between time. “Let’s find a taxi and go to the Tour Eiffel.” They hailed a taxi and headed for the Jardin des Tuileries.

  A Night on the Town

  Arriving close enough to the Eiffel Tower to have it looming skyward before them, Oscar said, “Let’s take a detour. When was the last time you were on that big Ferris wheel?”

  “La Grande Roue?” Valérie laughed, pointing to it. “You’re crazy! It’s been forever.” In the park, tourists took photos of their children, tired from busy vacation days. The smell of popcorn filled the air around them, and they crunched kernels beneath their feet as they walked.

  He took her waist and they approached the Ferris wheel, a perfect circle of twinkling lights by night. “Two, please,” Oscar said to the ticket taker. They waited for the next turn, and were placed in a car. In others, young couples giggled and kissed.

  Up, up, up moved the little car. The big wheel swept them up above the park trees, green in the city-lit night. Up, up and up, and they looked at the lights of Paris around them. Traffic circled endlessly around the Champs Elysée. A thousand tiny lights glittered on the Eiffel Tower. And when Valérie looked up into the sky, she saw stars shining and planets blinking.

  “The City of Lights. Beautiful, isn’t it,” Oscar said. At the top the Ferris wheel stopped for a few minutes, and they both registered their amazement.

  “I forget that I live here….” Valérie sighed.

  Oscar turned and brought her to him, and they kissed again. He stroked her cheek. “I want you,” he said quietly.

  When the ride ended, they made their way out of the park, hand in hand, and caught a cab to Oscar’s hotel. “How is it that a lovely hotel makes you feel like you don’t have a care in the world?” she said to him as they entered his room.

  He drew her to him, and they fell on the bed together, their kisses a tango of tongues and eager lips. They shed each other’s clothes, undoing buttons and zippers and unpeeling layers until they were naked and rolling together over crisp, white hotel linens.

  He urged her head to his cock. After years spent making love to the same man, she wondered what Oscar liked. She licked the soft, purple head and heard him gasp. He held
it at the base and moaned as she tongued its length. He stroked her hair while she pumped him with her wet mouth. It made her feel young and sexy and dirty, and she loved it.

  She felt liberated from the dead air of her sex life. She pumped his cock and sucked hard. He gasped and groaned, shooting his white cum over her and the bed. He dropped onto the big pillows and exhaled deeply, exhausted. “Oh, baby,” he said, lifting her to him to kiss her deeply. Their tongues collided passionately, and she felt a rush of not just her carnal high, but of happiness with this man and this moment.

  Then he slid down her. His fingers parted the soft lips of her pussy and he carefully stroked her hard fuchsia clit with his tongue. It was confident and sure, not tentative like Philippe’s. She cried out, and Oscar stroked it back the other way. He let his tongue travel outside and inside the plump, engorged lips of her vulva, and finally was too excited to continue. “I have to fuck you now,” he growled, and mounted her in an instant like an animal. He drove his thick, rigid sex into her and they both panted like primal beasts. His hands were all over her hot flesh. She came with a cry, and he grunted, pushing himself into her harder and harder until he was empty.

  They came apart, wet and sticky with sweat and cum. With his eyes closed, he left a hand roaming her skin, over her breasts and nipples. Finally, he turned toward her and kissed her. “A shower and room service? I’m famished again.”

  While Oscar showered, she wandered the hotel room, then stood at the window to watch the view. He came out in a thick hotel robe. “Your turn, my dear. What would you like?” he asked, picking up the room service menu. “I’m going to order a steak sandwich.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. I’ll have what you’re having. And a glass of wine would be nice.”

  In the shower, among the little luxury hotel soaps and shampoos, Valérie looked forward to staying the night. The hotel made her feel as if her own world were truly on the other side of the globe, and with it her life of wife and mother. She showered a long time, running the hot water over herself like a summer rain. When she finally came out, body and hair swathed in thick, white hotel towels, the food had already arrived.

  “I didn’t want to bother you in the shower. I hope it’s not rude that I started without you.”

  Valérie laughed. “You’re kidding. Nothing could bother me right now. Restaurants, room service…” Then she lowered her voice, adding, “Making love with you…what could bother me now?” They toasted to the fun they were having together, ate and relaxed. Valérie stayed the night with him, made love and slept in the fantasy comforts of his hotel.

  That night her dreams featured a whirlwind of movement. She dreamed of museums and taxis, and a place that looked like the Italian coastline where she’d once spent a week with a boyfriend when she was young. Always moving, never stopping, and making love in hotel rooms with open shutters that let in the summer air.

  The next morning she and Oscar ate croissants and drank café au lait from room service. They sat in their plush white robes and looked at the newspaper together. “Well,” Oscar began, “I have one more day here. What would you like to do? See some monuments? Go to one of those huge flea markets? Walk through the Marais?”

  “A flea market…what a fun idea. I never go—it’s impossible with the kids,” she said.

  They hopped in a taxi and spent the morning in one of the rambling, labyrinthine markets. They ambled through the alleyways and past the stalls. Oscar bargained with sellers just for fun, and they ate spicy little merguez sausages in baguettes for lunch, and washed them down with beer. “I don’t know when I’ve had so much fun,” Valérie told him, wrapping her arm around his waist.

  Oscar said that he’d never been through any of the city’s famed churches, and so they spent the afternoon exploring Notre Dame and Saint Germain des Pres. Standing on the street and looking at a map made her feel like a tourist. She felt above the bitter bustle of daily Parisian life, above it and apart from it, just like a real tourist.

  “How about a glass of wine somewhere?” Oscar said as they left the cathedral. “Maybe we can find a nice bistro and have a bite for dinner. I don’t want to be the first one to say it, but maybe this is our last evening together.”

  Valérie knew it, but had put it to the back of her mind. “Then let’s go back to your hotel, so at least we can be alone.” They flagged a cab and sat in the back with fingers entwined.

  “I’m not looking forward to saying goodbye,” she said.

  He took her face in his hands and kissed her. “Don’t talk about goodbyes. We still have a few hours…and who knows that we won’t be together again sometime?”

  “We’ll have the Chateau Margaux 1983,” Oscar ordered on the phone to room service. “A confit foie gras de canard maison sauce poire and an escalope de veau,” he added, reading from the menu. “And a warm goat cheese on toasted brioches from the appetizers.”

  “Our last supper.” Valérie smiled sadly, cocking her head.

  “Listen,” Oscar answered, “never say never. But let’s just remind ourselves of the wonderful time we had…and let’s make one more memory until we see each other again.” He led her to the big bed they’d made love in. She slid out of her shoes and backed onto it as he kissed her, pulling her to him. They rolled on the bed, enjoying each other’s body. “Were we meant to fit together so perfectly?” Oscar whispered.

  Room service knocked. He signed for the food and closed the door again. “Let’s go back to where we were,” Valérie said, taking his hand and leading him back to the bed. There, they made love for the last time. They embraced tenderly and they embraced passionately. Oscar caressed Valérie’s body, and tongued and sucked her nipples. When he thought she couldn’t take any more, he drove his sex into her, and they rode a tide of pleasure together. They played together in bed like new lovers, enjoying and exploring, not knowing what the next moment would bring.

  When it was over, Oscar opened the Chateau Margaux and brought glasses to the bed, where they lay naked in wildly rumpled sheets. “Here’s to us,” he said, pouring the wine. “Here’s to us. Here’s to little holidays from reality…and to little secrets.” They put their glasses together and kissed.

  Every Vacation Ends

  Philippe and the children came back without incident, and they were all happy to be together again. The children were tanned and rested, and Philippe seemed to have enjoyed himself despite spending a week with his parents. His family’s happiness was his own. The children’s tan faces reminded him of a week well spent, and he was grateful for the air of calm the week had brought to his wife.

  She felt the letdown that came with the end of every vacation, but maybe it was also a small relief to return to her own surroundings. The children and their din, and Philippe, as he was, were those surroundings. She looked at his tall, thin frame and his slight paunch. She noticed that he was beginning to stoop slightly.

  She didn’t say much about how she had spent her days; she said that there wasn’t much to tell. “Just rest and relaxation,” she told Philippe “I think the Americans call it R & R.”

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  ISBN: 978-1-4268-7888-6

  A Paris
Affair

  Copyright © 2011 by Adelaide Cole

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