My French was not good Not the fat one, not the old one, not the one with the scar lifting her lip:
Black flesh under the street lights, in the doorways, the sidestreets, the alleys, the first time I strolled up, then down Ste ——— in Paris:
I'd just wanted to look.
Walking back to my
pension, a little man followed me; I rounded on him, saw his trembling smile, waved my arms, shouted. And drove him away.
NOTE If you arrived here via a search engine's hit on "French," see stories under "Selected Services" in the sidebar at "Blowjob" (or see
Lan's got her lips pursed) and at "Cunnilingus" (or see
Unsafe).
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>> posted by John Psmyth
• 6/19/2006 07:54:00 AM
•
1 comments
