A: You see all those black dots on the map? Those are all the women I’ve been with in Paris. I try to keep to the suburbs or the outer limits – that’s where they’re much easier.
B: Ah I see, how thoughtful of you.
A: Well, there were a few I did manage to land within city limits. You see that one along the Seine? That was a special night. I found her throwing up right over the side of a stone wall. I asked her if she was okay and then…. Well, one thing led to another.
B: Oh?
A: Yes. I didn’t want it to happen but it just did. She asked for another drink and I told her that would be foolish. Instead, I just sort of… gave her something else?
B: You did what?
A: Don’t worry about it – It’s one of the few inner-city stories I like to keep to myself.
B: So why did you tell it to me?
A: Lets just say I’m always looking to put new black dots on the map.
B: You’re weird.
A: I try to be.
Stories From Afoot
For the first 12 hours it was fine. He kept pounding me harder and harder, right into the ground but I was okay with it. He didn’t stop nor did he rest. Sometimes he would move around just to keep me on my toes. Every now and then he would brush me, softly, as though he really cared. I couldn’t tell if it was just because he wanted to dust something off to pretty me or if it was a sign of affection. When he put me in the mud I couldn’t tell if I liked it or not. Was he being dirty? Did he like to get dirty? I couldn’t really tell. But nonetheless, I went through with it. I let him do what he wanted to do but only for a little. Soon enough, we were back in the usual position – almost a monotonous rhythm of up and down, up and down. Sometimes it was soft, sometimes it was hard. Every now and then, he’d take a break. We’d rest for a bit and catch our breath. I enjoyed those moments. They were my little bit of serenity. But before I knew it, he was back at it.
Eventually, he began to despise me. I was either too rough or too stiff. Was it my fault or his though? He was the one who just wouldn’t stop moving. He kept wanting to progress – to push harder and get places. Couldn’t he just settle with where he was? Hadn’t he had enough? I began to feel his sweat soak into me. I could hear him moan and beckon the pain to stop. Who was hurting now? Was it me or was it him? I told him that he could quit whenever. I was just there along for the ride. He thought he could handle me for a day - so much for that. Looks like he was becoming the pussy, no?
That’s when he realized he had enough. He let go of me and put me aside. He released what he had held on to for so long – almost all day. He touched me first in the morning and didn’t stop until the night. What a trooper. But now here I am, all alone and without his warmth. I can hear him belittling me nearby – he despises the pain I bring him. I could care less though, he did it to himself. He was the one who wore me out all day long. He was the one who had to buy me in New York, bring me wherever he went and then decide to use me only in Paris. What a shithead – as if I’m just this portable pair of prettiness. You deserve it mister. Complain a little more or just go find another bunch to fool around with all day. Wear them out and let them feel a good pounding for the whole day. I could care less. While you’re scuffing them up and getting them dirty, I’ll be sitting here all alone. Waiting, yes. But not wanting. Because unlike those others, at least I won’t be worn to pieces.
Food For Thought
A Banana in a Bowl, Accompanied by Muesli
Baguettes on a Sidewalk, Sans Buerre
Life’s Lonely With Just Fromage: A Story From Jambon
Perrier in the Afternoon, Pellegrino in the Evening
Porc avec Épices; When Haricots Go Missing
Cheap Red or Dead in Bed?: Mystery Theatre
Pommes Glacé et Lait
