Anyone up for sharing experiences?  You know how I like to share.

I remembered a time that Tiger St.Clair said I should write my stories of hobby-travel down.  She thought they were amusing.  For those of you who read "Stinky Socks and Twosomes In Budapest", here is my 2nd true tale: "A Cheerleader in Paris," or "Johnny Holmes for a day…":

If it wasn’t strange enough breaking up it Paris and wandering the streets with no place stay, it was positively surreal when I found myself on Rue Saint Denis, Paris’ red light district.  I had been wondering for hours just enjoying beauty of the city, trying to forget about the break up a few hours earlier, and pondering how safe it would be to spend the night sleeping under a bridge.  The night of my saddest break up would turn out to also be the night my initial foray into “the Hobby”.  Yes, Paris became my house of the rising sun.

Rue Saint Denis suddenly presented me with scores of woman in all shapes, sizes, ages, nationality, and (ahem my biggest weakness) costumes!  Yup, decked out just like streetwalkers in the movies (which doesn’t seem to really exist in america).  Sheesh, I thought I might be hallucinating.  I walked up and down the street and beautiful (and not so beautiful women) beckoned me into dark corners.  I was no longer sad. Just lusty.

Sometimes so much selection can be a bad thing. I’ll spare you the details of all scene and how long it took..  The one woman who really jumped out was wearing a cheerleader’s uniform.  Yup, in France!  Somehow, it struck me as both huge turn on and hilarious  to finally be able to fulfill my cheerleader fantasy.  Adding to the thrill was the way this woman in her mid thirties had squeezed into the uniform.  Some sort of irony or something.

Well, I approached her.  But despite her thoroughly all-american outfit, she spoke no english and very little french I believe she was Romanian.  But the language of lust is in the eyes and clear in any language: within minutes I was wandering down a series of very narrow corridors, up crazy stairs, and through dark halls.  We ended up a small apartment like something you would imagine a starving artist would live in.  There I was with my petite 30 something Romanian Cheerleader.  

I think most normal guys (the ones who high school studs) fantasize about cheerleaders at one point or another.  And many men fantasize about exotic women.  Well I had both, and all was going well.  UNTIL I discovered she DID know some English!  Too big. Too big!.  She said.  HAH!  My other fantasy! I always wanted to hear someone say TOO BIG or at least I thought I did.  But she was genuinely unhappy.  Sometimes reality is more awkward.  

I was wired like a jack rabbit, but I have to go shallow and slow.  And then on top of it all,  a knock at the door.  Shoults in french!  Yikes, I have my pants around my ankles, in foreign country, in creepy building, with possible gypsy in a cheerleader skirt.  Sheesh.  Tallk about panic.  But the woman shushes me and urges me to continue.  I figure that no one is going to rob a guy in the act, are they?  

Just as I am getting back to work, the door bursts open and there is a 6 foot tall curvy african woman with a shorter european businessman.  I am embarassed but everybody starts laughing and gestures me to continue.  Somehow the audience got me going, but they were nice enough to close the door within a few seconds.  In the end, all went well. I was hooked.  It was the beginning one big adventure.  And for once in my life, I was “BIG” huge in fact.  I slept on the Seine that night and decided I would discover more secrets of Paris.

theSaint