Taxi To Paris Part 5

Chapter 7.

She came back into the room. She was wearing her silk robe. With a suggestive smile, she sat down next to me on the sofa. She smelled of something new - not too strong, but enchanting.

"What is that?" I asked. I buried my face in her hair and filled my lungs with the fragrance.

"That's my own perfume," she said. "I have it made in Paris."

"In Paris?"

"It sounds more luxurious than it is. Lots of women do it. And I fly to Paris sometimes, when I..." she searched for a word, "want to be alone." After the scene in the restaurant today, I understood what she meant.

"Come," she whispered without hesitation. She leaned over my body and sank into the sofa with me. The scent of her perfume, of her body, penetrated every pore in me. It made me dizzy, took away my breath.

"What's in it?" I asked, somewhat cloudy.

"Secret." She wouldn't say any more about it.

"If you want to seduce me, you don't need any help," I said, dazed. "I'm already crazy about you."

"I know that." She caressed me tenderly, gently, lovingly. "But it's even better this way."

She would certainly know that better than I. I entrusted myself to her. Her hands were all over my body, her scent all over my skin, her mouth - I didn't know where. It excited and tormented me at the same time. I suddenly found the sofa rather narrow, and told her that when she came up for breath between two kisses.

She smiled at me and reached behind me. "That can be fixed," she said. The back of the couch leaned flat. I sucked in my breath when I started to tip backwards, but the soft upholstery caught me again.

"Heaven!" I gasped, dumbfounded.

"Mm-hmm," she promised with relish. "You'll be there soon, I hope." She lowered herself onto me, and I felt her hands again. Her mouth followed them everywhere. I writhed in pleasure. Good thing the couch was big enough now! She undressed me quickly and skillfully. I threw my arms around her and pulled her to me. The silk was still cool and smooth. It excited me in yet another way - or was it the scent again?

After a little while, she untied her belt and lay naked on top of me. Now, the silk draped over both of us, almost like a little tent. I felt her b.r.e.a.s.t.s and her skin as though they were my own, only much more intensely. "Isn't this lovely!" I moaned. Her wonderful body still covered mine like a soft, warm blanket.

She arrived at my mouth and kissed me. "Yes," she murmured, "and that's how it should be. I want it to be fantastic for you." She kissed me with growing desire. Her tongue was like fire in my mouth. I could only breathe with great effort. Nonetheless, I wanted nothing more than for her to consume me with that fire.

Slowly and carefully, she pulled away from my mouth. "Oh, no!" I protested weakly. Her lips wandered over to my ear and whispered sensuously, "I only have one tongue, darling." Then she moved down my body, so slowly it felt like torture. Lakes of boiling lava formed everywhere on my skin. Suddenly, something leapt into my head. Darling? Had she said "darling"? Before it was always - if anything - "sweetheart", and that, I was sure, she said to everyone. It hadn't sounded very loving or tender. And now? Darling?

I reared up, moaning loudly. Her tongue turned me into a mindless object of desire. She plunged deep into me. I couldn't wait another minute. "Please...," I said. "I can't take any more...". She stroked and kissed me in so many places at the same time. How did she do that? I gave myself completely over to her. Whatever she might have asked of me at that moment, I would've done it. I was propelled into a heaven of l.u.s.tful satisfactions. I couldn't tell how long it went on. As I lay there gasping for breath, I saw from behind barely-open eyelids how she observed me. I couldn't decipher her expression. It was undefinable. With another woman, I would've thought... But she wasn't another woman. She was she. It was just the heat of the moment, I thought. One is always p.r.o.ne to such flights of fancy in such moments. It couldn't be more that that.

Chapter 8.

I awoke with sweet thoughts in my head. I felt the previous night's pa.s.sion in every fiber of my body. My b.r.e.a.s.t.s burned, and I still felt a slight pulsing between my legs.

I'd heard of substances that enhanced s.e.xual sensation, but such...! And only a scent! But that wasn't really it either. She was the cause. She had brought out all those feelings in me. I only had to think about it, and already I felt a tingle.

I rolled onto my side and stretched contentedly. I was alone on the sofa-bed. She had covered me up. A bit of regret began to grow in me. Somehow, I'd hoped that she'd be lying next to me when I woke. But why should she? The sun shone brightly through the windowpanes and cast patterns on the linoleum. So it was no longer too early.

Still - where was she? The apartment was quiet. Not a sound anywhere. I glanced around the room, irritated. Did she also - I had to laugh in spite of a pang of jealousy - make "house calls"? I couldn't imagine that. And even if she did, then surely not so soon. But a small hint of uncertainty remained.

The key sc.r.a.ped in the lock. She came in and looked immediately toward the couch. When she saw that I was awake, she smiled softly. "h.e.l.lo," she said in a silky voice that I'd heard from her only rarely. Actually, only in bed. And there, it turned me into a hopeless romantic with a spine made of gelatin every time. That is, if I wasn't that already. It worked this time, too. A great feeling of tenderness rose in me.

She had a paper bag in her arms, which she carried into the kitchen. "I did a little shopping," she explained in my direction. She smiled apologetically. "I'm not much of a cook to begin with, but I really didn't have anything at all in the house."

It suddenly occurred to me that I'd never thought of her as doing such mundane activities. But of course she had to do a few "normal" things also. Even she couldn't spend the entire day lying in bed. That thought sent another current of arousal through me. That's unfair, I thought. She's not lying down most of the time anyway. And that is a frivolous thought! a voice chattered again from the background. Oh, you again! I thought I'd gotten rid of you! I got no answer.

She returned from the kitchen and stopped a few steps away from the sofa. "Can I offer you anything?" she asked, quite the good hostess. For strength? I wanted to ask, but didn't. I looked at her.

"Yes," I said, entirely harmlessly. "You."

She stared at the floor. Had I gone too far? Then I caught a glimpse of her face from below. "You're blus.h.i.+ng!" I was so utterly surprised that it just jumped out of me.

"Yeah." She looked up. "Am I not allowed?" Her voice took on a slightly defensive tone.

"Yes, of course!" I wanted to make up for my mistake. "It's very..." I swallowed my emotion, "charming," I said.

She smiled, rea.s.sured. "No one's said that to me in a long time," she said mildly.

The lump in my throat refused to subside. How could she just stand there and turn my world completely upside-down? I wanted her. I wanted her forever. And that was the catch. In a flash, I sobered. I threw the blanket over myself and stood up. "Could I perhaps take a shower here?" I asked.

She noticed the s.h.i.+ft. "Of course," she said haltingly. "Everything is at your disposal." Putting it that way made it all even worse. She had said that the last time, when... I didn't want to think about that. I pulled the blanket tighter around me. When I pa.s.sed her, she smiled again, as though - if only slightly - amused. I probably just should have walked by her naked. But I couldn't do that now.

The shower did me good. Under the hot stream, I forgot, for a moment, my unrest. Reluctantly, I turned the water off after awhile. I hadn't brought my clothes in with me. That meant I would have to go back out and get them. I'd make a fool of myself. But I couldn't just parade around naked in front of her now!

I wrapped myself in the blanket again and went back into the main room. She'd lit a cigarette and was standing at the window, looking out. When she heard me, she turned around. She had looked rather serious, but when she saw me wrapped up in the blanket, her smile regained a hint of amus.e.m.e.nt. I picked up my clothes and turned to go back into the bathroom.

"I could just turn around," she commented somewhat cheerfully.

"Well, fine," I retorted dejectedly. "If you must watch, then watch." I threw the blanket aside and began to dress myself. I didn't look at her, but I would've bet that she did in fact behave herself. When I was finished, I looked back in her direction. "Are you happy now?"

"Yes," she said. "Totally." It looked like it took great effort for her to control herself. Obviously, she was greatly amused by my behavior. Somehow, I didn't quite see it that way!

"If you're just going to make fun of me, I'd rather leave," I grumbled with irritation.

"I'm not making fun of you." She continued earnestly, "I just don't know what's going on."

And I couldn't tell her myself! Actually, I was pretty much over it myself. "Oh, forget it," I replied nonchalantly. "Sometimes I just act ... dumb."

"I hadn't noticed that at all," she remarked a bit derisively. If I couldn't always figure out what to do with her, perhaps it was the same the other way around.

I went over to her, by the window. "I missed you," I said tenderly. Now that the irritation had pa.s.sed, her presence once again overcame me with its unbelievable sweetness. She turned to face the window. Was I getting too close? I didn't know. She must be used to compliments in all forms, after all. Or maybe not? How could that be, with so many women? That wasn't really the topic I most wanted to think about at the moment, however. I wrapped my arms around her, and she let herself sink softly against me. We looked out the window. I didn't want anything else from her - only that she was there.

I don't know how much time went by while we stood there like that. In my whole life, I'd never wanted to do anything more. At some point, I let my head fall against her back, because it was getting to heavy to hold up. "I'd like to kiss the back of your neck," I wished dreamily, "but you're just too tall."

She sighed. "Yes, that's always been a problem for me." The supple softness of her body turned into tension. I knew what was coming. If only I'd just kept my mouth shut!

"I could kneel," she offered. That's exactly what I'd expected. She just couldn't get past that!

"Would that really be much fun for you?" I asked solemnly.

"Fun?" She seemed entirely confused. It obviously hadn't occurred to her to think about having fun with this. At least not for her.

"Yes, fun! You know, that's the silly reason why people talk to each other, why they go out together, why they sleep together. Just for fun! And for both of them, no less."

"Yeah, sure." She looked at me like a child to whom I had just suggested something it didn't quite understand.

"And? Would it have been fun for you to kneel in front of me?"

She squirmed uncomfortably. "No," she said quietly, as if she were expecting me to hit her for answering that way. Her sovereignty had disappeared.

"Then why did you offer?" I asked as gently as I could.

As if it were completely self-explanatory, she answered, "Because I thought that you..."

"Exactly!" I said. "Because you thought I would like it."

"But you said..."

"I said I'd like to kiss the nape of your neck. I still want to. I have these urges sometimes with women I -" I bit my tongue in the nick of time - "like. But I could stand on a chair to do it, or maybe I'm still going to grow a few more inches."

She clearly couldn't follow my train of thought. "You're still growing?"

"Yeah, I'm a genetic wonder," I sighed, exhausted. "No, of course not. I just wanted to point out that there are other ways to do this sort of thing."

"Oh, I see," she said. "Sure." She took three steps to the left, toward the other window. "Pardon me." She emphasized the meaninglessness of this error with a careless gesture. "I'm just used to it."

"That's the terrible thing!" I exclaimed. "You're so used to going along with other people's wishes that you've forgotten about your own." She'd understand that quickly, I was sure of it. More than such a quick peek behind the facade was out of the question, but I was sure of this much.

"Yeah, yeah." She tossed off my observation. "It's not quite like that, either. Don't make such a big deal about it." Make a big deal about it? Me? She looked back at me. "I know what you mean," she continued placidly, probably in an attempt to get this conversation over with. "But in my line of work, my own wishes are the last thing that come into consideration."

It was a simple explanation that apparently sufficed for her purposes. She had accepted it and lived by it. And her clients had as well. A fait accompli. Didn't she have any other desires? And her clients - was there never one among them who - like me - wanted to know more? Who wanted to know about the joys and sorrows of the woman behind the mask? And who said so? I'd come back to the place where I noticed how strange this world was to me. "Don't they ever ask...?" The strangeness of the situation had propelled me to ask the question.

She laughed disdainfully. "Once in awhile, sure. But of course they don't really want to know. And they only ever do it once, usually at the beginning."

"And you don't talk about it?"

"No, of course not. No prost.i.tute would." Yes, exactly, that was the reason. I still didn't think of her as a prost.i.tute.

I shrugged in a gesture of resignation. "I'm sorry," I said. "I didn't want to...". I was just like the rest. Instead of finding the cause, I let my frustrations out on her. How was she supposed to know what I wanted from her? "I just don't understand it. It's so strange to me. They are women, after all. Don't they ever tell you something..." How could I put it, that which was so self-explanatory to me, without actually saying it? Expressions of love would get me nowhere. Then she'd retreat anyway. "... encouraging?" I concluded vaguely.

"Oh, of course!" She laughed bitterly. "They do that."

Now I didn't understand anything anymore. So they did? "But what...?"

"What do they say to me?" She smiled coldly. "Sometimes they just say: *You're really good.'"

I looked at her blankly. She responded accordingly.

"You don't think that's so bad? That's true." She took a few more steps away from me, crossed her arms, and looked back at me. "Do you want to hear some more?" I didn't really want to, but that had been a rhetorical question. She continued without pause, "Sometimes they also say, *You made it really good for me.'"

I didn't want to hear any more. She was making a voyeur of me. But apparently, she wasn't going to stop now. "Sometimes they make comparisons. Then they say, *You really f.u.c.k the best.' Or they just grab me between the legs when they pay and say, *You're a h.o.r.n.y -'".

"Stop it!" I couldn't bear it any longer.

She was still smiling coldly at me. "That wasn't nearly everything. Was it encouraging enough?"

"Oh, G.o.d," I said. "They're women."

"Yes," she said indifferently. "They're women. But they're paying me. And for that, they should expect a little fun, right?" She was so bitter, it felt like physical pain. Slowly, I began to understand. Those humiliations, this contempt - and for how long had she put up with it? Actually, it didn't make much difference. I wouldn't have wanted to take it once - and I probably couldn't. That's where her hardness and indifference came from. Now she was so closed off again, she felt like a stone fortress.

And it was their fault! Anger flooded me with such furor, I almost vomited. Then I felt a sudden coldness inside. No, it wasn't their fault - it was my fault. I'd asked her to talk about it. Now I was no better than the others. Just the opposite. I was the worst one of all: she'd trusted me, at least to a degree. I could at least have done my best not to cause her more pain. But now it was too late. There was nothing left for me to do but leave. I couldn't help her; I was only making things worse by staying. The noose around my neck pulled itself tighter. I swallowed hard. I felt paralyzed.

She stood there - an icy mountain of contempt. I was afraid to leave her alone. But I had to. I was only going to keep reminding her of all the pain and insults. I forced myself to make a decision.

"I have to go now," I said. I tried to look at her. She stared blankly into s.p.a.ce. I couldn't move her to say goodbye, nor could I say anything to her myself. I turned around and headed for the door, hesitantly putting one foot before the other. Finally, I got there. I laid a hand on the doork.n.o.b. She still didn't say anything. I opened the door and turned around. She still stood there, completely lifeless and stiff. She didn't look at me. I closed the door behind me.

Chapter 9.

The next few days were like a preview of the fires of h.e.l.l.

I went to work, came home from work, slept, went to work...

Sleep wasn't really the right word for this restless tossing and turning, nor could one really say these were nights to remember. After a week of this, I looked like a ghost. My colleagues sent me home with good intentions, under the a.s.sumption that I would find rest there. This made it even worse. Now I didn't even have those few hours a day during which I could throw myself into a routine and forget her.

I started walking through the city, looking in shop windows, though I couldn't have said what was in any of them. I visited cafes full of old women stuffing themselves with cream pastries.

On the third day, I saw her. It gave me quite a shock. She was crossing the street - I only saw her back - but I recognized her immediately. That wasn't exactly a great feat, given her unusual height.

After she crossed the street, she walked along the main strip of the pedestrian zone's shopping area. I leapt up and threw the money for my coffee on the table. From the corner of my eye, I saw my waitress jump in confusion as I dashed out of the cafe like an elite sprinter. Perhaps I did still have a shot at the Olympics...

By the time I got to the pedestrian zone, I couldn't see her anymore. I sprinted some more. My lungs burned. The street forked. I raced off to the right. She wasn't there. I ran back and took the other path. I caught a glimpse of her at the end of the block, entering a supermarket. Of course she wouldn't shop at little mom-and-pop stores - those were much to personal. A supermarket provided the anonymity she required.

I was about to slow down when I realized that the supermarket had two exits. I begged the pardon of my aching lungs and sprinted off down the block. When I got to the market, I tried to decide what she would be likely to shop for. She had admitted herself that she didn't cook, so I could forget the produce as well as the usual "housewife" areas. Slowly, I began to breathe normally again. I wandered hesitantly through the aisles.

The deli section! I walked more quickly again. I turned the corner and looked around. There she was. She was putting two bottles of champagne in a cart. Those were for her clients, I a.s.sumed for no particular reason. Perhaps because she'd never offered me any. I followed her. She picked up a few more things - not many - and headed for the checkout. After paying, she put everything in a leather backpack and walked quickly to the exit. She was in quite a rush. Was it always like this when she went shopping? Hurry home quickly to get out of danger?