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It’s Paris, Silly
Turns
out, we weren’t the only ones late. A heavy-set man sat behind the
wheel,
smoking a cigarette. In broken English, he told us that the tour guide
would be
arriving any minute now, and asked us to take a seat. We climbed on
board, and
I saw that the only empty seats were behind a middle-aged man with a
pretty
young lady sitting next to him. As we walked down the aisle, I couldn’t
help
but take in how beautiful she was. Her curly blond hair almost touched
her
shoulders. She wore a white lace blouse without sleeves that fit snugly
over
her full bosom. Her
face was translucent,
white as snow. I tried to look without being obvious, but anyone could
see how
I stared. Luckily, I was in front of my wife and she didn’t notice. I
took the
window seat directly behind the young woman. Now, when she turned to
speak to
her companion, I was treated to glimpses of her cute nose, and sensuous
lips. She
spoke German to him. That someone with such fine delicate features as
her, could
utter a harsh, guttural language like German, seemed impossible to me.
But
somehow, I found it erotic. I put my hand on the back of her seat,
inches from
her shoulder. I rested my head against the window so I had a better
view of her
face. When the bus finally pulled out, it lurched sideways, and my hand
brushed
against her bare skin. The girl turned towards me and said something in
German.
I apologized and folded my hands in my lap. Her companion spoke to her,
but
from the tone of her voice, and the way she waved her hands, I could
tell she
made light of my intrusion.
I
tried to discern who the man was. He didn’t look old enough to be her
father, but
not young enough to be a lover. Or maybe he was?
My
wife patted my hand.
“Look
at this.” She pointed to her phone, whispering. “I got a text from
Maureen. It says
a lady needs to be careful when visiting Paris. You’re more than likely
to get
your bottom pinched.”
“I
think she means Italy.”
“No.
It’s Paris, silly. She would know. She’s been everywhere.”
I
knew it was Italy, but I wasn’t going to argue.
I
tried to relax and turned my attention to the woman in front of me. I
leaned
forward a bit, turned my nose up, and took in a deep breath. Was that
her
perfume I was able to smell?
“What
are you doing?” my wife asked.
“You
wearing perfume?” I asked, ignoring her question.
“No.
Sit back. You’re acting strange.”
So,
it was the woman in front of me. The
bus drove on, and I should have been watching the route it took through
the
city. Instead of admiring the Arc De Triomphe, I stared at the back of
the
girl’s head, catching whatever glimpse I could sneak of her face. I
wished I
knew German, so I could understand her conversation with the man.
The
bus stopped at our first destination. Everyone stood to get off and I
was able to
get a view of the rest of the girl’s body. She wore powder blue shorts,
white
sneakers, and bobby socks to match. The hips and legs that I couldn’t
see while
she sat, were now visible to me. My mind started thinking of
possibilities that
were never going to happen. We disembarked by the banks of the Seine.
The girl
and her friend boarded the boat, and I ushered my wife close behind. We
sat a
few feet away from them. Our next stop, the Eiffel Tower, was visible
behind us.
The boat worked its way slowly down the river, and I took pictures of
the
scenery and people walking along the banks. One group danced to the
music on the
radio. Sometimes, I’d focus on something
inconspicuous, and quickly move
my camera to the young woman who was oblivious to me and snap her
picture
instead. I silently prayed that she’d stand up so I’d get a full-length
shot of
her, and by God she did. I felt a throbbing in my loins. I snapped
away,
knowing I would need to delete these before my wife saw them.
Hopefully, I’d
have some time alone with them.
The
girl said something to her friend, then walked towards the back of the
boat. My
eyes followed, and when she went down a flight of stairs, I knew she
was headed
for the lady’s room. I told my wife I’d be right back and took pursuit.
If we
crossed paths, maybe she’d smile at me, or even better, say something. I
should
say something, I thought and searched my mind for any German I might
know. I
couldn’t think of anything, and loitered outside the restrooms,
checking the
pictures of her on my phone. Somehow, I was intent on starting a
conversation
with the girl. To my chagrin, her companion came down the stairs. He
saw me and
frowned. He waited outside the lady’s room, pacing back and forth. I
felt
awkward standing there. I figured I should pretend I’m waiting for
someone, but
how do you pretend to be waiting? Then it came to me. I pulled the
men’s room
door open and shouted, “You almost done in there?” To my surprise, someone
answered, in French. I had no idea what they said. I leaned against a
wall and
buried my head in my phone. Shit, what if the guy came out? What should
I do?
To my relief, the German girl waltzed out of the lady’s room. She
looked at me,
but her friend grabbed her by the arm and led her up the stairs. He
turned
towards me and with the edge of his lip, he sneered. I don’t think my
little
act fooled him. I waited a bit then went back to find my wife.
“Are
you okay?” she asked.
“Yea,
I’m fine.”
From
where we were sitting, I could see the girl talking to her friend. She
must
have complained of the chill in the air because he pulled a sweater out
of his
knapsack. Instead of putting it on, she threw it over her shoulders and
crossed
the arms of the sweater under her chin.
The
remainder of the ride bored me. I wrestled with the poison of carnal
thoughts
that filled my mind. My wife must have sensed my restlessness and took
me by
the hand. We strolled past the couple, my eyes peeled to the ground,
and walked
the length of the boat.
#
The
boat returned to its dock, and we proceeded to the Eiffel Tower. I lost
the
couple in the crowd. At the top, I took pictures of the view, and we
stopped at
the champagne bar. We were getting ready to leave when I saw the girl
and her
companion on the other side of the platform. They were leaving also. “Come on, ‘hon,” my wife said. “I’ve had enough. Let’s get online for the elevator. Did you see how long it is?"
We
were one of the last few people to get on. I managed to work my way to
the
center. A cascade of hands held onto the pole for support. I found room
for
mine, and so did my wife. To my surprise, the girl appeared in front of
me,
with her back towards me, and she grabbed the pole. Her friend was in
front of
her, staring me in the eye. The elevator moved, and everyone rocked
back and
forth. Some kids shrieked at the movement. The girl leaned on me for a
moment. I
felt her body against mine. That one second of contact was
exhilarating. She
caught her balance and stood upright. Just then, an idea came to me. I
thought
back to the text message my wife showed me earlier. I put my free hand,
fingers
outstretched, behind the girl. No one could see my arm, waiting for the
next
lurching moment. When it came, I placed my palm firmly on her butt and
gave her
a good squeeze. Why should the Italians have all the fun? Steve Bays has self-published a collection of short stories. His Facebook page is located at Steven Bays | Facebook. A short story of his, “Ten Questions for God '' was accepted for publication by The Tifferet Journal. The story published here, “It’s Paris, Silly’ has never been published before. This is his second publication. His email id is stvbays2@gmail.com
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