We left the rowdy dinner at a bistro by l’Odéon before it degenerated into a melee and walked arm in arm down Rue Garancière. A left at Saint-Sulpice, its mis-matched towers and double colonnade bathed in a yellow glow of floodlights, and then a right onto Rue des Cannettes and Chez Georges, the subterranean wine bar where Leah was waiting.
There she was, sitting alone under the curved stone roof of the cellar, with a bottle of white wine in a bucket and three glasses. “Here you are!” Edira slid onto the bench seat next to her. I perched on a stool.
Leah and I were occasional drinking buddies who, for reasons we never discussed, had a kissing habit. An evening together would be punctuated by friendly French kisses – we were in Paris, after all – that were innocent by dint of being without any agenda and often in front of friends, who smiled and rolled their eyes and told us to ‘get a room’ or, better still, go to the bar and get the drinks in. Looking back, it was an odd way to carry on, but it didn't seem so for us at the time.
We had taken it further just once, rolling up at my apartment at 3am, swaying drunk. We fumbled and stumbled, and the zipper of her tight pencil skirt stuck fast. After more fumbling we flopped onto my bed and fell unconscious. The morning was one of light-hearted mutual recrimination. Whose idea had it been to come back here when we had never done so in three years? What on Earth were we thinking? Ridiculous! She had showered, put her rumpled clothes back on, downed two cups of sweet black coffee, smoked my last cigarettes, and gone home.
She was a Nordic beauty with eyes the colour of the sea and dark blonde hair. A talented diver as a teenager, she retained a lithe athleticism even now, despite a decade of drinking and partying her way across capitals of Europe as she worked her way up at the back office of a private bank.
And she was a wonderful kisser. Her tongue would slither around mine, instinctively varying the rhythm and pattern at the right moment; her lips soft and giving at one moment, firm and pressing the next. Our kisses never lost their way. Once or twice I had opened my eyes mid-clinch and saw that hers were closed tight. She was transported. We knew a relationship between us would inevitably spoil a friendship we both valued but that didn’t mean we couldn’t kiss. It didn't seem odd at the time but, looking back, I suppose it was. Odd, but harmless, and we enjoyed it.
Self contained and calm, my Indonesian lover was a very different creature. Edira’s beauty lay in her big, long-lashed eyes, lustrous black hair, and strong, muscular body. Her flawless skin was a rich, deep brown.
Her quiet demeanour belied her free spirit; a spirit which broke free of her traditional upbringing and dive into the complexities of concurrent relationships and multiple lovers. She has come to Paris alone and broke, surviving by dint of tedious shifts at the Burger King near Place de la Bastille by day and waitressing by night. Three years on she was making enough money to support herself in some style by sourcing Asian furniture for distributors in France and Germany.
After an hour in Chez Georges, Leah suggested a nightcap at her apartment. I decided to leave it to Edira. If she said go home we would go home (I was in the mood to make love but approaching the point of intoxication at which sex is more realistic as a thought than an act), if she said yes we would go to Leah’s. She nodded.
It was a relief to walk off the fug of the bar, for this was back when smoking was permitted in bars and restaurants, and by 1am Chez Georges was a miasma of Gitanes and Marlboro fumes.
We squeezed into the tiny old elevator at Leah's place, dimly lit behind its ornate wrought iron cage, and trundled up to the sixth floor. I was directed to the kitchen while the girls went to the balcony. “Look in the fridge. I’m pretty sure there’s some wine in there.” I popped my head round the door to ask if the expensive looking Chablis in the chiller was fair game, but the balcony was deserted.
Quite a stretch of time ticked by as I had hunted for a corkscrew (it was sitting on the extractor fan), gathered three glasses and extracted the cork. I stepped out on the empty balcony, deposited bottle and glasses on a table, and padded down the hallway to the bathroom. I washed up, turned the tap off, and listened. Silence. They must be in the bedroom.
Edira was standing at the foot of a big double bed. Her skirt formed a pool of darkness at her feet, which were encased in a pair of white high heel peep-toe pumps. Leah was sitting on the bed with her hand down Edira’s tiny white panties. My synapses, dulled by drink, fizzed into life as I reconciled erotic reality with prosaic expectation. I had not seen this coming.
The silence was like a crystal and I felt that if I were to utter a sound the crystal would shatter, and that whatever was happening would stop happening.
Edira turned to look at me and let out a breathy gasp as a thrill of pleasure forced her eyelids to flutter and close. I walked up behind her and peered over her shoulder. Leah’s right hand was moving rhythmically, her fingers buried in Edira’s smooth pussy while her thumb rubbed her clitoris. A little pool of liquid had collected in the palm of Leah’s hand and there was a rivulet running from her wrist and down her slender forearm.
I gently pulled Edira’s panties down and placed a hand on her belly so that my fingers pulled gently up on her pubis. She tilted her pelvis up in response, at which Leah dropped to her knees and replaced her thumb with her tongue. I reached down further and spread Edira a little as Leah’s tongue flickered and licked.
Edira's body began to tremble as Leah began to alternately suck and lick, and jammed two fingers all the way in. I could feel under my hand that she was curling her fingers to press up against the g-spot. My only rational thought was: she knows what she is doing. Leah looked up at me with an inscrutable expression, and then reapplied herself.
There was a soft squelching sound as Edira neared the point of no return. She let out, “Oh my god oh my god oh my god. I’m going to come,” followed by a drawn out moan, rising in tone until she reached a shuddering climax. I supported her weight as her quivering legs momentarily gave way .
I knew from experience this was not the end and told Leah, “Keep going and she will come again.” I unbuttoned Edira’s blouse and cupped her breasts. As she approached the event horizon of her second orgasm I squeezed her breasts more firmly and clamped her nipples between my thumb and index finger. This helped her over the line and she pulled Leah’s head in and pumped her hips. As she came down she gradually relaxed her grip on Leah and we stayed there, like that, for what seemed an eternity.
Suddenly Leah was up and bustling. She cupped Leah's face in her hands and planted an affectionate kiss on her lips. “I don’t know about you, but I'd like that drink now!” I took Edira’s hand and we followed.
Leah poured wine and asked me to fetch some ice. “Please. It’s a little warm now,” she giggled. Edira sat down, her nude body gleaming with a sheen of perspiration.
“If you want Paul to stay here with you, it’s fine. I can go.” I turned to look at her with amazement. What thought process was going on to prompt such a statement? And then I surprised myself: “No, I think you should stay, if you want.” Leah leaned over and squeezed my hand. “I promise I’ll deliver her back to you tomorrow.”
We drank the wine and shared a smoke, and it felt the right moment to leave them alone. Leah walked me to the front door and, as I turned to say goodnight, she pulled me down to her, kissed me longer and deeper than she had ever kissed me before and breathed warm, moist breath into my ear: “Thank you”.
It was an easy half-hour walk to my little apartment, crossing the river at Pont Neuf and then on into the Marais in a daze from the most unexpected sexual encounter of my life, albeit I only had a walk-on part.
I sat out on my own balcony, rolled myself a smoke, and focused my attention on imprinting this night of La Dolce Vita in my memory. Soon enough, the first fingers of dawn crept into the sky and the city began to wake up.
Leah and I stayed drinking buddies, although playfulness was replaced by a more relaxed intimacy. Our kisses were less frequent but given depth through a shared experience. Edirah spent every other Saturday or Sunday afternoon with her, and I never tired of taking my beauty to bed afterwards and mounting a pussy already aroused by the same expert tongue which had entwined with mine so many times.
- Mr Hedone