Fall in Paris

January 8th, 2008

Even when your young years are gone and you’re about thirty, even when you’ve settled with a family, even then you can meet your old love and lose your mind…

Yellow leaves were falling off the trees. Birds were flying around pecking tiny pieces of bread from the ground, twittering and getting under feet of multiple passers by. One could physically feel electricity in the air. It was Paris. It was late October. Natalie Dupree, a 30 years-old married lady, was sitting in Hotel Ritz. She was a naturally beautiful girl who was so much unlike stupid pretty Babies who had nothing but their beauty. She was fashion show planner. She was sitting at table in the hall, smoking a cigarette and twisting a glass of wine in her hand.

All the men coming to the show couldn’t help looking at such a gorgeous woman. She was unique. She had some femininity most of the women of the 21st century have unfortunately lost. A picture of a French artist was hanging over the sofa she was sitting on. The atmosphere was very bohemian like, everything seemed to be very stylish and posh. Natalie was thinking over something.

She led the most usual way of life for her kind of occupation. It was a usual thing for her to call some famous designer, or to dine with L’Oreal representatives. She was smart, educated, she loved to read, all that made her incredibly sexy. She was a pro in her field, she never said more than needed, she always knew what to say in this or that situation. As for her private life, she’d been married for almost 6 years. They met in college. They were vehement lovers first, then their passion turned into friendship and trust that let them be together for so many years. It was difficult to call it a “marriage”, it was more of friendship, they didn’t get on each other’s nerves, they didn’t see each other often, and had sex twice a year or so.

When Natalie was young she was in love with a hot Italian guy she knew just for three days. She’d been never deeply in love after that short vac romance. If you believe in the theory that there must be two people on earth meant for each other, like two halves of one, then he was that guy for her. They parted, she suffered a lot. But as time went by it became easier to live with it, she found another guy, she had good sex, he was a nice rich guy, they were friends, then they married, she was too busy working, she didn’t even have time to have a lover. She loved cigarettes, drinking wine in the evening, going out with her friends, masturbating in shower, reading books… She didn’t even notice she turned 30.

-Good evening, Natalie, – a guy from fashion industry came up to her table.
-Oh, good evening, Pierre!
-You’re looking great today!
-Oh, thank you.

Any man was dreaming to have such a woman by his side. She was incredible and unique. But she hadn’t felt bright and strong sensations for long. She even forgot what it felt like to feel them at all. She didn’t even think she could ever feel them again. A glass of wine, a cigarette, the same old friends and the same old faces around…

Him. No, it’s not him. Oh, yes, it’s him!
Oh, my God… My love… My tears… My dreams… My life… My world… My love… It’s him.

The Italian guy from her youth was staring at her closely. Was it a dream? She pinched herself to make sure she wasn’t sleeping. She closed her eyes and opened them again. He was still there. Looking in the eye. Heavy breathing. Tears. She closed her eyes.
Empty. It was a closet. It was a deep passionate kiss. She was wet. They were going to his apartment. She wanted him!!!

His lips were on her nipples. His dick was in her hand. Their clothes were thrown on the floor. He entered her. It felt so good. He sped up. She was moaning. He was hot. He was holding her tight. Faster. He came, she cried out. He was driving her crazy. She mounted him. She bit him. It hurt him. He moaned. It turned her on. Blood. She licked it off. An orgasm. Another orgasm. Orgasm. Who came…?

A sound.
A moan.
A cry.

She sat down on the kitchen table. A scarf was round her neck. He pulled it, making her choke. She’d never felt happier, safe for the moment she saw him for the first time. He was fucking her. She felt him in her insides. Frictions made her feel another orgasm. He came then too. She was licking his dickhead. His hands were in her hair, making her moan. She sucked on his dick, fondling his balls. He felt another orgasm. Sperm erupted in her mouth she swallowed it with delight. She loved him. He was her man. He was licking her clit, biting it gently with his teeth. She started. Was it a dream? They spent the night making love to each other. She left in the morning.

Yellow leaves were falling off the trees…

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6 Responses to “Fall in Paris”

  1. Boss Man Says:


  2. Azamat Says:

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  3. Joe Says:

    Prolly, the worst story on the site.

  4. Kyle Says:

    THis story sucked!!!

  5. ravi Says:

    total crap

  6. ivo13 Says:

    sorry, but i read one and paragrahs. then i realised, i was reading something that should be in “cosmopoliton”. sucks.

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