| Near Washington, DC: The end |
[Mar. 13th, 1993|05:08 am] |
I died this morning. We flew back to the United States yesterday, right as the first snow was falling. We called Alicia from the airport and she told us she'd drive down to get us.
We checked into a hotel for the night as the snow fell harder and the winds blew, howling at the strengthened glass. At nine o'clock, finally, Alicia arrived, and I saw my sister for the first time in a year. She asked no questions, and just hugged me tight and kissed me. I couldn't begin to explain; that's what this diary is for. I handed it over to her and told her to read it another time, and it would explain it all.
The rest of what happened is for her to tell. What's below is my story. It's not for little boys and girls to read, so be careful. It's also true, mostly. I exaggerated some details, but nothing more than what a guy does while kissing and telling.
There's a lot of that here.
And a whole lot more. |
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| (no subject) |
[Apr. 29th, 1992|01:17 am] |
Close call this afternoon. I was waiting for Vivianne outside of her office building when I saw Jennifer come by. I ducked into the nearest store to hide from her, as Vivianne was expected any minute. The store was a tobacco shop, and to kill time while Jennifer lingered outside, I browsed the postcard rack. I don't know what she was doing there, but the longer she stayed, the dirtier the looks I got from the tobacconist. I had to pick out a few ridiculously priced postcards (4 francs each!) before wandering further back in the store.
By then, Jennifer was still outside the store and Vivianne was probably walking out of her building next door. What was Jennifer doing there? I ducked behind a large humidor as I saw Jennifer peek through the front window. Fortuntaly, the store was dimly lit and it was very sunny outside, so I knew she wouldn't see me. Finally, she left. I crept closer to the door and saw her disappear across the street. I waited a few minutes and then, satisfied she was gone, I started to leave.
But, I forgot about the postcards in my hand, which the tobacconist did not. "Excusez-moi?" I heard. Oh, shit, I thought. I went to pay him. As I fished through my pockets for some francs, I looked at him. He was a surly, skinny old man with white hair. His pipe was lit, and smelled wonderful. He looked like my 10th grade English teacher, Mr. Ross. Not finding enough small change in my pocket, I had to page with a 1000 franc bill, which pissed him off more than my presence in his store did. Finally, I was able to leave.
I ran out of the store and almost collided with Vivianne. She had been waiting for more than a few minutes, I could tell. "Bonjour," I said.
"Where have you been, John?"
"In there." I gestured behind me to the store. The tobacconist was standing by the door, glaring at me.
"Do you smoke?"
"No, you know that."
"Then why were you in there?" I showed her the postcards and she nodded, finally understanding.
We left and headed to her apartment. Since it's getting warmer and warmer everyday now, she wanted to take a shower. I offered to join her, and she nodded, almost reluctantly. She told me about an old boyfriend who used to pee on her in the shower. I told her that wasn't me and she nodded again. I could sense her unasked question: But, who are you? It was on both of our minds as we undressed for each other.
Her bathroom has a small shower stall and we squeezed in there. We soaped each other up, groping and sharing soapy kisses under the hot spray.
(to be continued) |
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| (no subject) |
[Apr. 28th, 1992|02:03 am] |
I was relieved when Vivianne didn't want to see me tonight: we need our space apart before going away together. I wandered all over Montmartre today, I wrote that last entry while having a late lunch on the steps of a cathedral.
I actually saw Jennifer, again, at Centre Pompidou. She just got back from the UK, having spent two weeks there with her school group. Apparently she shacked up for ten days while there with a Brit named Stefan. I wonder if it's the same Stefan that Allie dated a few years ago. Jennifer and I had dinner together and went dancing. She got really drunk quickly, as if she wanted to, and told me that if I wanted to have a threesome with her and a French girl, she would be up for it.
She doesn't know about Vivianne, of course, and I didn't want to tell her.
Jennifer spent the rest of the evening getting drunker and trying to pick up single French girls with her rapidly-deteriorating French language skills. I just sat next to her at the bar and silently smiled as she failed miserably. There were some cute girls I was definitely interested in, but I was just as amused watching her attempts. So, that didn't happen. Maybe next time, or maybe not, as she's not likely to get that drunk again. She's actually passed out in bed as I'm writing this in the bathroom.
When we got back to my hotel room, she apologized and told me to do whatever I wanted to her. After one of her specialty blow jobs, I threw her, stomach down, on the bed and fucked her from behind. I pounded her hard and came quickly. This was the first time we had sex without a condom and it felt good. Vivianne has some sort of birth control shot, so we don't need one, but I've always needed a condom with Jennifer.
A confession: I thought of Allie and Vivianne together, when I came. |
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| (no subject) |
[Apr. 27th, 1992|03:57 pm] |
Well, we're going to Calais this weekend for May Day. Vivianne wants to take me there to meet her family. Her sister Lauren will be there, too, as well as her parents. Lauren speaks English but her folks don't. Vivianne'll have to translate.
Things are almost at the serious stage for us, we're back to doing other things than fucking. She seems generally fond of me, as I am of her. Once it gets more serious, I'm going to have to tell her about everything, which I'm not looking forward to. If she's in love with me then, she's certain to fall out of it.
I don't know who I love. Allie is too precious to me, too loving, and there is that sick feeling I'm afraid of when I think about her. People run away from what they're afraid of. I'm no different. |
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| (no subject) |
[Apr. 22nd, 1992|11:34 am] |
Paris is fun, a lot, but I'm getting bored here. One can only drink so much coffee and smoke so many cigarettes. I'm thinking of taking a trip, maybe up to Normandy, or down to Marseilles. I don't feel too comfortable leaving France yet. I still have my passport, and I can imagine that my name is on every "Do Not Enter" list in every passport control office in Europe by now.
I got the idea for taking a trip from Vivianne. We were in bed one early evening (nowadays, we just go striaght to the bedroom when I meet her after work) and talked about family trips from our childhoods. I told her about Michigan and Marcus, when Allie hid from us. Vivianne told me about Calais, and her aunt's house there, near the Channel. She could see Dover across the water, and one day tried to swim there. She only made it as far out as a few hundred meters, when she couldn't see the shore anymore and got scared. She swam back and nearly fainted on the beach.
After that, she only takes boats across to England. I wish I could do that. |
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| (no subject) |
[Apr. 19th, 1992|02:17 am] |
Jennifer is starting to confuse me. I still see her one or two nights a week, and she and Vivianne are blissfully ignorant of each other. The sex, though, is strange. It's automatic and emotionless. The passion I have with Vivianne is replaced by rote, by-the-numbers fucking.
Tonight, she started asking me all these getting-to-know-you-better questions. I wonder if she read them in a Cosmo quiz, or something. If I found an abandoned kitten, what would I do? Shit like that. I told her, though, about Muzzy, and how Allie found her in Michigan that summer. Then, she started asking me all about Allie, and I hemmed up. I don't want to have my American life bleed over into my new European life.
It's painful, but I live here now. Even if I ever wanted to go back to the US, I can't. I don't have an alibi, and I definitely had a motive to kill my father and Susie. It's all that bitch Sarah's fault. If she knew how to be a mother, Allie wouldn't have been so fucked up. If she hadn't dumped my father, he wouldn't have met Susie, and I might've killed Sarah instead of her (and I wouldn't feel guilty about that).
Anyway. Tonight Jennifer was asking me all these questions about Allie, and then grilling me about my sex life before I met her. It was getting annoying, so I asked her to leave (I claimed to have an upset stomach) and then stared at the wall for a while, thinking.
I'm doing that a lot, staring and thinking. What am I doing here? I should be with Vivianne; she's perfect for me. She's beautiful, has a good job and a nice apartment, seems to really care for me, and we have fun together. Jennifer is just a fuck buddy, and a great one at that. But, there's no future. She's leaving France next month, when her semester is over and was talking about me joining her for the summer.
I don't think so. |
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| (no subject) |
[Apr. 16th, 1992|04:40 pm] |
I'm writing less and less, I know. Not much is happening, really. I'm still fucking Vivianne most nights, and Jennifer on the other nights. I can't stay over at Jennifer's: she's living in a dorm with a roommate she doesn't get along with. But, I choose not to stay over at Vivianne's, I can't and my shitbag hotel feels more comfortable, I don't know why.
But, life is good with Vivianne—we meet when she's off work and go for dinner, or maybe a movie (English only, of course) and then go back for sex at her place. She has a really nice, really small apartment on the fringes of Paris. Her building is relatively new, too, and her rent is probably sky-high. She wears nice clothes, too. I've had to buy all new clothing since I've come here, and my wardrobe is much nicer here than it ever was back home: I have to wear something other than jeans and sneakers at the restaurants we go to.
I asked her last night if she's told anyone about me yet, and she hasn't. I wonder if she's ashamed to be fucking an American.
I don't mind, of course. She's great. |
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| (no subject) |
[Apr. 11th, 1992|03:05 am] |
After taking it easy the other day, I was adventurous today. I took the train out to Versailles with Jennifer and played tourist with her. It was a lot of fun, actually.
When we returned to Paris we had an early dinner and talked. Jennifer's a student and is going to England soon for a week's vacation. She invited me along, but I declined: I still have my passport issues to deal with. She was sorry I didn't want to go, but we promised to see each other after she got back to Paris.
That was good enough I suppose, since we had sex for the first time together afterwards. It was pretty good, it started off as another spectacular blowjob, but then I told her about the condoms I'd bought after our last date, and she told me to put it on and then laid down on the bed.
She wanted me to see if she was wet enough, and she was, so I went right into her. It was completely different than fucking Vivianne, in a way I can't explain. It's more fun, I suppose, but I loved fucking Vivianne the other night, so I don't know.
Soon, though, it was done and we were both spent. Jennifer has an early class in the morning (or so she says) and asked me to walk her back to the Métro station, since it was already 11pm.
I got horny again on the way back, and jerked off before trying to fall asleep. For some reason, I couldn't, which is weird, since jerking off usually makes me sleepy. I think I just have too much on my mind. I'll have to decide between Jennifer and Vivianne at some point, but hopefully not too soon. |
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| (no subject) |
[Apr. 10th, 1992|12:11 am] |
After wandering around the city all morning, I slept all afternoon.
For dinner, I ate at the McDonalds on the Champs Elysee. Sacrilegious, I know.
As I walked back to my hotel, I ran into Jennifer, again. This is like fate. We're going out tomorrow.
Too tired to write more now. Time for sleep. |
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| (no subject) |
[Apr. 7th, 1992|08:47 am] |
Early, too early. I was awakened around six by a truck delivering god knows what to the building next door to the hotel. I feel like shit because I'm hungover. I called Vivianne yesterday. She'd given me her card on the plane so I called her at work.
She was busy at first, so I was on hold for a few minutes. Her office has bad French pop music as their hold music, and if she weren't so cute, I would've hung up. Finally, as one bad song ended and a worse one started, she picked up. "Bonjour, John."
"Hey," I said, being the suave American that I am. Nothing an American says at the start of a conversation has the grace of "bonjour."
"How's it going?" she asked, reverting to an Americanism I'm sure she picked up during her visit to the US.
For a moment, I forgot about the girlfriend bit. "Oh, well, you know. I'm trying to enjoy myself here."
"You've sightseen, non? Has it been okay with your girlfriend?" Then, I remembered.
"Not really. She took it hard," I said.
"Oh, that's too bad."
"You know," I said, cutting to the chase. "We should get together."
"Oh," she said. "Sure, oui. When?"
"How about tonight?" I heard her nod and told me to meet her outside her office building at 5 o'clock. We hung up, and I immediately sat down on a bench and looked up where her office was on a map. It wasn't far from the river, on Avenue George V.
I had no problems getting there, and watched the pigeons audition for the rush hour crowd's crumbs before she came out. It was great to see her again. She was wearing a brown business suit, matching her hair, and her skirt ended well above the knee. Her blouse was the color of cream, and her hair was let loose from what apparently was a tight bun she wore from 9-to-5.
We walked up George V to the George V hotel, which caused me to ask her why there was a hotel in Paris named after an English king. She laughed, and said she couldn't remember her French history classes from school.
In the hotel, which was a lot nicer than the shithole I'm staying in, we went into the bar and had a drink. We shared a bottle of red wine, and made small talk.
When that was done, we were both very flirtatious and started touching each other. She kept touching the back of my hand with her fingertips, which, in tandem with the wine, felt incredible. I returned the favor by stroking the fine silk of her blouse's sleeve. Needless to say, she didn't hesitate to invite me home with her.
I took her hand in mine as we exited the hotel's lobby and we walked back toward the river to the Alma-Marceau Métro station, where we took a train across town to her apartment.
It was still early when we got there. Ridiculously early, actually, about 8. She leaned against me in the elevator ride up to her apartment, and fitted nicely against my body. Inside, we opened another bottle of wine and sat on the sofa. The weather has been very warm for April here, apparently, so she'd set the air conditioning on high when she left for work in the morning. As a result, the apartment was chilly.
Her apartment is small, but modern and nice. Air conditioning is a premium in Paris, she tells me, and it chilled the apartment quickly. Her furniture is all new and looks Scandinavian. We slid onto the sofa together, with her leaning against me again, like we had done in the elevator. My right hand rested on her stomach as my left held the never-empty wineglass.
Her light brown hair smelled wonderful and I felt at peace. Almost too at peace, as I nearly confessed everything to her. About Alicia, about my fake ex-girlfriend, about running away, about killing my father and Susie. Before I could, though, she slipped my hand up onto her chest, and I stroked her breast lightly.
She rubbed in hard against me and then twisted her head back so we could finally kiss. She tasted like the wine and it was the best kiss I'd ever had. She continued twisting around until she was on top of me and we undressed slowly, until we fucked, right then and there on the sofa.
It was slow and urgent at the same time, and with her on top of me, I could just lay back and let everything, including my guilt, slip away from me. She took charge and I didn't mind. I submitted to the moment and, by the time I came, I'd forgotten all my problems. We laid there together for a bit, freezing with the cold air blowing down on our now-sweaty bodies. Finally, she got up and took a shower while I dozed off. After her shower, she woke me up and brought me into her tiny, dark bedroom and laid me down on the bed while she lit some candles.
There, we fucked again, more urgent and forceful, with me on top. This time, we explored more of each other's bodies, and while her breasts are not as big nor as fine as Jennifer's, they offer their own charms. Her body is lean, like a swimmer's, and her fine muscles tightened as I pounded into her until I came, again.
Afterwords, instead of feeling drowsy, I felt antsy and left. She wanted me to spend the night with her, but I couldn't. I didn't belong. I'd remembered what brought me to her and shuddered. Vivianne saw that, and asked if I was okay. I said it was just the cold air.
She laid there in bed, silently and innocently, as I dressed, unable to look upon her pretty face in the candlelight, lest I say something I would regret.
I told her I would call her again and slipped out into the night. It was still warm and I found myself back at the Metro. I took an empty train back to the city, getting off near George V. I walked around for a while before crashing back at my hotel for good at about 2am.
So, here I am on four hours of sleep. It's going to be a long day. |
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| (no subject) |
[Apr. 4th, 1992|01:23 pm] |
Jennifer (the American) and I had a great time last night. We had dinner and then went to a club and drank. We danced for an hour before getting tired. We brought a bottle of wine back with us to my hotel room and drank it while getting to know each other. I gave her the same cover story I gave Vivianne: I came to Paris to break up with my girlfriend, and decided to stay for a while and enjoy myself.
She's the same age as me, 20, and from Kansas City. She's an art history student at Rice in Houston and here for the spring semester. She's offered to travel out to the Louvre with me one day. She's been in Paris since January and had already been out there 5 times. She's pretty but not gorgeous. She's got this very sexy look, though, and it wasn't long before we were making out.
Without a doubt, she has the best set of tits I've ever seen. They're round and full, and feel great in my hands, which aren't quite big enough to handle them. She loves to have her nipples bit, and even poured some wine on them to lick off. I could spend all day and all night with those tits.
Eventually, she went down on me, and it was amazing. Susie's blow jobs were great, but Jennifer's was even better. I can't explain why, it might've just been the wine, but when I came I saw the most beautiful colors and shapes. Something she did tickled me, as I was bucking my hips enough that my cock slipped out of her mouth and some come landed on her chin. When I was done coming, she used my cock to clean it up off her chin before gently and slowly licking it off. She must've spent ten minutes doing that, but it felt like an hour.
Not long afterward, I passed out and slept like a rock. In the morning, Jennifer was still with me. I apologized for passing out on her, but she didn't mind. She apologized for being slutty, but apparently we didn't fuck. I don't remember this, but she said that after the blow job I offered to go back out to buy some condoms, but she didn't want me to. "I'm not that easy," she said.
I did buy her breakfast this morning since I felt a little guilty of passing out on her. She's run off to school now, and I've been out wandering in the rain. I'm getting nervous about my passport. I need a new one and I don't know how one gets one here in Paris.
I'm going to be calling Vivianne soon.
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| (no subject) |
[Apr. 3rd, 1992|04:57 pm] |
I met an American girl at the Arc de Triomph today. Her name's Jennifer, and she's a cute student from Houston studying here for a semester. We met when I was trying to get a tour guide, who was speaking English to her tour group, to give me directions to a place to get lunch. The guide was a bitch, and pretended to not understand me. Fortunately, Jennifer overheard and pointed it out for me. Stupid me, it was just around the corner from the Arc.
I asked her if she wanted to join me for lunch, but she'd already eaten, so we're going out tonight. I'm not sure where, she told me how to find her hostel and I'll meet her outside of it at 7pm. I went by there after lunch, to make sure I can find it. It's not far from my hotel, maybe a ten minute walk. I still don't trust myself on the subway system yet.
I took more money out, too, today, but I'm wary to cary thousands of dollars worth of francs around with me. I need to find out where I'm going to be staying and stash my money there. I certainly don't trust it in this shithole I'm in now. |
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| Paris |
[Apr. 3rd, 1992|02:08 am] |
| [ | Current Mood |
| | insomniacal | ] |
Well, I'm here. Customs was a scare. Fortunately, I beat the alert with my name on it, if one ever came. I imagine one did, but I don't know.
Anyway, by 9am I was on the bus from de Gaulle to the center of Paris. I spent time looking for a place to stay, and I found a cheap hotel room near the Seine. I can see the Eiffel Tower from my room (well, just the tip of it), and the other guests in the hotel seem as seedy as me. I counted two prostitutes out in the lobby, and the man at the front desk seemed surprised I was checking in alone.
I checked in at noon, having spent two hours wandering around finding a place. I should buy a guide book, I didn't think of it at the airport last night. But, I had enough on my mind, so that's my excuse. When I checked in, I paid for a week with cash. I then took a nap and woke up at 3pm. I walked to the Champs Elyssee and played tourist.
I took out 5,000 francs (about $1,000, I think) from a MAC machine that fortunately spoke English. It's tourist season here, and I'm just glad the Frenchies speak English. I had God knows what for dinner and liked it. The wine, of course, kicked ass. I'm back in my room now, wondering what to do tonight. Both of the whores were gone when I came back to the hotel, or else I would've been tempted. One of them from this afternoon was really cute. The other, though, I wouldn't fuck her with a stranger's dick.
It's past 2am now, and I've been staring at the ceiling for hours. Paris may be the city of lights, but here in my room I just hate my bedlamp. |
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| On the plane to Paris |
[Apr. 1st, 1992|09:20 pm] |
I'm on the plane now - ha! I rushed to the airport, of course, from the bank. I started with $5,000 in travellers checks and another $5,000 in cash. Fortunately, there was no traffic on the way to the airport, since I got there just in time to check in for the 7:15pm to Paris. Yes, or shall I say, oui?, I'm going to Paris.
At the airport I washed up and bought some magazines. We took off late, and now it's about halfway through the flight -- I can't sleep, of course. I decided to keep a diary of my trip, I don't know where I'm going beyond there. I'm writing this now on a notepad and a pen I filched from the back of the plane. During a wait for the toilet, I saw them sitting there on a cart and helped myself. I don't know what I'm going to do with this diary: maybe I'll send it home to Alicia, maybe it'll be evidence against me in court. Who knows?
Vivianne, the girl next to me, is asleep. She's 24 and returning home from a business trip in New Jersey. Earlier, she read a Paris newspaper, looking for a new job. She speaks English very well. She has brown nailpolish, accenting her honey-highlighted brown, fine hair, and brown sweater. The blue stripes on the sweater echo her deep, rich blue eyes. She is very pretty. We made smalltalk during the first part of the flight, flirting and comparing notes. She'd never been to the US before this trip, and was generally impressed. She told me that she liked the men the best.
I told her that I'm going over to Paris for the first time to break up with my girlfriend, who is a student in Paris. A complete lie, I know, but it was told with a purpose: I've already gotten Vivianne's number. We might meet up afterwards for a drink and a fuck. I'm all for it: I've heard about French women.
She fell asleep during the stupid movie, a sequel to some action flick I've not seen. I tried to get drunk, but I'm too edgy to do so -- I don't know what to expect when we land. So, now I'm drowsy, but the drone of the engines keeps me awake. I'm going to read my other magazines now. Dawn awaits. |
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