Monday, September 3, 2012

I saw her walking ahead of me

I saw her walking ahead of me in the Ch√Ętelet – Les Halles metro station, long legs, an Italian silk summer dress with a salmon and tea green print and some impossible heels the seemed too small to fit any woman's feet, but held hers like the hands of a foot fetish near orgasm.

I claim I'm not lesbian but the girl lust rose in me watching the sway of her hips and the long cool stride, the flow of her hair in the slight breeze of the metros ventilation, and the absolute confidence she had.

I imagined the silk she must be wearing under her silk, those kind of panties that are not at all tight, yet fit so close, feeling like air on the skin.

I had seen her before and smiled at her. She looked at me with a pleasant confusion, a concession to me in sometimes aloof Paris. My heart skipped a beat, or three.

Is she a model out shopping, I wondered, or a very expensive prostitue? More likely a beautiful accessory of the wealthy circles. A protected woman out in the edges of the real world where girls don't look like visions, money is a worry and life is not assured to be comfortable.

Long legs the opposite of short chubby me, with my rapidly locking dreads, and nouveau retro hippy blouses and skirts. I've figured out that I will never be long legged, slim and impeccable. Maybe more because I don't want to be. I do though, notice those who are.

A man a few days ago, a suit cut by scissors longing to make love to his body, hair kissed by the air, not fussy, no product! Ick. A gym member who doesn't flaunt it, not too tall and he smiled at the coffee lady as he collected his morning jolt and pasterie in front of me. I could have eaten him for dinner and had leftovers for breakfast!

So different from how I present myself, so different from how I want to be seen, and still so fascinating.

About 2 weeks into my adventure I decided to do dreads. I can't compete with french women at their look, so I went all Berkley, peasant blouses, short sheath skirts, sandals and me, pushing out the seams. So much for scarves and style. Its a look, suits me, and sets me apart. 

They seem to understand when they hear my American accent...  :)

"bonjour, je suis Chloé........... Oui... de californie"

So did I follow her, or him, like a puppy wanting attention? Yea a little. She noticed, he didn't.

I'll see her again.