Any similarity to actual persons or events is purely coincidental. Or is it?
1.
It was a Thursday afternoon. I had one of those weird home office days when the day goes by with Zooms and emails, and you haven't even brushed your teeth or changed from your PJs. As I shut my laptop, I felt slightly frustrated, in desperate need to get out of this slump.
For others, this might have been a perfectly fine day. But I was a serious girl - typical eldest daughter - with a lot of restraint, maximalism and self-doubt. Always ticking off to-dos, obeying my own orders. Productivist in all spheres of life. Not one who ever lets a day slip out of my hands. So after a sweaty home workout, I decided to make this evening count -- if not by work, then by important socialising time, something I also kept a strict schedule about and heavily documented on social media, as this made me feel more put together, more important. I texted a few friends to see who's up for a drink. But Paris being Paris, no one was free - everyone offered me alternative dates in the upcoming weeks, for which I could only offer vague and unenthusiastic answers. I wanted to go for a drink, now.
So I did the unthinkable and answered the guy who has been sliding into my DMs for a good while, someone I had no particular interest in.
"Up for a drink?"
"Yeah sure where?!", came the instantaneous answer. I suggested a place I've always wanted to try in the 3rd, but always seemed a bit too bougie and out of budget. Might as well tonight, I thought. Make it count.
I got ready, aiming to match the chicness of my chosen destination. I got out of my leggings and sports bra and jumped under the running water. I took a long and hot shower, wanting to feel myself pristine, freed from the decadence of this ruined day, to be almost innocently fresh for this date, a clean slate. I carefully chose my outfit, a new dark red, short bodycon dress with a generous, but still elegant neckline and slightly open back, tightly embracing my curves without revealing too much. I paired it with sheer black tights that said "bite me" on the ass, which I didn't think about too much as I didn't plan to be in a situation tonight to reveal it. I wore my trusty high-heeled leather boots, did my eyeliner and put on some glossy red lipstick, a few sprinkles of my night scent, threw on what I deemed as my most expensive-looking coat, and was ready to go.
A few words about me: in my mid-twenties, I recently moved to Paris from a foreign, smaller city for work. I was climbing the corporate ladder as a comms specialist - always switched on, managing a hundred things at the same time. Cocky and educated in my professional life, a real feminist, I often struggled in romantic situations. I found boys my age pathetic, but I was too timid and restrained to try anything else, unsure of my desirability. I was not ugly - a petite, curvy girl with freckles, fair skin and dark brown hair, an exceptionally round ass and bouncy, soft boobs I usually hid from the world under tight bralettes. But I could just not let myself go in sexual situations, I would remain tense and self-conscious. Maybe tonight would be different, I thought to myself unenthusiastically.
On the metro, I got a few looks - a few creeps but also a couple of hotties. Timid and cold from the outside, I deep down enjoyed their attention. The raw sincerity of desire in their eyes as they weigh you up and down. Born in the 1970s or in the 2000s, it did not matter. I looked at my date's Insta in more detail. Paolo seemed alright, albeit a bit basic with cringe captions (probably Italian?). I really wasn't obsessed, but had already committed. Plus, with a guy like him, I would be in total control of the situation, I rationalised.
I finally got to the street of the bar, only to receive a dm from Paolo saying he was sorry, but "his mother needed him asap". Fucking mama's boys. I always hated them. So here I was, standing in front of this fancy cocktail place, in my new red dress, desperate for a nice night. Going back home after all this prep didn't seem like a suitable option. But what about going in? This was not something I'd usually do - let spontaneity lead me - but still, it seemed like the better plan. Peeking in the window, I was drawn to the marble bar counter, the candle-lit little tables. So I took a deep breath and walked right in.
2.
"Table for 2?" The bartender asked. Her arms revealed two stylish hand-poke tattoos. Fringes and shiny light brown hair tucked away in a messy ponytail. Delicate. High-waisted jeans and a small black crop top. Nipples poking through the fabric. A kind of effortless look only a truly hot girl can pull off, otherwise it's boring. A little taller, older, skinnier. Everything I was envious of, a shorter girl on the curvier side, obsessively thinking through every outfit to bring out my good features only.
"No, just for one, if that's okay". I said shyly. "Sure thing", she said with broken French, and motioned me to the bar. Only after I sat down, I took the courage to look around fully. The bar was busy, but not full. A few groups of girls chatting away loudly, and of course, several couples. I ordered a negroni because I didn't really know that many cocktails, and wanted something uncomplicated and delicious. "So, where are you from?" the bartender asked now in English. Our conversation moved slowly, in-between orders, as she was alone serving tonight. I didn't mind, I liked the soothing superficiality of it, watching people, and letting the warm fuzzy feeling of tipsiness take me slowly.
A while in, I noticed someone in the far corner. I think he was with a group until now, but everyone seemed to have left him. Yes, him. I didn't want to look and stare, but I could feel his gaze on me, almost physically poking my back. In an attempt to look nonchalant, I peeked over. Our eyes met, and I quickly looked away, I couldn't hold his gaze. But I did get a look. He was quite handsome. In his early forties, wearing a dark brown overshirt, dark jeans, an expensive watch. Bald, with a slightly greying beard, strong arms. What all my secret stash of sexy lit would describe as a real Daddy. I was instantly drawn to him. I could feel him taking me in, and this time I looked back, held his gaze just a bit longer. He smiled -- a serious smile. I awkwardly returned it, blushing. I was usually more confident than this, but the uniqueness and vulnerability of the situation, and the obviousness of his dominance made me slightly tremble. I was not used to feeling like this.
"It was great meeting you, my shift's now over," woke me from my haze the cute bartender -- Lisa from Berlin, as it turns out. To my surprise, instead of walking towards the door, Lisa went straight up to handsome older guy. She brought over two cocktails and kissed him on the lips passionately. I suddenly felt so fucking stupid - of course he was staring at Lisa, his sexy working sweetheart, not me, the lonely awkward girl at the bar craving attention. This was a terrible idea, I thought, numb from the cocktail, ashamed, getting ready to leave.
A few minutes into sulky scrolling, I felt a slight touch on the skin of my back. It was Lisa again. Her look and posture slightly different from before. More mysterious, more daring. "Listen, did you want to join us for a drink? Damien would like to meet you, too." Shocked by the quick turn of events, I just nodded and timidly followed Lisa over, sitting down on the chair facing the couple. "Thanks for keeping my girl company on her shift," said Damien with a cheeky smile, and leaned in for two kisses on the cheek. I could smell the freshness of his clothes, cigarettes and alcohol on his breath as his beard lightly caressed the smooth skin of my excited face.
He ordered us another round of cocktails, I was onto my third now and definitely feeling it. I cannot recall the details of our conversation, but I do remember it shifting between French and English (Damien was half French, half English), mostly me and Lisa doing the talking. Trying to impress both of them, I did my best to be witty and play it cool, and not overshare as I'd usually do. As we kept talking and drinking, I could feel a hand slowly sliding onto the small of my back. It was Damien's. He just held his palm there for a while, as if signalling that I belonged to him. Lisa saw this and motioned me to lean over. "Damien and I are going to take you home with us tonight", she whispered. I instantly doubted myself: did I hear this correctly? It sounded too forward. All I could summon was an awkward little laugh and a lot of blushing. From the glance they exchanged though, I knew they weren't kidding around, and that I heard what I heard.
So was this really happening? A threesome with an older couple on a random Thursday night? A bookish girl, I fantasized about this a lot and many things much "worse", but it was a whole other thing playing it out in reality - was I ready? Still, I didn't move away, while Damien's hand was now caressing my back in a slow circular motion, touching my bare skin, sliding all the way to my waist, and even a bit below. "You're extremely cute when you blush," he said with a husky, confident voice, instantly giving me goosebumps. Who was he to talk to me like that, and why did it excite me so much? I guess in that moment, I decided I'm going all in. After all, I was young, single in a new city, and still in search of experiences that made me feel alive, that made me feel like I had understood some deeper meaning about life and desire. Did I need any better reason?
3.
I silently followed them out of the bar, feeling foolish and excited. They lived just around the corner, I was told. Both artists -- Lisa a painter, and Damien a photographer turned businessman, now buying and selling rare cameras. A hobby that paid well, he explained. All I could think about was how masculine he looked, in the prime of his power, while Lisa so effortless and gaunt, any man's dream. What could they possibly see in a weird girl like me?
They both stopped in front of the red entrance door of a typical Parisian building. Before typing in the code to enter, Lisa turned around and looked at me with suggestive eyes. "Are you sure about this?" she asked. "This is your last chance to turn back, you know that, right?" Damien added, and I giggled. As if. But I looked into his eyes, and they were deeply serious.
I held back my breath and gathered up the strength for a little reassuring nod first, then, something inexplicable took over me, and I added, "Yes -- I'm all yours tonight". They looked at each other and shared a mischievous smile. "That's my good girl," murmured Damien into my ear as his hand lightly touched our backs as he guided us through the hallway. I could feel my cheeks burning as he pronounced those words, this grown man. Words I only ever heard in my fantasies, and never yet in real life. I had little idea about how much I was about to learn.
Once inside, Lisa motioned me to sit in the living room while Damien made us drinks. A stylish, cosy space, thoughtfully designed. Tasteful paintings on the wall, a few photos of them in various holiday destinations. Almost surprisingly normal, not what I would expect from such a free-spirited couple. Damien came back with a tray in his hands. "A whiskey on the rocks for you, darling," he said with an exaggerated English accent, which I thought was extremely sexy and made me smile. Lisa sat next to me, while Damien faced us.
"So...do you guys do this kind of thing often?" I asked sheepishly. Again, that cheeky smile on their face, that secret alliance I was clearly not part of. "Sometimes," Lisa shrugged. All of my body language was screaming inexperience, but they didn't seem to mind. Maybe even enjoyed it a little.
It's all been very normal until this point, even a bit too formal. Something in me said it's me who has to make the first move, a sign of consent that I'm ready for whatever is in store for me tonight. Suddenly, all I wanted to prove is that I was worth their attention, that I was truly their good girl.
