Note: This story was inspired by an excellent story written by headcrash. Hope you don't mind my stealing your idea, man.
I like to wander around the streets of Paris during tourist season and try to pick out the tourists from the locals. Most of the time it isn't very hard, especially since "tourist" in Paris means someone from almost anywhere in the world. They are also the ones looking all around in wonder and very often are carrying cameras. When I see someone taking pictures of their companions, I usually offer my services on the assumption that they would prefer to be in the picture if it were possible. I don't remember ever being refused and they are usually quite grateful.
On this particular day, I had already volunteered as a photographer several times. The sunlight had that special Paris quality that day and people were almost giddy with the atmosphere, the sunlight and the realization that they were visiting the true center of the universe. If not yet, they would become convinced as soon as they went to the observation deck of the Eiffel Tower.
Yes, I've been to the top of the Empire State building and the World Trade Center (sigh). I know that Paris is not in the same league with NYC as far as tall buildings go, but nowhere on earth is there the feeling that emanates from my beloved Paris.
He was portly, balding, sweaty and red faced. She was Summer and sunlight and gossamer and lace and daisies and cinammon. I stood in awe of her as he clumsily attempted to operate the camera. I quickly snapped off a couple of shots of her pose with my own camera before offering my services, just in case they were declined. I would kill myself if I allowed this vision to be permanently gone, although she was seared into my retina to a degree that just might remain there forever, if I was lucky.
She accepted radiantly. He was more reluctant. He had heard stories about strangers simply walking away with cameras.
They posed with bright smiles, arms entwined. I offered to make a series of shots. Anything to stay in her presence. At my urging and direction, they waved, assumed touristy-type stances and even followed my instructions to stand apart, bend at the waist and kiss on the lips, framing Notre Dame in the arch of their bodies. I know, I know, but they were tourists, right?
When I couldn't remain inventive any longer, I reluctantly returned the camera and steeled myself for the loss of her company.
"Well, hey fellow! You did a great job. How much do I owe you?"
I explained that it was very much my pleasure and that it would be unthinkable to accept money for being allowed to photograph them.
She smiled radiantly and suggested that they could treat me to a coffee or aperitif, at least, and could I suggest a nice, quiet place, her feet were killing her.
As it turned out, I did know a very nice place right around the corner. As we sat and watched the other tourists, I introduced myself and explained that I lived in Europe and devoted a lot of my time to people-watching, but they were the nicest people I had watched, so far.
While he mumbled something, she fully grasped my meaning and gave me another sweet smile, with a shake of her long auburn hair.
"Daddy and I are here to celebrate my graduation from high school. Mom couldn't come and they wouldn't let me come alone, so here we are, Daddy and I."
AHHHH! The prayers that I had not even been aware of uttering had been answered. She was not a child bride, nor was she eye candy for a business man or his trophy wife. She was fair game--beautiful, somewhat innocent and uncommitted --maybe.
"What about your boy friend. Couldn't he come?"
"There's no way that son-of-a-bitch is ever laying a hand on my Lisa again. I threw the bastard out of the house for what he tried to do at her eighteenth birthday party. He won't be back."
"Daddy, daddy, daddy. You can't protect me from everybody." She wiped his sweaty forehead with her hanky while her eyes told me she had decided he wouldn't protect her from me.
My heart pounded. Surely they could hear it. The sound of blood coursing through my inner ear was so loud I failed to hear the next thing she said.
"I said that I really appreciated what you did for us, but I'm wondering if I might persuade you to do me one more little favor?"
As long as it didn't involve the torture of small animals of the loss of both arms, I was ready and tried to let her know in a dignified manner, assuming that a fast head nod that spilled drool qualified as dignified, that is.
"Well, after all, it is Paris and we all know its reputation for being a wide open sex city, don't we?"
"Lisa! Please."
"Oh, Daddy. You might as well hush. You know I can twist you around my little finger, don't you?", said with a devilish smile while she traced her pink fingertip across his lips.
"Well, um, huh, well err."
"Hush, Daddy. You're out of your league. I was just going to ask this gentleman if he would mind giving us a guided tour of the dark side of Paris. I'm sure he knows it well."
She had me there. Of course I was not a taxi driver or a resident, but I was one hell of a voyeuristic, frequent tourist. I knew the places she meant, but none that would be too dangerous to take her. I even knew a few things that most Parisians would not notice, that she might find intriguing.
We started our walking tour along Boulevard Sebastopol. Within a few blocks, we were in an alley that is probably a red light district at night, but during the day is sparsely populated with people. Several sex shops offering various wares surrounded us.
"Let's go in that one!"
"Now Lisa."
"Daddy! Do you want to go back to the hotel?"
"No, but..."
"Just hush, Daddy. When we get back to Boston, you can be the big, bad daddy. Right now, we are in Paris, it's my trip and we have a great guide. I want to see the things I could never see at home. Now do you want to go with us or not?"
Talk about your sales closers. All of his choices included she and I taking a sex tour of Paris. All she offered him was the opportunity of dragging along.
"Ok, hon. You know I can never refuse you. Just try not to walk too fast. Ok? My feet are already killing me."
"Poor Daddy. Just sit here on this bench and wait while we check out this shop. Maybe you can get a few pictures of those naughty French girls who don't wear underwear."
"Lisa!"
"You're bringing me down, Daddy. Last chance."
"Ok, ok. Don't be too long", accompanied by a look at me that promised multiple lifetimes in Hell if I did anything bad to his baby.
