that shortly brought him to a tremendous orgasm that left him gasping for breath and leaning languidly against the cool stone for support.
“And now we resume our guided tour of quaint old Paris,” Nicole said dryly. And they did.
They wound their way down the steep little streets of Montmartre and came out into the entirely unexpected sleaze and sex-show neon of the Place Pigalle, which Jerry recognized as the area where André had taken him to see the hologram show less than twenty-four hours and what now seemed half a lifetime ago.
They took a cab back to the Seine, and spent the long afternoon mostly out-of-doors in the warm sunlight, walking along the stone quays looking at all the houseboats and jackpotting about what it might be like to live on one.
They had a few kirs at a sidewalk café, then took the Métro to the Trocadéro, a huge semicircle of concrete and statuary on the Right Bank just across the Seine from the Eiffel Tower with a grand view out over the city, then Métroed to the Place de la Concorde and walked the full length of the Champs-Élysées to the Arc de Triomphe, pausing in the middle for yet another kir at yet another sidewalk café.
They took in sunset atop the Arc de Triomphe, and then it was time to wander off to a dinner of roast duck with olives at the Tour d’Argent, a stiff, haughty, formal, and rather touristy place on the Seine that made Jerry feel somewhat nervous, but which Nicole told him with no little pleasure was about the most expensive restaurant in town as she gleefully ran up the ESA expense account.
After dinner, Nicole took him on a tour of a few of the most famous cafés, and by the time they got back to the Ritz, it was well past 1:00 A.M. , and Jerry was quite wiped and ready to crash.
Or so he thought.
But when they got back up to his hotel room, Nicole produced a vial of white powder which she assured him was pure cocaine of the highest quality. Jerry, who had had to cope with the piss police all his working life, had never even thought of trying cocaine before andhad to be talked into it. After all, this was Paris, this was his vacation, she told him as she did a long slow striptease. After all, the last traces would be out of his system long before he returned to Los Angeles, he told himself, as he realized how willing was his spirit and how exhausted his flesh.
And indeed, after one line, he was actually able to make love again. And after another, to do it one more time.
Enjoyed today?
“It’s been the best day of my life, Nicole,” he told her quite truthfully as he wrapped his arm around her. “And you, did you enjoy it?”
“Of course I have enjoyed it. This is the whole point of being a prostitute, at least on my professional level where one can pick and choose, to spend one’s time enjoying oneself with pleasant company, and make huge amounts of money doing so. . . .”
She laughed. “Alors, Jerry, if
you
could make 5,000 ECU a day by fucking reasonably attractive women and showing them and yourself an expensive good time on a corporate expense account, would
you
not prefer to be a whore?”
You could say I already am, Jerry thought somberly, a whore for the Pentagon, only I don’t get to enjoy it.
“You are sad, Jerry?” Nicole said, touching a hand to his cheek. “I have said something that bothers you?”
“No, no,” Jerry told her, “it’s nothing, this is the happiest day of my life.” And to show her it was true, as after all it was, he leaned over to kiss her.
Nicole stopped him by laying an admonitory finger to his lips. “No, no, mon cher,” she told him gently. “You must not kiss a prostitute. I am beautiful, yes, and I am expert at sex, and expert as well at showing you a good time, so you must not kiss me, else you forget I am a professional, and start to fall in love with me. And this would be a disaster for you, yes, for I like my life as it is, Jerry. . . .”
She laughed, and gave his flaccid prick a
“And now we resume our guided tour of quaint old Paris,” Nicole said dryly. And they did.
They wound their way down the steep little streets of Montmartre and came out into the entirely unexpected sleaze and sex-show neon of the Place Pigalle, which Jerry recognized as the area where André had taken him to see the hologram show less than twenty-four hours and what now seemed half a lifetime ago.
They took a cab back to the Seine, and spent the long afternoon mostly out-of-doors in the warm sunlight, walking along the stone quays looking at all the houseboats and jackpotting about what it might be like to live on one.
They had a few kirs at a sidewalk café, then took the Métro to the Trocadéro, a huge semicircle of concrete and statuary on the Right Bank just across the Seine from the Eiffel Tower with a grand view out over the city, then Métroed to the Place de la Concorde and walked the full length of the Champs-Élysées to the Arc de Triomphe, pausing in the middle for yet another kir at yet another sidewalk café.
They took in sunset atop the Arc de Triomphe, and then it was time to wander off to a dinner of roast duck with olives at the Tour d’Argent, a stiff, haughty, formal, and rather touristy place on the Seine that made Jerry feel somewhat nervous, but which Nicole told him with no little pleasure was about the most expensive restaurant in town as she gleefully ran up the ESA expense account.
After dinner, Nicole took him on a tour of a few of the most famous cafés, and by the time they got back to the Ritz, it was well past 1:00 A.M. , and Jerry was quite wiped and ready to crash.
Or so he thought.
But when they got back up to his hotel room, Nicole produced a vial of white powder which she assured him was pure cocaine of the highest quality. Jerry, who had had to cope with the piss police all his working life, had never even thought of trying cocaine before andhad to be talked into it. After all, this was Paris, this was his vacation, she told him as she did a long slow striptease. After all, the last traces would be out of his system long before he returned to Los Angeles, he told himself, as he realized how willing was his spirit and how exhausted his flesh.
And indeed, after one line, he was actually able to make love again. And after another, to do it one more time.
Enjoyed today?
“It’s been the best day of my life, Nicole,” he told her quite truthfully as he wrapped his arm around her. “And you, did you enjoy it?”
“Of course I have enjoyed it. This is the whole point of being a prostitute, at least on my professional level where one can pick and choose, to spend one’s time enjoying oneself with pleasant company, and make huge amounts of money doing so. . . .”
She laughed. “Alors, Jerry, if
you
could make 5,000 ECU a day by fucking reasonably attractive women and showing them and yourself an expensive good time on a corporate expense account, would
you
not prefer to be a whore?”
You could say I already am, Jerry thought somberly, a whore for the Pentagon, only I don’t get to enjoy it.
“You are sad, Jerry?” Nicole said, touching a hand to his cheek. “I have said something that bothers you?”
“No, no,” Jerry told her, “it’s nothing, this is the happiest day of my life.” And to show her it was true, as after all it was, he leaned over to kiss her.
Nicole stopped him by laying an admonitory finger to his lips. “No, no, mon cher,” she told him gently. “You must not kiss a prostitute. I am beautiful, yes, and I am expert at sex, and expert as well at showing you a good time, so you must not kiss me, else you forget I am a professional, and start to fall in love with me. And this would be a disaster for you, yes, for I like my life as it is, Jerry. . . .”
She laughed, and gave his flaccid prick a
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