Jaunted

Y-Fronts
Black and white ones! He didn't warn me. I was prepared for every other rural mishap - bags full of sun cream, insect repellent, bottles of water and wine, a big white hat, plasters - but not that. Y-Fronts? Black and white Y-Fronts?

He sprung them on me on the back seat of his shiny blue convertible. You don't expect a man with a shiny blue convertible to be wearing Y-Fronts, do you? Especially a man who uses the back seat of his convertible to entertain his special guests. Especially Black and white ones. So at first, I didn't believe it.

Me: Ha ha! You know what! It feels a bit like you're wearing Y-Fronts!
Mr Y-F: Ha ha! If you just move your left arm, darling, and put that seat back a little bit, I can soon be wearing nothing....
Me: ... hang on! No, it can't be...
Mr Y-F: Oh yes it can, sweety-pie, just move that seat-belt and come here...
Me: ...no. No! NO!
Mr Y-F: But darling...
Me: Get off me, you freak, GET OFF ME!

I threw them out of the window that night and the goat ate them. No joke.

Comfy-pants
My new French no-pants was offended. "And what is your pretty little pussy wearing, darling? My grandmother wears pants like that. Shall I throw yours to the goat?"

It was true. I promised to go out underwear shopping. We threw my favourite comfy-pants to the goat (who ignored them) and both went deliciously commando.

And when I got back to Paris, I picked up my pay cheque and went lingerie shopping. But I got my knickers in a twist.

Willy Wonka
You see, when it comes to lingerie shops, I'm like a kid outside a sweet shop. Nose pressed to the glass, eyes wide, hands all sweaty, taking in the delicious sights of red silk panties, lace-covered bras with bows and frilly edges, flowing satin nighties...

So in Paris, I'm like a kid in Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory. Or rather (if you'll excuse the political incorrectness), like a paedophile in a playground. I never buy anything but comfy-pants from the department store. But I love to fantasise.

At my favourite fantasy lingerie shop, on a back street two blocks from the Jardin du Luxembourg, I finally took the plunge. There's a woman inside with a sharp pointed nose and horn-rimmed spectacles. She looks like she's knows what she's doing.

Mrs. Sharpnose took one look and with a flash of red silk pulled out one of the strangest garments I've ever seen.

I guess it was a corset, or a basque, or something like that. All buttons and clips and lace and silk and dangling clasps. It was beautiful. I kissed goodbye to my pay cheque and took it home.

Whips and Chains
So tell me the truth now, girls, or boys even, who knows how these bloody things work? You need a bloody degree in engineering from MIT just to work out which way up it goes! For several minutes I swore blind that I would start abs, butts and thighs classes at the local gym, until I worked out it was back to front.

Which straps tie to which? Or are they for whipping? What's the funny looking clasp for? Funny place for a clasp. I got my Faber's Complete Book of Knots out, but it wasn't in there. I got my next-door neighbour round to help, but her dog kept biting the strings.

Phrases from my school days flashed through my head. "Man is born free but is everywhere in chains." Who said that? He was obviously wearing one of these. Images of escape artists in Paul McKenna's magic show appeared before my eyes. I'll never crush a beetle again, I vowed, I know what it feels like...

I'm going to faint, forget it. Gave the thing to my neighbour in the end. Knowing her, she'll give it to her bloody dog.

*****
Monica Guy lives in Paris, writes for Time Out, and keeps a low profile, like any true femme fatale. In fact, most people don't even realize she's a femme fatale. She's been told to upload her avatar, but she's not sure who or what that is, or why she might want one. Unless he's in a pilot's suit, that is. That would be quite another matter.

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Related Stories:
· Paris Travel [Jaunted]
· Hotels in Paris [HotelChatter]

Where: Paris, France

Tags: Paris / Travel Sex / Embedded Travel Guides / Monica Guy / Jardin du Luxembourg

by femmefatale