Yesterday evening we picked up a rental scooter for a couple of days. I worry that I just said 'we' but hey, get over it. Anyway, it's a very cool, black Piaggio X9 (if that helps).
Leaving the house, le FP took the control and, with me riding the back seat (oh yeah, baby), we headed out into the Paris night.
We zoomed up to Bastille, rue Saint Antoine, Rue de Rivoli. We took our life into our hands at the Place de la Concorde and then there we were - three minutes after leaving the house, l'avenue des Champs Elysées.
Let me tell you that, even as jaded and blasé as I am, there are still moments in my life when Paris really gets me. Pulling onto the Champs, with the red tailights on one side of the road, the white headlights on the other, the Arc de Triomphe at the top and the cobbles underwheel, I felt like my life was perfect.
I put my hands in FP's pockets, stroked his tummy and thought to myself "does it get any better than this?"
FP had promised me a good old-fashioned sightseeing tour of Paris by night, so, at the Place de l'Etoile I was expecting that we'd hang a good left and head to Trocadero and then down to the Eiffel Tower. Alas, this wasn't what he had in mind.
Within five minutes, we're cruising the Bois de Boulogne - the rue des Branleurs (Wanker Street) to be precise. The truckers are all parked in a line, the lights on and curtains open indicating that they're looking for, erm, company. As we sailed past they looked out of their windows at us. Some winked.
We moved on to the Bois 'profond' where we came across the street of Brazilians Transvestite hookers, turning tricks amongst the bushes. There were all sorts there, including taxi-drivers, waiting for their customers to get their business over and done with.
The traditional hookers stand by the roadside, and as you approach they open up their coats to reveal alarmingly small underwear (barely) holding in place their alarmingly large breasts.
One of the girls looked like a librarian at a bus stop until she opened her mac to flash her dayglo peekaboo bra and pantie set.
Just as we were leaving the area, we happened upon a group sex 'event'. At least five men with their pants round their ankles, servicing each other and the couple of trannie hookers that were amongst them. Yikes.
Then, as if it had all been a dream, a glimpse of hell, it was all behind us. We re-crossed the boulevard periphérique and were in the 16th, the home of all that is French preppy BCBG-ness.
We whipped on home and rolled into bed.
"He was quite cute, that last trucker we saw," said le FP.
I had to agree. But hey.
Having sex with truckers....now that's an period of my life that I don't need to re-visit.