Taxi to Paris (24 page)

When we entered the place, I was still surprised. In contrast to all similar bars with which I was familiar, I got a sense of dealing with privilege. The Frenchwomen were very well-dressed, and the place had a distinctly feminine flavor. At the front of the room, there was a long bar at which a number of women sat on barstools. There were hardly any open seats. Beyond the bar, there was a deep space set up with tables and small booths. Past that was the dance floor. The whole thing was quite grandiose, but somehow intimate at the same time. Outside the dance floor, the lighting was quite low.

As in practically every lesbian bar in the world, all eyes were on us when we first entered the establishment. Although most of the women here were expensively dressed and well- groomed, she stood out here as well. First it was through her height, which seemed even more unusual here in France, and then again through her beauty and her posture. I felt their eyes on my back as we walked past the bar and into the back half of the room.

I'd wondered on the way here whether she'd know many women here well, and if so, then how. I simply couldn't shake that thought. My knowledge of her life in Paris was still even more limited than of her "workplace."

She walked to the back, completely unaffected by the stares, and found a booth. "We're lucky tonight," she laughed. "I wouldn't have liked to stand all evening."

A waitress came over to our table to ask what we would like. She seemed rather scantily clad to me. We ordered something to drink. When the drinks came, I leaned back and watched the women on the dance floor.

The music seemed to fit the surroundings. At the moment, they were playing songs from the fifties - first some rock-'n'-roll, then a slow song. The women all appeared to be excellent dancers. That, too, was different from the places I knew.

I was so fascinated by the gliding and swinging, the movements of the dancers, that I almost didn't notice when another woman came up to our table and greeted her. It looked as though they knew each other. The other woman was obviously glad to see her. For a moment, the thought that this could be a client of hers flashed through my head, but her behavior indicated otherwise.

She shook her head, laughing, friendly, but firm. The other woman shrugged her shoulders regretfully, then caressed her cheek with the back of one hand. She turned and excused herself to me. Then she said goodbye and left.

I sat there, somewhat perplexed. She looked at me and began to laugh softly. "I know I probably look pretty stupid." That's exactly how I felt, anyhow. "But why did she ask for my pardon?"

She laughed, just as amused. "Because she touched me without your permission," she explained knowledgeably.

"Without my permission? What do I have the right to permit?" The connection was not at all clear to me.

"I'm obviously your companion," she stated, as if that would explain everything.

"Yes," I agreed, still irritated, "and I'm yours." I'd never seen anything like this before.

"No," she corrected. "That's not quite true. You take me out, not the other way around."

That didn't agree with the facts of the situation at all! I must've looked very confused.

She laughed, pleased. "You have the right to decide with which women your companion may dance, and who may touch her, as always."

"I have the right? You've got to be kidding! You're an adult." I was totally outraged.

She enjoyed my indignation visibly. "For some time now," she confirmed. "But that's the custom here."

"Custom!" This didn't bother her?! Just the opposite. "You seem to get a kick out of it, anyhow!" I scolded some more.

"More out of you," she replied. She had to try hard to keep from laughing. "Because you're so excited about it."

"Don't you find anything wrong with it?" I blazed.

She curbed her laughter a bit. "More than that," she whispered. "I think it's sweet." She gave me a long look. "I think you're sweet."  My helpless embarrassment was obviously amusing her royally. "She only touched me at all because she already knew me. Otherwise, she would've asked you first." With pretend innocence, she looked at me and awaited my reaction.

This was all too much for me. The fact that she was clearly having a good time and at the same time making a fool of me didn't seem funny to me at all. I was truly glad of her good mood, but I would rather have enjoyed it with her than had it come at my expense. I declined to answer. However, I would have liked to know how well she knew this woman. Quick as she was, she noticed this.

"I only danced with her," she explained, unsolicited. "Nothing else."

"I didn't want to know that," I replied in annoyance.

"Oh no?" she asked, giggling. She was in the best of moods.

Another woman came over to our table, and this time she held strictly the convention that ruled here. She asked me if she might dance with her.

I almost exploded, but I didn't want to start a fight. Certainly not in French. "Please tell her that she should ask you if she wants to dance with you," I hissed through gritted teeth. The woman looked irritated. She didn't know what my reaction was supposed to mean.

She leaned saucily over the table and asked, "Would you mind if I danced with her?"

"No," I hissed, dangerously quiet.

She laughed like satin. That melted me inside immediately, but I'd be damned if I was going to let her see that. "I was actually saving the first dance for you," she remarked lovingly.

"I can't dance anyway," I replied, somewhat calmer.

"I don't believe that." She smiled and stood up. The woman who wanted to dance with her was still standing next to us, looking irritated. "I don't want to be rude, so I'll dance with her now. But next dance, it's your turn."

"No," I contradicted.

"Yes," she said firmly. Then she offered the poor woman who'd been waiting so long for her an enchanting smile and said something to her. The woman went with her to the dance floor, pleased.

I observed her. I should've known already, but when I watched her now, I was completely bowled over. She danced outstandingly well. Since she was so tall, I would've thought that she would lead. She didn't, though. She followed her dance partner so well that the height difference was barely even noticeable. I asked myself how she did that. They looked like they were the same height.

Her movements were more graceful than ever. She must not have any more pain at all. When the dance ended, her partner wanted to talk her into another. At least that's how it looked. But she declined. Nevertheless, she didn't return to the table alone; instead, the woman who'd taken her out brought her back to me. That was the feeling I had, and it brought my indignation back to the surface.

"That's unbelievable!" I scolded after the woman left.

"She couldn't do otherwise," she explained, grinning conspicuously.

"Yeah, yeah, because that's the custom here," I snarled angrily.

"That too." She winked mischievously at me. "But I also told her you don't like to be crossed." Now she laughed out loud. "And what you'd do if she did."

"You...!" I really didn't know what to do with her. This could turn into an interesting evening!

"Come on," she requested, when the music started again. It was a slow song.

"I told you, I can't dance." I could see several women looking her direction already. She would have no shortage of dance partners. "There are enough women here who would just love to ask you to dance with them."

"I'm not particularly interested in that at the moment," she decided, refusing to indulge me. "I want to dance with you."

"But that won't get you anywhere," I argued with my most sensible voice. "Why do you want to spoil your fun? You're such an incredible dancer."

"Then you can try it for yourself." She tried to talk me into it gently. "I'll show you how it goes."

I raised my hands in defense. "I can't take a lead! I tried once and failed terribly."

"Then you can lead." She stood next to me and put her hands on my shoulders.

Just the touch by itself softened me, but I still didn't want to give in. "I -".

"Come," she ordered me with such a commanding tone of voice that my defenses collapsed. I stood up and followed her blindly.

On the dance floor, I felt completely lost. She took one of my arms and put it around her waist, then raised the other to the height of her shoulders. Then she put her free hand on my shoulder. This looked all right as a dance position, but what was I supposed to do with it now?

She simply began to move. She went backwards, and I had to follow her. It looked like I was leading her, but that wasn't anything close to the truth. During the first few steps, I stumbled a little, but then I realized that she was moving in just such a way as to make things easiest for me. I tried a step in the other direction. She was there right away, as if she had expected it ahead of time.

I listened to the music. With such a slow song, even I could figure out what would come next. Slowly, I got braver. She actually let me lead, even though she could do it a thousand times better. She stood, supple and excited, in my arms. She leaned into me. I felt her whole body against mine. I began to feel warmer than the slow dancing itself could account for. When the dance came to an end, I stepped away quickly.

"Didn't I tell you?" she triumphed, beaming.

The heat let up a little. "Yes," I remarked, still astonished. "It really worked."

The next song began. This time, I led from the beginning. She fit me so well that I felt as if I'd never done anything in my life but danced with her. Even though I couldn't dance at all. However, I could tell that I wasn't going to make it through another dance with her. My whole body was one singular desire. Because of that, I stood firm when she wanted to dance some more.

I pretended to be worn out. "I can't," I claimed. "I'm not used to this."

When it became clear that I wasn't going to dance with her anymore, my replacements appeared everywhere. They practically fought over her. I turned her over to the next woman and went back to the table.

Now she danced to rock-'n'-roll. She was boisterous and wild. Several of the women on the dance floor clapped to the rhythm. That song was hardly over when the next one began. Did she have the stamina for this yet? How long would she last? But she looked unbelievably fit. As if her body hadn't experienced the past two weeks at all.

She was going to find out now. I enjoyed seeing her like this and tried not to worry. The women were enchanted by her. There was no break. To rest, there was a waltz. This time, she led. She swept across the dance floor with her partner as if she weren't even touching the ground. Now, she seemed as tall as she actually was.

Afterwards, she excused herself from amidst her admirers and came back to the table. She was a little warm, but that made her even more desirable. From a distance, I'd been able to control my arousal, but when she got this close, my desire flared up with unstoppable strength.

She sat down next to me. Now that too! "In a minute, I'm going to dance with you again," she predicted, overflowing with energy.

"Leave me here," I begged her. "I'd much rather watch you. That's a bigger treat for me." She was conflicted for a moment, but then her desire to fulfill my wishes kicked in.

"All right, then," she said. She leaned over and put her arms around me. She snuggled a little. I tried to ignore the growing heat between my legs and throughout the rest of my body. She stopped again. I took a deep breath, which I hoped she wouldn't notice. It didn't take long before someone came and asked her to dance again. I didn't resist the ritual this time. I just said yes.

While I watched her, I didn't notice at all how the time flew by. Now and then, she talked me into a waltz, and I felt as though I were being swept across the floor exactly like the other woman had looked. Why had I always had trouble taking a lead before? With her, it was pure pleasure and completely self-explanatory.

I was constantly afraid that she was going to overdo it, so I kept trying to convince her to take little breaks. I never got her to sit out more than one song in a row, though. She became restless right away. Then I let her go again. The other women kept giving me looks that indicated without a doubt that they considered me to be a spoilsport.

Eventually, I started to get tired. My eyes kept closing, even though her movements on the dance floor made me want to keep them open. She came to the table. "The closing tango," she stated regretfully. She smiled invitingly. "You have to dance this one with me."

"I'm so tired!" I protested lamely.

She just pulled me up. "No excuses. This is the last dance. You can't refuse me this one."

I'd never danced a tango before, not even in play. But with her, it was again as if I'd never done anything else.

When she bent me back almost to the floor and looked down at me with seductively parted lips, I understood why the tango was such an erotic dance. I wanted her. Here. Now. Immediately. And I couldn't have her.

She stood me up again and laughed. "Too bad," she said sadly. "We have to go now."

That would've sounded like a nice idea if it hadn't been for my promise and the cause of her numbness.

The fluorescent lights finally drove us out of the bar. When we reached the door, I realized that it was already dawn. The Parisian streets lay under a grey veil, and a handful of retiring night owls met with the early risers who were already on their way to work. The street sweeping trucks from the sanitation department were spraying Paris with water, washing away the dirt of the city. We had to jump over a few small rivers flowing down the gutters as we made our way to the taxi stand. She jumped excitedly from one puddle to the next, and pulled me with her. I could barely keep up. She squealed like a child when she stepped in the water, and kissed me in between on the mouth. She was doing well.

I wasn't so well. I was really tired. That would help when we got back to the apartment. She was still rather wound up. She didn't seem to know the meaning of sleepiness. Though I wanted to go straight to my bedroom when we got back to the apartment, I didn't make it.