Paris Times (Chapter 3) A Kitchen Encounter by Matthew Carlson


Paris Times (Chapter 3) A Kitchen Encounter by Matthew Carlson

Brandon Smerque sat at his computer on the top & second floor of his small bedroom, which also happened to be inside a famous castle known as La Reine Blanche, one of the oldest buildings in Paris. His political writings and research had taken over and he spent his days looking for that small piece of information that would put the fitting ribbon on yet one more chapter. But it had become some kind of fool’s game because one chapter led to another and then another. Suddenly, or so it seemed, a few years had passed and he was still an illegal alien with no job. Still taking care of Patches. Granted he had a place to live, but there was no true investment in that, and life with Patches had gone down hill along with her disintegrating physical abilities. First the crutches, then the walker; now a chair.

Their brief love affair had been only that, brief. That he still enjoyed the late evening titty show, while he helped her undress, her luscious large breasts ripe for the picking, if he wanted them. But he didn’t. It only led to him becoming another tentacle to do this and then to do that: a never ending errand boy on a leash. It drove him crazy to think that his gilded cage had slowly wrapped its’ arms around him and it was only his writing that had saved him. Emotionally, that is. But to what end?

Butterfly had arrived early one morning at the castle to take care of her client, Patches. She was black, tall and skinny with an afro (she had had it cut on her 21st birthday party a few days earlier after having mixed too much vodka and kalua), but regularly put on long hair extentions for variety. Variety was the spice of her life.

Lesbian, feminine and with a generous outgoing personality, she was liked by everyone and loved too. She always brought with her wherever she went, some kind of bright light or energy. Though she could be very distracted if she had more than one thing to do and someone wanted to talk to her. She loved talking! But it wasn’t a good idea when she was working because all kinds of things could happen. The first thing she would do upon arriving was to plug in her new Iphone. She always had at least one conversation in progress (usually more) whether social networks or a chat or by texting. She knew alot of people.

On this particular morning, she was cutting up some 100% health food figues from Costa Rica into a bowl of soja yogurt, when Brandon came downstairs into the kitchen. It was early and he was not expecting her there. He wore a tight t-shirt and paisley boxer shorts.

“Oh hey,” said Brandon.

“Hello Brandon,” she smiled genuinly happy to see him. Too her eyes took in the vision of Brandon still sleepy but a bit aroused apparently. Though she preferred women, she could appreciate a good looking man or men. She had had boyfriends too. Sex with them was quite different than with women. It was better for her with women, they were so sensual and wanted to please. Men a bit too selfish, though she still enjoyed a good poking now and then. But she wanted a long distance bike rider, not just a quick hike to the neighborhood mini-mart.

“How’s it going?” asked Brandon checking her out. Her clothes were very tight, showing every curve and angle. Her blond extensions went down to her butt crack in the back, hidden through her dance tights was a pretty tatoo of a butterfly circa 18th birthday party. And again a mixing of alcohols. She would never learn, she thought sometimes.

“I’m good. How are you?” They chatted thus for a while and the sauce had somehow taken between them. For a long time the energy that each had sensed in the other had risen to the top, so to speak.The good news: Patches was still asleep.

One thing led to another and Brandon jumped on her in a second. Butterfly too was thirsty for love and easily equaled Brandon’s passions with her own. They ended up with Butterfly spread out over Patches’ wheelchair which was located on a silly difficult to access entryway, attached to the kitchen by a small red stairwell.

“Put the break on! My head’s going into the wall,” encouraged Butterfly as she tried to keep her balance. Brandon pulled the lever and the rolling stopped. They continued pounding away and as they both began to feel the explosion of gratification, they plainly heard Patches’ voice from her bedroom, “Butterfly, come & get me! I’ve got to go to the toilet.”

Their intensive moment, of entwining arms, legs, bodies, heads &  genital parts spread over a wheelchair, though conclusive, had been disrupted.

“Did you guys finish? I have to go to the toilet!”

Patches’ hearing was still in perfect working order.


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