What Happens in Paris...

Sally and Herb had just landed at Charles de Gaulle Airport in Paris for their honeymoon. Neither of them had been to Paris before, but they knew it was the city of romance. Amour was in the French blood. And now, here they were.

They lugged their luggage (Herb wondered if they call it luggage because you lug it around) to the airport’s Metro station. At the Gare de Nord they changed trains as their hotel was on the other side of town, near the Bois de Boulogne. Exhausted from schlepping their bags around (Herb wondered why there were so few escalators in Paris Metro stations), they got to their hotel, a modest six story hotel just over a station. They hauled their bags to their third floor room. Thankfully the hotel had an elevator, though they thought it should be entered in the Guinness book as the world’s tiniest elevator. The hotel was wedged between two spokes of the eight spoked wheel of streets that converged on the Place Marcel-Sembat, an intersection always alive with a cacophony of noisy, honking traffic. The French are fond of honking when traffic doesn’t move fast enough. Luckily their window was insulated and the noise was not too bad.

Although they were jet-lagged and tired, they took a shower, and headed out to see the sights. They took the Metro to the Trocadero station and were thrilled when they entered the wide plaza and saw the Eiffel Tower across the river, a magnificent spire that Sally thought was delightfully phallic (it was their honeymoon after all).

After an afternoon getting an overview of the city, they ate at a small café near the hotel. Then they went up to their room for the night, exhausted.

Both of them came from an old-fashioned background. They had both been intrigued by the Chastity Club at university, even though neither were devoutly religious. They thought saving yourself for marriage would enhance their future love life. So both were virgins. Both were eager to explore their sexuality but both were also a bit nervous about it. And now here they were. Their wedding night. Second night actually, their first had been on the plane getting here. And, frankly, they were exhausted. Jet-lagged. Pooped from having walked at least ten kilometers. Herb begged off. “We’ve waited this long, we can wait another day, okay love?” Sally nodded. They fell asleep curled up together.

The next morning, showered and dressed and ready for an exciting day ahead, Herb was just about to open the door when there was a knock.

“A bit early for maid service,” commented Sally.

Herb opened the door and his jaw dropped. Standing there was a gorgeous blonde. I mean drop-dead gorgeous. Stunning! But it wasn’t that she was blonde or beautiful that floored him. She was stark naked. Not a stitch. Nada. Oh yeah. There was a naked man standing just to the right behind her.

“Oh!” she exclaimed. “Excusez moi. Mauvaise chambre. Wrong room.”

When he came to his senses, Herb closed the door.

“What the hell was that?” Sally exclaimed.

“Well, this is Paris,” Herb retorted.

After a few minutes, Sally asked if he thought the coast was clear. Herb thought it was, so he opened the door and they went out. Down the hall was the naked couple. “Let’s just walk casually by them,” Herb proffered.

Sally hadn’t really seen the guy very well, partially hidden as he had been at the door. But now, as they approached, she noticed what a strikingly handsome man he was. And he looked so French. (Do the French have a look? She certainly thought so. A certain je ne sais quoi so to speak.) What she also noticed, to her great disappointment, was that he was not naked. He was wearing underwear. Not tighty whities either. Black satin briefs.

As they walked by, the woman grabbed Herb’s shoulder. “Excusez-moi, monsieur. Etes vous choqué? Are you shocked?”

Herb didn’t know if “shockay” was an actual French word but he nodded. “Un peu. A bit.”

The woman turned to Sally. “Secrète, s’il vous plait. Please no tell.”

Sally nodded agreement and she and Herb went down for their continental breakfast. When they went back upstairs, the naked strangers had vanished. “They must have found the right room!” Herb quipped.

They brushed their teeth and Sally took Herb’s hand, pulled him close, and gave him a warm lingering kiss. “Let’s not go to Versailles,” she said. “Let’s stay here and make love. All day long.”

Herb smiled and said, “Love making is best at night, babe. Let’s go enjoy our day and then tonight, we’ll have the whole evening.”

Reluctantly she agreed, and they hopped the train for the twelve kilometer trip to Versailles. Herb and Sally were enthralled by the opulent palace and the magnificent gardens. And at periodic moments during the day, Herb would break into a giggle.

“What’s up, Herb? Sally asked.

“Just remembering our naked strangers this morning. Can’t think about it without grinning and chuckling.”

He did have quite a grin on his face. Almost a smirk. They returned to Paris, had dinner at another sidewalk café, and went back to their room.

After their ritual ablutions – face washing, tooth brushing and flossing, they went to bed. Sally told Herb to get into bed and wait for her. She had a surprise for him. She emerged from the bathroom in very sexy, lacy, virginal white lingerie that she had bought just for this occasion. Herb’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. Sally was stunning. They kissed… passionately. And they fell into bed together. They undressed each other. And then…

They were both virgins. Herb didn’t really know what to do. When Sally complained of pain and asked him to stop, he did. After a few minutes she said, “Okay… you can try again. I think I can take it.”

“I can’t,” Herb replied. “I’m afraid of hurting you.”

“Do it, Herb. I love you. I want you. I need you.”

But Herb was adamant. Her pain unnerved him. He couldn’t do it. Even when she repeated her request in cruder language.

So they watched a little television and went to sleep.

Sally tossed and turned through the night. “Jesus H. Christ!” she thought. “Here I am. Married at last to the man I love. Our wedding night was on a plane. Our first night here we were too tired. And now we’ve been married three days and I’m still a fucking virgin. Correction - a non-fucking virgin.” She couldn’t get the image of the magnificent Eiffel Tower out of her head.

The next morning, they got up, showered, shaved, and were ready to go when there was a knock on the door.

Herb opened the door but his jaw didn’t drop this time. He was surprised however. The same naked couple was back.

“Oh!” the blonde exclaimed. “Excusez moi. Mauvaise chambre. Wrong room.”

Herb closed the door. “Can you believe that?” he said. “How could they make the same mistake two days in a row?”

Sally was a bit miffed because she was sure she saw Herb looking a bit too closely at the blonde. She saw him looking her up and down. And she saw the grin when he turned around.

The couple was still out in the hallway like last time when they went down to breakfast. They didn’t say anything, but Sally thought that if Herb could give the blonde the once over, she was going to cast her beadies on the handsome Frenchman for a bit. And she did.

They went to the Louvre that day. Saw the Mona Lisa, the Winged Victory and all the other great works of art housed there. After the Louvre thay had some time and wandered over to the Luxembourg Gardens for a while. Lots of students from the Sorbonne were hanging out there.

“I love you, Herb,” Sally said as she gave him a hug.

“I love you too, Sally.”

After dinner they went back to their room. They decided to make this the night again. Herb seemed a bit hesitant as Sally emerged from the bathroom in her brand new, well, once-worn shall we say, lingerie. Sally thought she wouldn’t take any chances on him wimping out again, so she pulled back the covers, crawled between Herb’s legs, licked her lips and was about to entice him with her mouth when he grinned. That grin!

“Damn!” she shouted. “You’re thinking of that blonde, aren’t you?”

The mood was totally spoiled now. They watched TV, Sally still in a huff. And they went to bed… to sleep.

Sally tossed and turned again. “Married four days… four damn days and still a non-fucking virgin!” she thought. But she knew tonight was her fault. “No! Damn it!” she thought. “Not my fault! You shouldn’t have been thinking about her when I was about to be your first and only lover.”

The next morning at 9 AM precisely, same as the previous two days, there was a knock on the door. Herb opened the door and there they were. The naked French couple. Just a pair of gonch between them. The same comment from the woman. Herb couldn’t resist eying her up and down again. Then he closed the door. Sally noticed the eying and she was right ticked off. But she didn’t say anything.

When they left a few minutes later, the naked couple was down the hall as usual. This time Herb whispered to Sally, “No one back home is going to believe this without a picture. Go stand between them when we get close and I’ll snap a photo.”

When they got close, Sally sidled in between the two, put an arm around each shoulder and Herb took their picture. “Souvenir,” he said. A word that he knew meant the same in both languages. The couple didn’t object and Herb and Sally went down to breakfast.

“This isn’t a coincidence,” Herb said over their petit dejeuner. “Once is an oddity. Twice is a weird mistake. But three times is a conspiracy. Someone’s having us on.”

“You’re right,” Sally replied. “But who? Why?”

“Could be Frank,” offered Herb. He had been best man at the wedding and was known as a practical joker.

“Could be Marcy,” suggested Sally. She had been maid of honor and had a ribald sense of humor. Herb and Sally were both a bit miffed that neither of them had got them a wedding present.

“It’s got to be someone who knows us,” Herb said.

“Maybe someone who knows us too well.”

“What do you mean by that, Sally?”

This time Sally had the silly grin on her face and Herb did not know what to make of it.

After their rituals, the couple took the Metro to the Trocadero Station again. They walked out on the plaza and saw the Eiffel Tower in its Gallic phallic magnificence. These were Sally’s thoughts, not Herb’s. Herb just thought it was a magnificent tower.

During the ride up the elevator to the top, Sally had the weird thought that they were like sperm on their journey. She was thankful they would not be spewed out of the top of the tower though. The tower had a roof at the top. An Eiffel condom, she thought. “Oh Sally,” she thought. “You really do have a warped mind.”

Back at the hotel that evening, Sally did not put on her twice-worn lingerie. She put on pajamas. Two pieces. Not sexy at all. And they sat down and talked.

“I’m frustrated, Herb,” she said. “We’ve been married five days and I’m still a virgin. A virgin! A non-fucking virgin! We’ve got a problem.”

“Don’t you mean effing virgin,” said Herb. He avoided crudities and traded in euphemisms.

“Are we?” Sally retorted. “Are we? Are we effing? No we are not!” She jabbed sarcastic quotation marks in the air when she said “effing.”

“I know,” said Herb. “I know.”

“I think saving ourselves for marriage was a huge mistake,” Sally sighed. “It puts too much pressure on us. Neither of us really knows what to do. We have no experience.”

“I know. Maybe when we get home, we’ll have to see a marriage counsellor. We can’t go through our married life unconsummated. We’ve got to figure this out.”

After a few minutes, to lighten the mood, Sally suggested they look at the photo he took that morning. He turned on the camera and clicked back through the Eiffel pics until they got to the one they were seeking. They sat close to each other, cuddling as they looked at it. It was a fine photo. The flash had illuminated it perfectly. The blonde looked as gorgeous as Herb remembered, The Frenchman looked as studly as Sally remembered. And Sally actually looked radiant standing between them.

“Your arm looks a bit too friendly with that Frenchie.”

Sally just smiled.

After a nice cuddle and a warm kiss goodnight, they went to sleep.

As she was drifting off to sleep Sally thought she didn’t want to wait until their trip back home to see a marriage counsellor. She didn’t want to spend her honeymoon pining for Herb and remaining unfulfilled. But she did not toss and turn.

The next morning they showered, shaved and got ready for their day. And as on the previous few days, at 9 AM precisely, there was a knock on the door. Sally put her hand on Herb’s chest as he rose to go to the door and pushed him back down on the chair. This time she went to the door and opened it.

“Oh!” the blonde exclaimed. “Excusez moi. Mauvaise chambre. Wrong room.”

“Mauvaise, schmovezze,” Sally replied. “Entrez. We’ve been waiting for you.”

This story is loosely based on a true incident that happened to my wife and I when we were in Paris. You can read about it on my blog, The Destinations Guru.

Be sure to check out my other stories on Vocal!

• What Happens in Paris... – newlywed virgins on their honeymoon have an encounter with a couple of naked strangers.
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• The Skunk - a story about prejudice and mob mentality
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• A Sadistic Tale – a creepy Halloween story with a twist ending
• The Ugly Duckling - the classic tale retold in the style of Edgar Allen Poe's The Raven
• Little Red Riding Hood – the classic children's story retold in the style of Alfred Noyes' epic poem The Highwayman