Julia: A French Connection
Some girls will always be with you no matter how much time has passed.
I tell some friends that I’m going to Italy for a few weeks and that they’re welcome to join me. I like traveling alone and don’t like depending on other people to do the things I want to do.
My oldest friend decides to come. It’s our second day in Florence; we get back to the hotel from a long walk and some mind-blowing gnocchi. We both decide to download Tinder because…why not?
I match with Julia (Juliette), a Parisian who was also on vacation there. Our exchange is brief; we get to the point. Within 5 texts we decide we’re going to meet up that night. She’s vacationing with a friend too. We decide to bring our friends for an impromptu double date, one of them blind.
Her friend is a little heavy. Cool, funny, but chunky. She comes from a wealthy family. My friend is blue-collar. The chemistry isn’t there, but they get along well enough.
Julia has long, jet-black hair. Down to her lower back. Her eyes are sexy, soft, and penetrating…slightly slanted. I later learn that she’s a French hapa. I don’t remember the other half, sorry, race scientists.
She’s newly tanned from walking around Florence in the spring. She’s wearing a tight black dress and has smooth, supple, perky cleavage. We meet at the bar. She and I start talking while our friends talk next to us. Julia and I are making intense eye contact and smiling at each other as we’re making bullshit conversation. We can also both tell it isn’t going anywhere for them. We take the last sip of our first drink. I put my hand around her waist and say in her ear, “I think we should leave the two of them alone.” She giggles, rubs her fingers against my lower back, and says, “Let’s go.”
We’re walking down a street that is loud and alive. People are dressed well; they’re smoking cigarettes, drinking wine, talking and eating outside. She grabs my hand. The chemistry is palpable. I know where this is going; we’re in for a fun night. We walk into the next bar and she insists that we get a table instead of sitting at the bar. Great, I don’t care. I just want to keep this going.
We get a table and sit next to each other, then she plants one on me without wasting a second. We’re now making out intensely in a restaurant. She’s an incredible kisser. My first French girl. Very sensual. I can tell that she’s very conscious of what she’s doing with her tongue, her lips and her teeth. Biting my lip in the most subtle way. I want to take her back to my hotel immediately.
We end up ordering drinks only because the waiter interrupts us while we’re kissing. “Yeah uh, two sauvignon blancs. Whatever you want, surprise us.” We don’t even notice he brought us back drinks because we’re all over each other. The patrons are either uncomfortable or turned on, but they’re looking.
The next thing I remember is Julia pinned underneath me on my hotel bed. Her eyes were looking up at me like Nala in The Lion King. She looked unbelievable naked. The details of what happened after that are hazy, but I distinctly remember that she reached in between my legs to play with my balls while I was fucking her. To any women reading this post: you should do that.
This isn’t a story about sex. It’s a story about romance. Julia and I didn’t have a one-night stand.