2 - Another day in Paris

We had our first argument last night. I won’t look at Lucy and she won’t look at me. Can you imagine two fucking adults sulking in a Parisian café, looking everywhere but at each other?

What was the fight about, I don’t recall, it was a stupid misunderstanding, something so small and inconsequential , that I have to shake my head when I even think about it.

The problem was that we went to bed without apologizing, without fixing the misunderstanding. This was the first time we actually went to bed in our PJs, as we’ve always slept naked since the first day we became a couple. What made us pack PJs, I don't know, maybe premonition? You on your side, me on mine, an imaginary border ran down the centre, higher than the Berlin Wall, neither party willing to encroach that line for fear of being called the loser. It was so fucking stupid.

“Hey, (long pause) I’m sorry.” I was jolted from my thoughts , and as I turned, I notice you looking directly at me.

I was still bitter and the first thought that entered my head is "she’s trying to be the better person." I wave my hand, pretending it was unimportant, but inside, I'm in turmoil. What do I do? “It's my fault. I’m sorry. I should have said so last night.” I say. That is when I notice tears rolling down your cheeks.

“Oh love...” I drop to my knees and wrap my arms around you. Then the floodgates open and I start bawling my eyes out. Heads turn, no doubt wondering if someone died in the family.

We hold on to each other crying, till there are no more tears, till our sobs stop and our bodies no longer shake, ...and on cue, the sun peeks out from behind fluffy clouds. I am expecting trumpets and horns to blow.

I look at your gorgeous smile, unable to help myself, I plant a light kiss on your lips. You grab my head dragging my lips back and return my light kiss with a passionate, wet, sloppy one.
Your tongue prodded,
I suck,
your tongue poked,
I poke back,
your tongue explored,
mine caressed, lying on top in the missionary position.

“We still have our cycle tour,” I say. “Yes we do… but I gonna make you scream so many times, you’re not gonna be able to ride that bike,” you reply.

“Promise?” I ask, as I begin to feel a growing dampness between my thighs.