The babes of Paris

So, Paris is crammed full of mega-hot babes right. And I'd not been in Paris for long before I developed a game that I can play with myself (well, not in public--) Well, actually yes, in public, (that was just an unintentional pun that I didn't want to delete) cos its most prime location is the Metro, hence its name: Cruising the Metro.

The rules of the game are thus:

You're like in the metro or whatever. The RER is also good cos the stops aren't as frequent but I fear there aren't as many honeyz headin' in the direction of the banlieue. So anyway, I've not done this for a while, because until recently I've been in a happy, loving relationship. Now, don't worry, this blog is not about to deteriorate into some ranting bullshit about how I just got dumped. Cos, I like totally didn't anyway?
ANYWAY, one of my most priceless memories was in early October, and it was early in the morning, well, commuting time. I'm fairly sure I was hungover and it was a Thursday. A couple of stops into my journey,
a chick who looked like a dude got on. "Cool," I thought to myself, "now to make exaggerated and repeated eye contact as I am wont to do, for I am, after all, a Raving Insatiable Dyke". So I did this a few times, and to my delight, she seemed to be yielding to my seduction, looking back at me with that unmistakable longing in her eyes that is so very much more than simply a "gay gaze". By this point I had become so excited that I had to stop listening to my iPod, for the distraction was quite too much to handle. She was 18, or 20, and had hair in the style of Robert Smith c.1984, i.e. before it went too crazy and he got too fat. Suffice to say, sexy as fuck. Now, a bit further on, the person sitting next to me alighted. Chick moved towards the empty seat. I could hardly contain myself. Literally. I didn't. But. Alas. To my abject despair, SOME FUCKING MORON BOY SAT THERE FIRST. And Reader, I can honestly say that never in all my long, lonely years of raving insatiable dykedom, have I ever so passionately wished for somebody else's untimely passing. Chick shifted back to her original position, clinging to one of the poles in front of me. I took a few more forlorn glances at her, before she left me a few more stops later and disappeared into the throng! At length I heaved a sigh, stuck my 'Pod back on, and continued on my trajet de tragedie towards work of doom.

So I mean like it happened again today. This time it was actually at the RER station. Saw this proper buff babe. She kinda looked like a more attractive version of myself, if I'm honest. A more French version of myself. Her hair was more controlled, more sleek and her face was so angular, so androgynous. God, I mean, I really dig that shit. So natch I followed her up the platform, stealing conspicuous glances every few moments. Didn't look at me once until she turned to face me full on, she was a comfortable distance away so it wasn't too alarming, more like quite exciting. I followed her onto the train like some fucking psychopathic stalker from hell. And nothing else worthy of note took place. And it was at that moment that I thought this thing, that I think every now and again: What if dykes were more like fags? I mean, if I were a fag, and if she'd been a fellow fag, there's like, a 50% chance we'd have been banging the shit out of each other in the bathroom of the nearest bar at the next station, right? But alas, no of course that didn't happen cos she was a fucking nobhead arrogant dyke who didn't want to know! So now I'm here talking shit about my feelings instead of what I'd be writing if I were this fag character I created:
"Totally gay gazed this fag on the RER today. We looked at each other then we got off the train at the next stop in the middle of the banlieue, and went to this proper old man bar. I gave him some poppers (I always carry poppers cos I like, get laid so often) and then I banged the shit out of him in the bathroom. It was fucking awesome. Hope something similar happens tomorrow". That's litch what it'd be like, I think.