'They say you can see it all from over Paris.'
She didn't reply. She just stood there on the balcony with her bra in her hands, looking absently out over the arrondissement.
You can see her boobs from all over Paris, I thought to myself.
Not that I minded sharing.
The air coming in through the window was cool and smelt of morning in a city. It could have been almost any city in the western industrialised world if I closed my eyes, but, with them open, with that glorious spike piercing the sky, it could only be one city in the world.
'Did you know that if you melted all the steel in the tower down... and made a tray that was big enough for the original tower to stand in… that is, as big as the base and no bigger… then the sides of the tray would only need to be an inch high… to hold all the molten steel… cos it's mostly just empty space... all just lacework and engineering...'
She started - regrettably - to put the bra on, itself a masterpiece of lacework and engineering.
'What the hell are you talking about?' she asked, not bothering to keep the annoyance out of her voice.
I thought so. I'd upset her.
There we'd been, in that ridiculously large King Louis XCVII-sized bed. She hadn't wanted to do anything. Girls get quite set on not wanting to do anything in bed. But, regardless, because boys get quite set on wanting to do something in bed, i'd murmured in her ear how nice it would be for me to lick her out, with Paris - the Eternal City of Light - shimmering just there, right outside our window.
As enticing as that sounded, she still wasn't interested. She wanted to keep looking through that guide book of hers, wanted to keep organising and fine-tuning the perfect Lonely Planet experience of Paris that she'd always promised herself.
I could imagine her now, back then, sitting there on her still-bald pussy in her high school French class, rehearsing her verbs and her genders and her tenses, preparing for this time, this visit to this place...
'How nice would that be?' I'd enthused. 'A niiiiice, looooong, deeeeep, clitoraaaaal ooooorgasm… Huh?'
'Huge day tomorrow,' she'd said, half noticing me. 'We should sleep.'
She'd folded her Lonely Planet closed and turned off the light.
The Eternal City of Light glowed in through the windows.
I had an erection. A huge hard on. It impressed even me. I snuggled up to her, jabbing it against her in that gentle way that I have.
Her breathing was sleep-steady.
I looked at the clock. 11:08.
If I was still hard in ten minutes, I bargained with myself, I'd pursue it further.
11:08 turned to 11:18 without any effort at all, and I was still as stiff as the spine of her guide book.
I rubbed it against her, sliding in between her arse cheeks in that way that I keep forgetting she doesn't really seem to like.
'It wants to kiss you.'
No reaction. I decided to up the stakes.
'It wants to kiss you... inside.'
She sighed in a way that could have been anticipation, but it could just as easily have been disgruntled resignation. I'd been stiff for at least a quarter of an hour by then, though, so I wasn't paying as much attention to the tell-tale emotional nuances of her exhalations as I probably should have been. Disgruntled resignation would explain how I'd upset her.
I took hold of her hips and pulled her towards me, tilting her so that I could go in from behind. She pulled away and rolled onto her back, so I took up that invitation and climbed on top of her, snug between her warm thighs.
Another sigh and she raised her knees. It's hard to report now on what i thought this sigh meant at the time, since my entire consciousness was by then located in the tip of my prick, nuzzling against the woolly resistance of her pussy.
I love that woolly resistance.
But not as much as I love the little pop when I slide past it.
I looked at the clock. 11:20.
I'd read somewhere online that the average act of intercourse lasts around two minutes. Not counting the foreplay and all the other mucking around, just the actual thrusting. So i set myself the goal of hitting 11:22.
Cos chicks dig long, lasting thrusting.
Not as much as they dig nice, long, deep, clitoral orgasms, but that was off the menu now.
I was three thrusts into it when i realised that i really needed to piss.
I tried to think of other things. I focused on those boobs of hers, watched them wobbling back and forth as I thrust into her... and drew back... for... another...
I really needed to piss.
Her hair was lovely, wasn't it? Lovely... hair...
Why hadn't I gone for a piss before i'd woken her up?
It was difficult to keep focused on the thrusting, with all that needing-to-piss welling behind my prick.
I stopped for a moment, and leant down to kiss her. To take my mind off it.
She kissed me back, but her eyes were closed. I could see they were closed by the glow of the Eternal City of Light peeping in at us through the window.
I wanted to give her boobs a kiss, but I gave her a thrust instead, and then I just came.
I hung there over her in a push-up for the whole length of that awkward, post-ejaculation, came-too-soon moment. She didn't say anything. I glanced at the clock.
OK, but almost 11:22, surely.
I'd count it down.
10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1...
5, 4, 3, 2, 1...
1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7...
I pulled out of her and went to have that piss.
When I got back to bed, she was lying there, looking at the ceiling.
Me, I was asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow.
And now, this morning, she's all grumpy.
'I didn't sleep a wink, you know,' she said. 'Not until four o'clock. After you woke me up.'
She looked gorgeous, just in that lacy bra, standing in the window with Paris as a backdrop.
'I have a rotten fricking headache and i'm aching all over from lack of sleep...'
Best to try to cheer her up.
She turned and looked at me.
'Check this out.'
I kicked off the sheet and lifted my morning stiffy up, holding it fully upright with two fingers, forming a triangle at the base.
'Get an eyeful of this tower, hey?'
She didn't laugh. She didn't smile.
'That's terrific,' she said. 'Now, whenever I look at the Eiffel Tower over the next three days, i'm going to be thinking of your prick.'
She was saying that like it was a bad thing.
'Come over here and sit on it, and you'll be thinking of my prick every time you see the Eiffel Tower for the rest of your life!'
More's the pity, she didn't take me up on that offer.
Nor did she take up my offer to let her to ride my cock-horse to Banbury Cross a few days later, when we were in London.
She just said that now I'd ruined her childhood as well, and then she went and sulked in the armchair with her London A-Z.
I'll make it up to her when we go back to Paris through the Chunnel. Surely a bit of train-going-into-the-tunnel action in one of the toilets'll spark her up...
'They say you can see it all from over Paris.'