Montorgueil Queen

She was a dancer in Vegas and now she’s a model in Paris. I liked her immediately. We met in a gogo bar slash steakhouse in the 3rd for expensive screwdrivers at eight. I dressed up and took it slowly. She feels like someone I would like to know and explore Paris with. She bought our first round and we launched into conversation. As we spoke, it felt like we’d been friends for ages. One of those connections that makes you feel like the internet actually knows what it’s doing. Or maybe like people are just listening more.

She plans photo shoots by day, pets neighbors’ dogs by night, and invited me to be her model for shoots. I know a good opportunity when I see one, so we planned a shoot juxtaposing power and sex appeal and wealth with a schlub in bondage (yours truly) because I like a little kink with my comedy and a little laughter with my leather. Feminism, music, New England, and running were lobbed across the iron table as though we were experts in conversational sport.

We didn’t kiss. I was too shy, a new for me, but I held her hands a little longer and held her gaze a little stronger and told her I would see her again. I really hope I do.


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