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By (user no longer on site) OP
over a year ago
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Paris … Part 1
I leave my adopted little brothers apartment with a sense of unease, he looked happy, joyous even, he seemed to have gotten through that toblerone rather quickly, too quickly.
For a card carrying triangular phobe he ought to have taken longer with it, perhaps he just threw it away and ran away from the problem as per… but no something was different.
I’m on my way back to Paris, I’m constantly shuttling back and forth between England and France, I have business interests in both countries but I prefer to live in Paris, it speaks to the romantic in me even if my life is far from romantic.
My business interests? I run sex toy boutiques, not sleazy little cesspools with glory holes out back, no no no, I offer an exclusive and luxury shopping experience for individuals of a certain caliber.
I’m flying over the channel, on my way to Charles De Gaulle, looking at the deep grey of the sea lost in thoughts about my brother. He was a strange boy, adopted by my parents when he was six, shy and quiet, in his teenage years he’d do strange things with household objects … he’s convinced that his triangular phobia is because of the school nativity pants wetting incident, but he arrived to our family scared stiff of the shape, how it came to be will remain a mystery.
I’ve spoken to him about the strange things he did with the rolling pin et al, he said he was curious and that as an adult he has found great joy in prostate massagers and that he wished they had been around then to save him the embarrassment of having to explain the disappearance of so many of mums roll on deodorants, we’re not close in a loving sense but we are very open with each other.
It’s a 30 minute drive across town from Charles De Gaulle to my shop in Le Vesinet, the taxi races down the autoroute du nord an I stare at the grey paris day, rain spraying off the cars in front. “Why did I offer to but him a miniature eiffel tower?” I hate the tourist traps, the let down Japanese despondent at their crushed idealism, cheap trinkets and crowded squares.
At Pont Neuf we cross La Seine, and drive down Quai Voltaire, a friend calls me, a fellow sex toy shop owner, although a little more down market than mine.
“Martha?”
“Erik, yes dear, how are you? how’s business? I’ve just landed”
“Martha, they’ve arrived, do you remember? I showed you the pictures two weeks ago, the idiotic tourists will be snapping them up, come to mine and see”
“…oh, yes, I’d forgotten, I’ll be right over”
I ask the taxi driver to take me to the Rue de Longchamp where Erik’s shop is located, it’s a tourist trap, the kind of place you’d find items for a hen night in Paris.
The front of the shop was a glow in garish electric pink, mannequins modelled faux leather thongs in the window, there was a poster advertising the peep show at the back. I enter the shop, gliding past the group of d*unk English men trying to workout if they have the right coins for the peepshow and made my way to Erik’s office.
“Martha, you made it”
Kiss on each cheek
“Here they are my dear, these will make me rich, rich beyond all imagination, I will have enough money to buy Saint Helena and sink it into the sea.”
I laugh, “Erik, you say that about every piece of tat that arrives off the boat, this will be no different than the the dildo secretly hidden in a mini baguette, a middling disaster”
“These will be different, voilà, say hello to my saviour, the 3d printed eiffel tower dildo!”
“It, it stands” I mutter, I wonder to myself wether this could be classed as a triangle.
“It stands, is that all you can say? it’s magnifique, every half d*unk fool from all over the world will be buying one, it will not tickle the sky but tickle you cun…”
“Alright Erik, it does have a certain je ne said quoi, but it is undoubtedly perfect for your shop, monstrously tacky”
“Would you like one to try”
“Yes”
TO BE CONTINUED!!!!!!! |
