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Tales of a Post-Grad Nothing

Sunday, April 10, 2005

This Story Involves Bodily Fluids, If You're Grossed Out By That Kind of Thing, You, My Friend, Have Been Reading the Wrong Site

I said, "No, I can't do this. I'm sorry"
To which he said, "Just tell me if it's too hot for you."
So I said, "I have to go right this minute."
"Fine, it's too hot, fine," he said, zipping up and stomping off.

The above conversation happened yesterday and wouldn't have been nearly so weird if any of the following conditions hadn't true:

1) I wasn't speaking with a middle aged man wearing a chain mail demi-shirt, knee-high boots, a Carnevale mask, and a zip-up leather diaper
2) He hadn't been trying to rub his exposed penis on me
3) We weren't in the middle of a Parisian museum
4) After the conversation, he didn't look over his soldier and say to me, "The last American woman let me ejaculate on her face."

Yesterday I went to Paris' Erotic Museum to do research for an article I'm writing. Despite the fact it covers a seedy subject, the museum itself is classy, you know, as classy as a building containing a larger-than-life statue of a vagina smoking a cigarette can be. Marble floors, gold bannisters, a giant glass cock stuffed to the brim with small, plastic pigs, the museum is seven stories and contains any and everything you could even remotely consider sexual. As opposed to the streets containing real lives prostitutes in Paris, the Erotic Museum tries to exhibit the amusing side of sex rather than the disgusting body fluid aspect.

In making my way through the Sex Museum floors, this man:

stopped me and asked if I would be interested in seeing le exhibition. Silently appreciating the fact that even museum security fit in with the sex theme, I followed the man in the diaper to the top floor to see what I thought was the museum's temporary exhibit. "Sit here," he said in French pointing to a chair against the wall. "If you want to take some pictures, you can." Since museum staff knew that a writer was reviewing their galleries, I figured the personalized service was part of their press package. I sat down, snapped some photos, and waited for other museum attendees to come see the performance art.

But nobody came and suddenly out of nowhere, leather-clad cock was being rubbed on my favorite green sweater, which is, as some of you know, a distinctly cock-free zone. Honestly, wtf? I promise you that on any given morning, the last thing I need is foreign penis anywhere, much less close to my face. I'll even expand that to any kind of bodily fluid. Nobody suspects that they're going to go to a public art gallery and wind up scraping dried semen from their hair. That's just normally not part of your ticket price.

So this man is rubbing his 'bathroom parts' (please someone use that in bed with a loved one at the next opportunity) actually on me and my favorite green sweater and I was so shocked that I just didn't move, like maybe if I just pretended to be inanimate, the giant dong would go away and hump something else. But it didn't, and then he started to unzip his diaper and when I saw testicles, the above conversation was had.

This is Paris, a place where anything and everything goes. I'm still not sure if the man actually works for the museum or if he's just a perv who takes advantage of public places with subpar surveillance. What shocked me more than the act itself was the fact that I didn't even do anything wrong or uncultured or stupid this time and I still managed to piss off another Parisian. Every single day I've pissed off a new person without trying. I've lived here 9 months now, and if my Math/Sci high school training serves me, that's approximately 270 angry French people, swarming about this town in a foreign frenzy. There is no winning in Paris. Ever. That should be their 2012 Olympic slogan.

Tomorrow I have to call the museum's press box and wade through the "Do you people actually let men masturbate on the faces of women in public?" conversation in French, which should be fun, since looking at that sentence, I can translate exactly two of those words. Better shot of leather diaper and how awfully close it was to me below:

Good night everyone. Sweet dreams.


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