He had taken me to a famous Parisian Cemetery… 

After making love 4 times in the last 8 hours, barely getting any sleep, he had the audacity to drag me out of bed to take me to what he thought every American woman would want; Brunch. Ha, Bless him. 

Afterwards my belly was full, but my passion was ravenous. Yet here I was now staring at Edith Piaf’s grave. After brunch he took me for a long walk through the city. We ended up at the famous Montmartre Cemetery. Her name was the first to catch my eye. 

I remembered her songs. Daydreaming. Walking by one famous person after another who seemed to have died just to be buried in this 5 star Parisian cemetery. And with it came it’s own arrangement of status. They were not small gravestones; no no, more like monuments. Each person feeling the need to have a bigger mansion on top of their resting dead body than the other. ‘What were the property taxes like?’ I wondered, giggling. It never ends, I thought. Not even in death. 

Is it true that we must find peace before we die or else we take this absurdity with us? 

He has been holding my hand and arm so tightly, we had to walk hip to hip. I’d never had a man want to be so close to me all the time. It’s like I had something he desperately wanted. My youth, maybe? It felt stupidly obvious, but as if being among the dead made us realize how alive we were. And perhaps for him, he wanted to feed off of the feeling of having life ahead of you, rather than being in the middle of it. He was almost 20 years my senior. It was a first for me. Truly releasing control, unclenching. Letting someone take care of me like this. Letting someone adore me. Fawn over me. Letting myself allow it to be true. 

He never smiled with his teeth, and he was wearing his usual smirk while staring at me. As if he always knew something I didn’t. I liked feeling, like there was a surprise at any moment. 

He grabbed my neck. His hand was twice the size of mine, and the initial danger of his hand wrapping around the side of my neck gave me a rush. He pulled me close to his body. It was pressed against his.

 “Give me your tongue” – he uttered while turning my head to face him. I wasn’t sure if my giggle was due to the preposterous statement or that I felt silly doing something so sexual in front of poor Edith. 

I felt his excitement. I obeyed. I opened my mouth, and he leaped in. His mouth opening wide in order to let his tongue play with mine. He sucked on it, then twirling it around. His lips met mine, and he pulled me closer towards him. How? I had no idea. I never understood what it meant to be truly one with somebody. But we were one in that moment. Inhaling and exhaling the same air. Moving in unison. It was like a dance. He pulled my hair, grabbing it, pulling my head backward, exposing my neck. He licked it from my collarbone to my ear. Slowly. It was excruciating. Goosebumps climbed from my arms through the nape of my neck and over my scalp. 

He started to shove me towards a chateau of the grave of Marcel something or other. 

He turned me around, clasping his hands on my hips to push against his. I felt his excitement. He was hard. Full on hard. His hands wondered. He collected my arms, putting them behind my back. He grabbed my hands and placed them over his erection. He wanted me to feel his desire. He held them there. I started gliding my fingers along his shaft. My head resting backwards on his shoulder, exposing my neck which he was sucking, and with his free hand, he grabbed my left breast. 

He would’ve fucked me right there. I liked that. I enjoyed that kind of power. 

But I didn’t want an audience. 

Not even a dead one. 

‘The French’ I thought, ‘Kninky…’