And last, but definitely not least:
Rule #3 – Don’t put up with crazy behavior. Period. If a guy pulls something weird, get out now. Remember, you’re in this to have fun, not to be sketched out and uncomfortable. You are too fabulous and smart for that.
Do guys ever put up with crazy behavior from us? No, never. They run for the hills as fast as their little penises will carry them.
So, if a guy acts like a horny teenage boy and tries to accost you in a movie theater, or if he expresses his undying love for you after your first date, he’s a goner. Yes, both of those things happened to me tonight. I’m exhausted.
Twelve
samedi, le 9 octobre
Climbing onto a bus with a wild rugby team in the middle of the night is never a good idea.
Fiona called me the next morning sounding nervous. “What are you wearing tonight?” she asked.
“I’m not sure . . . I haven’t really thought about it yet. Probably just jeans, a tank top and heels. It’s still pretty warm out.”
“So you’re not getting really dressed up or anything, right? I just don’t want to be underdressed or overdressed, you know?”
“Yeah, I’d just go for jeans and a cute top—nothing too fancy.” It was clear that Fiona didn’t get out much, and I was starting to worry that asking her to come out with Lexi may not have been the best idea.
“I know. I just haven’t been out in a while. Andrew and I were together for so long that I think I’ve forgotten how to go out and have a good time . . . pathetic, I know.”
“It’s not pathetic,” I assured her, “but it’s time to get back out there and start meeting some new people. I mean, we’re in Paris! What have you got to lose?”
“I know, you’re right. Tonight’s going to be fun,” she said, sounding a little more convinced. “Oh, I almost forgot to ask, how did your date go last night?”
“Ugh, don’t ask!”
“That bad?”
“Well, let’s just say that I literally ran away from him after he told me he loved me because I think he was about to propose marriage.”
Fiona gasped. “What? He told you he loved you? On the first date?”
“Mmhmm . . . after he tried take off my pants during the movie.”
“What a creep! That’s disgusting. See, that’s why I haven’t wanted to meet anyone—they’re all freaks.”
“I know . . . some of them are pretty bad, but at least it makes for a good story.”
“Did you tell him you don’t want to see him again?”
“No, I didn’t have time. I ran away too fast.”
“What are you going to say if he calls you again?”
“Um, I probably won’t answer the phone, or I’ll just tell him to leave me alone. That date was totally ridiculous, I don’t even feel bad about blowing him off.”
“And what about the other guy you’ve been seeing . . .” she paused, probably wondering just how many guys there were.
“Luc?”
“Yeah, Luc. Is he normal at least?”
“Well, normal for a guy a guess. They all seem to be a little messed up. But don’t let it discourage you from going out. We’re going to have fun tonight, and if there are any crazies, we’ll stick together. Don’t worry.” Between Fiona being worried about stepping foot in a bar and Lexi who would probably go home with any guy in the bar, I could tell we had an interesting night ahead of us.
***
I left my place at ten o’clock to meet up with Fiona and Lexi at a bar in the 5th arrondissement called The Long Hop.
After exiting the metro, I’d no more than stepped one high-heeled foot into the crosswalk on boulevard St. Germain before a man on a cherry red scooter raced past me and just about ran me over.
“Hey!” I shouted after him as I stumbled backward over the curb and slammed into someone.
I swiveled around to find three young French guys, as slim as the cigarettes they were smoking, sizing me up.
“Vous êtes américaine, ma princesse?” one of them asked me as a dirty grin spread across his bony face.
My princess? Was he serious?
Without responding, I looked both ways to make sure there weren’t any more drag-racing scooters and jetted across the street to the bar.
I realized that walking around Paris at night by myself wasn’t the best idea. Not that I felt unsafe here. It just seemed that whenever a pack of French guys spotted me walking alone, all dressed up to go out, they couldn’t keep their comments to themselves. Maybe next time I’d take a cab straight to the bar.
Michael Jackson’s “Billy Jean” pounded through the speakers as I shoved my way across the packed dance floor and finally spotted my friends.
Lexi, as usual, had on a hot little number which made every guy in the bar stop, stare, and drool as she walked past. And Fiona surprised me. I thought she’d show up in a pink polo shirt with a khaki skirt or something equally conservative, but instead, she was sporting a tight, florescent pink tank top with a pair of slim, dark jeans and sexy, black strappy heels.
I introduced the two girls as we strutted our stuff over to the bar to buy our first round of drinks. The bar was packed with way more guys than girls, and it was a wild crowd. Lexi and I downed our drinks while Fiona sipped hers, and then we made our way out to the dance floor together.
We danced for a good half an hour, just the three of us, in the middle of a booming dance floor. Lexi and I fought to keep our space on the floor, throwing elbows to keep scummy guys away from us. Fiona’s eyes darted around the room as she stepped her feet from side to side in time with the bumping bass. I hoped she’d loosen up a bit once the alcohol hit her.
“I’m heading to the ladies room. Anyone else need to go?” Lexi yelled over the music.
“Yeah, I’ll come with you,” Fiona yelled back.
“I’ll stay here and hold down the fort,” I assured them while busting a move to a Madonna song. The French definitely had a thing for American eighties music.
Right after the girls left, two French guys approached me. They were both sporting painfully tight black jeans and skin-hugging blue t-shirts which showcased their thin builds, and they had military-style haircuts. I wondered if they were in the police force with Frédéric and if they were going to tell me how much they loved me after five minutes of talking to me.
“We heard you speak English,” one of the boys yelled over the music in a strong French accent.
“Yes, that’s right, I was speaking English,” I said sarcastically. I wasn’t really feeling it. These boys were not my type.
“So, you are American or English?” the other one asked, giving me a slimy smile.
“American,” I said dryly as I kept dancing, hoping the girls would come back soon so I could get rid of them.
“Oh, zee American girl. I love zee American girl.” They both grinned at me while they attempted to dance in their ball-hugging jeans. Oh dear. This was quite the sight.
“Where are you from?”
“California,” I lied. No reason to tell the truth here. Might as well have some fun with the situation.
“Oh Caleefornia, I love Caleefornia!” one of them replied, while the other one did a hysterical raise-the-roof gesture with his hands. I held in my laughter.
“Zat is why you are so beauteeful, all of the Caleefornia girls are beauteeful,” Raise the Roof Guy said as he tried to take my hand to dance with me.
I yanked my hand away and asked them, “So, are you guys police officers?”
“Oh no, we are in zee army, and we are brothers. You like zee army man, no?”
What? The army man? Normally, yes, I like the army man, but our military guys at home wear baggy pants. In this instance, the army men were wearing jeans so tight that they were probably becoming more sterile by the minute.
“Mmmm . . . yes. Army, very nice,” I replied, not really knowing how to respond to that.
“You are zee perfect girl . . . you will have my b
aby?”
Okay, that was it. They were kind of funny at first, but now they were getting a little too out of control. Have their baby?! Where did Fiona and Lexi go? I turned around to search for my friends so I could escape. And that’s when my gaze landed on an even more hilarious sight than the one I was currently trapped in.
Fiona and Lexi were surrounded by the most massive group of guys I’d ever seen. And I don’t mean massive as in numbers. I mean massive as in huge. As in giant-sized men.
Lexi danced up a storm in the center of the group while all of the enormous boys hooped, hollered and chugged pints of beer. Fiona just stood there with wide eyes, staring up at the giants towering over her.
“Sorry guys, I have to go meet my friends,” I told the ball-hugging Army men as I fled the scene to find out who in the world these mammoth hunks were.
I pushed my way past one of the giants to get to Fiona, who breathed a sigh of relief when she saw me.
“Who are these guys?” I yelled into her ear.
“English rugby players. They’re crazy!” Fiona yelled back.
“Well, hello gorgeous girls,” a tall, handsome rugby player said to me and Fiona as he shook our hands.
“Hello, tall, handsome man,” I replied back.
He flashed a charming smile. “I’m Dean, and you are?”
Wow, I loved, loved, loved his accent. And his huge muscles.
“I’m Charlotte, and this is Fiona.”
“It’s wonderful to meet you, Charlotte and Fiona. What can I get you two lovely ladies to drink?” Dean was less barbaric than his other rugby buddies who were now chanting some unrecognizable song and stomping their feet so hard that the floor was actually trembling.
“I’m fine,” Fiona said, trying to avoid the drink.
“Oh come on, you’ve only had one drink so far tonight!” I prodded her toward the bar as Dean led the way.
“I know, but I just don’t want to get too out of control.”
“Fiona, that . . .” I said, pointing to the group of grunting giants, “is out of control. You, my dear, would have to try very hard to get out of control. You’re having another drink.”
“What can I get you two?” Dean placed his heavy arms around us as we reached the bar.
“Two vodka and cranberries please.” I took the lead since Fiona was clearly intimidated by the madness all around us.
“Coming right up, darling.” Dean winked at me, then ordered our drinks.
After that point, the night could pretty much be summed up like this:
Dean was all over me the minute we made it back to his group of friends. We danced and made out all night on the dance floor. It was overwhelmingly hot.
Lexi continued to dance in true stripper fashion in the middle of a group of about five rugby boys who took turns groping and grinding on her.
As for Fiona . . . well, I thought she was going to stand in the corner the whole night with the same wide-eyed, terrified look on her face. But after that vodka and cranberry hit her, she proceeded to take dance lessons from Lexi and ended up dancing with the absolute hottest player in the bunch, Matt. He was about a foot and a half taller than Fiona, but that didn’t stop him from leaning down to make out with her for the rest of the night.
When you have an insane night like that, sometimes it’s better to stop while you’re ahead. Otherwise people get too drunk and crazy things happen. In our case, we opted for the latter.
With an entire English rugby team in tow, Lexi, Fiona and I stumbled out of the bar as it was closing. It was one of those drunken, debauchery-filled study abroad nights where we were all laughing so hard we could barely move, let alone walk to the nearest cab. So, we leaned on the boys for support and walked with them through the empty Parisian streets for blocks and blocks without even asking where in the hell we were going.
After who knows how long of stumbling, laughing, and even falling on the hard cobblestone sidewalks, we rounded a corner and spotted a big blue bus.
Dean pointed up ahead. “That’s our bus, and you my dear, are getting on it with me.”
In my giggly, drunken state, I smiled, took Dean’s hand, and got right on that bus. Fiona and Lexi weren’t far behind.
The rugby boys became grew rowdier once they boarded the bus, if that’s even possible. I think that at least five of them simultaneously kissed Lexi, while Fiona and Matt bolted straight to the back and disappeared behind the seats.
Before we knew it, we were on a long bus ride to an unknown destination with a hormonally-charged group of rugby players.
“Where are we going?” I asked Dean as the bus took off, suddenly feeling alarmed that we’d climbed on with no clue where we were headed.
“Oh, I don’t know love . . . some hotel outside the city.”
“How far outside the city?”
“An hour, maybe? But relax, you’re with me,” he said as he pushed me down into the seat underneath him and stared into my eyes. “Wanna snog?”
“Snog?” I asked, confused, thinking he wanted to have sex with me on the bus. I admit I had been a little crazy since I’d arrived in Paris, but I wasn’t that easy.
Dean leaned down and kissed me. “That’s snogging, my dear,” he explained as he pulled me closer to him.
“Oh, well in that case, yes, I would love to snog,” I replied as Dean planted his lips on mine.
The Rugby Sex Bus arrived at a random hotel in the middle of nowhere about an hour and much snogging later. I grabbed Fiona and Lexi on our way into the hotel and asked them if they were both okay. Granted, I was having a great time myself, but this could’ve been a really sketchy situation, and we girls needed to stick together.
“Daaaarling, don’t worry,” Lexi replied in her best English accent. “This is a fabulous night!”
Fiona was grinning from ear to ear with Matt’s arm wrapped tightly around her.
“I’m fine,” she squeaked as we all piled into the hotel.
Dean led me to his room while Fiona followed Matt down the hallway and Lexi followed . . . well, a group of three guys into one room. I didn’t even want to know what was going to go down in there.
When we got into the room, Dean didn’t waste any time. He pushed me up against the wall and kissed my neck, face, and lips—basically any bare skin he could reach. He then found a way to get both my tank top and bra off in one swift movement, unbuttoned my jeans, and yanked both his shirt and pants off. His roaming hands were all over me, making it hard for me not to want to take things further as he pulled me down on the bed on top of him.
His upper body was amazing. He was more finely cut than any guy I’d ever seen. Yes, better than Jeff. Humph. Suddenly I wished I had a camera to take a picture of Dean to send off to Jeff. How nice it would’ve been to throw yet another one in his face.
My buzz began to wear off though as Dean buried me underneath him on the bed. All of a sudden, I wasn’t sure how I felt about being alone in a hotel room with this random, huge dude on top of me. Who knew where this guy had been or how many drunk girls, just like me, he had been sleeping with all over Europe?
Of course it would’ve been easy to just sleep with him. He was attractive, and he was probably really good in bed. But the truth of the matter was that I didn’t want to rack my numbers up that high with a guy who I knew nothing about. A guy who cared nothing about me, and who I would never see again. If I was a man, I would just have sex. But I wasn’t. I was a smart woman, and I suddenly knew for certain that I did not want to have sex with this guy. So, before things got too out of hand, I pulled the ultimate girl excuse.
“I’m sorry, I can’t. It’s a bad time of the month.”
“It’s okay, I don’t mind if you don’t mind. We can still do it.”
What? I had never heard that one before. Gross.
“Um, I think you will mind. It’s just not going to happen tonight, okay?”
“Really, Charlotte. It’s not that big of a deal,” he said as he thrust his hand dow
n into my jeans.
I grabbed his hand and placed it firmly on the bed. “No, really, I’m not okay with it.”
Dean pressed his groin hard on top of me and groped my breasts. “But I want you so bad.”
As Dean began dry humping me, and I could feel his erection pressing hard into my inner thigh, I wanted out. I struggled to roll out from underneath him, but he was too heavy and too drunk.
“Dean, seriously, I can’t do this. You need to stop,” I shouted in his ear.
He rolled his eyes at me, shot up and stalked over to his clothes. He threw his t-shirt back on and gave me a harsh glare. “Fine. I just don’t understand why you came in here in the first place then. What did you think was going to happen?”
“I told you it’s a bad time of the month, and I don’t want to do it, okay? You don’t need to be such a jerk about it.”
“Whatever. I’m going to bed.” He walked over to the bed in his tighty whities and a t-shirt, buried himself under the covers, and within seconds began snoring.
I was so shaken up by the way he had acted that I just wanted to go home. But I knew that Fiona and Lexi were probably having the time of their lives, and I didn’t want to ruin it for them.
Even though I was pretty certain that a tornado couldn’t get the sleeping giant out of bed, I didn’t want to risk waking Dean up, so I locked myself in the bathroom and slid down the wall onto the cold tile floor.
I closed my eyes and buried my head in my hands. As the alcohol swished around in my stomach, I felt disgusted with myself. Was this what life without Jeff was going to be like? Getting wasted at bars and ending up in strange hotel rooms with scary men who wanted nothing more than sex?
My new plan to date like a man was supposed to empower me. It was supposed to make me feel confident and happy.
But instead, as I curled up on the hard tiles and wished for morning to come, I felt more empty, scared and alone than I’d ever felt in my life.
***
Sleeping with Paris Page 11
