The new ideas and the old city of love.
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It was a meeting arrange through a dating app. She was a chubby girl, very sexy, and a little bit edgy. Her story came out quickly; she was in an open relationship she said, but it didn't take much reflection to see that she was fucking her boss. There was a vengeful quality to her pursuit of lovers. Nonchalantly she described her ideology, the ideology that justified her choices, "I am polyamorous, I am in a relationship with Mr X and we are both free to sleep with whomever we want". I was a little bit smitten, and flattered by the attention of a younger woman, so I didn't overanalyse. Her pale skin, her subtle perfume, the floral dress, her full red lips, what could I do but smile and follow? We drank cidre by the canal st. Martin, and we walked and talked towards her apartment. We wandered out onto the balcony and there below us was the city of Paris. Before I could blink she was on her knees, had ripped my pants down and was sucking me off. I had a drink in my hand, the city before me, and that sensual red mouth around my member. The sex was good, but was perhaps a formality for her. She had agreed to share her lover, and was not going to fail to reciprocate each of his 'betrayals' with exploits of her own.
She cooked a fine breakfast, and we enjoyed each other's company on that bellevue balcony, looking across at montmartre to the north, and la tour eiffel across to the west. We never saw each other again in a city big enough to loose yourself.