My Easiest Lay

My easiest lay was a mistake. Not that I regretted it, not at all. It was just a case of mistaken identity. I was in Paris to visit my older brother. It was my first time in Europe. I had been in France two days when my brother had a party. He was a writer and most of his friends were literary types, people who liked novels and living in Paris. They were pretty smug. I was told my enjoyment of Henry Miller was too low brow, except there was a lesbian who was obviously enamored of Anais Nin.

I was drunk and worn out from jet lag, tired of talking to the pseudo Parisians who hated America and loved smelly cheese. I was disorientated and didn't want to ask directions back to my hotel. I went into my brother's room to lie down. I turned off the lights and his computer monitor, which always seemed to be on.

I must have passed out hard. The next thing I knew someone was kissing me. Their mouth was wet and juicy and crawling over my body. My first reaction was to lash out and push the person off of me. Then I felt the female form. She was already mostly undressed.

"Oh Alex, you're an angel," said the girl taking her bra off and magically plopping an impressive breast to my lips. My name is Nick. Alex is my brother. I as going to protest but my mouth was full.

The girl and I had an instant sexual connection. She cupped her pelvis around my hand and bucked with pleasure. My fingers became slick with her excitement. She moaned heavy breaths into my ear. Then she paused from our embrace and reached under Alex's bed. The girl knew exactly where he kept his condoms.

By the end of the second strenuous fuck I had to confess. I flicked the lamp switch above the bed. My eyes adjusted and I could see her. She was more beautiful than anyone I had been with before, the kind of girl hated by the kinds of girls I know.

She seemed oddly familiar. Yesterday when I was on the metro I saw a shampoo add plastered on the wall. The model in the photo was in a shower, her body sloshed with soapsuds. I remember thinking the best thing about the crowded uncomfortable metro was that naked goddess on the billboard marketing shampoo.

"Shit, your not Alex!" The shower girl slurred slightly dazed. I could tell by her dilated saucer eyes that she was high.

"No, I'm not."

The shampoo model looked at me, sizing up the situation.

"It doesn't matter," she said flashing me the same smile she used in the advertisement. I turned out the lights.

The next day when I woke up the girl was gone. Four used condoms lay strewn by the side of the bed. I walked out of Alex's apartment and sat in a café. The waiter was rude, he didn't understand what I was trying to order. It didn't matter. I loved Paris.