After a few minutes, the bus pulls up and we get one. It's not empty, but not too full either. We grab a seat in the back. She says, "can I borrow you... sweater?" Thinking she's cold, and being a bit chivalrous, I slip it off and hand it to her. Instead of putting it on, she spreads it over our laps. The next thing I know, there's a hand on my crotch. "Well," she says, "you certainly seem happy to see me. I'm happy to see you too." She guides my hand under the sweater and I realize she's not. We had two more wonderful days enjoying the city enormously. Paris’s beauty is impossible to describe, and I won’t waste the reader’s time with my meager attempts. I had one of the finest meals of my life and enjoyed an amazing show at the Folies Bergiere. On the third night, we went to the seedy nightclub, as had been promised. The jazz music was fine and the sight of so many women smoking their cigars kept me at our table in order that no one would notice the nonstop bulge in my pants. We. More

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