Montpellier Redux

Montpellier Travel Blog

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July 26


Dinner was one of those sur le gazon al fresco affairs organized by the powers that be who run the university. It�s been the better part of the week now and, although the monitors know I�m merely Michael�s visitor, they are taken with me and act as if I�m one of those who belong. It is wonderful being charming. Dinner was followed by an impromptu dance out side. We created quite a dust storm � rivaled Oklahoma circa 1935. I was looking for Steinbeck and the Wraths but they were nowhere to be seen, as is wont with the average dust storm.


I started chatting up this English bird (notice how I seamlessly transcend from the French argot in the previous paragraph to British slang now that I�m talking about a girl from there) named Sherry. I had noticed her the previous night as a participant in the Mischwi but did not get the opportunity to converse directly. After we got past the obligatory preliminary Dustins, we traversed a few levels and really got down to it. There was something extraordinary about this girl. It was apparent from the outset, but hard to identify exactly what. I couldn�t decide whether she was extremely naïve and underexposed, virtually to a fault, or if she was worldly, quiet, wary and blasé. She was pretty in a very English way. Dark hair, peaches and cream complexion, full figured with a sultry saunter to her. She was a university student seeking to make her way into journalism having recently returned from a year abroad in Austria that seemed to leave her filled with regret for not having accomplished all that she set out to do. She would take a back seat and observe people rather than participate in the banal chitchat that characterized the general interaction amongst those of us there. She indicated that she came from a sterile home life, which might have led to a lack of comfort in letting it all hang out. Like many of her country folk, she possessed a quick and sharp wit of which she had no qualms about dishing out to me at any time she deemed appropriate. Sally would comment on my incessant teasing of her; as did Sheryl, as did Fern. I guess my routine is getting a bit stale. Gotta change the defense mechanism.


Following the beach scene SJ, for purposes of brevity and laziness, and I went out to Le Bastiche, one of the regular watering holes, for a coffee. Drinks were going to be on her; not because of a clumsy waitress but since I had left my watch, wallet, Francs, and underwear all in my room. By the time we showed up, they were closing down. We ended up drinking water instead. I noted that since she had, in good faith, offered to pay but due to our tardiness, the treat cost her nothing, the fact that I had promised to pick up the next one no longer held water.   Didnâ��t work. Walking her back I felt compelled to draw nearer to her. She had a force that was almost magnetic. I had to kiss her. I held her in my arms. She told me that she wanted to kiss me back but as I held her I felt her skin turn to ice. She was acting very nervously to the point of being physically affected.  I had to ease off.


We backed up a few levels and began discussing our personal vanities. She, like virtually everybody else in Montpellier, wore contact lenses. I looked into her eyes and saw a girl, who although just twenty-one, had a much older look to her. I was again drawn to her and this time she kissed back with no hesitation. She seemed inexperienced at kissing. I thought that my initial impression of her naiveté was correct and I congratulated myself on my Holmesian-like skill of personality and character analytical prowess. I walked her back to her room and stayed the night. We lay in bed and had the typical conversation one has in bed with a new partner. She raised the discussion of bi-sexuality and suddenly I got the impression that her lack of experience might be limited to men. This despite her claims (which at the time seemed quite contradictory given where the discussion was taking place) that she had tightened up her moral code since she was eighteen and that I was the first guy she�d been with in a year. Our night consisted of various teasings and playing around with each other. We didn�t go farther because as mentioned earlier, I had left my wallet in my room. We spent the morning together, had lunch and then went our separate ways.


That afternoon I hopped on the school bus to attend an experimental cinema in the round with a bunch of the students. One of the monitors stopped me and was about to throw me off. The other two, Alain and some mousy but nice French girl, had a mock trial that went along the line of �Well, he�s been having dinner all week with them� and a few �Well, he can come along, but it�s actually forbidden� and with a bit of help from Michael I was right back in the thick of things. I kept thinking that if only Dreyfus would have had the same lawyers, there wouldn�t be the Fund today.


I saw Sherry on the bus but elected to sit with Johanna; she a 25ish economics and business teacher in Toronto. She clings to her German passport as if it were an autographed copy of Mein Kampf. Her father was definitely not a ski patroller in Austria during the war. Another odd mix, Johanna feels and exudes the Germanic uber-spirit yet consorts with and has plenty of Jewish friends. If you close your eyes and hear her talk, youâ��d swear that her ancestors lived in a shtetl rather than burned them. She reminds me very much of Evelina, a cute thin Italian girl with whom I worked at Eatonâ��s department store in the pre-travel days. Evelina was a true Italian down to the black lace stockings and her rosary. If it werenâ��t for the occasional â��Oy Veyâ�� and assorted whiny complaints, youâ��d think sheâ��d never seen a Jew up close except when she genuflected Sunday mornings. Mind you, working in 100% jewish community in the local mall, or as it was affectionately known, The Schmall, you knew something had to rub off.  Johanna had no illusions about becoming wealthy. Her background was such that she was destined to be a staunch, hard working capitalist, always focused on being productive but probably not one of the Chosen Few destined to make the big time. She was also a witty, frustrated singer.


The movie in the round reminded me of my experience at the Kodak pavilion at Expo 67 a decade earlier. There you were in the middle of a room with the film displayed panoramically around you. Any shot taken from a swooping plane and you nearly fell over. When you were peering through the camera lens looking down a mountain, you were instantly afflicted with vertigo. So the film, essentially, was nauseating, dizzying, and a touch out of focus, but, in the final analysis well worth the price of admission I paid for it, which was nothing.  I met the inventor after seeing the film and he promised to send me some interesting literature on the project. I suggested that he have it printed on barf bags.


I came back with Saherry and after dinner I went with her  to visit her friends. In light of our discussions during our dalliance the previous evening, I misunderstood when she described who her friends were. Imagine my disappointment when they turned out to be two Lebanese. We all had a wonderful time drinking coffee, eating chocolate mousse, talking, laughing and discussing politics. Nassi was a soon to be doctor with the most intense, burning eyes I had ever seen. His take on the Arab-Israeli conflict was based on political rather than social inequalities. He felt that by re-structuring the political imbalances first, the social inequities would resolve themselves over time. Opportunities chrystalized by the evolution of a developed infrastructure and institutions would allow the expression and fulfillment of individual ambitions. The argument was presented to me in that light for the first time and I think that there is considerable credence to it. I left the discussions glad hearted that if even one person could come up with a model as this there is hope for eventual peace in the region that would unite Israel with its neighbours in a socio-economic bond. Who knows?


Sherry and I went back to her room together. This time I was smart enough to bring my wallet. We got into bed and the same way that the previous night I had felt an almost magnetic attraction, this time somebody had reversed the poles and I sensed a growing distance between us. We were talking but the initiative was drifting. She was tired and wanted to sleep. Always one to accept things as they were and always ready to take No for an answer I pressed forward, asking her what it was that truly turned her on. She revealed to me that nothing revved her up as much as getting beaten about. I nearly died. She went on to explain that she had been raped as a virgin at 18 and that first fuck had definitely left an impression. She had never told her parents; at this point she began to cry in my arms. I sort of realized that the night had turned in a direction that I was not at all ready for and one that no wallet could help. I turned off the libido in favour of the decent human being that lurked in my darkest shadows. I held her and comforted her. Holding her tightly, I must have flicked some hidden switch for she suddenly caught fire, turned her blazing eyes toward me and yearned for a serious quenching. While I couldnâ��t bring myself to hit her, I manhandled her as roughly as possible, which served to further ignite Sally Jayneâ��s passions to new heights. We were both in a sweat and staring deeply into each otherâ��s souls. We were exploding. Other than a brief interruption for a condom â�� usually as a protection against pregnancy, but in S Jâ��s case to allay her dreaded fear of contacting VD, the night turned into an unforgettable fuckfest as I found myself in the presence of one of my greatest lovers of all time. 


When we were done I thought to myself that usually the first time you do it with somebody new, the anticipation and excitement make up for the lack of familiarity of what gets your partner going. Usually by the second or third session you begin to figure your way around. I was hoping and fearing that Iâ��d get another chance. We were too invigorated to sleep and stayed up talking until four in the morning.  Aside from the obvious reasons why, I could enjoy spending a lot more time with this girl. She represents new and heretofore unvisited vistas and has a lot to offer. She stoked my vanity by telling me that when I started talking to her the first time, she immediately developed an anti-sexual feeling toward me. Wait, it gets better! When I thanked her very much for her candor, she explained that (in the same way) most men, when seeing a desirable woman are instantly overcome by the notion that they will never be able to approach her. An innate, self-defeating fear and insecurity grips he average male based on a preconception that because everybody must be after her, what could she see in him? She perceived that I was definitely too hot for her to ever get near me. Eat it up, Brucie baby!



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