FRENCH BOYS ME REND FOU

One of the other things about Paris that fascinated me was the men. I was never quite sure if it was the looks created by a mix of European blood or the accent. I suppose it was a bit of both. I made a number of trips to Paris before the year that I lived there. I met a number of French boys on the number of trips I made. It sort of became a thing. When in Paris, find a boyfriend for the stay. Besides Jean-François—who was never really a boyfriend—there are eight French guys I remember dating. There were others, but of course, those weren’t dates.

Alain and Daniel also worked for Air France and had stayed at the Meridien in Irvine, CA, which is how I knew them. I always thought they were boyfriends. I found out differently on my first visit to Paris. Pierre was an asshole. Yves was an enjoyable birthday present—November in Paris was miserably cold and rainy. John was an American in Paris. Go figure. Frédéric and Thierry were both hot as fuck. No, not a 3way. Yannic.

I found out Alain was not with Daniel the day the three of us and their friend, Jaclyne, another Air Francer, spent a day at Miropolis, a new theme park outside of Paris. We went back to his apartment after. Daniel and Jaclyne left. Alain asked if I’d like to spend the night. Now, I knew French people have different ideas about relationships and sex, but still…I brought up Daniel. He laughed that I thought they were bfs. So I spent the night. And many nights after that. Alain was sort of goofy cute—as my friend Russell calls such boys. Sweet, kind, frecklefaced, great in bed. He was surprised that I’m uncircumcised.

Pierre was the stereotypical, arrogant, sexist, French man. Even for then, his humor was racist and unpc. Pierre was hot. Pierre was surprised that I’m uncircumcised. Piere was an asshole.

I went to Paris in November of 1996. I met Yves in one of the clubs before my birthday. He was a cute, sort of waifish feminine boy. I took him home with me. Good sex. When I told him my birthday was coming up, he said he wanted to be my birthday present. He made dinner for me on my birthday. The sex was great.

I don’t recall how I met John. Although, having just reread my earlier writings about Paris and talking about Au Pere Tranquille, I even say that’s probably where I met John. He’d lived in Paris a number of years, got his French citizenship by marrying a French girl—lesbian. He was ruggedly handsome. I heard him speaking French and thought he was French, until he switched to English when we met. He looked very French to me. He was surprised that I’m uncircumcised.

Frédéric was older than my usual Parisian bfs. He lived in an apartment near the Bois de Boulogne. And drove a convertible. We took a roadtrip in that convertible. To where, I don’t recall. I think I stayed with him while I was investigating the possibility of doing my “porn” site—more about that later. I had some of my equipment with me and did a few feeds from Paris. France was still behind the US in terms of the internet. I found out how expensive it was to use when Frederic received his bill.

I don’t remember much about Franc. He was French, he was sexy hot. I don’t even remember if the sex was good or not. I assume it was, though, I have photos of him.

Thierry was a model. With a model’s face and a model’s body. The sex was great. at least I remember the sex with him. He was very good looking, but like many models, in a regular setting he looked pretty regular. The camera loved him.

Yannic. Of all the boys I dated and slept with in Paris, Yannic will always be my favorite.

We met at one of the clubs, after I’d had all I could take of Pierre. I went home with him. Square jawed, built, funny, sweet, horny as fuck. Yannic’s dick got harder than any dick I’d ever handled. It truly was rock hard. We just had a great connection. He was an aspiring flight attendant and worked for one the regional airlines. We spent a lot of time together doing, I don’t remember what. One of the few times I was truly sad to be leaving one of my boys behind. I saw him on a visit a year or so later. I was in Paris for 52 hours, a graduation present from Borden, my sort of bf at the time. I was walking and crossing rue Beaubourg at the Pompidou. I heard my name and there he was, my Yannic. We went to a café for a drink, then to his apartment. His dick still got rock hard. Borden was not amused when I told him where I’d been.

I almost forgot about Olivier. How did I meet Olivier? It will probably come to me after I’ve finished writing all this. Olivier was another flight attendant. Forgive me, Olivier, but I don’t remember if we ever had sex. Hard to imagine we didn’t. We became fast friends. He helped me a lot with my French, though when you start out speaking English with each other it’s not easy to stick with French. He introduced me to many of his friends, helping me make friends in Paris. He had some great friends.

He invited me to visit for his 30^th birthday party—a whole hog bbq at his parent’s place outside Paris. I think that was the trip I met Adrian Leeds. I thought I had photos of that party, but have not found them. Perhaps casualties of the New Orleans termites. In fact, I have not found any photos of Olivier other than those from a costume party we went to. And that’s a story for another time.

I was fortunate to have met some very goodlooking guys in Paris. They made my trips there more memorable for sure. I was fortunate to have had some very good sex with those very goodlooking guys. I’ve been in a relationship with David for 26 years, married for six…but French men still make me crazy.