New Art : In Paris

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A sweet and lovely

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Hi Everyone

   So here we have the completed version of In Paris which was previewed on Patreon. So far it has generated a lot of wonderful comments and feedback, plus our dear Skinnie S has written his own wonderful version of events, which will be published beneath (Thanks S XX).

  This is a very simple image, not a lot of story, but it places Andy with his beloved Aunt on the first trip to Paris.Perhaps those slick and tight pants are the very pants Jane found Andy examining all that time ago.

  But here they are setting off, not for the first time on this visit, they have been to the museums and shows and all the sights of Paris, but today....today Jane has a plan.

The second part of this will appear on here very soon, but if you wan to see it and are not yet a patron, it is available right now over there. Plus it will eventually form the art work for  the story I am currently attempting to write.

 Enough chatter, here is the art and beneath is part one of our Dear Friends Skinnie's interpretation. 

XXXX

Andy

The Reception at the Hotel de Ville, Paris

By Skinnie S

1.     10:00am

“Votre clef, monsieur.”  Another early check-in for a businessman coming in on the red-eye.   

“Hey girl, can I get some cawfee?” he drawled.

“Oui, monsieur.  I will have it sent to your room.  Bon séjour.”   It simply wasn’t true what they said about hotel and restaurant staff in Paris.   And definitely not at the Hôtel de Ville.  Staff at the hotel were unfailingly polite.   She ensured that all the juniors had good manners and treated customers with respect, even the doormen and the bellhops.   It was just that some customers could be very demanding and have some strange requests.  The length of the shifts didn’t help.  It wasn’t surprising that staff sometimes got a little tetchy.     She’d come on at eight and wasn’t going to clock off until six. At least she only had a short walk back to her apartment in le huitième.   She had to think about moving to somewhere larger but the rent in her little flat wasn’t too bad for the arrondissement.   

Two hours into the shift and she was desperate for a coffee and a cigarette.   However, there were always distractions, like the couple walking across the lobby just now.   She was accustomed to seeing many things in an establishment like the Hôtel de Ville and took things with a Parisian insouciance, but this was interesting:  a  young man on the arm of a beautiful, mature lady.  A lady wearing tight Balmain pants and a ruffled latex blouse – interesting but still not exceptional.  Certainly not exceptional for Paris, even though the lady had a certain “je ne sais quoi”.   But normally it was the other way round.   She was used to seeing ladies of a certain age on the arms of younger men, the lady clinging to her latest squeeze, grateful for the attention of her arm candy.  Ladies with a little money who liked an occasional fling to stoke their passion and more.  But this man was little more than a boy: early twenties at best and possibly only late teens.   He was starting very young if he was trying to be a gigolo.   And she wasn’t clinging to him, he was more attached to her, holding her hand more like a schoolboy than a lover.   He was grinning too; grinning like all his numbers had come up in the Lottery.

He didn’t even look the part.   The studs who frequented the bars of the grand hotels in Paris were normally immaculately dressed: Hugo Boss or Armani suits, polished, tasselled loafers, well-groomed although maybe a slight stubbly chin or louche moustache so that they tickled exactly where their customer liked.   This smooth cheeked boy hardly looked old enough to shave let alone seduce.   Most of the male escorts were tall and carried themselves with a swagger; this boy looked positively petite beside the lady although admittedly she had a five inch advantage in her Louboutins.   Rather than him taking masculine control and leading his lady to a lunchtime restaurant before an afternoon of debauchery back in her hotel room, it looked far more like the lady was firmly in command.

Maybe she hadn’t seen it all.     

2.     15:30am

The shift was dragging.   At least all the morning check-outs had gone smoothly.   Now it was just arrivals, check-ins and questions, and the usual parade of problems.   She got the Head Porter to handle enquiries about directions, or taxis, or girls.  She’d discreetly code a second key behind the desk for those discerning gentlemen who took the porter’s advice and knew how to tip generously.   It was all part of the service at the Hotel de Ville.

To Be Continued