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Monday, June 4, 2012

Scoripo Rising



Outside the Moulin Rouge, the men said goodnight and dispersed. Alex paced, scanning the giant posters advertising upcoming performances, waiting impatiently until Gigi appeared. “My place or yours?” she asked.
“Yours,” he replied, thinking of the thin walls and the three-minute timer on the water and electricity in his auberge.
In the taxi, Gigi's hands were all over Alex. “I love your body, Alex. You are such a beautiful young American.”
Alex looked at Gigi appreciatively. “You're not bad yourself,” he started to say, but his words were cut short by Gigi's mouth on his.
Gigi's apartment was a shrine to sensuality. The bed was a gigantic round creation occupying half the space of the large room, with a panel of buttons on the side. Alex glanced at the buttons with curiosity.
“Make yourself a drink, mon amour. I won't be long.” Gigi disappeared behind a mirrored door. Moments later, she reappeared in a shear silk robe. She slinked over to Alex and almost before he knew what was happening, she was extracting him from his trousers. At the sight of his impressive erection, Gigi gasped. “You are going to make me very happy, mon amour.”
Alex chuckled. “The pleasure will be all mine,” he replied. He guided Gigi to the bed and eagerly slipped off her robe. A second later, he leaped from the bed. “God damn it! Why the fuck didn't you tell me?”
Gigi lay contrite on the disheveled bed. “But, mon amour, everybody knows Gigi is short for Gilbert.” 

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