Dancing with beautiful boys.

So first, the setting. Picture Paris in your mind. That night, after a full day of sightseeing, we went on a boat tour and passed by Notre Dame Cathedral, the Eiffel Tower, the Statue of Liberty, countless mansions and beautiful bridges. We took in the scenery and then made our way to our hotel located on Boulevard de Rochechouart a scant measure from the Moulin Rouge. It is next door to the Moulin Rouge, in a swanky night lounge where I met and talked with a beautiful Parisian boy about life, love and religion. He spoke to me with respect, looked deep into my eyes when I spoke and laughed with me about our two countries. He and his friend bought Magen and I drinks and roses, then when their friends came out of the Moulin Rouge (the dancers) they joined us and we had flaming shots of an alcohol I can't recall the name of. In the wee hours of the morning we went back to his friends house, where we talked and drank a bottle of wine. His friend sang songs in French while playing the guitar. The bathroom was the size of a small broom closet. Very bohemian. Then he kissed me while speaking French into my ear, and I couldn't help but kiss him back. I promised I would remember him and he gave me a token to remember him, and maybe call him when I come back to Europe. 

So we leave Paris two hours later and after a day of driving, arrive in Florence. Magen, Angela and I got dolled up and went with a group to a club in Florence the next night. The club was very cool, dark with colorful lights flashing around the dance floor. At one end were steps that led up to a private box, see through floor to ceiling glass. It was empty when we got there but at some point filled up with hot Italian men. We watched bouncers turn people away at the door and then suddenly, Magen grabs my hand and says come with me. So I went. We walk up the stairs, the bouncer looks us up and down and then looks over his shoulder at the private party and a guy gives him a nod to let us in. So we went in and started dancing. Did we know what we were doing? Of course. I put my "fuck me" eyes on and picked out a very tasty Italian who was watching me dance. Then I crooked my finger and told him to come to me. He did. We danced and moved together with the pounding music and the flashing lights. He didn't speak any English. I didn't speak any Italian. He pointed at their private bar and I shook my head yes. So we drank and danced and danced and drank. It was hot, I was hot. He was very hot. Megan danced with the birthday boy. Angela came up and found another Italian boy for herself. We all moved together, laughing, touching. I was wanton and I didn't care who saw me pressing my body into the glass, moving with this boy, and having the most fun I think I'll ever have. Other girls tried to get in. They couldn't. So I watched them downstairs and said ha, I know you're a skinny 20 year old but look who's down there while I'm up here. Eventually it moved from dancing to kissing to dancing while kissing. He took me downstairs to make out with me in a dark corner. Then we moved into a hallway where he tried to get me to have sex with him. Hands aggressive, moving over my body, into my clothes. His mouth was everywhere. I could feel him trying to press himself into me, standing up, trying to push my pants down. Amazingly, I kept my pants up, mostly, and his member out of mine. Then someone opened the door and told us to move. I giggled and zipped up my pants. We kissed our way out of the club and it was there that I promised that I would see him the next night and met up with my friends. I never saw him again. But his face is in my dreams sometimes.