Her Double Entendre

I hated the 8. When the tube stopped the car crowded quickly with tourists.
He stood next to me and assumed that we were the same age.

“Bonjour, je m’appelle.” He smiled, but I couldn’t figure out why.

I replied that it was rude to stare.

He lowered his head, no doubt to recall his phrase book. “Excuse-moi, j’ai perdu mon numero de telephone. Est-ce que je peux emprunter le tien?"

I put in my earphones, they felt cold.

“Ton cul me fait trembler.” Employing a more suggestive smile.

I looked him in the eye and said that I wasn’t getting his indelicate meaning.

“Pardon?”

Chochon.

“Je suis un DJ.”

The conductors voice echoed “Ecole Militare” and began to exit. I felt a tug on my scarf.

“Peux-j’avoir mon souffle de retour?” The pronunciation was better.

I tore it back and left. He was there the next day again on the tracks. I crossed over on the bridge and took another trip on the 8.

Her Double Entendre

TarrandDeV

Joined January 2008

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Artist's Description

A story about French hearing problems.

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