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Arriving from London on the Eurostar the Englishman walks the short distance between Gares Nord and Est. It's a bright breezy Paris morning in early Spring, sunny but not warm enough to encourage those outside to surrender their coats and jackets.As arranged, they meet in Starbucks on the station concourse, embracing fondly and with an easy familiarity, kisses on both cheeks - this is France after all.*quot;This is not coffee!*quot; she protests, her native Parisian palate mortally offended.*quot;A penance for not greeting me in person when my train arrived,? he responds with detached amusement.*quot;And walk from there to my apartment in these shoes!*quot; Madam feigns outrage but has a point, two, in fact, each at the end of elegantly tapered Louboutin high heels.*The Englishman takes her arm, and they promenade across the adjacent Jardin Villemin, (he secretly compares it unfavourably to London's parks). The Frenchwoman wears a black knee-length coat, matching her stockings and shoes, with a bright Hermes neck scarf as the sole element of colour. At the canal Saint-Martin, the couple turns south until just past the Square de Recollects they reach her apartment block. Beyond the nondescript front door, the lobby has original Art Noveau Bolu Escort flourishes, and a tiny ancient lift with concertina gates.As it creakingly ascends to the uppermost floor, he slides a hand under her coat. She clamps her thighs tightly together, imprisoning it between her legs, kissing him avidly. In response he grasps her buttocks hard, matching her fervour. They tumble into her flat, flushed and breathless, it?s been several weeks since their last opportunity to express such ardent passion.**quot;Slow down, Cherie, we have all weekend,*quot; she admonishes him affectionately.*quot;All weekend, does he not suspect?*quot; The Englishman refers to her husband - a minister in Macron's government.*quot;He doesn't ask. Here we don't enquire, it's assumed people will have little dalliances,*quot; she responds unperturbed.*quot;But his high public profile...*quot;*quot;Our press is not so prurient. There are rarely scandals, we are complaisant - I can't think of a similar English word.?*quot;Permissive?*quot;*quot;Maybe... Not quite, but close. I trust him not to embarrass me; he returns the favour,*quot; she pauses contemplatively, *quot;besides we are upper class.*quot;*quot;Ah, the aristocracy, delightfully licentious all across Europe, and I a mere commoner.*quot;*quot;My Bolu Escort Bayan family survived the revolution.*quot;*quot;Mine would probably have begun it.*quot;*quot;You haven't told me what you think of the flat?*quot;*quot;Delightfully bourgeoisie.?*quot;Touché. My husband bought it 'for business meetings' - a tax-deductible pied a terre. I may use it 'when in town shopping' - you see the polite little deceptions we indulge?*quot;*quot;Who's idea was the chaise longue?*quot;*quot;Ah, I thought you might like that. Mine of course. He considers décor and furnishing a women's concern.*quot;*quot;Your monsieur obviously hasn?t read much Simone de Beauvoir...*quot;*quot;Who cares, I get what I want; he pays.*quot;*The anticipatory tension is almost palpable; he stands purposefully. *quot;Do you intend to wear that coat all day?*quot;*quot;A gentleman would take it from a lady.*quot;*quot;I thought we agreed earlier, I'm no gentleman.*quot; He unbuttons the coat, slipping it from her shoulders. She wears nothing beneath but a basque, stockings and jewellery. *quot;You came to the station like this?*quot; He admires her sang froid.*quot;Yes, it made me feel very naughty. Are you good at dealing with naughtiness?*quot;*quot;An expert.*quot;*quot;Consider what you see as my gift to you, to play with any way you choose.*quot;*quot;Quite the nicest Escort Bolu present I've received,*quot; he replies sincerely. She is, well who knows, late 30s, or early 40s? It would be crass to enquire. At once slender and voluptuous, a quality achieved seemingly effortlessly by French women, and all but impossible for their English counterparts.*Her derriere was the first thing he'd noticed when introduced at a diplomatic reception in London three months previously, part of a Foreign Office delegation meeting members of the French cabinet.*quot;The transport minister has bought his wife, as the only chap with fluent French could you possibly entertain her for a few hours during their trade meeting?*quot; asked his boss.He most certainly could, assisted by natural charm and the ability to sidestep queues he got Madam into an exhibition of modernist art at the Barbican she desperately wished to view. Afterwards, not slow in forthrightly expressing her desires, she easily persuaded him to her hotel room where... Well, apart from some quite spectacular sex, it transpired the minister's wife very much enjoyed being spanked.It was mid-evening by the time the trade talks finished, and he ushered the Frenchwoman - smart attire, impeccable make-up and self-possession restored - into the company of her spouse. Politely shaking his hand she'd thanked him, with considerable understatement, *quot;for a lovely evening*quot;, conspiratorially whispering *quot;au revoir*quot; before walking, just a trifle gingerly, away.