Joanie Goes to Europe

When we returned to the table, the men stood up for us again, and I quickly took Philip's seat, so that Mrs. Harwood and I could continue talking, now tête-à-tête. Harwood never did get the chance to try to find out how much I knew, or how I knew it, about the clinical trials in Senegal.

I had an answer prepared, about a graduate student from Senegal whom I knew, and who had a relative in Senegal with Alzheimer's. The Senegalese are not stupid, even if I am sure Harwood dismissed the entire country, since it was poor and African. They had figured out what was going on with the clinical trials. But this was a fabrication and I was glad not to have to use it.

Harwood had been faking the data. Too many people had died as a side effect of Navaserum, so it would never pass muster with the FDA. It was too bad, actually, because for those who did not die from it, it was fairly helpful. If it were approved based on fake data, and it got out that the data had been faked, and a significant number of people died from the drug, then the company, and Harwood himself, would be ruined.

He was stupid. He had to know that eventually it would be clear people were dying from the drug. Then the company would be sued into oblivion. Why was he doing this? All of a sudden I had another epiphany and knew why he was doing it. Wow, this guy had no soul.

He was going to leak the fake data at the right time, to goose up the stock price. Then he would sell a bunch of shares, and only after he had the money safely stashed in the Cayman Islands, would the data be corrected. Harwood liked the Cayman Islands as the place to do his financial skullduggery. I knew this from my computer espionage.

There would be a well-paid Senegalese fall guy. Harwood would get tons richer. Philip would get more money to invest.

He would have to do it cleverly, since it would be insider trading. But this is why we have Panama, the Cayman Islands, Luxembourg, and the like. And to be sure, he did not care who died from the drug in the process.

Harwood was sweating. He was clearly under stress. This girl talk preventing my interrogation was torture to him. As we finished out desserts, and then our coffees, I looked at my watch. "Oh my!" I said. "I'm so sorry, I have to run. I have an appointment and I must leave now or I'll be late. Please carry on, though."

I turned to Philip, "Have a cognac for me, darling." The "darling" was sarcastic, even caustic, and Philip knew it.

Mrs. Harwood knew exactly what I was doing and it was clear that not only did she approve of it; she was enjoying seeing her husband suffer at my hand. I left the restaurant and a thoroughly confused Philip, and the doorman got me a taxi, and I told him "Parc Monceau," and we sped off.

In the taxi I removed my bra, to the surprise of the driver. But he did not comment. I muttered something about it being uncomfortable. I needed a release after the trial of that lunch.

The lunch had gone even better than I had hoped, but it had taxed me a lot, and I had a growing headache. I figured the calm of a Parisian park, along with a little harmless exhibitionism, would go a long way to restoring my equilibrium.

The cross now hung between my bare breasts, caressing them with the bouncing of the cab over the Parisian cobblestone streets. I liked it. I had quietly pocketed some bread at the restaurant, and at the park I fed crumbs of the bread to the pigeons. I became very popular, very quickly, with the pigeons. I would bend over sometimes to feed them, giving anyone who cared a nice look at my entire boobs, nipples included, and the cross between them.

A fair number of men strolling through the park or sitting on the benches seemed to enjoy my antics and several of them smiled at me. As I did this, Bob Dylan's old song "Quinn the Eskimo" kept running through my head. The people at the party the previous evening were the pigeons, and they were all going to run to me. I had the drug they needed, and it was my unavailable body.

Happy and carefree after a bit of this, I went to the Arc de Triomphe and went to the top, and looked out over the grand avenues of the right bank. The wind whipped my blouse all over, and I enjoyed it flapping against my braless boobs.

A handsome tourist, clearly also American, was near me, so I dropped my pen and bent over to pick it up, giving him a nice view of my boobs. I caught him looking and gave him a nice smile. He was a few years older than I was.

His name was Mike, the name of my other boyfriend and true love, whom I now refer to as the philandering bastard. We left the Arc de Triomphe together and went to a matinee movie on the Champs Elysées. We sat in the back row.

Just before the matinee, I took him to a café, saying I had to use the restroom. We went to the bar in order to be customers so that we would be authorized to use the restrooms. Standing at the counter, I ordered a "Calvados, double." This was a double shot of apple brandy from Normandy.

My tourist Mike just ordered a coffee. The calvados, plus the copious amount of wine I had consumed at lunch, gave me the buzz I needed to do what I wanted to do with Mike. After the drink, we went to the theater.

He was not like my Mike and did not try anything with me. I was disappointed. He actually watched the movie. After around 10 minutes, he tentatively reached over and held my hand. This is ridiculous, I thought.

I leaned over and gave him a big kiss on his lips, open mouth, tongues intertwined, the works. That gave him an infusion of courage, and he kissed back and his hands finally moved to my breasts. He fondled them through my thin, silky blouse. This went on for quite a while.

Then he decided to take a risk. I could see his brain working. He lifted up my blouse and slipped his hand under it. I smiled and so he moved his hand up and began to fondle my boobs. I sighed, and squirmed a little in my seat. I whispered, "Go for it," into his ear.

He looked around nervously. We were alone in the back row and everyone was watching the movie. It was a good movie, I was sorry to be missing it. Then he pushed my blouse up to my neck and got an eyeful of my boobs and the Maltese cross. (The Bulgari necklace had long ago been stored in my purse.)

I reached up and took my blouse off. This really surprised him, but then he smiled. He began to suck on my nipples. After what seemed a long time, he realized that I also had a body below the waist, and finally stuck his hands under my skirt. I had panty hose on, so I stood up, topless and with my boobs and my cross dangling about, and removed both my panty hose and my panties, and sat back down and kissed him passionately.

Now emboldened after my brazen display, he pushed my skirt up around my waist and began to finger me. I was now naked except for the line of the skirt around my waist. This was a movie experience he was not going to forget. Nor was I.

I reached over and unzipped his pants to let out his erect cock and I began to stroke it. This got his attention all right. He picked me up out of my seat. I am small and thin and don't weigh much, and he was quite muscular, so it seemed effortless when he did it.

He sat me down on his lap facing him. My legs were wide apart as I straddled him, my skirt was bunched up around my waist, and I was naked above my waist. I kissed him as he played with my boobs. We did this for a while, and then he lifted me up and placed me down on his cock.

My God, I had just met this guy at the top of the Arc de Triomphe an hour ago, and now we were fucking in a movie theater on the Champs Elysées. Wow. Several men turned around and saw us. Two of them got up and moved to the back row so they could watch us go at it full time. My boobs were bouncing around as was my cross as I myself bounced up and down on his cock. He was very strong.

A nice looking man came over and sat in the seat next to us. I smiled at him as I bounced up and down on Mike's cock. He smiled at me, and reached for one of my boobs. He had trouble grabbing it since I was bouncing all around.

I stopped bouncing an started fucking Mike in a circular motion that stimulated my clitoris nicely. This allowed the man next to me to fondle my boobs to his heart's content, which he did. He unzipped and let his erect cock out.

I gave him somewhat of a hand job as I continued to fuck Mike. I was thoroughly enjoying myself.

We went at it through a lot of noisy scenes in the movie. I think on the screen a war was going on. In the back row, though, it was all sex. I felt the tension gradually build, and then it hit: a really nice orgasmic release. It was exactly what I needed. Shortly thereafter Mike shot his load into me.

I kept up with the hand job, and after a few more minutes the man next to me stood up and squirted his load onto my boobs.

All done, Mike held me, pushing my boobs into his shirt and stroking my back and kissing my shoulders. It was nice. The other man smiled at me and without saying a word got up and returned to his seat. I noticed he had come with a date. I had no idea what he told her! Maybe he claimed he needed the bathroom and was constipated. Who knows?

After a while of cuddling with Mike, I rose, let my skirt fall down, and quickly put my blouse back on. I pulled up my panties, but left my pantyhose off, and put them in my purse, next to the Bulgari necklace. The YSL suit jacket was there too, getting horribly wrinkled no doubt.

Then I snuggled up to him and we watched the rest of the movie. After the movie we left

the theater holding hands, and strolled together on the Champs-Elysées. I saw the man and his date leave the theater, and his date was not only pretty and sexy, she was hanging all over him. Why he needed my hand job, I have no idea. But men are like that.

This anonymuos fuck in the movie theater was just what I needed, I realized, to deal with the betrayal of Philip, the gangbang, and the total humiliation I suffered at the hands of Harwood and the other rich misogynist creeps.

I left my movie theater lover, and we kissed goodbye as I hailed a taxi. He was disappointed, having wanted to continue the sex in his hotel room, perhaps with his travelling buddy he said, but I went back alone to my own hotel. He wanted my name and how he could reach me back in the States. He got neither.

At the hotel I found a frantic Philip who was worried sick about me. I just smiled, and said I'm fine. I had applied a lot of perfume in the taxi to hide the smell of sex.

"I need to be alone for a while," I told Philip. "What you did was pretty low. How about I see you at dinner. Make a reservation somewhere and I'll meet you in the lobby at 8pm."

Actually, I was feeling good. My movie theater fuck somehow seemed like revenge on Philip. It was nuts, because Philip clearly didn't care who fucked me, how many of them did, or how often they did it the previous night, so why should he care if I had seduced an innocent tourist into a matinee fuck?

Somehow I knew he would think the two types of fucks were different. In his mind, it would be that one was business, while the other was cheating.

Truth be told, I don't know what he thought. Mike never seemed to care if I slept around, and he and Philip were cut from the same cloth. But thinking he cared, and having betrayed him under that assumption, made me feel good just then. Indeed, it was precisely why I had seduced that innocent tourist.

The rest of the French part of the trip was much less eventful. I indulged in some playful exhibitionism, and Philip and I played tourists in France, a great country to be a tourist in. My knowledge of French came in handy at times. There was no sex. Not even close. I was little Ms. Iceberg.

Towards the end of the French part of the trip I let Philip seduce me again. He began to get happy after he had his way with me, and he took me to the beaches on the French Riviera on an impulse. There he pressured me into going topless, which was okay because a fair number of French women were also topless.

Philip bought me a micro bikini to wear at the beach. The top just barely covered all of my areolas, and the bottom was so skimpy it barely covered my mound. When I went topless in that suit, I was practically naked. Hell, I was practically naked in that suit with the top on! The bottom tied together with strings, so if one pulled a string, it would fall off.

One day while I was sun bathing topless, Philip pulled the string and removed my bottoms. I knew he would do that sooner or later. It was irresistible to someone like him. This was not cool: I was worried I'd be arrested. But as it turned out, nobody seemed to care. I lay there on the beach completely nude. I couldn't believe it. I became insanely wet.

Men walked by and checked me out. All of me. One of them licked his lips and winked at me.

When we left the beach, I put on my cover-up over my bikini. It was a soft blue and was transparent, so one could see my bikini and the rest of me easily right through it. As we walked back to the hotel, I got a lot of looks.

It seems it is OK to be almost naked on the beach, and even as I discovered actually to be naked, but to parade around the town in a micro bikini with a transparent cover-up is some kind of exhibitionism. It's somehow sexier. I don't understand it, but I know it's true. Somehow it is context.

When we entered the hotel elevator Philip removed the cover up, pulled the strings and my suit fell off. I was naked and quickly put the cover-up back on. But all of me was on display anyway. I had to walk virtually naked from the elevator to our room. Then he threw me on the bed and ravished me. We were back to normal and damn it, I was happy.

I wrote out postcards to Odessa, who was still in Paris with Steve, and to my sister Sarah, and then fell into a blissful sleep. For Sarah I chose a postcard that showed women topless on the beach. She would doubtless connect the dots.

I had forgiven Philip, finally. I had made him promise never to do anything like that again. I dreamed in my erotic sleep that we had run into Mike at the beach, accompanied by a topless tart, and I left Philip to have a three-way. Philip jerked off, alone in his hotel room. None of that happened, but I was ready to return to the States.

I had forgotten that we were still going to Switzerland. I checked Facebook on my cell phone and discovered my other true love Mike was now sampling the girls of Switzerland. He had laid a French Swiss girl and an Italian Swiss girl, and was now going for a German Swiss girl in Zurich.

We were about to go directly to Zurich. We would meet Steve and Odessa there. I idly wondered if I would run into Mike there, too. Zurich is not a big city, but it is big enough to make it unlikely I would see Mike. However the tourist parts of Zurich could not be that big, I thought to myself, and that increased the odd of running into Mike. Interesting times awaited me.

I had never experienced Mike and Philip in the same place. Being in love with two men, themselves cousins, can get complicated, I thought to myself. On top of that, I was not sure either of them loved me in the way I wanted to be loved.

What happened in Zurich is a story in and of itself.