City Escort Girl

Independent women? City Escort Girls enlightened me just last week on this crucial subject.

I confess that I have not yet mastered all the subtleties. the seduction of the modern woman. For example, can a smoky taupe eye shadow make me look more mysterious? Very important, the mystery.

A value to cultivate. Another essential question, am I Spring or Autumn (I'm not talking about my Sumerian astrological sign, but my ideal colour range) More concerning, what should I think of bikini waxing, and what is hair removal trends this season - tanga, Brazilian, thong? full '? It's all very confusing.

- Good, said Nabilla to me, but we will have to find you better associates. How is Samantha?

Sam is my roommate - or rather my half-roommate, the other half being her boyfriend who she seems stuck on super glue. It's not a couple, it's Siamese.

- Okay, I say. A bit special. She forces me to use a pink sponge for the dishes, a blue one for the pots and a green one for the counter.

- Normal.

Normal for a girl like Nabilla, who opens the doors of public toilets with her feet. Why do I have to surround myself with such stuck-up people?

Because better friends stuck than no friends at all.

- She looks smarter than this bottle of Natalie, Nabilla resumes.

Nat may not be a light, but she knows how to have fun. It's because she has her good sides, my end-of-race Parisian nightlife. She frequents a lot of places in the game and knows plenty of fine French women that she would be delighted to introduce me to, if I let her. Besides, she's the one who found me this plan for the apartment with Samantha.

- If you came to settle in Paris with me, I grumble, Natalie wouldn't be my only acquaintance here.

Let's be honest, Nabilla can be infuriating. She is one of those little geniuses who can't stand the slowness of mediocre people - normal people - and always watches you with a touch of commiseration as you work through your tax slip. Line G18, paragraph 4 ter? 

She found it before you had time to sharpen your pencil. the compensatory allowance in proportion to the updated deduction deducted from the fixed increases? Honestly, where is the problem? Anyway, her tax form, she filled it out a long time ago on the Net. You have to live with your century, damn it.

Nabilla and I have been friends since fifth grade. Our friendship was sealed around a shared passion for Michael Jackson and Les Malheurs de Candv and it valiantly resisted the vagaries of primary school, secondary school, university and Dauphine. 

Especially especially when he broke up with me and asked Nabilla to go out with him around his bar mitzvah, only to dump her and come back with me.

Subsequently, our friendship also survived my assassination attempt on Nabilla's person, the day she told Andrew Mackenzie that I found her boyfriend Jeremy to be chewable. 

 

With Nabilla, we had spotted Jeremy during contemporary American literature.

The more Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn got lost in the twists and turns of the Mississippi, the more jerky I was.

Of course, Andrew was quick to tell him everything.

- This is all your fault...

- What, my fault? Wendy yelped into the phone. I'm not responsible for your inability to make friends. And you're not going to blame me for taking this job at WallStreet!

- I'm talking about my relationship with Jeremy. It's still you who put it all together.

- Stop moaning, will you? You shouldn't be surprised, after all the filth i| made you.

- I don't want to go back.

Besides, I don't like her using all the horrible things I told her about him against Jer.

- Alright. Contact the Brahman and ask her to introduce you to boys as soon as possible.

- I promise. To

- And call me back to let me know the results.

It looks like a doctor prescribing an enema, or leeches. In any case, something very repulsive.

- I promise, I repeat, a little dazed.

- So see you soon. And good luck l

That's Nabilla's humor. I don't have time to answer that she has already hung up. Morale at the bottom of

Converses, I'm dialing Natalie's number. With the exception of her time at university, Natalie has

always lived with papa-maman in Paris. Shopping, hairdresser, manicure, cocktails (she assiduously practices husband hunting)... her life is a daily struggle. When this hard daily life gives her time, she volunteers for a good cause.

- Hi, Jackie! she exclaims after three rings…

How are you '?

I suspect that she changes her voice according to the interlocutor: joyful timbre for girlfriends, sensual cooing for her male prey, neutral tone

for mom and dad's friends. I have already seen it, or rather heard it at work, it is formidable. It must be part of the training of small end-of-race Parisian Escort Girls .

Another subtlety that I will have to add to my Guide de la Routarde in the process of being put together.

- I'm bad, I have to flirt urgently. Are we going out tonight. 

- To go out ? No way, I'm on a diet. With an exasperated sigh, I sweep away this objection. Nat weighs

forty-three kilos all wet for one meter sixty-eight, and today I have no customers for the eternal three calories that she strives to lose.

- How do you want me to meet men if

I do not go out ?

- Because you meet men now?

- Exactly. And don't ask me questions, please. So, where are we going?

- It's that...

- Please, I beg you, change my strategy. Please please please?

- It's good. I'll pick you up at your house at 9 o'clock.

We will go to Orgasm.

L'Orgasme is a cocktail bar a few blocks from my house. The top of trendiness - you only find good shots there.

- But you'll have to lend me some clothes, I don't fit into anything anymore.

Thank you, Nat. I hang up, the heart in celebration. For once, the venom that Nat distills with perverse naivete glides over my ego like the wings of a boelng taking off. I'm going out I'm going to sip cocktails with exotic names in a nude dress and heeled sandals while watching the prettiest boys in Paris, and I'll choose the sexiest to end the evening.

Jeremy? Don't know iEt first of all, I'm sure she's vulgar, her blonde in a thong and backpack. She must have helium filled breasts, a nostril piercing and ethnic tattoos in her ears. 

I want to be loved for myself, not for my award-winning look. And I'm sure there's a man in Paris who's waiting to start living

than to meet the wonderful girl that I am. 

This town must be teeming with singles ready to live for the Great Love. There are at least... Good grief, I don't even know how many men there are in Paris Let's go to the Net, an inexhaustible source of information.

After forty-five minutes of prospective study on the forums of escort girls and its instructive headings “For or against the modification of the opening dates of the hunt for the charming client? » ; 

Customize your next door neighbor; Sixty-nine positions to drive him crazy” – I finally find the national statistics. Paris. Average monthly income: 2000 €. Kilo EURO 7 Giga EURO?

It all lacks precision. Population of the capital of Ile de France, suburbs

included: about three million, including 1,324,994 men and 1,450,376 women. Hell and damnation! 

The fight will be fierce. Okay, 'age rating...eighteen to twenty. Too young.

Twenty-one to twenty-four years old. Still too young. Twenty-four to forty-four years old. How, forty-four? It's almost my father's age! On the other hand, I'm guessing a forty-four-year-old man has a secure maturity, a diverse sexual background, and a nicely padded bank account. So why not a forty-four-year-old man? There are 210,732 Parisians in this age bracket, or about 100,000 men. Damn, Nabilla would have to be there to draw me a diagram.

A hundred thousand men. There must be one for me! One who is attractive, educated, not yet bald, with a prestigious career (I wouldn't be against a prestigious car and a prestigious house either), does not wear denim jeans. Terylene or turtlenecks, don't pick your nails at the table, be very sensitive... No, very muscular... no, very sensitive... Yes, sensitive.

Well, not to the point of crying in front of me. Though. A crying man is cute, right? OK, but not too often.

Good, a man who cries from time to time, and who knows how to give you a massage.

My heart emits a plaintive hiccup. Jeremy realized that his Batavian bimbo was a truffle, he has just measured the depth of his love for me and is coming home belly to earth.

For the attention of the True Love team. The "Period, comma and semicolon" think tank starts in five minutes in the meeting room. Thank you for being punctual. 

Flute l It's only ET-mother. Once past my disappointment, I read the message again. Punctual Does Helen possess a sophisticated sense of humor that I did not suspect of her?

Be that as it may, here I am condemned to listen to him discourse for an hour on the unnatural loves of Monsieur Point and Madame Virgule, and on their monstrous fruit. To think that it was I who got myself into this mess! I would like Helen to choke

with a semicolon askew.

No, it's Jeremy I'd like to see choke. And, if necessary, I will plead by forcing him to swallow a good liter of very sharp exclamation marks. The bastard!

But whoever laughs will laugh. last…

Nabilla