It was a warm January evening pre-COVID of course, I was alone in my flat midway through the summer school slog once again aimlessly scrolling Tinder looking for a respite from my sweaty boredom. Breathers aren’t really my style, so I was on the hunt for a sexy traveller to fill a few evenings before they would disappear. I swiped my way to a sexy Frenchman who’d been travelling through the South Island and thought I’d give him a shot. About 3 hours and some quality conversation later, we met up for a drink. Besides the incredibly sexy accent, he was a book-lover (yum), had a family home in the South of France (YUM) and definitely ticked all my boxes. I had to cut the lovely date short to watch Cats (2019) with the gang, but we planned to see each other again soon.
After another date or two, the Frenchman’s time to depart was swiftly arriving and he needed a place to stay for his final night in Dunedin. Fortunately, my big empty house was simply calling his name. He made his way over, red wine in hand (cliche, but effective) and we settled in for the night. He was shy and sweet, something I was unaccustomed to considering the usual blunt standard of our beloved breathers, and it was a slow, sexually-tense descent into the evening. A bottle of wine and some questions games, Frenchman said in a soft voice, “I’ve been waiting to kiss you all night.” Does it sound cheesy? Absolutely, but the combination of sexual tension and sexy voice got me wetter than the Seine and the clothes hit the floor.
Dirty talk in a French accent should be considered the 8th wonder of the world because that shit is magical. Slow, tender, pretty sex took up a good part of the evening, and I felt like I was living some kind of reverse Mamma Mia. He’d spoken about sketching and art before but when he asked if he could draw me I was ready for my Leo and Kate moment. Lying naked while being sketched, still full of that post-sex vibes is the closest thing to a religious experience I’ll ever get. Good sex and some sick artwork? Yes, please.
Before we knew it, the sun was rising. It was time for Frenchman to head on his way. He gathered his things and made his way to the door, determined to make it my movie moment, I threw on a silk dressing gown. I said goodbye at the door, feeling like a soon-to-be window watching him walk away. It was a perfect night, and even better, I never saw him again.