First, the Eiffel Tower

The Eiffel Tower tonight glowed with the same reverence as the angled streams of morning light had done. The sunlight, with its motes drifting, fell onto the ancient stone floors of the Notre Dame Cathedral. There in that light, Leona heard the echoes of history's steps, she'd felt the love and tears of weddings and funerals and the heavyweight of two coronations, both Military men Henry the fifth and Napoleon. But tonight, here at the Eiffel Tower, there was a strength and caring she hadn't expected. Perhaps it was the iron. It seemed to pull her toward the structure to examine the design. The intersecting lines forming repeating shapes, an iron snowflake bathed in golden light stacked into ever-narrowing and rising levels. A lovely phallic symbol, she thought shyly, looking at Scott with a sly grin.

Never had Leona thought her first day in France would end this way. Scott stood close behind her as their eyes surveyed upward at the world wonder of iron. He placed his hands on her shoulders and leaned his face toward the smell of her perfumed hair.

"From here the narrowing gives the perspective that the tower goes on forever," Scott almost whispered. Her left arm goose-pimpled with the slow descent of his finger down her left bicep, around the elbow, along the forearm until his fingers intertwined tightly with hers. She let out a soft sigh and leaned back into the safety of his chest. She had known this man for less than forty hours. Somehow forty hours straight when traveling with someone created the same closeness as months of dating had created in her past relationships. The speed of her attachment to him surprised and frightened her. He seemed taken aback by it, too. Karma spun between them—magic knitted together by compressed time. It wasn't her falling or his clinging, but them building iron snowflakes of knowledge and trust out of invisible oxide. It had started on the plane and the serendipitous meeting. As partners in crime as they stole into first-class and grew as they discovered each other in the same hostel, both without a place to stay due to errors. Errors both had to admit they had done to others. Karma, they decided. Brilliant plans busted in two as they became bound closer and closer together. She never believed in love at first sight, but forty hours later she wondered. All they had to do was keep repeating the pattern, knit one, purl two.

She closed her eyes, and a royal purple color appeared. There in front of a stained-glass window at Notre Dame, the light shifted as they stood there and covered them in purple light. They'd laughed joking about being grapes and he leaned in and kissed her. The kind of kiss you never forget. She still felt the warmth of the sun on her cheek; her lip curled upward in remembrance of the softness turning to passion. Even now her breathing accelerated, and warmth flooded her. The rest of the afternoon was playful, fun, and calm conversation while sight-seeing, and not just the sights of Paris. This, however, was too fast. She'd wanted Paris memories filled with the freedom of single days, casual affairs, but now, as if out of the blue, she only wanted this to last. She took one more look at the tower the lights. The city behind twinkled in lights as the twilight sky turned a dark violet. Then she turned to her right wrapping their clasped left hands behind them she ran her hand up to his chest. They kissed in the style of the French for what seemed both like both seconds and hours. "Come with me," he said slinging the heavy book bag on his shoulder. "Hungry?" She nodded her head and tried to keep up with his quick gait, difficult in Stilettos. They stopped at a corner café. He ordered food, and she went next door to a tourist shop. She walked out with a crystal Eiffel Tower which, with the expensive battery, lit up. She laughed at herself as she walked up to where he waited at an outdoor table. He shook his head. "I've lots to teach you before I leave, my tourist girl."

"I'm sure you do."

They dined on hot dogs, crepes, and wine. A slight breeze blew on this beautiful night, rendering the temperatures for July cooler than usual. "Tomorrow is Bastille Day and since we both got kicked out of our reservations, with no hope of a hotel this late, I devised a plan."

"Good, because I eyed that park bench over there for the night." His laughter and shaking head said it all. "What's the plan?"

"Well, you got those red sneakers in that bottomless bag of yours?"

"Yes, you said comfort clothes, bikini, and overnight stuff."

"And PJ's," he reminded.

"All right here." She lifted a bottle of perfume and winked. He laughed and gave a wicked smile.

"Like Marilyn?"

"Yep," she smiled, changing into her red Keds and dropping the Eiffel Tower souvenir and perfume back in the bag. Then she wrapped up the uneaten macaroons and baguettes from the basket on the table and poured the rest of the wine into her water bottle.

"You will do fine here. He laughed. Follow me."

After a ride on the Carousel, we walked across the Seine on the Pont d' Lena bridge. He talked about it as if he'd built it. We crossed Avenue de New York and entered the grounds of the Cité de l'Architecture et du Patrimoine. We didn't go in the building but evading all the security we found a wooded area. Leona hesitated a moment. "Serial Killer?" She questioned.

"Don't worry, this is not America. Come." And for some crazy-ass reason,

I followed him. "I studied at this school, I know all the ins and outs. We will be safe here for the night," he said, emptying the book bag. "I can't believe we both lost our hotel rooms. Least I can do is offer you something better than a park bench or the metro." He threw a disc, and it popped open into a tent. "Small, but ours." He pulled the string of another disk, and viola we had an air mattress. The pup tent gained a mattress, two small blankets, and our backpacks. Leona gave him a smile and removed her Keds before crawling into the tent. Scott too took off his sneakers and crawled in close behind. Reaching into her bag, she pulled out the Eiffel Tower souvenir while he zipped the tent shut. "Macaroons and Wine?" Leona offered, sitting the bag with clothes next to his at the back of the tent.

"Excellent idea. We will need to carb load for the race tomorrow."

"Race? Tomorrow?"

"Yes, we have a full day ahead of us. The military parade in the morning. The naked race in the afternoon, and the fireworks. Then one more night here and I should have a hotel room after that, and we can find you a proper apartment."

"Whoa, slow down, race man. Naked race?"

"Good, you didn't notice the hotel room and apartment, and me pulling you into my life."

"Let's just start with the naked."

"Okay, if you insist," he said taking off his shirt and loosening his belt.

He stopped when Leona laughed so hard wine came out of her nose. He laughed and handed her the napkin wrapped around the baguettes.

"I meant the naked race."

"Oh, sure you did. The race. Well, it is a tradition to run naked on bastille day. Many start off in swimwear but often end in the buff."

"So, that's why you requested I bring my bikini."

"Yep. One reason."

"You have this all planned, don't you?"

"Yep, it's what I do. I plan, Architect remember?" Leona finished her Macaroon staring at this near stranger. Her smile out glowed the souvenir's light. She handed him the rest of the wine and he finished the last of the crusty bread. "So, I want to see this bikini," he said, starting to go through Leona's bag.

"Well, you won't find it in there."

"Why? ...No! ...You're wearing it?"

"Two birds, one stone, travel light, you said."

With eyes wide with play in mind, Scott pounced toward Leona, "Show me. I must see it now." The giggling and playful struggling commenced.

"Want to see?" Scott's eyebrows lifted, and he nodded yes. "You have to kiss me first."

"Torture," he said pulling her close to him kissing her as they melded into one another in the most natural of fits. "I love the day of firsts," he said. The anticipation of firsts filled the tent. His hands ran over her curves, along her legs. She enjoyed his bare chest and his firm backside fit perfectly in her hand. The chemistry between them exploded into heat. "Now, that bikini," he said reaching for the little black dress's zipper. Ever so slowly he pulled the zipper downward, watching as it exposed every inch of her to him. She found herself breathless but more so in awe of his expression as he enjoyed her. "Purple," he whispered. "Nice. Grapes." Running his finger across her abdomen, her muscles contracted involuntarily as he pushed away the dress. Each of them absorbed the moment.

"Now you," she said unzipping his trousers, which he quickly removed along with the tight-fitting silk boxers. He watched her, and she tried not to stare at him. Her hand wrapped around his girth and it took two hands to cover his length. The throbbing excited her. He made quick work of removing her bikini top and as his tongue circled her nipples, his fingers found their way under the bikini bottoms. A slight gasp came from him when he touched her bareness, then another as her wetness met his fingertips. So many intoxicating firsts. His fingers slid in and out of her and all she wanted to do was to taste him. Leona pushed him on his back. Repaying the torture, she slowly kissed and nibbled her way to his wonderful hardness. Stroking his balls, she licked him, sucking him into her mouth with a welcoming moan. She swirled her tongue around his wonderful appendage and tasted his pre-cum and salt. His warm and strong hand on her ass, he explored her.

She playfully bit him to hear him moan louder. Then he took a deep breath, raised up, and pulled her under him. "I want you in the worst way. But not here, not now. I want to remember this over and over, so I want it special. I think we should save that first for the hotel," he said. "Seems to me everyone has hotel memories, but who on Earth has memories of their first day in France, in a tent, outside the Eiffel Tower, with a near stranger, on a day of firsts? Now, that sounds like the kind of story we should all have." And with that, she gasped as he ripped away the strings of the bottoms and entered her. The rhythm building as he looked at her. She moaned and smiled, watching as he came, then collapsed in her arms. There would be many nights of firsts to come for them. But this night would always be their favorite to remember. Tomorrow would be the race. And she couldn't wait to see what adventures that would bring.

The next morning amid the crowd of nude and semi-nude runners jogged forward, Leona turned back toward Scott. She shimmied. He smiled. "You don't have a shirt on," she said, as she removed her bikini top. "Here, you might want to put my bikini top in your pocket to hide that bulge of yours." The crowd nearby cheered. She smiled and turned to jog. He ran up close behind her stuffing her bikini deep into his pocket. Some would say she'd lost her mind. However, Leona never felt more in control of her life. And Scott never felt happier.