After touring the four floors of the Museum of Erotic Art which consists almost entirely of phalluses (phalii?) and a few tickling machines, (more or less as two separate couples), we drift over en masse into 'The Sexodrome', an establishment that can hardly be missed as the name is lit up with large pink letters.
The ground floor is well stocked with inflatable women and DVD's of every perversion that's ever been invented, but I get a bit bored and wander off.
One of the staff, who isn't wearing much, accosts me, asking if I'd be interested in a Private Show? only thirty euros.
"Do you take Switch?" I said.
"Your wife, she eez not jealous? asks the blonded Parisienne stripping off what little clothing she did have on.
"No."
Of course this basic intoduction is only a tease, a warm-up, a baiting of the hook, a prelude to being relieved of a lot more Euros.
"Would you like something ... more?"
"No thanks."
"Masturbation - only another thirty Euros...?"
Junior is both appalled and embarassed in roughly equal measure.
"To think that while we were waiting my father was having a wank with some stripper!"
"Yeah well I didn't, this holiday is costing enough as it is and besides she had quite a lot of cellulite."
Returning to the hotel Isabelle is already tucked in and enjoying a beautiful sleep.
No comments:
Post a Comment