Windy Coffee. [part 1]

Getting up in the morning in the hostel in Paris, as seen with the personified figurine.

The hostel was dirt cheap (for Paris at least) with the bed spread matching the curtains and yet we still somehow figured out a private room. Though perhaps with walls as thin as they were, “private” isn’t exactly the correct word to use.

At some point in the night I was woken up by the sounds of a female voice in the midst of sexual ecstasy. Which was then followed by another. And another. And another. It seemed that they whole section of the hostel where we were sleeping was having sex.

Creating a musical, an opera, of just heavy breathing.

Although what I found to be odd was that all I could hear were the female halves of the couples, and perhaps this was because there was no male half, but yet the slapping of skin seemed to sound more like the pairing of male female than just female female. This was just an odd observation until the older couple started up and the male voice equaled his female partner.

Perhaps this stems from the fact that the male figure in porn rarely makes any noise, aside from stupid sexist comments, and has bled its ways into normal sex lives.

I am not sure how Fulya slept through all this. But in the morning she got to hear the older couple go at it again and settled the question of where they were from. I thought that I had heard the woman say “niet” while in the throws the night before and assumed that they were both Russian, but in the morning, with Fulya’s better hearing, we came to find that she was English and he was African, but spoke English as well. They also didn’t seem to know eachother too well..