My brother-in-law Robert contends that the most entertaining thing about marrying into to our family is the intra-family debates about personally inconsequential issues. His reasoning being that they combine just the proper mixture of erudition and snarkiness to be entertaining. At this years family gathering my brother Kenny and I were the main event, with the subject being government’s role in fighting the recession. Let’s leave it at saying that I advocated the Keynesian position and Kenny a conservative, dare I say neo-conservative position. God, Grace and Leah are right; our parents did bring the wrong child home from the hospital.

We went back and forth for a while to everyone’s amusement and then he began making comments about investors etc. He stopped when Robert began chortling, and tried to backtrack. But I’d have none of it, he was out on a limb and I intended to saw it off. “You’re right, I guess I wouldn’t know anything about investing in a business,” I said. Since college Kenny has either worked in government, those research institutes where apparatchiks of the party out of power go, or he has taught. “And I know that you gained tremendous insight into the private sector from the three years that you worked at the C-store while in college.” We all had a good laugh at his expense and he took it well.

Kim

Wags is quite happy to have two humans in his house, twice the opportunity to get his little needs met. If he can’t get what he wants from me he seeks Christine out. When he does get what he wants from one of us, he tries to get it again from the other.

This weekend I’m going to Maryland for our family gathering and Christine volunteered to take care of not only Wags, but Dad’s pugs also. They will run her ragged.

Kim

Christine rushed in and slipped into the chair, apologizing for being late. She placed the Birkin, my Birkin on an empty seat. I had an appointment near where she is interning and called and asked if she wanted to meet for lunch.

She caught me glancing at the bag and somewhat guiltily and said, “What?” “Is that m...,” I started and she interrupted me saying, “you said I could use it.” I had, last summer. I couldn’t stifle a smile. Last summer I was cleaning off a shelf in the wardrobe and tossed the Birkin onto the bed. C spotted it and snapped it up. “How’d you get this? Don’t tell me, I know.” She sat there holding it and I half expected that she would begin muttering, precious, my precious.

She asked me if I used it and I told her not often, but that she could if she wanted. When I told her that at some point I planned to sell it, she looked up and with her most endearing smile and said, “You could give it to me!” I probably will.

Early in our relationship we were having one of those disclosure conversations and she told me that occasionally she would get an unreasonable desire to acquire some wildly expensive, unnecessary something, which would cause hardship down the road. Her then current albatross was a Land Rover that she leased on a whim and needed to keep dancing for a year longer than she wanted to in order to make the payment.

What does she carry in the Birkin? Her backpack and within that, her wallet (a small purse really), plus a sketch pad, books, pieces of cloth and thread, a needlepoint that she’s working on and probably a couple of moldy sandwiches. I’d want HAZMAT gear before poking around in there.

Kim

Over time I’ve collected bits of possible posts, mostly erotic, but for various reasons they’ve never made it into the blog. Usually I found something else to write about or was never in the mood to finish them. I’ve decided to complete some of them and post them as an off and on series. They’ll be divorced of context, time and place, and may be from past professional engagements or my sexual wanderings.

The toilet flushed and then a few seconds later the shower started. As usual he was taking his post coital shower as if washing away my scent would wash away the shame he felt about being with a whore. I knew that about him because he told me and once, when he thought I was sleeping, I heard him praying aloud and asking god to stop tempting him.

In retrospect, I should have been terrified of him, for behind a seemingly normal, involved and well regarded man, was a tormented deviant of the masochistic kind; unstable and liable to explode at any time. But I was still naïve and accepted that since he’d been an odd, but safe client, he would always be.

When he came out I was putting on my stockings having slipped into the bathroom before him and douched, at home I’d draw a bath, and decompress; putting away Kimberly the courtesan and bringing out Kim, the pretty juene fille who shared a small apartment above a pharmacy in the 19th. As usual he was dressed when he came out of the bathroom and he slumped into the armchair and watched me as I finished dressing.

Sitting on the edge of the bed I looked at him and waited for him to speak. I wasn’t worried about the time, when we finished I’d call the girl and she’d charge his card, my tip already tucked into the bottom of my purse. He sat there, elbow on the arm, his head tilted to the right and resting on his fist.

Finally he spoke, “Why do you do this?” “For the money,” I replied, “and I like it.” He went on some more, it was becoming tiresome; what I wanted to ask him is why does he buy whores and then run to the confessional. “I wish you’d let me support you. We’d have an apartment in the Marais, you’d have an allowance,” he said, stridency slipping into his voice. I hoped that I hadn’t visibly shuddered, though I’ve considered seeking an arrangement, not with him, never with him, for he was too intense, too needy and being with him for a few hours exhausted me.

Finally I was excused, and I stepped out into the mild air of the Paris night. There was a full moon, I looked up at it and inhaled deeply, pleasantly surprised by the faint scent of lilac. To my left the street was dark and quiet, to my right a few blocks up there was the light of traffic as I grew closer a growing cacophony of vehicles voices and music pouring from the clubs.

As I walked past one I was tempted to go in and seek a warm strong body to sate my own sexual demons, but I resisted and flagged a taxi. The door open, poised to go in I looked over my shoulder at the club, my demon was not to be denied.

Kim

Le Mans is different than other races I’ve been to, starting with the time in most races when intensity amongst the crowd grows in anticipation of the finish, at Le Mans the fans begin wandering off to dinner, the arcade or perhaps to ride the ferris wheel. Having 22 hours till the completion has that effect. Around seven I went to dinner with a driver’s spouse, the team jackets we wore didn’t help in getting seated but the credentials hanging around our necks did.

I was curious about what it was like being the wife of a racer, but figured that then wasn’t the time to bring that up. In fact we didn’t speak of racing or Le Mans, but of movies and TV shows, anything but the race. After dinner she needed to rush back to her duties, but I wandered through the carnival and making a mental note to return and ride the ferris wheel after dark (a great view).

Around midnight I went back to the trailer to sleep and near three I awoke confused wondering where I was. A trip to the bathroom was in order and after I decided to see what was happening. As you walk along there are people curled up sleeping or passed out on and under benches with mounds of trash everywhere and enough empty beer and wine bottles to keep a recycling person busy for a couple of days. I arrived back to the pit area about the time that the Peugeot crashed. Word spread that the accident was serious and no one was sure about the condition of the driver. When the news came that he was conscious, but trapped in the car, you could sense the relief among the crews. But the race, for the next hour, was more like cars on the highway following a policeman.

Our car was in the garage when I arrived, the mechanics feverishly working. It went out again but later it broke for good, disappointing all. The sun came up lighting the clear skies, the threatened rains holding off for another day. As morning wore on people returned to the track and began filling the stands. By mid-day the stands were near full and the hope that Peugeot could win and win for France unleashed a wave of nationalistic (drunken) pride that made me think I was at an English football game.

So when the Peugeots crossed the finish line in formation, you would have been forgiven if you thought Napoleon had repulsed Wellington and von Blücher at Waterloo or the Maginot Line had held. At least for the day France was returned to her rightful spot at the top of the world in the minds of the French.

Kim

Last week was hectic, it started in Le Mans, back to Paris, Lyon, Paris and a return to Le Mans. Business related to the race brought me to Sarthe and I also served as a mascot for one of the entries. During an earlier sponsor event, a fellow struck up a conversation, when I asked what would bring him to Le Mans he told me he was with one of the entries. This I found interesting and after a bit he asked if I wanted to join them in the team box. "Perhaps I could bring them luck," he said. Figuring that this was the auto-racing equivalent to being invited up to see a man’s etchings. I accepted, as he was interesting and attractive, a good combination.

When not conducting my own business I hung out with them as it beat the hotel. After a day I asked if there was anything I could do, figuring they’d give me clipboard and a stopwatch, like I saw the wives and girlfriends carry when I watched races with Dad and my brother, there was something I could do, "stay out of the way". Eventually I was appointed chief gopher, as in go for this and go for that, usually food, coffee or water.

As far as being a good luck charm? That depends how you look at it, the car broke, but everyone got home safely.

Kim

It was after nine Wednesday, when I arrived home with only Wags to greet me. There was a note from Christine, Wags had been fed and walked earlier (now he was at the door doing the go for a walk dance) and she was out with some friends from last summer. It pleases me that she has made some a acquaintances of her own, it is good for her and it might help me in my attempt to convince her to move here when schools over.

My day was spent in Lyon for meetings; I’d taken the early train and frankly I was exhausted, but my friend had his little needs that required accommodation. A quick walk to the corner and business completed we returned and I went straight to bed. I don’t know when Chris came home, as I didn’t feel her come to bed, but when I awoke in the morning on one side I could hear her breathing and on the other Wags’, I felt contented.

Kim