Models & Bottles: Sex & The City Edition

When I first heard the song “Work B**ch” by Britney Spears years ago, I questioned why Britney would reference “partying in France” as part of her lyrics. Sure I myself, had partied in multiple French cities on separate occasions, and have always thoroughly enjoyed myself. By why “party in France” when there are cities known around the world known solely for their party reputation the like legendary Ibiza, or insane Berlin, or Sydney?  Was it simply because lyrically it “just flowed” and that’s how Britney came to that decision? Or could it be a variety of other reasons, that I now am beginning to understand.

If you’ve read my blog before this one Are you in (city) love?, you would have already known that I spent the weekend in Paris, quite possibly my favorite city in the world if you haven’t quite caught on to that yet. The first night I got to Paris, which was a Thursday, I had planned to take it easy, relax, possibly have dinner with a friend, and get ready for a crazy night out partying on Friday in Paris. I mean who goes out on a Thursday right?

Quite the contrary. We all know that whenever you plan to do something special no matter how intricate, precise, or beautiful you organize it, it tends to not work out in the way you had hoped or imagined. Your expectations always perpetually perceive reality in a tainted way, and the ideas of you so hardly worked on putting together simply elude to being too grandiose.

I have started to grow accustomed of not getting my hopes up too high about something, or trying to plan every moment in the most intricate of ways, allowing for nature to take its course so to speak, and work out in some way that the universe wants it too. And being a Virgo, this is something very difficult for us. As Virgos, we all want everything to work out in precisely as we had imagined, and sometimes we get carried away in these thoughts. While all the typical adjectives of a Virgo are altogether quite incredible, they can also become our own hamartia.

But Augustus Waters and Hazel Grace Lancaster aside, this is not a typical story I would write about. This is a story of how my Thursday night in Paris became one of the craziest weekends I have ever had, and how beauty, fame, and success all adopted me in two short nights. This is a story of charming blue eyes, bottle service, affluence, and gym-fit bodies, and how it made memories that would last a lifetime. And it all began on that Thursday, March 25th, 2016.

I had just went to the dinner with my friend, and we had walked around the city for hours disusing various topics that night, while passing gorgeous Parisian monuments such as Notre Dame, when he walked me to the metro and sent me on my way home. At the moment of purchasing my ticket for the metro at the machine, my phone rang. To get better reception, I ran back up the steps, took the call, and chatted with my friend for a bit. While chatting on the phone with her, I ended up walking quite far away from the station and somehow ended up in the gay village area. As I hung up the phone with her, I realized that since I had ended up in the area, I might as well grab a drink or two and see where the night takes me.

As I was standing at a lonely gay dive bar in Paris, Feeling Good Bar, a few passerby’s had approached me and attempted to make conversation with me. After one not being able to speak any English, and myself not being able to speak any French, a creepy older guy that starred at me before saying anything, and some other kid who looked he had not even finished high school yet, I decided to give up on drinks and head back to my hotel room.

But as I’m exiting the bar, something inclined me to visit my favorite bar in Paris, which I had planned to attend the next night, Raidd Bar. I had always loved Raidd because it reminds me of the club I used to work at in New York, Splash, when it was still open. The concept is pretty similar, a bunch of muscle guys get practically naked and dance in a shower at various times throughout the night. So it as decided that I would stop in Raidd for one drink, and then head out.

But we all know that one drink is never really one drink. For whatever reason it may be, I always feel as the universe wants you to consume more alcohol and it always has clever ways of enticing you, such as happy hours. As I’m waiting behind a group of extremely handsome guys to order a drink at the bar, the one looks back at me and asks in English “what are you drinking?” Little did I know that this would be the start of my evening, and not the end at all.

They had asked me if I was there and honestly I told them yes I was. The one boy had ordered bottle service, which I didn’t even know you could do at Raidd, and they instantly adopted me into their group. After a few drinks they told me they don’t really do gay bars (despite all of them being gay) and that they just wanted to have a drink or two there before going out to the clubs. They asked me if I was coming with and who was I to say no?

So we hopped in a taxi and headed to what was apparently one of the most exclusive nightclubs in Paris off Champs Elysees. We step out of the cab in front of the cue for the club, and the bouncer instantly opens the rope for us and lets us out. We are greeted on the staircase by a stunningly gorgeous girl from Sweden, who was apparently running that party. I attempted my basic French conversational skills with her, and she looked at me instantly loved me and told me to speak English. She grabbed my hand, and walked us back to her table of bottle service and endless gorgeous other models.

She basically had said that her own party was getting lame, and that it was time to switch nightclubs once again and head in a cab down Champs Elysees a few blocks, and go to a different, even more exclusive party. My friends had warned me that it was going to be extremely exclusive and upscale, a place that even celebrities don’t always get into. Where everyone is someone, and table service is the only option.

We headed over, and once again had no issues at the door. They brought me straight downstairs to a table, introduced me to some of their friends, handed me a drink, and we danced. The room was filled with wealthy affluent people and their perhaps “model” friends, and beauty ensued me. By the time the boys and I grabbed a taxi, went our separate ways exchanging contact info and stuff, and I got back to my hotel room it was after 1o in the morning. Who would’ve known that a night where I was supposed to have only one drink could end up being as extravagant as that?

But the next evening was what I had been waiting for, but as we know if this was a perfect world, life would be boring. Things didn’t go as planned so to speak, and instead I ended up going on a date with one the gorgeous models from the country of Georgia for a few mojitos. I sat across the table staring at him intently, as his absolutely stunning blue eyes pierced a whole right through my skin to my heart. He was one of the most gorgeous individuals I had ever seen, perfectly built, blonde hair, blue eyes, twenty-eight years old, and about six foot tall. And here he was, having mojitos with me and talking about life, work, Paris, and everything in between. He was charming and sincere, and conducted some kind of magical spell over my heart for those we had our dates, enchanting me.

Our date lasted hours, and he was the perfect gentleman in everyway you could expect Prince Charming to be. In fact, I think I’ll nickname him Charming. Charming not only grabbed a taxi for me back to my hotel, but also hopped in to make sure I got back alright, with no intention of anything further. He walked me out of the taxi and to the hotel entrance, and said goodnight. It was in that moment that I could’ve probably invited Charming up to my room, and did something perhaps regrettable, but I didn’t, and he didn’t expect it. He just wanted to make sure that I got back to my hotel alright, because apparently in Paris not all chivalry is dead.

And while I’ve countless dates before with hotel heirs and extremely attractive people before, and am used to bottles, tables, and glamour in NYC clubs from working at some of them years ago and knowing everyone in the industry, nothing could compare to this unforgettable weekend I had in Paris. While nothing went as intricate as I had planned or in the way I wanted it too, it went better. And it’s not until this exact moment as I type this, that I fully realize that. I wouldn’t have traded that weekend, all emotions included, for any other in the world. It’s in this deciduous moment that I now so desperately understand why Britney chose “party in Paris” as part of the lyrics in her song, Work B**ch.

And who was the man that approached me initially that night in Raidd Bar and adopted me into their group for the evening? Well, here’s a hint;

That’s one secret I’ll never tell.





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