Sorbonne Tumbling two

Never expected you back so soon, before supper, take the week of, will you, you won't get a third audience, trust me.


The dean looked more serious, no need to explain. But I want to blame the chick, giggling away, showing her Sorbonne-tumbling-selfie-penis-shot, my penis. I tripped, the class-room-theater-stairs giving away, the depth of the abyss into fainting darkness, smashing face upon the student writing desk. Exam over, exit, ambulance ride, twice today.

Don't even know how I got to this Paris-midnight bar, heavy wood-nostalgia filled bent over, to squeeze in under the lowered dark-oak ceiling, accordion filling confined cel, myself surrendering walking together with a bottle of Johnny. And, oh my god, how could she, you're joking, not again. Abasing me in an overcrowded auditorium, wasn't enough, was it?

Her shiny black coal, reaching to her angel-wing shoulder-blades, hair, all too swiftly making way following her nodding nay-saying fairy, pail taint, exposing, the most intense radiant no inclusions revealing emerald green eyes. Warmest, softest, yet embarrassing heart-braking sensation hunching me out of my chair, hitting the oak beam, knocked out for the third time.

Cleo brought me the next morning to the emergency room. Smirking gazed how my war-spear being stitched, again, holding a cold-pack against my lumped skull. Well, I couldn't use a rubber in this condition, could I.

Never regretted this night, not even when I paid the dean another visit, three weeks later, to tell him, I impregnated the most beautiful student, the love of my life. The dean was in a meeting, it seemed, I was relieved of my academic duties!