Thursday, December 08, 2005

Hot for Teacher



I have always had a thing for older men. Even now, if given the choice, I would prefer to pass my time with a gentleman, than a guy. So, it should come as no surprise that I am crushing hard on one of my teachers. Actually, he is no longer my teacher; because I moved up from level 4, I don’t see him in class every week. I do, however, see him on campus and always make a point to flash a big smile. He is an elementary teacher but teaches a couple oral classes/week. Monsieur Dupont is one of maybe 20 Frenchmen—ever -- over 6ft tall, he’s in his early 30s (okay, not that much older), with thick black hair and an amazing smile*. He has a deep voice and he rolls his r’s as though he was from the south of France. In fact, I have no idea where he is from, what he does in his spare time, or what kind of car he drives; but as I plan to stalk him, I will keep all of you posted.
Friday last, I spent the evening drinking margaritas at my new favorite Mexican restaurant, followed by several pints too many at the local Irish pub, where who should I run into but François-Michel. He was sitting in a corner with friends, but stopped over for a few minutes to say “hello.” He was forced to stand very close to me and whisper salutations in my ear, but I became too nervous to respond in French, and simply admitted to being much to drunk to do so…in English (which he, of course, speaks beautifully). So, very drunk, I was unable to be “clever, enchanting Serena” in French and made a few lame comments--again, in English about the French country-western band playing bluegrass covers, and how I was much better suited I was in level 5. After making a complete ass out of myself…ironically, in my native tongue, M. Dupont returned to his corner where he was joined by a teeny, tiny Asian wearing ‘man-eater’ boots (even with a 4-inch stiletto, she couldn’t have been more than 5’3”)
During this time, my drinking companion had taken a liking to a Croatian sailor sitting nearby (they are docked here for the week). He and two friends joined us—or rather trapped us in our corner, and bought us a round. Unfortunately, a flower man found his way to our table, and one of the Slavic semen bought us each a rose. Sweet, I guess, but I was not at all interested. Awkwardly holding my rose, and silently drinking my beer as Megan exchanged numbers with the cute, English-speaking sailor, Monsieur Dupont passed eyeing my flower and giving me a “Not Bad” look. To which I responded (in French), “A little help would be nice.” But he didn’t understand what I was asking and simply asked nudgingly if I was making friends. Dommage.
He spent the rest of the night playing with his precious little doll (fetishist! I’ve seen My Size Barbie’s bigger than her!), and I stumbled out of the pub a couple hours later much, much too drunk to walk myself—or my friend home. Thankfully, our not-as-drunk friend, Joey, guided us to safety.


Update: Serena is feeling the strain of being in France for several months...alone. Needs are not being met and she is going a little stir crazy: picking up a few facial ticks and has begun to bite fingernails.



*French dental hygiene = *shudder* Floss didn’t make its way into this country until the mid 1990’s.

4 Comments:

Anonymous Super SueAsian said...

Lay off the Asians. We can't help it if we are totally hot... though us bigger ones have more to offer (wink)P.S. My package will be in your box soon! hahahaha!

10:53 PM  
Blogger European said...

"Slavic Semen"? That's the funniest typo ever. Unless it's premeditated. THen it's just funny.

5:02 AM  
Blogger The Dark Pig said...

You said "oral". Snicker. Oink.

3:08 PM  
Blogger UrbanCannibal said...

Sigh, I love vintage Van Halen :)

2:20 AM  

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