The Snapper (French Connection)
Claire rested her head on the back of the seat, and closed her eyes to think what she was doing. She was leaving Paris behind, and getting a night bus to Barcelona. That was quite a change of her plans. She had come from the US willing to learn everything about the culture that created Baudelaire and Zola, Camus and Villon, Genet and Moliere. Her admiration for such a country had no limits. She had studied French philology in Virginia, and had made some French on-line friends (the modern version of pen friends). She had looked for a job as English teacher in Paris, which was not at all difficult, bought all the imaginable guides of France and studied all the possible touristic routes through the “campage”. She wanted to see Versailles. She wanted to read all she could. But more than anything, she wanted to meet authentic French, like those she had met in the books and in her imagination.
However, truth is almost never satisfying when you aproach it with such expectations. After half a year of French experience, she had changed of English Academy more than ten times, has met almost nobody, and had moved from one apartment to another trying to fit her profits-and-losses account. She had lived the last two months in a tiny little attic in the suburbs of Paris, from where she had to take two buses to get to her job, in which she was underpaid and overloaded. Furthermore, she found French people choministic, insultingly haughty and pretentious. They seemed to despise all the Americans because they thought they were childish, self-centred and egoistic. She had had a couple of boyfriends (she was quite good-looking indeed) and both of them treated her like if she was way under them in the evolutive scale.
Paris wasn’t the cultural centre of Europe anymore. They said Germany was now the most developed country for art and culture lovers. Munich. Koln. Berlin. But she didn’t speak any German. London, more than Paris, kept something of the old mixture between high and popular culture: punk and Opera, Shakespeare and street perfomances, thousands of theatres, millions of cinemas, billions of musicians and painters. But, she thought, I haven’t crossed the Big Ocean to live in another English speaking country.
And then, she heard about Barcelona. She didn’t speak Spanish either, but she liked the few Spaniards she had found in Paris. They had the most horrible accent when speaking English, but at least, they were more open-minded. And they were more creative too. She was sure she would find somewhere to live, a job, maybe another boyfriend (a hot, latin, sweet Spanish boyfriend). Back to square zero again. Yet, she was not dissapointed. It couldn’t be worse than Paris. So she wrote a short e-mail to her family, said goodbye to her few friends, cancelled her acount in the bank and left without paying the last month of rent.
Claire opened her eyes. The bus was about to leave Paris. There was just another person in it. He looked like a late-twentieth-century-bohemian-poet. And he was snapping his fingers making a sharp noise of violent rubbing. That was annoying. If he was to do it during all the trip, she would better try to listen to some music.
But there was none. The bus was an old model, like those urban ones that make the conections between neighbourhoods. It was a cheap company, but a little music is not that expensive to get, she thought. She was alone with the Snapping-man. The Snapper, she would call him. She tried to look through the window, but it was getting dark and all she could she was the reflections of street lamps on the windows and a big round full moon.
She closed her eyes again. She tried to relax and picture how Barcelona would be. This time, she hadm’t made the same mistake: she had bought no guide, had known none, had studied no Spanish or Catalan literature. She wanted to be surprised by the city, by the people, by their culture. She figured Barcelona SNAP would be kind like SNAP Paris, but more open to the foreigner, because of the SNAP seaport. SNAP
What was wrong with that guy?
She looked at him angrily and, to her disgust, he looked back. Worse than that, misunderstanding her expression (misunderstanding it completely) he made a sutil gesture of greeting with his hand eyes and mouth.
Oh, no, what was he doing. Was he going to come here? Yes, he was! Oh, my god, was he going to sit with her, in the aisle seat!
-Bon jour.
SNAP
-Bon jour
-Parlez vous français?
-Un peu. Do you speak English?
-Yes, I do. I lived in London for two years. -There was a long uncomfortable silence after that. Maybe he was thinking she would ask about it. But she wasI determined to be as rude as possible, to make him go away and leave her alone.— I know what you are thinking.
-Really!
-Yes. You think we have met before. I think so too. But where...?
What the hell of a pick-up line! You could expect more of a bohemian parisian poet. Something like “I was thinking there are no enough words in my language to describe you” or “when the winds blows it cries because it has no body to make love to you”, something like the poems of Musset, for example. Not that typical “I know you so let’s talk”. Moreover, he had the typical French accent, with those strange “r”s and those unpronounced “h”s.
-well, I don’t think so.
-I’m pretty sure, and I thought I saw recognition in your look before.
-You were wrong.
-Are you sure you haven’t met me? Come on, tell me what you’ve doing in Paris, and we will see if something matches. SNAP
At that point she realized that he had the most incredible, penetrating eyes she had ever seen. She didn’t want to, but without realizing she was starting to feel right with him. Kind of warm.
-First of all, what’s your name?
-Claire
-And where are you from?
-From the States. Virginia.
-Nice. And when did you come to PAris?
-About a year ago.
-Why? SNAP
-I wanted to know Europe.
-No, really. SNAP
-Well... -She looked deep into his eyes. The top-light of the bus reflected in them, like a small burning candle.— I was sick of my family, and my village. I needed to breathe and be myself.
IN all her year in Paris she had told this to just three or four people. And now she was telling it to this stranger. Weird.
-Did you have a boyfriend back there? SNAP
-Yes I did.
-But...
-But she treated me rudely.
-Mmmmh. That’s no good. SNAP
She was feeling a bit dizzy, maybe because of the movement of the bus. And that snapping thing...
-OK, where did you live in Paris?
-Almost everywhere. I couldn’t tell...
-That’s OK SNAP, that’s really OK.
She felt good to be aproved by him. He was happy, hence, she was happy. She was tarting to feel a strange complicity with this poet man.
-What do you think about French people?
She blushed. She didn’t want to, but something pushed her to tell the truth.
-Well, I don’t like them. I think they are pretentious and choministic. I’m sorry.
-Well don’t be. In fact, I think that will change when you get to know me.
She looked in his eyes. They seemed pretty sure of what he was saying. Maybe too sure.
-Did you have a job, in Paris? -he went on, without leaving her time to get to a conclusion about it.
-Yes.
-As a hooker? SNAP
She was less shocked by this question than she thought. She looked at his eyes, which seemed quite and peaceful. Maybe it was a common question in France. LIberté, all that stuff.
-No, as a waitress and as an English teacher.
-You could have worked as a hooker. SNAP You are hot enough. SNAP
Well, she was indeed. In all the possible senses.
-I didn’t think about it. -Yet now it seemed like an obvious option. How could she...?
-SNAP Did you have any boyfriends in Paris? -He kept interrupting her chains of thoughts with his voice and his finger-snapping.
-Yes I did. Quite a few.
-How was it with them?
-Not that well either. They thought I was stupid or something.
SNAP
-And what about sex?
SNAP
-What?
-Was sex any good with them?
SNAP
She felt her head was floating all over the past year. Series of sexual images came to her, as she tried to find an answer. SNAP SNAP SNAP
-Well, I figure not, if you have to think so much about it.
-Mmmh.
SNAP
-Tell me, Claire, what is your idea of perfect sex?
SNAP
-Well... SNAP It would be with someone I really care about, after a long romantic dinner SNAP and... and... it would SNAP involve... SNAP a big... SNAP
She couldn’t concentrate. Words didn’t come to her mouth. She was staring to his fingers, as they made that noise over and over again.
-You can’t tell it. And do you know why? Because you haven’t had it yet. But you will. Tonight SNAP
She was feeling her stomach get warmer, as if she had eaten a hot soup or ha a cat sleeping on it.
-I see you are looking at my fingers. SNAP That’s OK, but I would prefer that you looked into my eyes.
It was impossible no to do so.
-Don’t look to my fingers. Don’t listen to them. From now on, you will only look into my eyes, and listen to my eyes. SNAP. And you won’t listen the noise I make with my fingers.
SNAP
-Don’t listen to it (SNAP) Don’t listen (snap).
-mmh
-However, you must know that it is those fingers that are going to give you the biggest pleasure you’ve ver felt. (snap) BEcause, even if you don’t listen to them, every time I snap them (snap) it will be like if I caressed your very centre of pleasure.(snap)
-Mmmmmh. (snap) Mmmmmmmh.
-That’s right. Look into my eyes now. Do you feel my power?
-Yes.
-Do you feel my control on you?
-Yes.
-Are you going to do everything I say?
-Yes. Yes.
-That’s Ok, my dear, here is your prize (snap)
-MMMMmmmmh
-How do you feel about sucking some cock?
He opened his zip, and let her cock out of his trousers. She looked at it in trance, it was the only image in her mind, and the only word she could think about was “suck”
She lained towards him, and started sucking it. First with her tongue, she caressed the purple end, making it grow like a sponge. He closed his eyes. She put one of her hands in the base of the dick, and started to move it up and down while still licking furiously.
-Put it your mouth.
(snap)
-MMMMMMmmmmmh.
She sucked it deep into her mouth, almost entering her throat. She felt the beggining of a nausea, and coghed.
-That’s Ok, (snap), don’t put it that deep.
-Yessss.
She started pumping with her lips at the same rythm as her hand, still moving the tongue inside her mouth. He moaned of pleasure. With her free hand, she started unbuttoning her blouse, to let her tits showing under the bra. She caressed them, moaning.
-Ok, Claire, (snap), I also want some of that. (snap)
-Yessss, pleasssse!
She rested on her seat, and looked into his eyes again. She felt her wet pussy under the panties. She was so concious of her wetness. When he kissed her (snap) she thought she would orgasm. But there was still so much pleasure yet to come!
He caressed her tits, whose nipples were already erect and hard, and moved his tongue inside her. She was trembling with pleasure, breathing histericaly, trying to keep control of her body. Spontaneously, her hands made the way down to her cunt, and started rubbing.
(snap) (snap)
-Aaaaaaaaaammmmmmmm!
-Touch yourself for me.
She run her fingers through the panties, and then into them, trying to get the hair apart in the way to the clit. One of her hands was trying to get as deep as possible into the vagina, while the other one massaged the clit. He was again kissing her, and caressing her tits all over, pressing them, massaging them. Her cock was still showing, as erect as ever.
-Take your skirt off. (snap)
-Yessssssssss!
(snap) (snap) (snap)
The convulsions of pleasure were so hard whenever he snapped his fingers that she could barely make the most usual movements. She took the skirt off almost ripping it, and waited, anxiuos.
-Come here.
He had taken off his pants, and her underpants were down on the knees. He forced her to kneel on him, with his legs in both sides of him. From down there, he could eat her tits, touch her ass, and pretend he was going to put his fingers into her.
-Do you like this?
(snap)
-YES, YESSSS, YESSSSSS!
He bit her tits again, so hard it hurt. Then, he got his cock straight up, and placed it between her legs, right into the lips of her pussy.
-Now, get down very slowly, very, very slowly. (snap)
She did so, and felt his dick penetrating her vagina. Inch by inch, she felt it. Like large, enormous finger caressing her inside. Like thousands of subtile fingers running through her skin, and concentrating specially in her sexually sensible parts. When his cock was deep inside, she waited for new orders, moaning, whipping of pleasure.
-You know what comes now (snap) -he said. She then started moving slowly, back and forth, up and down, moving her waist in circles. His cock was touching every square inch of her pussy, making her feel an un bearable plesaure. He was moaning still, looking at her soft, round, athletic body moving on him. Her tits came close to his face, and got away again. Her eyes were closed, and her mouth open, letting her quick cut breathe get out. She increased the rythm of her movements, and he started snapping his fingers again.
-AAAAAAAAAAAAAAaeeeeeeeeeeh!
-Yes, (snap), yes, (snap), yess!
-Mmmmmmmmmh.
Up and down, her ass pressing her cock, pressing and pumping. He was close. (snap), (snap), (snap).
-YYEESSSSS!
She started moving in spasms, back and forth so quickly it seemed like she was going to break her bones. His dick was forced from one side to another, violently caressed by the muscles inside her vagina. He was about to cum.
(snap) (snap) (snap) (snap)
With every snap, she felt like she was going to get to orgasm, but every new snap made her start back from zero, the pleasure and the need growing harder inside her.
(snap) (snap) (snap)
And then none of them could handle it any more. He felt how his cock exploded inside her body, with huge violent explosions of semen. He pressed his eyes closed, and tried to breathe back, not to scream too high, pressing his hands into fists.
She didn’t seem to care about not screaming. She started with a long, increasing moan when the pleasure touched her just in the very centre again. ANd then it grew stronger and wider, getting to every part of her body, tickling her clit hard enough to make her orgasm. But this time there was no time to bring her back to zero, and it kept growing, and she was arching herself to try to get there already. But the pleasure kept growing, and she was not moaning any more, but groaning, and now it was like all the sex she had had in life, united in just one shag, and she felt her muscles tense, waiting for the end to spasm, and then she was not graoning but screaming, when the pleasure relocated again in the centre of her vagina, invaded her clit, and get it warmer, and warmer, and then she got it. And that’s when she was so high she couldn’t even shout or breathe. And with no shouts she fall down on her seat, seeing small stars in her eyes, and feeling the pleasure, still strong enough to make her moan, fading away, disappearing, leaving her.
He was looking at her, deep looking into her.
-Well, that was good.
(snap)
Even if she was way past orgasm now, she could still feel the tinckle of pleasure when she did that.
-And now, we are going to change a couple of things. First of all, when I snap my fingers again, you are going to forget all this has happened, yet have an inconscience memory of all the pleasure I have given you. Second of all, from now on, you will find French people irresistively atractive. You will think that French people deserve the best you can give them, specially refering to sex. Also, whenever you hear me snap my fingers, you will feel the irresistible need to follow and obbey me wherever I go. And finally, you are going to sleep, sleep profoundly until we get to Barcelona and I’ve left the bus. Understood?
-Yes, my master.
-Ok, then. It’s time to sleep and forget.
(snap)
When she woke up she found herself in a bus station, with the sun high in the sky, and a face ten inches away from hers. She jumped on her seat and tried to fix her clohtes, which were incredibly untidy.
-Señorita, estamos en Barcelona.
It was the bus driver, she found out with relief.
—¿Ha tenido un buen viaje?
-Pardon?
—¿Buen viaje? Bon voyage? -he showed his thumb up, in a “good” silent sign.
-Oh, yes, I mean, oui, oui, bon voyage.
she felt tired, though, even if she had the impression of having slept all the trip long. She looked around and saw there was nobody in the bus. Was there when she left Paris? She couldn’t remember. Maybe another passanger...
She took her hand bag and got down of the bus. She took her luggage and looked for the “taxi” sign. That’s when a soft modulated voice shot her from behind.
-Excusez moi, madmoiselle (snap), parlez vous français?