I was going to a rendezvous in the scorching heat of July. It was so hot that the women’s heels remained engraved in the asphalt of the sidewalks. I arrive at the front door of “La Riviere”, a kind of cafe – confectionery locale where they served everything, coffee, tropical cocktails, cakes, ice cream, biscuits, soft drinks. Melted tar was flowing from the roof, which the unskilled workers had used to repair cracks in the ceiling. Inside, the fans were running at full capacity, making the ladies’ colored lace hats fly in all directions.
>A woman should come to the first date with a huge, yellow-pink and fragrant rose to offer to the man, kneeling in front of him, take off his pants and take his cock in her mouth urgently, right in the middle of the street. To suck it well, with passion, as if she was feeding her entire existence from its sweet nectar.
Hearing this, my date remained perplexed, dropping the teaspoon between her delicate fingers to the plate with her still unfinished rum baba, especially considering she was my former French teacher during high school.
Why is it so difficult for women to understand my philosophy of life?