Episode #4: Masturbation Capital of the World
Models: Angel, Diane, Jennifer, and me.
Location: Paris, France
Ahh Paris…known for its lovely sights, romantic views, and masturbater around every corner.
My first encounter with a Paris flasher was some old guy, sitting on a bench in broad daylight, pants at his knees, happy as can be, as he pleasured himself in the park. I caught a glance of him first, told my friend Jennifer not to look, as we skirted around the corner to laugh our butts off. We couldn’t believe it. At 16, I had never seen such a thing, and we thought it as a fluke.
Fast forward two weeks. This time I am alone, walking to the gym with my headphones on. I am crossing the Pont des Invalides bridge, cars whissing past left and right. The young guy walking ahead of me decides to stop, and peer over the side of the bridge. I keep walking, but I can feel his eyes on me.
Out of nowhere, the guy burns past me, like he is all of a sudden in a big hurry, and disappears around the corner. Seconds later, I turn that same corner, and almost bang right into him. He’s got his khakis down, and he’s staring me right in the face, just waiting for me to glance down at his crotch.
I keep walking, fast as I can and don’t look back. My heart is beating out of my chest and I am just thinking “he looked so normal, like a preppy college boy.”
The story goes downhill from here. Next up is this creepy guy in the subway. He’s got his shades on, and he’s decked out head to toe in a red cotton sweatsuit.
I am sitting next to my friend Diane, and I glance at his reflection in the subway doors, only to see a huge bulge in the guys sweatpants. Of course this is funny, not scary, since Diane is at my side. I tell her “don’t look now, but we’ve got an admirer.”
We switch trains. Shades follows us. Now we are getting kind of freaked out. We know he is following us, but again, we figure its mid-day, we are together, what is the worst that can happen?
We hop off the train and try to ditch him. Shades is fast and he bolts to the opposite side of the street. We continue to walk fast down our side of the street, as he matches our pace on the other side.
Now we are laughing because the guy looks so weird, he is totally hauling ass to keep up with us.
Suddenly, he darts across the street, corners us, and yanks down the red sweats.
A poor old granny with a walker (no lie) someone gets stuck in this middle of this mess. She glances up, doesn’t change her expression whatsoever, redirects her walker, and just keeps tooling along. This woman acted like this scene was old hat for her. Unbelievable.
Diane and I bolt down the street, I look back to see ole’ Shades jacking away, getting a thrill out of the fact that he scared us. Diane and I make it to our casting location, duck inside the double doors and stop to catch our breath.
To this day I think about the gall of that guy and I am just flabbergasted. Why did no one react to that scene taking place? Is there some sort of unwritten rule in Paris that you are allowed to stalk women in this fashion? I have lived in the States for 37 years and I have never had anyone masturbate in front of me.
Anyway, there was another random, gross subway incident that I won’t go into. Same crap, different day. Instead, I will close with this pathetic incident.
One day, a new roommate arrived at the model’s apartment, her name, none other than Angel. Angel was a Christian beauty from the south, nice as could be, and we all liked her right from the start.
During Angel’s first week in Paris, she was noticed by this major fashion photographer named Fabrizio. She was booked for a test shoot and we were all so excited for her. Off she went on her booking early one morning, little did we know she would have an experience she would likely never forget.
About 7pm, Angel comes in the door and bursts into tears. As we all comforted her, we pulled the story out of her of what happened on the shoot.
Turned out good ole’ Fabrizio liked to multi-task. He shot photos with one hand, while he pleasured himself with the other.
Angel was totally horrified. She didn’t know what to do. She felt like she was sexually abused, and as a matter of fact she was. No one should have to endure that type of treatment.
Sure, she could have left, walked away, yelled at the guy, demanded to be taken home. But when you are 16 years old, modeling in Paris, weird things happen. They happen fast, they happen out of no where, and you literally can not even process what is occurring, until its over. Then you are left to sit, alone with your thoughts, beating yourself up for not being stronger, not standing up for yourself and saying no.
Today Angel likely lives with that brutal memory, and I live with my quirky masturbation stories.
Paris, France….one hell of a freak show.