 With every year that goes by, I get more and more fatigu? of the tourists. I know, that?s odd to say, considering I?m a tour guide at the Eiffel Tower, but it?s true. Day in, day out, I see thousands upon thousands of faces, and they?re all the same. Cameras flashing, les enfants horribles. After a while, it becomes too much. It?s why I started smoking, to be honest. It gave me something to do when there was a break in the crowds, something to make me look?busy. So there I was, sitting on a crate near an employees? door, staring out at the city. It was mid-September and while it wasn?t really cold, the breeze up there certainly wasn?t warm. I looked at my watch and saw that it was only noon, which meant the day wasn?t anywhere near being over for me. I snubbed out my cigarette and when I looked up, I saw a young man leaning back against the railing, watching me. His skin was a beautiful dark bronze, like he spent all his spare time directly under the sun. His shoulder-length black hair whipped behind him in the wind, and if he took the sunglasses off, I knew his eyes would be dark too. Sunglasses or no, I felt his stare, and every inch of my skin prickled in response. He was lean but built. His denim shorts hugged his upper thighs and formed perfectly around the not-so-small bulge at his crotch. ... |
