Excerpt from 'Le Petit Dejeuner' by Jeremy Edwards

As we make love, I imagine that we are in Paris. That there is a bidet in our bathroom. That people are speaking French on the sidewalk below. That around the corner is the little pharmacy where I had to resort to an earthy pantomime to indicate that I required a box of condoms. Where the pharmacist, a handsome woman of about 35 with dark, humorous eyes, smiled at me when I paid for them.

“Tell me about the pharmacienne,” Lisa requested our last night in Paris, just as I was penetrating her slick hole with bedtime vigor. “Fuck me and tell me how she looked at you.” Lisa got off on the idea that the druggist had watched me as if she wanted to personally administer the dose of condoms she had provided. She still asks to hear about it some nights, three years later.


From 'Le Petit Dejeuner', Jeremy Edwards