#1 2021-12-11 16:36:17

Artist_5319

Member

Registered: 2021-12-06

Posts: 15

An Oral Story of Morning Glory

A couple of years ago, at one June starry evening, my friend Carancha was by herself at a Quartier Latin Café sipping from a cup of coffee, honey and nutmeg (it was her third ever night in Paris) when, suddenly, another girl, who was also sitting by herself at a nearby table & drinking from a bottle of sparkling white wine: stood up, strolled up to her and asked if she would like to join her (first in French, then again in English).
Carancha did accept the invitation, and together they drank wine and beer, ate a couple of french dishes and talked as they walked around town.
My friend is Argentinian and the other girl was from England. And, well: one thing led to another and they ended up spending the other four days and evenings hanging out together (after which Carancha was due to board an afternoon-train to Amsterdam). And they also loved each other.
On the day that Carancha parted the receptionist-person informed her that a strange girl had left a book (Rhona Cameron's “1979: A Big Year In A Small Town”) + a handwritten note to her at the front desk. But they didn't ever get to exchange each other's addresses or emails or anything of the sort.

As Carancha was telling me this tale, she over-emphasized some bits about this English girl giving her incredible pleasures with her mouth; I mean: they obviously had a huge “intellectual compatibility”, which sure helps a lot; but still she couldn't get her head around how superb it was to receive oral sex from those English lips & tongue. To say the least: it was outstanding, and waay above average.
So, the days went by and they went together to the museums, to markets, to the Montmartre, and walked by many places where royal bodyless heads probably rolled over muddy bloody rat-filled streets; and ended up tucking themselves back together into a hotel-room for another evening of boozing, talking, eating, mingling, loving and touching each other.
On the next morning of one of those sleepovers, Carancha woke up by herself in her hotel-bed; the window's curtains billowed, people babbled and traffic rumbled on the boulevard outside, the air smelled of roasted freshly brewed coffee and a beautiful melody seeemed to be floating in the air. The English girl, sitting astride by the windowpane, was blowing a sweet melody out of a Marine Band mouth-harmonica.
It was then that Carancha giggled to herself and realized: “of course this mouth can play beautifully on the harmonica; and this must be exactly why she so overwhelms me with powerful waves of extraordinary pleasure when she licks and kisses about the gates of my thights!”
She recomposed herself, got up, stepped toward the window, kissed the girl “bonjourmorning”, grabbed a cup of coffee and queried “what was that august song?”; to which the girl replied that she was just fooling around: and it wasn't any song in particular.

* * *

Now, please let us jump ahead a couple of years when: me and Carancha are here beering at this small-town bar when, suddenly, this song comes up on the speakers and I notice that she sort of petrifies in front of my very eyes. The voice singing it is bright, soft, treeble and a little bit waxy.
I ask if she's alright, and she replies that she knows this melody; and then she tells me the whole story of the English girl that she met by chance at this Parisian café.
So I wave to my friend beyond the balcony, who works as a bartender, and mouth to him “hey, what was that song?” ( while simultaneously signalling with a index finger flicking my right ear). 20 seconds later, he walks by and tells us the name of the band + the name of the song.
It is a song from a debuting band from which we both had never ever heard before, and he tells us that they're totally gonna rock.
But then I asked Carancha whether she might not be mistaking it, or if perhaps this is one of those old ballads (even though it doesn't seem like one, for all the contemporary slang it displays): because if this song has just been recently recorded, there's no way that that English girl in Paris would have got wind of it years ago (and, besides, she'd said that she was only fooling around an out-of-the-cuff melody on the harmonica).
But Carancha is adamant; and as we pick up a mobile phone & google the name of the band, she glances at a photograph of the band which is being displayed on the screen and gasps thunderstruck: “it's her!”

* * *

Nowadays I'm pretty familiar with all of the songs of this band of British bards. They are sky-rocketing: already lining up festivals and have a couple of albums and many wonderful songs available out there.
I love their songs, and I love the fact that this “ordinary” English girl with which my friend had bumped by the river of life has become this incredible accomplished performer.
A funny/curious thing is that she never plays harmonica (maybe she lost her Marine Band and never bought another?), so me and Carancha seem to be one of the few people who know that she plays it.

thekingofi

Member

Registered: 2016-08-20

Posts: 7

Re: An Oral Story of Morning Glory

Has she reached out to her English friend? I’m guessing they would’ve kept in touch if they thought something was there, but you never know.

Artist_5319

Member

Registered: 2021-12-06

Posts: 15

Re: An Oral Story of Morning Glory

Wotcher king,

My friend hasn't attempted to reach out (yet). She's a veery shy girl.
I keep telling her that it is rather likely that the English girl may have also tried to reach out from her end/probably thinks of her now and then (because we all do remember dearly some people which we've met when gypsying around).
But Carancha doesn't even have social networks (except for email address), which sort of tricks things up.

But anyways, I'm very happy that I got to introduce her to a couple of movies that I absolutely l-o-v-e (and of which she hadn't got wind of yet) called “Before Sunrise”, “Before Sunset” & “Before Midnight” (movies that kind of echo out the meeting that she had); and nowadays she's become an expert in all things Richard Linklater (the movie's  director-guy) and even introduces me to his other movies (the other day we watched one called “SubUrbia”, which is remarkable).

I think this “girl meets girl” tale hasn't reached an end yet.
They'll “always have Paris”, and the future may rather well unroll in a way that lets them meet again.
(Maybe someday I'll manage to take Carancha to a live gig of them (front-row).)
There are many wonderful possibilities twinkling up ahead...