Paris in the Spring. Chestnuts in blossom. Bongos by the Seine. Cafe de Flore. But…bondage? Vibros and warm lubricants? Is this my springtime vacation in the City of Lights with Docteur Love? That’s what he hinted at plus pink champagne in the fridge. Oi. I think I’ve gotten too vanilla in my old age. What happened to romance? flowers? laughter in the rain? Yes I like pina coladas…getting caught in the rain…yes I am into disco…and I have half a brain…what about a nice Franz Ferdinand concert first? Maybe he saw “9 Songs” and was inspired. I dunno. “How it Feels for a Girl..” should be his inspiration. I had to explain foreplay to him. I don’t think it exists in the French lexicon. They might have to ship me back in a nice warm bodybag. Uhmm speaking of which, the plot sickens…or thickens. I feel like Anais Nin but the rated G version…my Henry Miller and my darling Hugo may have their showdown finally at the OK Corale. I told Docteur Love I would show up at La Mairie wearing a bikini made out of the French flag shouting up at the windows, “Docteur Love, c’est moi!” He said, “soit raisonnable.” What would Buddha do?