Can you Cannes Cannes Cannes?

I came back from Cannes on Wednesday. It was every bit as amazing as I thought it would be, and I am glad to say I did everything on my to do list. A bit more, actually...

Let's see;

I did spend most of my days on the beach, with a lunch break either with A and friends, the henna tattoo guy who kept buying me coffee, the girl from the ice-cream stall (friend of A's I got on very well with from my stay in January) and even, on the last day, in a very chic hotel restaurant with a hot Brazilian boy I met "sur la Croisette".

I did get a great tan, until I got sunburnt and all my skin started peeling off.

I did get high. Even if high doesn't start to cover it since, under the pretext of my being on holidays, I was at a minimum of six joints a day.

I did swim in the sea for two hours a day, and amazingly, (seeing my constant state,) didn't drown.

I did go to a rave on the beach. One word: Wow! (And came back with enough sand on myself to open a new beach in A's flat.)

I did attend the opening of that brilliant club with an even more brilliant line up inside the festival hall, full of v.e.r.y b.e.a.u.t.i.f.u.l people, to the point I had to stop myself from drooling over half the clubbers.

And yes, I did have sex and won 50 Euros!
No, I didn't go into cheap prostitution. It's just that A, his creek and myself set a bet: the first one to get laid would get 10 Euros from all the others.
I know, I know. Lame. But what else are you supposed to do on holidays where no rules apply? (And that bought me a carton of duty free cigarettes!)

Now, what happened.

On Saturday night, A, Ice-Cream Girl and I went back to that same club. As you do when you're a bit tipsy and in a crowd of 2000 people, Ice-Cream Girl and I lost A. We carried on dancing nethertheless, and somehow ended up invited at a VIP table by four French blokes. As they were so obviously into flashing their money -which disturbingly reminded me of French Guy- we accepted.
After all, what was wrong with Moet et Chandon?

What was wrong with it, actually, was that, five bottles later, the four guys started to annoyingly try to make us make out in front of them. One of them offered to pay us (quite a lot) for that. That was the final straw.
As much out of provocation as because I've been in lust with Ice-Cream Girl ever since I met her (she looks like Scarlett Johansson, in better), I told them it was something I was considering indeed, but that I would rather do because I felt like it than to please a bunch of pricks who use their father's wallet as a penis substitute.
And on a "have a good wank guys!", she grabbed me by the arm and we headed back to the dance floor.

Where we made out after half a song, obviously...
... and finished in the ladies'! Erm, no pun intended.

Not classy, but damn, it was great.
We left the club and finished the night sharing a joint and talking bullshit on the beach watching the sun rise. Awww...



The second "event" was on Tuesday, my last full day in heaven.
I was leaving the beach to go and get my free coffee with the henna tattoo bloke, when I was stopped by the nicest pulling line so far:
"Excuse me, sorry to disturb, but I couldn't help noticing you, and I had to make a move before you left. Would you terribly mind if I invited you to join me for lunch tomorrow?"

Maybe I was a bit too hot from the sun burns, but when I actually saw what he looked like (tanned, tall, slim but nicely toned, dark hair not too short but not too long, full lips, and dark green eyes, ok, perfect!), the only thing I wanted to say was "Fuck the lunch, fuck me now!". But I managed to make my hormones shut up and explained him instead that I would have greatly appreciated it, but was leaving the next morning.

After a bit of embarrassment from both parts, we finally decided to go for lunch now and then.
Lunch, then coffee, then martinis in his hotel lobby, and then, of course, back to his room. Awww... encore!



So yes, thanks, I did enjoy my holiday.