When Lou Reed had died seven years ago, a friend had called to ask, if I had known the singer.
I had said, “No."
El-Roy was a pussy hound and asked if I thought Nico was a good fuck.
“I don’t know,” I had replied and hung up thinking one thing.
The Velvet Underground’s singer was probably great in bed and I recalled a Nico lookalike I had fucked in Paris back during the 1980s.
Mirabelle was a blonde aristocratic junkie model, who had greater success ripping off rich men than getting on the covers of VOGUE or ELLE. Her classic move was to trawl the four-star hotels for prey, a man with a gold watch. Seduced by her beatuy the man unwittngly took her up to his room. She stripped off her shirt and had him lick her titless nipples. They never went any further. Her breasts were coated with a sedative. Once unconscious she lefted the gold watch and walked out of the hotel to fence her loot. She never went to the same hotel twice.
Those years I was working at the Bains Douche as a doorman. Only the Palace and Le Sept rivaled the old bathhouse for the supreme destination of the night. Les Bains was small. 500 people was the legal capacity. On the nights new wave and punk bands played in the basement over 700 people packed the club. Even more for THE GANG OF FOUR. Fabrice, the owner, complained about the crush and I explained everyone who was anyone wanted to be there.
"Did they all pay?"
"100%," I answered proud to have helped the club earned over 100,000 francs or $20,000US.
At that time over 200,000 Americans resided in the French capitol. Most of my countrymen worked at banks or attended university. My job offered better perks than pay or wisdom, especially since the patron of the Bains-Douches had granted me the power to treat the French 'comme le merde que ils sont'.
Personally I liked the natives, however Fabrice was the boss and my restrictive door policy earned the hatred of most of the Parisian demi-monde. I learned countless French insults from irate clients refused entry. None of the abuse mattered, because my friends and beautiful women received star treatment at Les Bains.
Mirabelle was a favorite thanks my preference for skinny women.
One winter night the blonde accompanied me back to my top-floor flat on the Ile St. Louis. 33 Rue des Deux Ponts.
We snorted some H and made love without satisfaction until the drug sang us to sleep.
Neither of us took off our clothes.
The next morning I woke to the bells of Notre Dame.
The windows were open and I shivered with the cold.
Mirabelle’s skin was ice to my touch.
I thought she was dead and grew hard as a rock realizing that realize the dead can't feel anything and shove my cock in her bony ass. My medical diagnosis was wrong. The first thrust woke her from the grave and Mirabelle said, "Plus profound.",then her lungs drew a shallow breath. I parted her legs. She liked it from behind
"I feel like I crawled from the grave."
Both of us."
We fucked.
She moaned at the end like a beautiful corpse regaining its breath.
"You think I look like Nico?"
"Different."
Every schoolboy in the 60s had fallen in love with the Velvet Underground's ice queen.
Pop stars too.
Jim Morrison, Alain Delon, Lou Reed to mention a few.
Mirablle was beautiful, naked, and next to me. Dangerous like a cold fire and I said, "You are my Nico."
"Show me."
I shut my eyes and Nico sang I'LL BE YOUR MIRROR in my skull
I didn't need a mirror with my eyes shut
Mirabelle was Nico was Mirablle was Nico and winter was warm under the sheets with Mirabelle.
Especially since she looked nothing like Nico.
Later I closed the window and fucked her with the dawn brightening the atelier.
It was like making love to a beautiful corpse
And she gave a death rattle as she reached her climax.
"Good?" I asked from on top.
She simply pleaded, "Encore."
I gave what she wanted. Another line of China White, Mirabelle was very good at being a bad girl
And I bet Nico was the same.
A goddess best undressed in the cold.
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