SKIN COLD AS ICE by Peter Nolan Smith

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 back in Paris during the 80s.

Mirabelle was a blonde aristocratic junkie model, who had greater success ripping off rich men than getting on the covers of VOGUE or ELLE.

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 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 knowing

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 insult in French. 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 flat on the Ile St. Louis.

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 closed the window and fucked her with the dawn.

It was like making love to a beautiful corpse

And she gave a death rattle as a moan.

"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.