I was standing with a group of people outside an apartment building. Two pretty girls (probably in their early 20s) were sitting in a window on the second story. I understood that a person could go visit the girls if he could figure out how to get to them. Inside the front door of the building was an elevator, but it did not go to the floor the girls were on. It went past that floor. No one could figure out how to get up there.
I immediately figured that one needed to simply go to the basement and take an elevator from there up to the second floor. I waited for a few minutes until a pretty, black-haired girl came. We hustled together through a crowd of people and went down some stairs into the basement.
When we boarded the elevator, the two girls I had seen in the window were already on the elevator waiting for me. The black-haired girl who had boarded with me looked as if she were in her teens—younger than the other two. The girls stood together on one side of the elevator.
I did not feel as if I looked very good. My hair had grown long, was unruly and was held in place by a headband. Nevertheless, I felt the girls were intrigued by me. We rode up toward the second floor. One girl said something in a language which sounded like Spanish. I asked, "What language were you speaking?"
She said it was French. I said, "Je voudrai que nous parlons francais parce que je cherche de apprendre francais et je ne peux pas apprendre si je ne parle pas."
We talked for a while. The black-haired girl spoke the best French. Finally, we reached their apartment and walked in. The apartment reminded me very much of the
Gay Street House.It was getting late. The girls walked into another room and went to bed while I stayed in the living room and went to sleep. The next morning I awoke and decided to do some yoga exercises. I was lying naked on the floor and put my legs back over my head and stretched them out straight so my feet touched the ground behind my head. I had shut the door to the girls' room, but there was still a slight crack. One girl, who had apparently gone to the bathroom and dressed, walked past the door. I pulled something up over me. Finally, I stood and began dressing.
The black-haired girl walked into the room, lay down and we spoke together again in French. She was wearing a night gown and a pair of panties underneath. I sat admiring how attractive she was. She pulled her nightgown down to cover her panties.
One of the other girls who seemed to be my sister (not my actual sister) walked into the room. The black-haired girl, who seemed completely fluent in French, was speaking very fast. I said, "Vous devez parler un peu plus lentement."
My sister (who was also learning French and who could not completely understand her either) told the other girl she needed to speak more slowly for me. I told the other girl it was also for my sister's benefit that she needed to speak more slowly.
A painting by
Marc Chagall was hanging on the wall. Someone mentioned that Chagall had also played the guitar and had written some songs. I thought those songs would be interesting to hear.Copyright 2021 by luciddreamer2k@gmail.com
