Italian married women chat
For the next week, he pursued me with a persistence I found utterly captivating. Not simply because he was 11 years older than me, but because he was utterly at ease with himself.
Cultured, as only the French can be, and with a career in management consultancy, he exuded an intellectual self-confidence.
It was like an equation: to prolong the pleasure, you prolong the hunt. So he wouldn't ring for days, leaving me wretched with worry. His mother, Madeleine, came from an aristocratic family and his father, Jerome, an architect, was from the Parisian bourgeoisie.
Then he would turn up at dawn under my window, proclaiming his love. But our apparent similarities masked a totally different attitude to the most integral part of marriage: sex.
The first time I realised just how differently the French view sex was at my wedding.It was as though they were terrified of putting a foot wrong and being too macho. He took me to Positano in Italy and proposed over a plate of spaghetti vongole.As though the feminist movement had put them on their guard with women for ever. It was obvious, from the start, that in our sex life he would lead. When I told him I was too young, he wasn't put off.Two of my friends were setting off on a trip around Europe and, on the spur of the moment, I decided to go with them as far as Paris. Instead her flatmate, Laurent, answered the phone and offered to pick me up.When this handsome man, completely devoid of the self-doubt I had come to expect from English boys, rolled up outside the station, I was smitten. I'd had several boyfriends, but what struck me about Laurent was that he was a grown-up.