Summary

The narrative recounts the author's unexpected Parisian encounter with a charming Frenchman, which leads to a night of flirtation and cultural exchange but ultimately does not culminate in a romantic liaison.

Abstract

The author, Midori P. Yeung, shares a personal story of an evening in Paris where a chance meeting with a Frenchman at a ramen restaurant leads to a series of misunderstandings fueled by cultural differences and language barriers. Initially, the author believes the encounter will result in a one-night stand, especially after the Frenchman's suggestive comments and body language. However, the night takes a turn when the Frenchman uses the term "parenthèse" to describe their meeting as a fleeting, yet meaningful, interlude in their lives, rather than a prelude to sex. The author's realization of the term's true meaning and the romantic, non-sexual nature of the Frenchman's intentions comes the following day, prompting a reflection on the art of flirting and the joy of spontaneous connections.

Opinions

The author initially perceives noodle-slurping as unsexy by Western standards but embraces it to honor Japanese dining etiquette, only to find it surprisingly endears her to the Frenchman.
There is an underlying assumption that French people, due to their reputation for culinary appreciation, would find food-related behaviors inherently attractive.
The author's interpretation of the Frenchman's actions and words is influenced by her own expectations of romantic encounters, leading to misinterpretations.
The Frenchman's use of "parenthèse" to describe their encounter reflects a more poetic and less transactional view of casual romantic interactions compared to the author's initial understanding.
The narrative suggests that the culture of flirting in Paris is more integrated into daily life and less goal-oriented than in the author's experience with modern dating practices, particularly those facilitated by apps like Tinder.
The author reflects on the value of spontaneous, meaningful connections and the enriching nature of flirting as a way to enhance everyday interactions, not just as a means to an end.
The story concludes with the author advocating for more genuine human connections, complementing the beauty of a stranger's garden, and embracing the unexpected "parentheses" in life.

The French Guy Who Refused to Have Sex with Me

Perhaps I was hopeless at flirtations. Here’s what I have learned

Photo by Fabrizio Verrecchia on Unsplash

I didn’t go to Paris looking for one night stands. I went there looking for Japanese ramen and patisseries. If you’re based in Europe and can’t afford to fly to Japan all the time, Paris is your best bet for high-quality Japanese food.

I was queuing up outside this ramen joint not far from the Notre Dame in the bitter cold. A good thing about solo travel is that you really get to meet others. I hope that someone nice and friendly could be my dining partner tonight.

I ended up sitting next to this French guy on the counter. He had curly black hair, high cheekbones, geeky round glasses, and was wearing a classic French striped top. He was so gentlemanly and helped me hang my coat at the back as he was putting away his own.

Seriously, he was really hot and looked like my Youtube idol Alex the French Guy Cooking(no, I’m sure he wasn’t him). So I put on a flirting face and said merci with a smile.

The waiter/chef gave us one menu to share.

Perfect chance! Our shoulders touched when leaning forward to look at the menu and we ordered two beers and two bowls of ramen. He suggested we should order some gyozas and it will be his treat.

He asked me the usual touristy questions like where I’m from and all. When he knew that I was actually an Asian person from London, he winked at me and said Eurostar is very convenient. He said specifically “we can visit each other easily.” Wait, what? No. What?

I felt like sex in the City of Love was going to happen tonight.

I turned him on with my noodle-slurping noise

Ramen arrived and they looked sexy. I told him it’s polite to slurp your noodles in Japan, and he said he wanted to see me do it because he tried and couldn’t master it.

I have lived in the West long enough to know that noodle-slurping is not common nor sexy, but I assumed French, of all people, would be the most respectful for anything food-related. So I slurped my noodles hard, really hard. With pouty lips and sucked-in cheeks, “shuuoop!”

The soup lingered on the noodles and the noodles followed my sucking action ascended to my mouth. It was a good bowl of tonkotsu ramen, so fatty and meaty, filling me up with its big load.

He seemed to enjoy my eating face with satisfaction. He smiled and also buried himself in the steamy ceramic bowl. He attempted at slurping but it got a bit messy, we all had a laugh and said santé with our beers.

“It’s really sexy to see you eating ramen,” he commented. The way French people said the word ‘ramen’ is so hot, they miss the ‘r’ and replaced it with something between an ‘h’ and a throat action. I was so turned on.

He asked me if I wanted a cigarette and to go for a drink afterward. I was screaming with excitement inside, chanting “get laid, get laid!” like a rowdy English lad. Excusez-moi, it had been a long dry spell.

At the bar, he said

We crossed the bridge to Ile Saint-Louis. I like this little island in the middle of Paris, the streets were quiet and the neighborhood was quaint with warm yellow bauble lights.

He held my back briefly as we entered a bar. He chose a bottle of red wine from his hometown in Bordeaux and I was thinking in my head, how can you beat a guy from the town of red wine? Maybe if you are from the city of Champagne!

We talked a little more but our words were getting a little slurpy from the wine. My hotel wasn’t far from here, a short walk would wake us up and we could have some fun. That was my evil plan.

At the bar, he said to me, “I wanted to say to you this but I don’t know the English word.” I was like, hmm, was the word ‘sex’? ‘my place or yours’? ‘let’s fuck’? “Anyways, I’ll say to you the French word. It’s ‘parenthèse’”, he said and gently swept my hair to the side.

Note that if you now read this in written form you might manage to translate it to English. But the problem is my French is really bad and their pronunciation is different in every way from English. I had no clue what he was trying to say.

He drank more and said, “it’s like you live, and then suddenly something comes in and then finishes. You live again.”

Wait, that’s one night stand, right? Something else comes in and finishes, then you go and live again. That’s really graphic! Is that how the French flirt? Le parenthèse, so much prettier than le ONS.

“My hotel is just on the right bank, or the left bank, one of them, not far,” the drunk me said, making it in plain English that I was up for it! Bring it on monsieur!

Suddenly, this hot French guy took off his glasses, laughed uncontrollably but quietly, and put his palm on his forehead. “No, no sex, ma cherie. C’est une parenthèse!” he took my hands with his and gave them a kiss.

He asked me to show him my hotel address and called an Uber. At this point, I gave up. Partly because I was too drunk and partly because he said parenthèse too many times.

He asked for my number before putting me in a taxi and shut the door. I made a mental note that he was outside the cab, so my number is probably for him to ask for the taxi money.

The next day

I woke up hungover and lamented bitterly for the lack of full English breakfast in this city. I ended up wandering to a place that served Egg Benedicts in Marais.

There were a few times I wanted to stop the waiter and asked if she knew the word ‘parenthèse’, but I couldn’t summon the courage.

Then I received a text.

“My dear Parenthèse, it was a magical night last night. Are you free for dinner before you take the Eurostar tonight?” A text from a +33 number, it’s the French guy.

I read and I got it finally. It means “parenthesis” in English, and “( )” in Mathematics. It now makes sense, the whole coming-in-and-finishing thing. He meant our encounter a nice extra episode in his ordinary life. A surprise, an unexpected meet-cue. God, that’s not graphic, it’s poetic!

The joy of flirting

Paris is called the City of Love not because people are constantly having sex. It’s because the city is pulsing with the urge of flirtation. It’s seductive, and people get through the day with winks, hugs, and kisses.

Be flirty is part of the Parisian’s everyday life because work makes them grumpy so they make the most of the rest of their time. I learn that from Emily in Paris on Netflix.

But what’s important is we, the English speakers perhaps, have made flirting a specific mission for specific targets. We have one face for Tinder dates and another face for everything else. Paris and my Parenthèse taught me to embrace surprises with open arms. Flirt anyway, and see where it brings people to.

Modern dating is very purposeful. Tinder is for people who are looking for love and lust, there’s no room for casual chatting and see how it goes. Unfortunately, that seems to where the trend is heading, we have an app for everything and it’s the pandemic.

Perhaps one day when we get ourselves back out there, we can smile more and flirt a little. Making friendly conversations, giving complements, building a relationship with your neighbors, and the local grocers.

The other day I was taking a walk in my local area and I complemented the beauty of an old lady’s garden. She was overjoyed and gladly cut me the hottest pink rose I’ve ever seen. It made my day.

I wanted to say to her, you are my parenthesis and give her a kiss on the cheek.

I hope this article brings a smile to your face! If you like it please give me a clap and follow me on Medium Midori P. Yeung and Instagram. I post every Sunday on instagram to make our sunday evening more intention in preparation for the new week.