I celebrated my first manuscript by fucking my first French Communist.

It was France during the Crazy Years, the Années Folles. American writers surged into Paris. It was Prohibition in America; I arrived to enjoy the cafes and French culture after the First War.

I fucked Pierre-Michel in a poppy field and considered myself emancipated. It was a lustful time in life. My young body gave pleasure where it found pleasure: men, women, and the people in-between.

I fueled my libido on the Left Bank, as well as in the bedrooms of French politicians.

The French Communists fucked the best.