In an address to the nation on Friday morning, President Francois Hollande declared that French people may engage in pre-attack levels of explosive sex, and that Parisians in particular ought to “reignite” their tradition of passionate daily lovemaking.
“My fellow citoyens of France, the week of mourning is nearly over, so I ask you to go back to your beds, your petits secret nooks in alleyways, your abandoned farmhouses,” he said. “Return to your love acts that are restrained by neither morality, inconvenience nor physics.”
The Ministry of Domestic Affairs has released a list of ways citizens might ease themselves back into a routine of boundless sexual bliss. These include early morning trysts with colleagues in company break rooms, erotic lunchtime footsy with random customers in packed bistros, and frenzied afternoon sessions with beautiful strangers met in public parks and museums.
“And of course, these liaisons sexuelles should be in addition to long nights of dedicated screwing with one’s declared partner or partners,” said ministry spokesperson Sophie Coquine.
Within hours of Hollande’s address, most of the capital city’s residents were leaping into action.
“For days, I was too afraid to go to the bookstore on Boulevard Saint-Germain where I often meet shy young women to bring back to my apartment to shag,” said Francois, 34, a writer and philosopher who lives in the city’s 6th arrondissement. “But our leaders are right. We have to go back to how things were.”
He says that by noon on Friday, he had already picked up an entire study group of literature students from the Sorbonne.
“At the end our tangled three-hour mess of an orgy, we’d gone through every position imaginable, and we’d finished off an entire carton of Gauloises,” he said. “I’m happy everything is back to normal.”
Others say that while their quotidian heated lovemaking never ceased, the attacks on the city did take a toll.
“My boyfriend and I could scarcely find the will for our usual role-playing during which he pretends to be a burglar and he throws me against walls, on the floor, and wrestles me before I mount him and ride him for hours on end while he tries to buck me off, like he’s a bronco and I’m a horse trainer,” said Cecile, 29, a horse trainer from Versailles. “Well, we did manage, but without the usual verve and stream of poetic vulgarities.”