"Morning, Momo," Poppy responded, testing out the pet name. Rochelle chuckled, and affectionately squeezed her. "You have to get to work, though, huh?"
"In a bit, yes," Rochelle responded, with a yawn. "I wake up early, so I can take my mornings at a leisurely pace. Relax."
Poppy didn't need to be told twice, so she melted back into Rochelle's body, gently caressing the soft skin, weaving in and out of light slumber for half an hour or so, feeling four or five times over the elation of waking up next to Rochelle.
A Shared Shower
"I need to take a shower," Rochelle said gently, sitting up in the bed after some indefinite amount of time.
"Okay," Poppy responded, hazily. Rochelle got out of bed, unintentionally—or perhaps on purpose—tantalizing Poppy with the wiggle of her bare hips as she exited the room, leaving Poppy alone with the reminders of the impression in the bed where Rochelle had been lying and the lingering smells of the previous night's intimacy. A shower was in order for her as well, as she realized she was coated in dried sweat and come. She heard the sound of water splashing against tile in another part of the flat, and thought wistfully of that water running down Rochelle's tawny body.
As the thought began to consume her mind, and her fingers mindlessly began to caress between her thighs, she heard footsteps returning to the room. Rochelle's head of bed-tangled hair appeared in the doorway, along with half of her body unconcealed by the barrier: a slender leg leading to a wide hip, a tempting breast peeking into the room.
"Are you going to join me?"
Poppy hopped out of bed, and tailed Rochelle to a small, steamy room containing only a shower and a sink. Rochelle stepped into the small, square shower first, and then held out a hand to lead Poppy in. It was very cramped—wonderfully cramped—so it was almost impossible to move without rubbing bodily against one another, as they traded positions constantly to share the hot water, shampooing and conditioning until Rochelle's hair regained its gorgeous sleekness, and Poppy's became somewhat less wild. Kissing in the shower, Poppy felt, was nothing compared to kissing in the rain, but she was far from complaining.
Poppy was extremely wet, both from the shower and from the sensations of Rochelle, by the time Rochelle picked up a small bottle of body wash, and deposited some in her palm. She worked it into a rich lather between her hands, and began covering Poppy's stomach, sides and breasts in the suds. She pressed her wet form against Poppy's as she reached around, massaging the gel into Poppy's shoulder blades, down to the small of her back, and around her cheeks. As Rochelle did this, their breasts, Poppy's smaller, pear-shaped and Rochelle's larger and rounder, both lubricated by the showerhead and product, slipped against each other. Rochelle worked her hands back to the front of Poppy, and leaned down to work up from her calves, her knees, and her thighs, her fingers caressing at first dangerously close, and then unabashedly against Poppy's pussy, causing Poppy to purr and place her hands against Rochelle's shoulders.
They pressed together, lips locking with the magnetism of their proximity as they switched places, so Poppy could rinse off under the showerhead. Poppy took the bottle and poured a dab into her palm. "Now you," she said, and Rochelle placed her hands on Poppy's shoulder with a grin.
Poppy's hands reached for Rochelle's chest by instinct, the desire to caress, squeeze and fondle her breasts, feeling almost like a child, receiving an adoring look from Rochelle. She spread the foam like cirrus clouds over the soft peaks, clouds that soon wispily cast over the entirety of Rochelle's form, until she looked more than ever like Aphrodite rising from sea foam. Rochelle, who had gradually become a world of fantasy over the past week, allowed Poppy's hands to orbit her heavenly body, exerting the influences of the gravity of her desire.
They swapped places with an unnecessary but oh-so-needed amount of grinding, and Poppy was mesmerized by the water cascading down the lineaments of Rochelle's body, trickling in rivulets along her glens and dales. As the remains of the foam were washed away, and the showerhead was turned off, the world that was Rochelle looked new after the flood, water draining from the lush continents in which Poppy wished she could live forever.
But I can't, was the unwelcomed thought that flitted through Poppy's mind. She would be leaving Paris tomorrow. This wasn't the beginning of something wonderful. It was the end of a fantastic night. Perhaps there would be one more before she left, but that would be all.
"Are you okay, Poppy Seed?" Rochelle asked, cupping Poppy's face in her hands. "You seem a little perturbed."
"I'm absolutely wonderful," Poppy said with a sincere smile, lightly gripping Rochelle's wrists. Rochelle gave Poppy a gentle, lingering kiss, and released her.
Rochelle's Souvenir
"Would you like some coffee?" Rochelle asked, encircling her body with a towel, and handing a couple to Poppy. She grabbed a brush and began running it through her hair as they left the bathroom.
"Sure," Poppy said, though she realized she felt surprisingly well-rested considering the night she had. "What time did we did we come back last night?" She almost slipped and said 'come back home,' and was relieved to have caught herself.
"Likely not as late as you thought," Rochelle said, as she walked into the kitchen and Poppy wrapped a towel around her waist and draped another over her shoulders. "We ended the night around eight-thirty. After all that alcohol, I think we only had enough energy between us for a good hour." Rochelle returned to Poppy, offering the brush, and adding with a purr, "and what a good hour it was."
They returned to Rochelle's room, and once their bodies were dry, Poppy followed Rochelle's lead in dropping the towels in a pile on the floor. As Rochelle began gathering clothes from the drawers of a dresser—these, at least, were folded and organized—Poppy collected her clothes which were strewn about the room.
"Would you like to borrow some underwear?" Rochelle asked, rummaging through her underwear drawer. "If yours are like mine from yesterday, you're not going to want to put them back on."
Poppy picked up her panties, stiff with her dried juice, and nodded to Rochelle. "I'll trade you," she said playfully, as Rochelle approached her with a pair of panties in her outstretched hand.
"Yes, please," Rochelle said casually, as she took the used pair from Poppy's hands, and slipped them under her pillow. "Now I have a souvenir, too," she said, giving Poppy her back as she pulled on a bra. "Can you hook me up?"
Poppy obliged, feeling a small sense of guilt in locking away those amazing breasts. It amused Poppy how unpredictably eclectic Rochelle was—if any other girl wanted to keep her used underwear, it would have struck her more as weird than cute. She was fascinated by the balance of refinement and chaos Rochelle kept in her life and hoped she might someday learn the stories to all of Rochelle's idiosyncrasies. Perhaps it was an orderly mother and a messy father that had produced the Yin and Yang of a woman that was standing among the dishevelment of her bedroom and gracefully putting on a pair of lace panties.
And perhaps someday she would learn all of Rochelle's singularities and dualities. Not in the near future, no, but there was hope for a 'someday,' wasn't there? They could stay in contact… a cross-continental romance… eventually the strain would be too great, and they would simply decide to start a life together in whatever country, and have a running embrace at the airport, kissing passionately, completely unaware of the crowd thronging around them… God, she thought. My life is beginning to sound like a cheap romance novel.
Hot Coffee and Planned Discussions
As Rochelle pulled on a dress with a sort of zebra print, Poppy pulled on the previous night's clothes and tried to smooth out the wrinkles. Rochelle disappeared into the bathroom and returned a few minutes later, hair in a large bun and her usual elegant traces of makeup.
"Do I look all right?" she asked Poppy, who was glad to have an excuse to eye Rochelle from head to toe.
"Absolutely gorgeous." Rochelle grinned and pulled Poppy in for a kiss.
"Coffee," Rochelle said, lea
ding Poppy to the kitchenette. It hadn't occurred to Poppy earlier that Rochelle had turned on a percolator, but now that she was being handed a large, steaming mug, she smiled.
"I haven't had a real cup of coffee since I got here," Poppy said, inhaling the familiar smell, and savoring her first tongue-scorching sip. Rochelle smirked over her cup, which she was gently blowing on. She gazed at Rochelle, taking her first sip of coffee, and a question arose in her mind. "So, you had yesterday off, but not today. Is that, like, a normal thing in Paris?"
"Can I be honest?" Rochelle said with a smile, leaning against a counter.
"I'll allow it," Poppy said, cocking her head to the side.
"I took a sick day yesterday. I was trying to hold out until today so I wouldn't have to worry about waking up early, but impatience got the better of me," she took another sip from her mug. "I would take today off as well, but I have a project that's supposed to be finished this week, and I've been a little bit distracted the past few days."
"What by?" Poppy asked, innocently.
"Just some American tourist." Rochelle said with a shrug. "Cute. Blonde. Fuckable."
"So you took a day off work just to get in my pants, huh?"
"Wasn't planning on that part. I just wanted to take you out… be near you. Everything else was impromptu, I swear. I didn't think it would turn out like that. I'm glad it did, of course, but I didn't think it would."
"That's not something you normally do, though," Poppy said. "Mess around with someone who lives in another country."
"It's not. This would be the first time in… years."
"So…" Poppy began, worried to ask the question for fear of the answer. "What does that mean?"
Rochelle studied Poppy's face for a few seconds, and then her pupils trailed to the corners of her eyes. "I don't know yet."
Poppy nodded, quietly. Rochelle walked up to her, and placed a hand, warm from the mug she had been holding, against Poppy's cheek.
"I like you a lot, Poppy Seed," Rochelle said, looking at Poppy's forehead and fixing her bangs. "Why don't you and I sit down for dinner tonight, and we can talk through what this all means for us."
"That sounds perfect."
"I'll let you know when I'm available after work, and perhaps we can rendezvous closer to your place this time, and…" she said, trailing her fingertips down Poppy's arm, "we'll see where the night takes us."
They started kissing, the intensity growing between their embrace, until Rochelle pulled away. "There will be plenty of time for this tonight."
"You have to leave for work soon?" Poppy whined.
"Unfortunately, yes," she said, checking her wristwatch. "Ready?"
"No, but I don't have a choice, do I?" Rochelle gave a wry smile and held out her hand for Poppy to take.
As they made their way through the flat, fingers laced, Rochelle's face shifted to the mask of refined indifference that she wore on the streets, and did not break her natural strut as she grabbed a forest green jacket that was untidily sprawled over the back of a chair, flung it over her shoulder, and they made their way through the door.
More Gratification
Rochelle accompanied Poppy to the Metro station but claimed that she walked to work. She left her with a "This is where we part, Poppy Seed," a kiss, and a promise of hopefully good things to come.
Poppy did her best to contain her overwhelming giddiness until she was alone, but she might have let slip with some skipping on her way to her hotel. She ran up to her room, and fell back onto her bed, grinning and kicking the air excitedly. She had to tell Jay, but her phone was dead, so she put it on the charger and lay back down. She began replaying the morning in her head and realized there was still an unsatisfied craving from the shower lingering inside of her. There was also plenty of sexual energy left over from the night before—if not for the alcohol, she would have kept it going until everything was too sore to continue and would probably still have craved more.
Her pants were tossed to the floor within moments, and looked down with a smile, having forgotten that Rochelle's panties were hugging her waist. Her fingers dipped down to pet her pussy, her hips independently rising up as if to coax her fingers inside. In a daze of vivid memories, Poppy spent twenty minutes in lip-biting, back-arching, sheet-clutching, toe-curling pleasure until she moaned into her pillow and rendered yet another pair of underwear unwearable.
Dope
Tossing the panties beside her pants, she lay in bed, half-naked, and reached for her phone. When she turned it on, she saw that she had a text from Jay, responding to her picture the previous day. She grinned as she read the concise message: "Yowza!"
She called, and the phone rang twice before Jay picked up.
"Popadopoulos, it's one in the morning."
"And you're obviously awake," Poppy said flatly.
"You're just lucky that I'm out drinking."
"Aren't you going to ask why I'm smiling?"
"I can't see your face, Pop-tart."
"Well, I'm smiling, so ask me why."
"Hey Poppy, why are you smiling like a dope?"
"I'm not smiling like a dope!"
"Of course you are. You got a dopey smile because you're a dope, ya dope."
"How much have you had to drink tonight?"
"Not enough to make me as much of a dope as you are," Jay said. "So why are you smiling? Like a dope, that is."
"My date went well."
"Ooh-la-la, do tell. Did you get some of that Parisian poontang?"
"Mmmhmm, sure did."
"For reals?"
"For reals."
"Get any pictures for your best friend?"
"Ew, perv. No."
"Was it good?"
"Amazing."
"Are you going to see her again before you come back or was it a one-night-stand sort of thang?" Jay drawled.
"We're going to meet for dinner tonight and discuss… I like her a lot. I think we might try to, you know, keep something going."
"Well, she can come here so I can meet her, but you can't stay in Paris. I need my best friend."
"I know, whiner. Anyway, you're wasting my money with this long-distance calling, so I'll give you the juicy deets when I get back."
"What? You called me, ya dope. I gotta go grab a drink before last call anyway. See ya, dope."
"Uh huh, bye Jay."
Poppy tossed her phone to the side, and sat up. It would be hours before Rochelle was free, and Poppy was distracted with thinking of yesterday and the morning up until an hour ago and the dinner to look forward to; she didn't have any interest in the time between. It was her last day in Paris, though, really. And doing things would keep her mind off the waiting. She looked down.
Doing things would require pants.
Rochelle
Poppy packed her luggage before leaving the hotel, unsure of how much time she would have between meeting Rochelle for dinner and her flight the next morning. She intended to squeeze every possible moment out of her time with Rochelle as possible. She walked the familiar path to the brasserie, and got her usual breakfast of a croissant, orange juice and espresso. She sipped and nibbled leisurely. She would miss this back in the States.
Her phone vibrated, and she heart skipped a beat. Maybe Rochelle finished everything early, and was free to spend the day with her. She checked her phone excitedly. No such luck.
Her phone told her she had a message from "Cheating Whore." It hadn't been she who changed Shannon's contact name in the phone—that had been Jay's doing, as a "prank"—she just… never bothered to change it back.
"Hi. I hope you're enjoying Paris. I miss you." Poppy chewed her tongue, unsure of how to respond. Her mind raced with things to say, like "It's great! Glad you're not here!" and "Well, you can keep on missing, bitch." Despite her inaction in changing Shannon's contact information back to normal, however, she really didn’t want to be petty. For lack of anything civil to say—and a void of any interest in talking to Shannon—she simply didn
't respond. She might have been desperate and nostalgic enough to see how the conversation would go a few days prior, but Rochelle had been more than the palate cleanser she needed.
Rochelle, she thought. Rochelle Rochelle Rochelle.
Rochelle, who wore her abundant, sleek obsidian hair in a bun, and let it dance around her shoulder blades when she was home. Rochelle, with her simplistic and elegant makeup, and a face so naturally gorgeous that she didn't need to paint those soft, supple lips or accent those stunning almond-shaped, chestnut-colored eyes. Rochelle, whose mouth could make any language sound natural, could make words flow and dance, could make Poppy's body quiver with the smallest sensation. Rochelle, with a delicate frame that must have come from her Japanese mother and the ample breast and bottom and tawny skin that must have come from her Filipino father, and the way her clothing subtly expressed the contours of her unbelievable body. Rochelle, who called her "Poppy Seed" as they lay in bed together, and didn't mind that Poppy called her Momo—she really liked that pet name for some reason. How glorious it was to be Momo's little Poppy Seed.
A Change of Plans
Poppy walked the streets of Paris. She smelled the aromas coming from bakeries, took in the scenery of the architecture and the people, felt the pavement beneath the worn soles of her sneakers, and had a nice lunch. She avoided alcohol like the plague. These were just details, a means of distraction and passing time. As time trickled, as the afternoon rolled in, the anticipation grew in Poppy, expanding with each passing moment like air in a balloon blown about by impulsive breezes.
Around three o'clock, her phone vibrated. Poppy's hand shot to her pocket and whipped the device out so violently she almost dropped it. The name "Momo" was on her screen—she had changed it before she left her hotel.
The Peach and the Poppy Page 12
