by Fifi Flowers
Looking at Avril as she disconnected her phone call, I sensed a change. A change in the atmosphere… a change in both of us. I wondered who Daniel was; a lover, a boyfriend, a husband? Paperwork—perhaps a divorce? Not a question I wanted an answer to right then. “Your grand-mére?”
“Yes, my grandmother. I need to go home in a few weeks to apply for a new visa, and to call on a few clients,” she said as she stood stiffly away from me with her arms crossed over her chest, rubbing her arms. She seemed far away. I knew our moment had been lost; her body language told me it was time to go.
“I’m going to get going.” Walking to her, I gently grasped her upper arms, and kissed each of her cheeks before moving toward the door. I didn’t want to. I wanted her to stop me. I wanted more of her, but it wasn’t to be. She remained silent. Opening the door, I turned back around, and spoke hesitantly, “Avril, I have to meet with a few book collectors tomorrow. Then, I plan to check out some independent book vendors and book stalls along the Seine, would you care to join me?”
I was so thankful when she turned to face me and accepted, “I’d love to.”
Chapter Eight
Avril
Not knowing what time Émile would arrive, I got up early, conducted my online business, made coffee, and hopped into the shower. While I was drying my hair into a sleek bob, I heard a faint knocking. Setting the dryer down, I pulled on a short, teal, silk, Japanese print robe, and padded to the door.
“Bonjour, Émile,” I said as I leaned forward to kiss him on both cheeks. He smelled absolutely delicious; I wanted to lick every inch of him. Instead, I turned around, walked down the hall to my bedroom, and called to him. “Feel free to grab some coffee in the kitchen while I get dressed.”
Knowing he was watching me, I began slipping my robe from my body as I disappeared into my room. I wished he had realized that it was an invitation to come after me. Since he didn’t, I would have to work harder, starting with my outfit for the day.
Digging through my lingerie drawer, I found some fun items. I tucked my ample breasts with extremely hard nipples into a leopard, push-up demi-bra. Next, I pulled on a pair of thigh high fishnet stockings, and attached them to a leopard garter belt. Seeing my own reflection in a mirror across the room, I couldn’t help but touch myself as I imagined him walking in. If only I had time to give myself another orgasm as I had earlier with the shower nozzle.
Feeling a bit wicked, I slipped into a leopard blouse and walked out to join him without buttoning it completely. Within his view, I slowly finished closing it, looking him straight in the eye. I watched him intently as he settled his coffee cup on the counter and announced, “We should get going, Avril,” with a rattle in his voice. Good! I was getting to him, and he hadn’t run yet. I would continue to push as Chloe advised me.
Quickly helping me with my coat, Émile maneuvered me out the door and down the stairs. He seemed in a hurry to escape my apartment. Once on the cobblestone street, we made our way to the nearest metro station at the bottom of the hill. I wasn’t sure where we were going, but I was up for whatever adventure he had in mind.
Emerging from the underground train station near St. Michele, one of the first recognizable landmarks we saw was the Notre Dame. Then, we turned away from it and headed down some small narrow streets. Wandering in and out of various unique book shops, I was in heaven. Thrilled that I had time to explore while Émile did his business meetings.
When he wasn’t head-to-head with the bookshop owners, he delighted me with some fantastic stories. I imagined that he was a lot like his beloved grandfather; everyone adored Émile and his charming ways.
After a few hours of perusing literary treasures, we popped into a dark and intimate looking petite bistro, perfect for a torrid affair. Seated in a dimly lit table toward the back, we enjoyed some wine along with a three-course prix fixe meal before we continued our book exhibition.
Back in the light of day, we walked along the Seine talking and stopping at a bevy of vendor stands. Émile began telling me about his finds and the different places he had found some of the most intriguing books. “I like to check out a few different book sellers down here. I have come across some amazing finds. I received an email the other day that a few dealers had a rumored book I was looking for. I missed out on one, but I heard of another down by the river. Trouble is, he’s not always here—hit and miss with him.”
“I know what you mean. I’ve purchased, and been given some invaluable books lately. Some I will sell. One I acquired recently, I will never part with.”
“You like the book business? Bookshops?”
“Yes, I love my business. When my grandfather passed away he left me a nice little nest egg, not enough to buy the bookstore that I had worked at for years, but enough to get an online book biz going. It has been a great experience. I wasn’t sure I would adapt to life as a book gypsy, but I love the adventures. I haven’t lived in one location, haven’t paid rent or even had an apartment in five years. I do spend a month here and there with my gran, but I have no place I call home.” Not wanting to sound like a homeless, needy, pathetic person, I moved back to talking about my book business. “I’ve had some great successes, too. I stumbled upon a few extremely rare books that I bought for a mere pittance. I was able to turn around and sell some for twenty-five thousand dollars.”
“Wow! How many?”
“Five in the last five years.”
“Amazing. Good for you.”
“I’m sure you have had many sales of this kind.”
“Yes, my pet, but I am not as brave as you. When we come across rare books, we usually turn them over to an auction house. Perhaps the next time you find such a treasure you will let me introduce you to my friend Boris who is a curator at Sotheby’s or if you prefer Christie’s, I have a connection there, as well.”
“Thanks. I have used an auction application on my website for book sales. I’ve researched previous sales and set minimums, a reserve. Once that reserve has been reached, anything over that amount is pure cream on top!”
“Interesting. Maybe you could help me set up such a site for some of our rare books. For larger finds, I still feel more comfortable turning sales over to professional auctioneers.”
“Yes, I probably should’ve done that with one of my books. I’m sure I would’ve gotten a lot more for a limited edition printing of a book signed by Émile Zola. I wasn’t sure it was real at first, but I had it checked out. I was just starting my online service, and was excited to see what I could get for it. It was one of my twenty-five thousand dollar sales.”
“I’m sure you could’ve commanded a lot more for that one. You know, I was named after that author. Émile Zola was one of my grandfather’s favorite writers. My grandfather named me. My mother was distraught that I wasn’t the girl she had dreamt of having—she didn’t care what they named me.”
This was sounding a bit familiar in some ways, I almost made a comment, but bit my lip and shook my head instead.
“She had lost two babies, both of them girls, and was disappointed I wasn’t a little princess. My father had always told her, ‘We Capets only have sons.’ She was thrilled when she delivered my sister, but then she died three days later. My second sister did not make it full term. My mother miscarried her at six months, and nearly died in the process. Then she had me, her unwanted male.”
As he paused, I saw a sadness sweep over his handsome face. I knew the feeling of being unwanted, and it made me want to reach out to him. But I remained silent, with my hands to myself as he continued.
“She was caring and loving, but desperately longed for another baby. It took eight years before she became pregnant, and then she had one more miscarriage at only two months. Once she recovered, she divorced my father, and left for America. She has always kept in touch with me via letters, but I haven’t seen her since. She remarried and finally had twin girls with a man who could give her the daughters she so craved.” He laughed and quietly added, “The cur
se of the Capets…” As his voice trailed off, I was about to tell him my own wretched mother story, but now wasn’t the time. I allowed him to regroup while we continued to stroll.
Besides the book vendors, many stalls along the river bank sold tourist items, including postcards, photographs, posters, print, and other Paris souvenirs. I grabbed Émile’s arm to get him to stop when I saw some of my grandmother’s favorite works of art. “You like Toulouse Lautrec?”
“He’s my grandmother’s favorite artist.”
“I’m told he popped into our store from time to time. He was a frequent visitor to the Pigalle area.”
“Wow, I must tell my grandmother. I love to look around Pigalle.” Laughing, I recalled my first visit. “Pigalle was an eye-opener! I remember exiting the Blanche metro station on my way to see the Moulin Rouge. You know, my gran named me after Jane Avril. She has a framed lithograph of Toulouse’s most famous painting of her.”
“Interesting; we were both named by our grandparents. Tell me more about your visit.”
“I saw the Moulin Rouge, had a fellow tourist snap a picture of me in front of it, then I began to wander around. I couldn’t believe all of the sex shops and live shows! A man yelled out to me ‘Live Sex. Free for your first time, mademoiselle. Come in. Come in.’ I wanted to go in. I found the idea excited me. My body throbbed. I wanted to watch, but I was scared—young and naive. Later that night, I woke up in a sweat, I dreamt of being watched.” I stopped, I couldn’t believe I was about to spill a teenage fantasy to him, but he was interested.
“Tell me what you did, Avril.”
I hesitated at first and then came clean… or dirty—however you wish to interpret it. “I went into the bathroom, away from my hotel-mate, stripped off my clothes, stood in front of the full length mirror, and imagined several people watching me. I explored my body. Watched my hands as they slowly kneaded my breast, pulling on my nipples until they were red and erect. As I felt moisture run down the inside of my thighs, I reached down and fingered myself until I came violently, all the while watching myself in the mirror. I was so alive. So turned on. I stayed in the bathroom longer, doing it a few more times until I was exhausted. Then, I pulled my clothes back on and slipped back into bed.”
“Do you like to be watched?”
“Yes. Well, I like the idea.”
“You’ve never been watched?” I shook my head no. “But it would excite you to be watched by a crowd?”
“Yes,” I said softly, averting my eyes. I hoped I hadn’t said too much as I heard him laugh while he shook his head.
“Come on, nasty girl, let’s finish my errands, then we will cruise along the river, sound good?” I really wasn’t up for a tour boat, but I wanted to spend more time with him, so I agreed.
As we continued our book exploration, I had an overwhelming urge to hold his hand. I wanted him to touch me. I wanted to touch him. I told him intimate things, and still he didn’t acknowledge my body in any way. My confessions could’ve been about becoming a nun, the way he reacted. Why did he abruptly change so quickly? What changed every time we were together? We seemed to get closer, then bam—he was different. The last time I know was my fault; the phone call prevented a possible sexual connection, or did it? What had been said? Leaving maybe; he didn’t want to start something that would end in a few weeks? Daniel? Daniel was a friend from way back.
Last time I was home, we got a little drunk, and one thing led to another, we ended up fulfilling each other’s needs. It meant nothing to me and the next day when he tried to get me to stay in bed, I explained, as nicely as I could, that we would never be more than friends. It was a mistake. I lived a vagabond lifestyle; I wasn’t ready to settle in one place. If I was to weigh an anchor, the US was not where it would be. I loved Europe.
“Penny for your thoughts?” Émile asked, stilling my wayward mind.
“Nothing really. I’m just digesting all that you have introduced me to today. Thank you for letting me tag along, showing me some of your favorite bookshops and stalls. This has been a nice friendly outing.”
“Oh, but it’s not over, yet. You may despise it by the end.”
I laughed, grabbed his arm and brushed up against him, but he did not respond. Nothing seemed to faze him. I wondered what he would’ve done if I had stroked his crotch. I laughed to myself.
After our last stop, Émile ushered me to a taxi, spouting directions to the driver. “Let’s go find a boat and take a cruise. We can eat dinner on the water.” Nothing sounded worse than a tourist trap boat with bland food, but I nodded, and smiled politely. As if he could read my mind, he added, “I assure you this is not going to be your typical bateau mouche.” Then he did something that shocked and delighted me, he grabbed my hand and brought it to his mouth, kissed it, and keeping our fingers entwined, he placed them on his lap. My heart instantly began racing. Maybe it was going to be the best boat ride of my life—I hoped.
When the taxi stopped, we walked across a bridge and down a walkway where several barges were lined up. Four down, a gentleman was waiting on the cobblestone next to a lovely wood-paneled boat with many windows, lounging furniture, and big pots filled with beautiful yellow blossoms. Looking at the private bateau with the name Capet spelled out on a prominent sign, I turned to glance up at him, silently questioning. “My grandfather’s pride and joy. Ready for dinner?” Stunned, I was only able to nod my head. “Great, follow Andre.”
Making our way around the outside of the barge to the front of the boat, we were greeted by the captain and shown to a fully dressed table. As course after course arrived, we discussed a variety of things, thankfully nothing to do with religion. I was so happy we had gotten beyond that miscommunication. Although, he still wasn’t picking up on all of my subtle seductive movements, or suggestive comments. I wasn’t sure where our relationship—hmm, not really the right word—friendship was going. I hoped it was someplace naughty.
With the sun down and our meal consumed, including an incredible apricot tart for dessert, Émile actually danced me to the back of the boat. I was on cloud nine, especially as he spun me around, continuing to hold me as I stood in front of him, holding on to the railing, my back to his front. I so wanted to turn in his arms. I wanted him to kiss me, but I would take whatever closeness he gave me.
“Don’t you love the architecture, Avril.” I sensed it wasn’t a question, remaining quiet as he rotated his hips as I felt his hardness pushed into my backside. I could feel his excitement. Oh God, please don’t let him tease me. I wanted it all. “The buildings in this area were designed and erected…” Yes, I could feel him erect as his rotation continued. “…by Haussmann under the direction of Napoleon the third. He built our block, too.”
“They’re beautiful,” I replied breathlessly, as his fingers pulled my blouse from my skirt and began to undo each button.
His lips were grazing my ear as he whispered about tiny details of ornamentation. I was getting wetter by the minute and my nipples were darting out, begging to be touched. Cupping my breasts firmly his construction talk continued, “I love the occasional domes on buildings, some look like they have nipples.” I moaned as he pinched and pulled on mine. “They look like breasts, don’t they, pet?”
“Yes.” He tugged them a little harder. I thought I would have an orgasm right then and there, but then he abandoned them. I wanted to cry out, “No.” He couldn’t stop now, thankfully, he didn’t.
Moving to the other side of my head he dipped his head, licked my neck, slowly raised my skirt, and moved my legs apart with his knee. “Someone forgot their panties today.” His hands slid up and down my hips before he moved one hand to the front. “I love the smooth front of buildings. Mmm… Double French doors.” He rubbed my bare folds, expertly, making me moist. “I love the cobblestone walls.” His fingers slipped inside of me. “When it rains, the buildings are so slick, and wet… oh, so wet… aren’t they, my pet?” I couldn’t respond, I just nodded as he worked me until I let out
a scream that sounded like his name. “I hear you agree.”
As he removed his fingers, I held firmly to the rail, afraid. Standing on shaky legs, I feared I would collapse. Then, I heard the sound of a zipper along with the tearing of foil, and he was up against me, I felt his hard flesh. His full length slid along my bottom before slipping inside of me, and we both moaned. “I love tight crevices in smooth marble walls… So smooth… so warm… so wet.” His pace was slow and precise as he drove into me, deeper and deeper. He filled me completely as more architectural elements spilled from his full lips: Corinthian columns, Grecian dentals, reliefs, Gothic vaults, arches, buttresses, gold filigree, beams, dormers, scaffolding… He went on and on, building and building.
Then, at just the right moment, he hammered away faster and faster until we erupted in two beautifully constructed, simultaneous climaxes. It was a lesson in architecture I would never forget. Nor would I look at the buildings in Paris the same—maybe anywhere—for that matter.
Regaining control of our breathing, he pulled down my skirt, moved away from me, and strode inside the boat cabin. I buttoned up my blouse, tucking it into my skirt as he returned. “Are you ready to go? A car is waiting for us.” I wasn’t sure where we were going, but I was ready for anything he wanted to give me, rounds two and three and…
Sitting in the taxi, he held my hand in his lap, stroking it with his other hand. Finally, I thought to myself, some affection, we’re getting closer. Then, the next thing I knew, the surroundings out the window looked very familiar. We were in my neighborhood.
Exiting the car, we entered my apartment building, and the bubble burst. As I was about to unlock my door and let us in, Émile’s hand stilled my fingers. “Avril, you mentioned earlier about wanting to be watched, I could arrange a performance. Would you like that?” I wasn’t sure what I should say. I didn’t want to perform with a stranger and I wasn’t sure if he would be willing to be my partner. Again, he seemed to read my mind. “You would be the star with me, Avril.”
