by Fifi Flowers
All of these sensations were foreign, but oh so fabulous. I increased the pressure and continued until my body shuttered violently, causing me to whisper his name in a chanting fashion. My eyes fluttered open as my legs threatened to buckle. I grabbed onto the mirror to steady myself. Looking at my face in the mirror, I saw a new woman and wondered why I had not pleasured myself before. Giggling, I made my way to my waiting tub filled with warm bubbles, slipped in, and delighted my body all over again.
Lovely Encounter
I could not wait to get out of the house, thinking about spending the day with Simon. I dressed quickly in a lavender frock that matched his unusual eye color; they mesmerized me. Closing my bedroom door, I went downstairs to greet my mother. Not finding her in her usual morning spot at the dining table, I went to the kitchen to inquire after her. Josephine told me that she wasn’t feeling well and asked not to be disturbed. Though I did not wish my mother ill, it made my departure much easier. Thanking her for letting me know, I told her that I was going away for the day to meet my good friend Genevieve, something that I did often.
Heading out to the stable, I had the overwhelming urge to lift the skirt of my dress and skip like a little girl. I couldn’t remember the last time that I had been that giddy. Right before I entered the barn door, I spun around, taking in the weather. Good, no clouds, only sunshine—as it should be for my happy mood. Inside the stable, I had my horse hitched to the small carriage I had used before.
Clopping along the streets, I noticed everything as if for the first time. Buildings looked refreshed. Windows gleamed. Flowers bloomed more brightly. People smiled and wore the prettiest shades of clothing. It appeared that I was wearing rose-colored glasses. If things weren’t truly as they seemed, that was just dandy—in my eyes, the world was better since I met Simon.
Arriving at the address he gave me, there he stood. Was it possible he had gotten even more handsome than the day I last saw him? My heart thundered like one of the great Paris rainstorms. Greeting me, he asked if perhaps we could use my carriage for our outing. I agreed as I was uncertain where I would leave my horse and buggy. Something I had not clearly thought through. I was just focused on seeing the man that made my heart flip in my chest.
Sliding to the side, I handed the reins over to Simon once he climbed up to join me. Oh, the heat that emanated from him as we sat close had goosebumps appearing on my arms. Actually, I believe that they covered my entire body. How could warmth cause a sensation that was usually associated with cold? I don’t think I could explain anything that was happening to me. I was in new territory; I had never been informally or formally courted by a man.
As he took control, he maneuvered my horse along with experience and knowledge. I loved how he pointed at things I had seen all of my life and never really noticed. I loved how he spoke about our meeting. “Ironic that I am writing a book on the history of cobblestone and that it should bring us together.”
“Together?” When he said together, my mind wandered in a million directions.
“Yes, had your carriage wheel not got caught in a hole, we would not be here.”
“I guess you’re right. You rescued me; my knight in shining armor.” We both laughed as he reminded me of what he was wearing when he helped me. I loved his wit. I also loved that he paid attention to what I had been wearing, too.
Making our way through the cobblestone streets, he pointed out their many characteristics. One would believe them to be a droll subject, but not true. I learned a great deal about their value and the trouble they could cause, my incident being one of them. They could also be very slippery when wet. I knew that as I had quite a few almost mishaps while trying to carry packages and an umbrella. They were mainly a source for good. Round stones from stream beds were set in sand and secured with mortar to cover muddy, dirty roads. They were also used to channel water down sloping streets. I had always wondered why they angled the rectangular stones down the middle of some streets. It was logical, but like I said, I never noticed them before, other than tripping on them, crossing streets here and there.
Other things about cobblestones that he charmingly made me aware of was the way they were installed and their variety. Most cobblestone roads and walkways were mainly created with round stones, like large pebbles, while others were square and rectangular in shape. And the colors; multi-colored, speckled stones, shades of gray, tan and brown tones. As we turned onto different streets, patterns were different. All staggered, but some arched, some were straight, and some were in a circular configuration. Throughout our day, as he rattled on about his observations, he kept asking if he was boring me. To which I quickly shook my head, smiling up at him, “I love your enthusiasm.”
I nearly fell out of the carriage when he echoed my word, “Love, huh? You love me?” he questioned me with a bit of a smirk on his face. I’m sure my face was a bright shade of red, as it felt rather hot. I tried to rephrase my words, but he covered my hand with his. “It’s okay, I quite like it.” I stopped trying to deny what I had said, even if I didn’t actually say I loved him. I thought that I had fallen in love with him the minute I looked into his unique lavender eyes.
During our journey, Simon showed me the journal he kept for his book writing. It included addresses and drawings of cobblestones he found interesting. Within his notes, he highlighted my name and there was a sketch of me! I was part of his story. I was thrilled—even more so when I saw the words “My love.” Did he feel the same way I did? I suppressed a squeal. I couldn’t wait to tell Genevieve.
Would I be married to a famous author? That was not a question I could ask, so I asked him about his writing practice and more. Where he wrote, who his favorite writers were, did he write about other things besides cobblestones? He was delighted with my interest in him. Instead of just telling me, he pointed out places he sat and wrote, along with places that were frequented by artists, poets, and writers. He told me that, one day, he would take me to Le Chat Noir, a cabaret that published their own journal—it was the place to frequent. He also told me about a new place that was being talked about by his contemporaries called the Moulin Rouge, he hadn’t been to it yet and said that we could go there, too. He had a favorite bookstore down the way, a family owned place that authors gathered at during the day and talked about their writings. I loved that he wanted to share his life with me.
I was sad when our day ended and he returned me to the location we met at the beginning of one of the best days of my young, adult life. I cheered up when he asked to see me again, then kissed both of my cheeks along with my hand. Of course, I said yes, that I would do whatever I had to. Unable to have him come pick me up from my home, I gave him Genevieve’s address. “Contact her about where and when you wish for me to meet you again. I will give her my reply.”
“I would love to spend another day with you—many—if I have my way,” he said, kissing my hand one more time before I headed toward home. I wished he would’ve placed his full lips on mine; he had me so excited just feeling them on my cheeks and hand. I couldn’t wait to get home and touch myself. He gave me wicked thoughts and made me feel sensations between my thighs that I had never realized before him.
Engagement Encounter
A couple weeks later, I packed an overnight bag and had a coach deposit me on Genevieve’s doorstep. She had helped me arrange a meeting with Simon. He said he wanted to take me to see the newly constructed tower that was just completed by a man named Eiffel for the entrance to the 1889 World’s Fair. He said we could picnic along the Seine River. Being that it was not close to my family home, I was afraid of returning home too late. Nightfall could be dangerous, as well.
I arrived at my friend’s house earlier than Simon was due to fetch me. She wanted to meet him. She had only read his notes, but she said they were brilliant. The way he spoke of me made her swoon. She told me how lucky I was to have a man that loved and adored me. Really? Did she really think so? What in his writings pointed to love? I told her how
he wrote “My love” next to a sketch of me and she said, “I told you he loves you.” I hoped she was right.
When Simon arrived, Genevieve told her aunt, whom she lived with, that she was going to accompany us to lunch. That was not true. She never told me where she always ran off to. My guess was that she was someone’s mistress. Walking out with us, she asked us to drive her around the corner. She suspected her nosy relative may be peeking out the window.
Once we were alone, Simon held my hand in one of his and the reins with another, as we headed to the river. The cobblestones were larger in some places by the Seine, I was noticing without him saying a word about them. He beamed when I pointed out a configuration I had not seen before, then he kissed my forehead. Heaven! I hoped that maybe his lips would wander lower before the day ended.
Sitting on the right bank of the river, we had a good view of the iron structure. I had never seen anything so high. How could they build something like that? Simon asked me what I thought about it, did I find it pretty? Ugly? Did it ruin the City? I told him I thought it was unique. I thanked him for asking my opinion. Most men had never asked me what I thought about anything. Even my father never inquired as to what my mother thought of an article that he had read to her. He never asked her what she thought about the books she read. He was a publisher, funny that he didn’t want to know what she thought about books.
Simon, on the other hand, told me that his wife would always have an opinion. He wanted to ask her questions and for her to ask him questions. I told him that he would make a wonderful husband and that any woman would be lucky to have him. In the next moment, my Simon stood up and pulled me with him. I was afraid that I had said something wrong, that he was taking me home immediately. Instead, he dropped to one knee and asked me to marry him right there.
I was overwhelmed and began to cry. He got up and took me into his arms, wrapping them around me tightly. I was pressed into his chest. I could hear his breathing, feel his heart beating against mine. “I’m sorry, Colette,” he said, “I didn’t mean to say or do anything wrong. I love you, Colette,” he confirmed what I had hoped. I cried harder, shaking and nodding my head. He did nothing wrong, at all.
When I finally caught my breath and stopped crying, I pulled away. “You are wonderful. I love you, too. I would love to be your wife, but…”
“Are you promised to someone?” He looked sad as he asked me.
“No, nothing like that. We never courted. How do I tell my father about you? I can’t just bring you home to them.” He still looked unhappy. “I want to. I need to figure out how.” At this, he smiled slightly.
“Marry me next week.” He lifted me and spun me around. Why? I don’t know, I hadn’t even responded yet.
“How? Where?” I could play along; I wanted him to be happy.
“Where is your favorite place in the city?”
“We have to get married in a church.”
“Okay. Too bad that big church on the hill isn’t done yet, it’s going to have the best view of Paris.” He was right. Sacré-Cœur was being built. It was going to be so big. It was probably going to take several years to finish. He said that one day we would go up there with our children and look out over the city. Children? “There is a chapel below the hill, Saint-Pierre de Montmartre.”
Wedding Encounter
A week later, I dressed in a white frilly dress and white lace scarf to cover my head for the afternoon tea with Genevieve—that was my excuse. My real destination was the chapel, where we agreed to meet. When I arrived, Simon was waiting for me down the hill. He made arrangements for my carriage at a nearby stable within walking distance. Then, we walked hand in hand up to the chapel.
Once we were inside, I finally was calm enough to look at my Simon. He was so handsome. He wore tails, a waistcoat, an ascot, and a top hat, like a real groom. A real husband-to-be. My husband.
“You look beautiful, Colette. Your dress is stunning. Perfect.”
“I didn’t have a proper veil. This white lace scarf…”
He lifted my hand to his lips, quieting me. “Looks like a veil to me, I would marry you wearing anything. I would marry you anywhere. I just want to marry you.”
“This church is so charming, so intimate, I can imagine us really getting married in here.”
“You’re going to marry me now,” he informed me straightforwardly.
“But not really,” I giggled nervously.
“Yes, real for us. When we exchange vows today, we will be married in the sight of God. There will be no going back. You will be mine—today and always. I love you.”
I smiled and nodded yes. I knew that we were meeting to form our own bond of matrimony, but I didn’t imagine that we would exchange vows like a real wedding ceremony. I realized he was serious when he pulled out a piece of paper from a small, worn Bible he had in his inside coat pocket.
“You will say these vows with me, stating the appropriate words for each.” I nodded as a single tear slid down my cheek—a happy tear. A very happy tear.
Doing as he said, we stood facing each other with our hands connected as we spoke these words:
“I, Simon, take you Colette”
“I, Colette, take you, Simon.”
“To be my wife.”
“To be my husband.”
“For better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness, in health, to love, to cherish, til death us do part.”
I noticed that the words “to obey” for my part as the bride had been omitted. It made me think that he truly saw me as his equal, a woman with a mind and an opinion.
Once we finished our vows, Simon recited the last words on the piece of paper, “According to God’s holy ordinance, this marriage is blessed.”
Smiling up at my husband, he leaned forward with his hands on both sides of my face and kissed my lips. Pulling back, we exchanged “I love yous.” Then, he announced that we were husband and wife, Mr. and Mrs. Simon Blakeley. One more kiss followed before we went to have lunch down the hill.
We laughed and smiled as we walked arm in arm to a bistro. “When can I see you again for our honeymoon?” he asked.
I believe I shocked him when I said that I could get away in two weeks. “My parents are going away. They want my Aunt Helena to come stay with me; you would think I was a child. Proper young women are to be chaperoned.” I giggled, “I believe I can give my aunt the slip by saying I’m going off with Genevieve, or better yet, I can get her to beg me to go off with a friend.”
I was feeling naughty for agreeing to meet with him. But he was my husband, right? I was an adult woman. Who knew if I would ever marry? Actually, I would’ve really married Simon. I just had to figure out how.
“Great! Where shall we meet?”
I wasn’t sure if he was playing along, or believed me. Would he think badly of me giving myself to him?
“At your apartment,” I said slowly with my head down, my eyes lowered, embarrassed. I felt my face heated by my bold statement. I covered my words with innocent suggestions, “I could visit you. You could show me your writings, your cobblestone sketches.”
Lifting my chin, “You are welcome to accompany me anywhere. Are you sure you want to come to my apartment?”
Looking into his lavender eyes, I answered quietly, “You said we needed to have a honeymoon. I am your wife, yes?”
“You want a honeymoon with your husband?
“Yes, please.”
“Then we shall have a honeymoon, my Wife.” I smiled as he kissed my hand.
Friendly Encounter
Getting to his apartment was tricky. I couldn’t go by buggy, alone—I needed an accomplice. I knew I could count on my more experienced, naughty friend, Genevieve. She could take me to him. My aunt liked her and would approve of us going off together. Telling Genevieve about our wedding and plans to spend a night together while we were shopping one afternoon, she said she would arrange an afternoon tea. Strange. I wasn’t sure why she was so adamant about havi
ng a special invitation to tea, maybe it was to make our plans. I was about to find out exactly what she had in mind, once a date was arranged and I went to meet her.
When I turned up at Genevieve’s home, I expected that we would be having tea there, but no. As soon as I arrived, we walked a few blocks away and entered a building through a back courtyard. Every time I asked where we were going, who we were going to see, she silenced me with a finger to her lips as if someone was following us.
Buzzed in through a door, we walked up three flights of stairs. An attractive, well dressed woman let us in. We were escorted into a sitting room where a lovely table was set for high tea. The woman introduced herself as Madame Tea. Instantly, I knew something was up and looked at my friend, suspiciously.
“Are you prepared, dear?” the woman asked.
“Prepared?” I was baffled.
“To prevent babies, dear.”
“Oh. No. I hadn’t thought about that.” I didn’t want to make a baby with Simon. Well, I did, but not without a real wedding.
“She is discreet,” Genevieve spoke up. “She has a device. I have one and it has not failed me. You don’t want to have to go through a removal procedure. She does those, too, but—trust me, you don’t want that.” Oh my goodness. Had Genevieve had to go through something like that?
“I don’t know… I guess…”
“It’s painless. We will measure you and send you home with it. Unless he is prepared or you want a baby,” Madame Tea was very matter of fact.
“This is a special tea session.” Genevieve smiled and patted my hand. Trusting my friend, I was prepared by the time we finished our last drop of tea and last crumb of pastry.
