Then the light was just right and she started sketching with quick, determined strokes. Her eyes flitted back and forth between the gargoyle in her field of vision and the paper in front of her. Her charcoal danced over the paper as if on its own, as if independent from her hand, from her mind. Yet she knew exactly where she wanted the outlines and the shadows to go, how she wanted to delineate the stark profile, how to present the object of her fascination in the best light and to the best of her artistic ability.
Her strokes with the charcoal and the smudging of the black substance with her agile fingers seemed automatic and rehearsed. In actual fact, she concentrated so hard on her task that her hand sometimes trembled with the effort. Her heart and her mind raced inside her with the artistic impulses flooding her as she poured her soul, her very essence, into her work.
Curious tourists had begun to gather around her, watching her in amazement as she brought the piece of paper to life until the figure took on a three-dimensional look, an almost life-like shape. She was barely aware of them. She had become used to admiring onlookers over the years of her artistic career and wasn’t fazed at all by the growing crowd. She knew by now that she was very good at what she was doing and that she could please even the most discerning aficionado with her art.
She applied the final lines to her sketch, emphasized a shadow here, a curve there, scrutinized her creation carefully by holding it up at arm’s length to get the full effect. When she was completely satisfied with her sketch, she signed her name at the bottom, and wrote the words Gargoyle, Notre Dame at the top. As a final touch, she sprayed the charcoal sketch with lacquer to keep it from smudging. Then she pulled the sheet of paper from her pad and held it up, calling out the price of her latest piece of art.
A foreign couple standing close to her practically snatched it out of her hands, handed her the money, and detached themselves from the group, smiling proudly at their acquisition and admiring it together in the brightening light of the sun. They appeared extremely satisfied with their morning outing and their valuable purchase from a real Parisian artist, signed with her name and all. Most importantly, they had been there when it was created, and they had obtained it from the artist herself.
Jacqueline had learned a long time ago, back when she was in art school and trying to make money any way she could, that the tourists delighted in her work, even her earliest sketches. It gave them something very tangible, very real, very uniquely Parisian that they could take home with them and show to their friends. She was flattered by the attention she received, by the ease with which she could sell her sketches, and she made sure she continually improved her techniques. She had to be proud of every piece she sold and signed her name to in front of curious crowds.
The foreign couple with her first sketch of the day in their hands were still standing on the balustrade admiring her rendition of the gargoyle, when she focused her attention on the next figure and immediately began sketching again. She knew that the tourists surrounding her would be buying her sketches as long as she produced them and she had become very quick and secure with her charcoal.
As she had expected, she sold every piece she drew of the gargoyles at a good price, and she kept sketching until the sun was getting low on the horizon and the Cathedral was near to closing. Her body was beginning to ache and her hand felt as if it were going to fall off at any moment. She titled and signed her last representation of the fourth gargoyle, sold it to an older man who had been standing behind her looking over her shoulder for quite some time, and closed her pad.
The crowd sighed with collective disappointment, but she pointed to the time and the trembling of her hand. They dispersed gradually and reluctantly, looked out over the city once more, and started to head back downstairs, the lucky ones among them carefully carrying their masterpieces in their hands. Jacqueline packed her sketch pad and charcoal into her carrying case, rose from her canvas seat, and stretched her aching body voluptuously in the slowly cooling evening air.
She was alone by then, and she allowed herself the luxury of leaning against the balustrade and looking out over her city, the Seine a black vein traversing the city below, the Eiffel Tower at a distance silhouetted against the darkening sky. For a brief moment, she was tempted to get her sketch pad back out and capture the quiet evening over the city, but she was really too tired to do anything else. Besides, the attendant would soon be coming to order her downstairs and lock up the building.
She was still leaning against the balustrade, lost in thoughts, when she heard footsteps behind her and turned around. To her surprise, and pleasure, the attendant was a handsome young man she had never seen before.
‘You must be new here,’ she said.
‘My first day,’ the young man replied. ‘Summer job, you know. I’m Jean-Claude.’
‘Jacqueline,’ she replied, holding out her hand.
Jean-Claude took her hand into his and squeezed it lightly, looking intently at her. ‘I’m supposed to tell you to leave now so I can lock up the building.’
‘I know, I know,’ Jacqueline sighed. ‘I just always enjoy the last few moments after everybody else has left. It’s so quiet and peaceful up here, and I love looking down over the city when the light starts to fade. It’s as if the city belonged just to me, in a strange sort of way.’
‘Of course, I could let you stay for a while,’ Jean-Claude suggested. ‘I’d just have to go downstairs and lock the doors.’
‘Can you really do that?’ Jacqueline asked, genuine surprise in her voice.
‘Nobody told me that I couldn’t,’ Jean-Claude replied. ‘Besides, I’m the one with the keys, so it’s highly unlikely that anyone would come and check.’
‘That would be really wonderful,’ Jacqueline enthused. ‘I’ve never been up here at night. Could you really?’
‘Just give me a few minutes,’ Jean-Claude said. With that, he disappeared down the stairs and Jacqueline found herself all alone atop Notre Dame again, free to wander around the balustrade. She took in everything she could, imprinting as many details as she could on her fertile, ever-active, mind and storing everything away for a possible painting when she was working in her studio.
She didn’t just sketch. That was basically her bread-and-butter. She also painted, and that was her passion, the real expression of her soul, that which was giving true meaning to her life. She was quite successful with that as well, selling her work at a small art gallery on a regular basis and getting better known all the time.
Footsteps coming up the stairs interrupted her reverie. Jean-Claude stepped up beside her and they stood in silence for a while.
‘I saw you sketching this afternoon,’ Jean-Claude confessed. ‘I was up here a few times to make sure everybody was all right and there weren’t too many people on the balustrade. You’re very good, you know.’
‘Why, thank you,’ Jacqueline replied coyly. ‘I like what I do. And you? What do you do, when you’re not working at a summer job?’
‘I’m at the Sorbonne,’ Jean-Claude confided in her. ‘Philosophy.’
‘I love philosophy,’ Jacqueline enthused. ‘I took a couple of course a few years ago. I love Kierkegaard, in particular. I was really able to get into his writing. He has some really wonderful things to say about the stages on life’s way and the process of individual growth and development.’
‘He does, indeed. He’s one of my favourite philosophers, too, for much the same reasons,’ Jean-Claude agreed. ‘And Jean-Paul Sartre, of course.’
‘Of course,’ Jacqueline said. ‘If you’re studying philosophy. He was always too difficult for me, so I didn’t learn an awful lot about him.’
‘He is difficult,’ Jean-Claude agreed. ‘But well worthwhile once you get past the basics and really get your teeth into his work. Maybe sometime we could get together and talk existentialism.’
‘Maybe we could,’ Jacqueline said. She turned towards the city again and leaned on the balustrade with her arms folded in front of he
r.
Jean-Claude tentatively put his arm around her shoulder and gently pulled her towards him. Without hesitation, she leaned against him and put her arm around his waist. For a moment neither of them moved, Jacqueline mulling over in her head just what she wanted to do and what might come of it. He was quite a bit younger than she was, and she usually preferred somewhat older men. Yet the idea of being way up here above the city and in complete solitude and silence was definitely very tempting. And she did love sex, sometimes to a fault.
She had a long-standing relationship with a man considerably older than her and she liked that a lot, but she didn’t feel any kind of deep emotional connection with him. His name was Luc and he was out of town on business quite a bit, so she didn’t see him all that often. When they did get together, they always had a lot to talk about and they always cooked sumptuous suppers together, in her apartment or in his, and usually shared more than just one bottle of wine.
Afterwards, they always had excellent sex, in a comfortable and familiar sort of way. He was an experienced lover, always treating her with great tenderness and respect, and knew exactly what she wanted and wanted to do. It was he who showed her how to become a multi-orgasmic woman way back, when she first met him in an art class, and he was the teacher, in more ways than one, as it turned out.
But she needed more. She needed variety and excitement. She needed short-term relationships that provided her with good sex, stroked her psyche, and made her feel good about herself. Now she was faced with one of those decisions again, but she simply told herself that sex was sex and she wanted it now. It would certainly be a first for her, way up here where they were.
No sooner had she formulated her last thought than she turned to Jean-Claude and put her arms around him. He smiled, pleased with the development, and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close. From then on, it wasn’t a matter of thoughts or ideas or decisions any more. It was simply a physical coming together of two people who wanted each other and delighted in each other’s bodies.
Jean-Claude proved to be a surprisingly good kisser, nibbling her lips expertly, probing her with his tongue, sucking at hers until her knees wobbled and she had to hold on to him so as not to buckle in his arms. She loved being kissed like that, forcefully and with determination and passion, and she thoroughly enjoyed the time he spent on their initial kiss.
She gasped with delight when he put his hand on her breast and started rubbing and stroking it through her blouse, fondling her nipple until it stood out from her round breast. Before she knew it, he had unbuttoned her blouse, sliding it off over her shoulders, and reached behind her to undo her bra. She sighed when he put his hands on her smooth, soft breasts, held them for a while in his palms as if weighing them, caressed them with expert fingers and palms, tracing their outlines and contours like a real connoisseur. To her delight he suddenly seemed much older than he really was.
She felt incredibly good, being fondled like that high above her city, high above in the darkness with the city below bathed in light, the gargoyles perched ominously above them. She was sure they were watching them and delighting in their activities. The knowledge of their silent presence and their stone eyes only served to heighten her arousal. She quickly pulled off her jeans and undid his shirt while he unzipped his trousers. Then she reached for his shorts and pulled them down over his legs, releasing his stiff penis. He, in turn, hooked his fingers into her briefs and pulled them down over her legs as well, then went on his knees to kiss her pubic hair and send delicious shivers up and down her spine.
They quickly spread out their clothes on the stone floor and were lying naked beside each other in no time. They were breathing heavily, excitedly, sighing and moaning as they grabbed hold of each other and pressed their hot bodies together. Although they could hardly wait to get to the real thing, they kept fondling and caressing each other at great length. His penis was growing and hardening against her legs, her pussy tingling with excitement and getting wetter by the minute, her breasts aching with desire.
The gargoyles watched in silence when he went down on her. She spread her legs as wide as she could and pulled up her knees to give him the best exposure and access to her quivering pussy. He worked wonders with his tongue on her swelling lips until she thought she could no longer contain herself. Obviously enjoying himself immensely, he continued licking and sucking her. When he reached her clit with his tongue, he pulled her lips apart with his fingers, and worked his magic until she shuddered and screamed with her first orgasm came under the open sky, shaking her to the core. And still he licked her and sucked her until her second orgasm rushed through her, tantalizing her mind, her soul, setting her already hot body on fire. She screamed her intense pleasure into the night air and dug her fingers into his back.
Only then did he emerge from between her legs and climb up on top of her to penetrate her with a forceful, determined thrust that sent more delightful tremors through her body. He thrust in and out of her with his youthful exuberance until she trembled through yet another orgasm and he gushed into her at the exact same time. Lying lifelessly on top of her, he groaned his own pleasure into her ear, making her feel exceedingly good and proud of herself.
She dropped her legs back down onto the stones and flung her arms out in pure ecstasy, crucifix-like under the stars and the rising moon. She hadn’t felt quite like this in a long time, probably, she thought, because she was out in the open and the whole situation was so forbidden and just dangerous enough to provide her with a special thrill.
‘Wow!’ Jean-Claude exclaimed as he rolled off her. ‘That was the best sex I’ve ever had. You were fantastic!’
‘You were pretty good yourself,’ Jacqueline moaned. ‘I’m really glad you suggested this. I wouldn’t have wanted to miss this for anything in the world.’
‘I’m glad,’ Jean-Claude gasped, trying to get his breath back.
They lay quietly beside each other, basking in the afterglow of their orgasms, lost in their own thoughts.
‘We probably should be going soon,’ Jean-Claude finally broke the silence. ‘I have to be here again in the morning to open up.’
‘It is getting late,’ Jacqueline agreed. She stood up and put her clothes back on.
‘Will you be back?’ Jean-Claude asked as he put on his own clothes.
‘I’m always back,’ Jacqueline replied cryptically, winking at him conspiratorially. She picked up her carrying case and her folding seat and waited for him to lead the way.
They kissed once more when they stepped out of the cathedral, then went off in their own directions to get to their respective abodes. Jacqueline walked leisurely along the familiar streets, letting the evening’s event play itself out in her mind, smiling all the while. She wondered whether she would really see him again and, if she did, whether she would want to repeat their encounter. But it had been a most enjoyable and liberating experience, and maybe, just maybe, she would want to repeat it at some other time. She would give it some more thought before making up her mind.
Taking her time on her way home, she finally reached her spacious flat on the top floor of an old building in Montmartre. The building was fairly high up on the hill and afforded her a panoramic view of the city. Large curtainless windows provided her with ample light for her painting, and she could move her various easels freely around the room to get the best illumination for whatever she happened to be doing. She had been lucky to find an ideal home like it for herself and considered herself very fortunate to be living in a place like this.
Coming home so late after a busy day of sketching, she decided to let herself sleep in the next morning and stay at home for the day. When she was feeling more energetic again, she started to work on a large canvass of various gargoyles in black and gray against a background of a red sky with ominously dark clouds. She wanted to capture the mystery of the sculptures, balancing the positive and the negative, imbuing the monstrous creatures with mystery and intrigue.
It
rained for the next couple of days and she made good use of her inability to be outside sketching by working on the painting until she had all the elements and the colours exactly the way she wanted them. It was a lot of work, but she managed to finish the painting to her complete satisfaction. As soon as the paint was completely dry, she would take it to the art gallery where her other paintings were on exhibit and enjoyed considerable success with tourists as well as with local buyers.
When the rain stopped and the city was cleansed and sparkling again, she took her carrying case and headed down the hill to one of her favourite streets. It was an old, narrow street, with several sidewalk cafés on both sides. She found herself an empty table, ordered a coffee, and placed her sketch pad and charcoal on the small round table she had selected. Then she focused her attention on the sidewalk café across the street and started to sketch.
Sometimes she liked to pick out individuals on her own side or across the street to add to the collection of portraits she later used in paintings. On this particular day, she decided to sketch the whole café with all the patrons sitting in the sunlight. She was busily sketching away, capturing the atmosphere and the personalities, when she noticed out of the corner of her eye that a young man had sat down a couple of tables away from her and was watching her intently.
She looked up from her sketch. The young man smiled at her.
‘May I see?’ he asked, quite bluntly, she thought. ‘I’m a bit of an aficionado and I’d really like to see what you’re doing.’
‘It’s not finished yet,’ Jacqueline protested. ‘I only started a little while ago.’
‘I like seeing works in progress,’ the young man countered. ‘I won’t say anything negative about it.’
‘Oh, all right, then,’ Jacqueline relented.
The young man rose from his table and came to sit at hers, across from her.
‘I’m Henri,’ he introduced himself. He seemed nice enough, probably a bit older than her but not by much, dressed in a smart business suit with matching tie and shoes. And he was very attractive, with a striking face and obviously professionally styled light-brown hair.
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