The Labyrinth of Passion (romantic experiences)

by Charles Westmont

  Looking away toward the window, he intoned, “My dear miss, I did not get your name.” In a state of advanced panic, she whispered, her voice almost failing her, “Catherine.” He turned to her, “Catherine, what a lovely name!” He began limping toward her. Catherine was totally overcome with fear. He moved behind her. She felt his breath on the back of her neck, but she was too frightened to move. When she heard him sniff, she understood his nose was close enough to touch. She could feel it moving on her neck and in her hair. She felt his moist lips brushing her neck.

  After long minutes, he moved in front of her, his nose under her chin, tickling her softly. His teeth were undoing the buttons of her blouse. With expert skills, he gently undid the first button, then the second, then the third, his breath hot across her breasts. He stood there on his knees for a long time, smelling and caressing her breasts with his nose, lips and tongue. He would circulate from left to right. She was horrified that faint notes of pleasure were mingling with her fears. She felt her nipples aching to burst, hard as rocks.

  After a few more minutes, she lost some of her resistance. Her body began calling for the caress of his lips. In the manner of a wolf stalking his pray, he was waiting for his moment. When her nipple touched his lips, his teeth started nibbling gently. She had difficulty resisting her growing excitement. One second it was fear, the next it was pleasure. Her eyes were locked shut, but she felt his head moving between her breasts, sliding slowly toward her belly. His hands were very slowly opening the buttons of her dress. She could hear his nose sniffing her just like Elliot, her uncle’s large German Shepherd, used to do.

  His face seemed to float from her neck to her belly, barely touching her. She became so aroused, that she barely noticed that he was removing her panties with his teeth, pulling them down along her thighs. A volcano erupted in her belly. She bit her lips to retain a scream, but she was not completely successful. He seemed to stop for a moment, but calmly, he returned to nosing her pussy. She felt the swelling of her vagina, alternating with aching pleasure. She squinted briefly and saw him licking her belly button, his eyes closed. She saw him slide down and pursue his licking and sniffing, again parting the lips of her vagina, chewing her love bud, but always with extreme gentleness. She closed her eyes again. The pleasure was gone, only the pain remaining. He lifted her thighs holding them apart and his nose and tongue began exploring her rectum. She was shocked to find that the pain was replaced by new found pleasure. Yet his gestures were so embarrassing. She could not hold herself anymore, and her aggressor felt her body wiggling helplessly within his arms. He released his hold, and flashing a smile of satisfaction, stood facing her.

  She closed her eyes tight and trembled with fear. She heard him undo his pants and remove his underwear. He stood in front of her, immobile. For a long moment, there was silence in the room. He was not touching her, she could not understand the stillness. She slowly opened her eyes and let a scream of horror at the terrifying sight in front of her. He was standing still, his face stony, exposing his bare crotch totally devoid of private parts, only a gaping hole with charred skin remained, the grim aftermath of a land mine. The crevice of purple flesh and veins continued down his left thigh to his knee. He pulled his pants up and started to limp toward the adjoining bathroom. She remained on the chair, too frightened to move or breathe.

  After a moment, which seemed like hours, he came out and moved toward his desk. Without looking at her, he said in a voice without emotion, “You are free to go.” She was closing the last button of her dress when the soldier opened the door. “Follow me, miss.” She ran down the steps to find her bicycle on the fence. She started crying. She contemplated the idea of returning home, but after a moment, she wiped away her tears and proceeded to her uncle’s house.

  Catherine’s only love, Marcel

  Catherine was slowly healing from the violence of the abuse that left a deep scar in her soul. This evening, as she did so often before dinner, Catherine was standing at the window overlooking the park partly hidden behind the heavy curtains, For a few weeks, her pretty grey eyes were drawn in observation of a man’s silhouette. He was sitting on a bench in the park of the Chateau de Bridoire, across the road. Marcel, she had heard her father mention his name to Mammie, looked so handsome in the dimming light of the lantern. She could see his brown hair falling on his brow, his eyes appeared darker than coal. She brightened up thinking of his engaging smile, when their path crossed at the park yesterday. He looked so distinguished with his trimmed moustache.

  As the weeks went by, Catherine had grown intrigued about Marcel. She never missed standing behind the curtains when the dark complexioned gentleman took his daily walk in the park. At first, she did not understand the warm feelings that came to her with his close proximity. She was horrified at the thought that Marcel’s penis might react the same way as Frank Boone’s had. She noticed that her hands were brushing her nipples and that she felt the now familiar but still strange electricity between her thighs. She fantasized rubbing Marcel’s naked body with a sponge. She began dreaming about seeing Marcel’s penis enlarging and standing erect, calling for her.

  This morning, she awoke to a wonderful day. She felt completely relaxed and her body and mind were experiencing intense pleasure with everything around her. Mamie Hélène’s porridge smelled better than usual. The light from the kitchen window beamed warm tones of colors on the walls. Her skin smelled so good and she could not stop her nose brushing over her shoulders, her arms and hands. Wearing the new blue sundress Mamie had brought from Larochelle, she felt special. She heard voices arising from the front window. She stood to see her father in conversation with Marcel near the front door. Her heart missed a beat in excitement and she could feel the army of butterflies moving inside her. She felt great, but shyness overcame her at the thought of Marcel being so close. She approached the window, still hiding behind the curtain. Pressing her ear to the window, she heard Marcel, “I will be leaving tomorrow for Marseille. From there, a boat will bring me to Algeria, where I will join my squadron. If you would kindly bear with me Monsieur and esteemed neighbor, I would appreciate your kind attention to this request. I must tell you that I hold you in the highest esteem and that I would not, in any way, draw your attention over a foolish matter. “I have, over the last few months, been attracted to your lovely daughter, Catherine. Yet I have not had the pleasure to meet her. Before I depart on my mission, I wonder if you would extend your kindness to introduce us to each other.” Victor answered without any hesitation, “Marcel you are a trusted friend, I will be pleased to introduce you to Catherine. But remember that she is her very own person and whatever your intentions, she will remain the master of her own destiny.”

  Catherine, hearing these words, grabbed the curtains in a tight hold. She was perturbed by the assault of so many feelings struggling to take possession of her. She was elated that Marcel would want to meet her, but was still embarrassed by the thoughts that she had about him. She feared awkwardness overcoming her should she be close to him. She had always been protected by distance; when out of his sight, she could observe him discreetly every day.

  “Catherine!” She heard her father’s voice resounding in her ears, please come here.” Propelled by an impulse unknown to her, she moved to the front door. Victor took her hand and she could see the pride in his eyes, “Marcel, meet my daughter Catherine.” At that moment, she felt herself melting into the sidewalk, but his wonderful deep voice came to her rescue.

  “It is pure happiness to meet you, dear Catherine. With all the respect I owe to your family, I must tell you that for a long time, I have secretly watched your beautiful person emerging in front of the house. Each time I observed your graceful walk, my heart was beating so hard that I feared acknowledging my feelings. I often sat on the park bench of the Chateau de Bridoire, where I could not help thinking of you. I am grateful that your father, a wonderful friend, accepted to introduce us. Would you accept to join me for a walk in the park?”


  They walked for a long while, Catherine said few words, but she took immense pleasure listening to his voice. She heard his words, but the sound of his voice was to her ears the most beautiful music. In later years, she would be upset at herself for forgetting most of what Marcel said that day, but the music of his voice would murmur in her ears forever. On the way home, they sat on a bench. He told her that he was leaving the next day, but that he was praying for a prompt ending to the war. He would return to ask for her hand in marriage. “You will have time to think about my proposal and I hope you will feel about me as I do about you.” She was so happy that she could barely open her mouth. “Oh Marcel! I must confess that I have been longing to meet you. Your serious appearance and my secret attraction toward you were making me feel shy. Just the thought of you made me blush. I will await your return with great anticipation.”

  He took her hand gently on his lap to reassure her. His attentions did little to appease her but she still smiled. Her eyes were flirting discreetly with a bulge in his pants and she could not stop smiling, attempting to hide her embarrassment. When they stood to leave at sundown, their eyes locked in an embrace. He let her hand slip slowly out of his palm.

  The next morning, she was standing behind the curtains. The rain pounded against the glass pane, blurring her vision. He came out of the house with a tote bag over his shoulders and approached the waiting car. She opened the window. The rain struck her face, yet she managed to waive him a kiss. She thought, for a moment, that his dark eyes acknowledged her. He turned and sat in the departing car. She stood, her upper body still in the rain, with tears flowing down her cheeks, blending with the raindrops. “God speed, my love,” she prayed with all her heart.

  Marcel is missing in action

  A few months after the war ended, Catherine took the day off from school to attend a ceremony. The President of France, in person, was visiting Bergerac to decorate Victor and Mamie with the highest civilian award: la Legion d’Honneur. Catherine was standing proudly beside Spalding, who had arrived from England the day before, to participate in the festivities. They stood at the Laetitia Temple, facing le Chateau de Bridoire. Victor was reading his acceptance speech, standing where the Roman wall gave way to the medieval wall. Catherine’s thoughts were captured by her memory of Frank Boone. To her, he was a very special victim of the war, more so than so many of the others she had encountered. But the special rapport that she could never share with him, would remain imprinted in her memory and in her flesh.

  Catherine was to receive a teaching certificate at the end of that school year. She was looking forward to an appointment at the Bergerac primary school. She had received a letter from Indochina, Marcel was hoping that there would be a prompt ending to the Philippine Guerrilla War. He expected to return home very soon. He was leaving the next morning for Diem Bien Phu to bring air support to the infantry. He would write upon his return to the base. Catherine was holding his letter to her face, letting her tears drip over his signature. It had been two years already since the day they met. Yet, she was quite certain she could still perceive his scent on the paper.

  But the war kept ragging in Asia. After de Gaulle had secured from Truman, the American president, an accord to keep a hold of Indochina, Ho Chi Min, a traditional western ally, had in response opted to join Stalin for support. Stalin could not let such a geopolitical opportunity escape his claws. What support, indeed, he brought to Ho Chi Min. The Viet general concentrated all his new found weaponry at Diem Bien Phu, where he patiently awaited the unexpecting French forces. The battle turned into a massacre that spelled the end of the French presence in Indochina.

  On her way back to the house the following morning, Catherine blew an enticing kiss to Antoine the baker. She opened the front door, to see her grandfather holding Mamie in a hug. They were crying. She ran to them. “What is wrong?” They extended their arms and held her between their bodies. They both tried to speak, but the words were not coming out. Finally Victor cried, “Catherine something happened to Marcel. He has been missing from his air base since last evening. There was a terrible battle at Diem Bin Phu. His plane disappeared.” Catherine felt herself falling in the darkness of a deep precipice.

  When she came to, everything around her appeared even darker. “But it cannot be true, Marcel will be fine. He is probably just lost. Maybe he is wounded and he cannot get back.” She felt so bad for him, so bad that she was not with him to care for him, to comfort him. Mamie was sitting on the bed next to her, tenderly caressing her forehead.

  Escape to Fez

  On this late summer of 1946, the heavy rain was falling without respite. Catherine was standing next to her father. The fine features of her lovely face looked hardened, like the marble statues surrounding them at the cemetery. Marcel’s departure had dug in her heart the void of an irreplaceable loss. She felt that the smile from her eyes and lips would never join again to paint her face with the glistening colors of joy. She was so miserable. “How do I go on living without the love of my life when the pain hurts so much? When, with every day that goes by, the pain carves away a little piece of my soul? Will there be anything left?” She had to do something different. She had to leave, and hope to forget. She would go.

  The Bergerac Roumanière airport, closed by the Americans after the war, was reopening this afternoon. The chief of police walked proudly in front of the fanfare. The city keys dangling on the ribbon over his broad chest, the Mayor was concluding his opening speech. On the runway near the old hangar, a DC3 polished for the occasion, was being prepared for departure. “I hope you are making the right decision,” Victor said to Catherine. “I know you have been through a lot in the last months, but you know that you will always have a place with us. Mamie and I will miss you and await your return.” She folded her arms around him, “I will miss you too, but I must go. Hopefully, Morocco’s exotic paradise and this new challenge away from home, will help me fill the void in my heart. Mamie and you have been so attentive to my needs, all my life, and especially since Marcel’s disappearance. I will always love you dearly.” She turned to wipe a tear as Mamie took her hand.

  As she boarded the plane, she turned and blew them a kiss, murmuring a few last words. “Goodbye my loving parents! I am sad that I have to go, but if I will ever manage to find myself, it has to be away from these surrounding. This place has been a constant reminder of the pain that is eating my heart. I hope to come back someday. I hope there will be such a day, when my heart will start healing and that I can experience joy again. On that day, you will be among the first people to share with me a newfound happiness. For the moment I will bury myself in my work and keep alert for answers. I have no place left in my heart to love anymore.”

  Upon Catherine’s arrival, Fez was struggling out of decimation inflicted by the shortages and the ills of a lengthy war. Fez, was the former capital of Morocco and one of the country’s four imperial cities. To make matters even worse, Rommel’s armies, after the death of the general, had pillaged everything on their path to return to Europe. In recent months, the new King, on a rare visit, was moved by the desolation of his historic birthplace. Within days, he had dispatched his best architects and engineers with the mission to reconstruct needed schools and hospitals. The new infrastructures provided many professional opportunities to French speaking schools and medical personnel.

  Catherine, under a French government sponsored program, was accepted for an assignment at the new primary school that was nearing completion. The appointment held responsibilities for the early grades. It was a blessing and a balm for her aching heart. Within hours, she buried herself, body and soul, in her new career. Evenings, however, provided few opportunities to occupy her free time. With her shy demeanor and a lack of real friendship possibilities, she felt quite lonely. Most evenings after dinner, she would return to her classroom. For hours, her vivid imagination would devise the most exciting creations to capture her young pupils’ interests.

  She was
painting one evening, completely taken by the fresco of Perrault’s Fairy Tales on the back wall of the classroom. She had somehow mixed the characters of many stories into new interactions, creating innovatory fables. Blue Beard was standing arguing with the wolf, Little Red Riding Hood was awaking from sleep, being kissed by the Beast, while the Beauty sang with the Seven Dwarfs. Her unique talent for colorful drawing, made the scenes seem so real. Each day, the discovery of a new character brought a pleasant stimulant to the children’s imaginations.

  She heard applauds and turning, she saw two teachers smiling at her. “This is beautiful work, you are quite talented. My name is Natalia, please allow me to introduce my friend, Sophia. We arrived together from Corsica last week, to take responsibility for the sixth and seventh grades.” The two young ladies came forward “It is a pleasure to meet you.”

  “I’m Catherine,” she responded, hardly containing her embarrassment. “But you are making a big fuss over a little thing. I am just spending my idle time, attempting to complete something useful and pleasing for the children. We have so little to offer. I have only one French literature manual for thirty pupils.” She turned to Natalia, “I took notice of you a few days ago, when you were talking to the school director. Natalia pointed to the fresco “This is outstanding work, and you better assume it, Catherine. Would you be kind enough to let our classes visit and see your work?”

  They continued talking for what seemed like a long time. Catherine glanced at her watch and exclaimed: “Goodness! It’s midnight.” The three girls looked astounded. “Time flies, we have to sleep to be ready for class tomorrow.” Natalia grabbed Catherine in a hug. “We are friends now, we will be a great team.” Grabbing Sophia, she added, “Kiss Catherine and let us go to bed, Good night Catherine.”