by Fifi Flowers
The next morning, I woke up before the sun greeted the city. I couldn’t contain my excitement. The thought of seeing Avril had my body yearning for more.
I wished she was already with me… in my bed.
I wished that I was rolling her on top of me.
I wished I was buried within her wetness.
I wished that she was riding me.
No. No, I didn’t. That was not me, not how I did relationships. Actually, I did not do relationships and I did not have women in my bed. And yet, it was all I could think about when I awoke.
Looking at my bedside clock, I saw that it was much too early to begin the day. Attempting to go back to sleep, I rolled over, pulled the covers over my head, closed my eyes, and there she was—my erection raged on. After tossing and turning for what seemed like forever, I gave up and hopped out of bed. Standing in the shower, I provided myself with a little soapy relief, hoping it would ease my cravings for Avril. I was so happy that I had suggested we meet at a little bistro for coffee and a light breakfast instead of going to her apartment. The very thought of us being alone in her apartment was more than I could handle.
Sitting at an outdoor table waiting for Avril to arrive, I pulled out a map and a red marker to plan out our chapel exploration. It was a good distraction until she lightly tapped me on the shoulder.
“Hey, tourist.”
Turning to her delicate touch, I smiled, enchanted by her beauty. So close to me, I breathed in her intoxicating scent with a hint of lavender. Was it real or in my head as I looked into her sparkling eyes as she sat down across from me? Those damn lavender eyes of hers would surely be the death of me.
“Bonjour, Avril,” I said as she joined me.
“I’m in desperate need…” escaped from her lush red lips hesitantly as she crossed her long legs, and I swallowed hard as she finished her statement “…of coffee.” I was in desperate need of ravaging her. I was in trouble already, and our outing had yet to commence. Trying to clear my head, I looked down at the map and added a few more marks.
Extending a slender, red-painted fingernail to the middle of my print out, I gritted my teeth thinking of those nails dragging along my back. “I see that I will need a lot of caffeine and a little food to make it to all of those red circles.” I laughed at her remark; I had gotten a little crazy with the pen.
“Don’t worry we will not be visiting all of these locations.” Noting a sigh of relief, I laughed again. “Basically, I wanted to see which chapels would work best for lunch, and for visiting a couple art galleries that I think you may find interesting.”
“Sounds great! I love to eat and I love art, too. Speaking of food, I’m starving!”
“Good because I ordered breakfast just before you arrived, I hope you don’t mind, and I hope you like my selections.”
“I can’t imagine anything from here not tasting incredible. I’m sure it will all be delicious.” I loved how she smiled at me. So agreeable, too.
Watching her eat was a pleasure, she wasn’t a woman afraid to eat in front of a man. I loved the expressions that formed on her beautiful face as she savored each morsel from her plate. I must’ve looked like a complete fool as a constant grin displayed across my lips. I couldn’t help it; she delighted me. “Mmm… this is delicious, Émile, you must try it.” Before I could reply she had served up some of her brie and chive topped eggs, and put a fork to my mouth. I opened to accept her offering. “Oh I forgot, stop chewing!”
I stopped, and she quickly fed me a juicy, warm pear. The combination was divine. “It is wonderful, Avril. I believe it would be equally good with the addition of pastry.” I pinched off a piece of my chocolate croissant and placed it before her lips. Willingly, she opened, and I felt the tip of her tongue zing my fingertips. I loved her enthusiasm, along with her moaning. I hoped it would be the same during sex.
“Yum. So light, airy, perfectly flaky and the butteriness melts in your mouth. Oh my God, I’m having a food orgasm.” Her words fell away as she blushed, and cast her dazzling eyes down to her plate. I wished she would expound on that comment. I wished I could give her a real orgasm. But, for the moment, I was satisfied with our intimate food exchange.
Finished with our meal, I extended my arm to her and she accepted. Tucked into my side, strolling toward our first stop, I enjoyed her warmth, her scent, and my stomach did a little tumble. I adored the closeness while despising it at the same time, but I wanted to be near Avril any way I could.
“So, where are we off to first, Mr. Tour Guide Extraordinaire?”
Laughing, I answered, “I thought we would start here on the hill.”
“Sacré-Cœur?”
“No, a lesser known chapel. A stone’s throw from your apartment, actually. The Église Saint-Pierre de Montmartre.”
“Oh, I have been meaning to venture over. Especially after seeing it mentioned in a book I recently acquired, labeled as a romantic, Romanesque chapel.”
“It is Romanesque and romantic, oui. It is said that many marriage proposals and secret weddings have been performed within the walls of this church. It was once a nunnery; that should interest you.” As those last words left my mouth, I was saddened at the thought of her becoming a nun. She seemed confused, as she shook her head, looking at me with a puzzled expression. I sensed that she was about to say something as we entered the gardens of the chapel, but instead, she dropped her hand from my arm, and began to wander amidst the greenery. I had lost her to the gardens, and the separation continued indoors. Feeling her withdrawal, I kept my distance, and waited for her to approach me while wondering what I had said wrong.
“The chapel is warm and inviting, actually—it’s charming. I understand the allure to love. So, where to next?”
“Basilique St Denis. We will need to take the metro or we could get there as they did many centuries ago. According to history, the first bishop of Paris, martyr St Denis, was decapitated here on the hill and then they carried his head to where he wanted to be buried—the site of where the church stands today. Hence, the name Montmartre, martyr hill.”
“I knew you would be a fabulous tour guide.” She linked her arm with mine, telling me she opted to take the metro when I told her the number of kilometers to the chapel. I was happy to have her near me once more.
Arriving at the basilique, we stayed close together as I enlightened her with more facts about the church. It is a truly gorgeous building with a stunning Gothic vault ceiling in the nave and brilliantly colored stained glass high above, surrounding the choir section. Watching Avril gaze up at the ceiling, her long neck was exposed and my imagination began to soar. I envisioned running my tongue from her collar bone up to her ear, taking her lobe between my teeth, nibbling, licking, and biting. Then, she made a gasping, moaning sound, and I thought I would burst the zipper of my trousers—not appropriate thoughts and actions one should have while in a church. I needed to move away from her. Excusing myself, I told her I would wait near the entrance, encouraging her to take her time. It wasn’t long before she joined me and we headed for the station.
Next stop, the Île de la Cité—an island of the city, situated in the middle of the Seine River—that housed Sainte-Chapelle a Gothic holy chapel, commissioned by King Louis IX. Avril exclaimed that it looked like a giant jeweled crown fit for a king. I agreed; it was rather flamboyant with gold buttresses arched on a dark blue vaulted ceiling and gold fleur de lis stamped everywhere, including on the ornate columns. The chapel is gorgeous; no doubt about it, actually breathtaking. But, it’s almost overwhelming to the eyes.
Walking out, Avril conveyed she felt as I did and that she was famished. “No more! My head is spinning after that. So much gold and ornamentation! My brain is still trying to grasp the spectacularness—not sure that is a word, but it seems fitting. Wow! Please, Émile, no more! I need a rest! You must feed me, I beg of you!” With her innocent words came the image of her on her knees, begging me for more.
Shaking filthy thoughts from
my head, I laughed at her prayer-clasped hands. “Sorry, Avril, do you like sushi?” With a smile and still clasped hands, she nodded yes. Steering my hungry girl in the direction of the metro, we journeyed to one of my favorite Japanese restaurants in the seventh arrondissement.
Familiar with the quaint place and chef’s specialties, I ordered a variety of dishes for us to share. Then, I ordered a unique green tea beverage for both of us, based on her usual reference to tea or coffee. I wanted to order sake or Sapporo beer, but I didn’t want her to feel awkward in case she did not partake in libations. On the two occasions that I had been in her presence, we had only spoken about non-alcoholic beverages, so I played it safe.
While tasting a variety of fresh fish dishes, we talked about bookshops and galleries. I informed her of a few nearby featuring non-secular art and suggested we go visit them after lunch. I would rather have taken her into some more interesting art galleries. Ones that would put her in the mood for other activities where she was liable to scream “Oh God,” rather than seeing images of him. Remembering that I was to portray a prim and proper man today, I stuck to the religious conversation.
“Perhaps there might be some books to add to your collection.”
“My collection?” Avril looked puzzled, once again. Then, she nodded her head. “Ohh… the books sitting on my table?”
“Yes, and like the books you purchased from the flea market.” The reason for this outing. The reason I was on my best behavior. “Shall we look in a few galleries before I take you to see a couple more chapels? The art galleries are just down the way.”
“I love art galleries. I will be thrilled to see something other than churches. Not that I have not enjoyed the chapels thus far, but a break would be lovely.”
Strolling along the boulevard, I watched Avril look at, what I would label, naughty pieces of art. Very sexually charged sculptures and paintings were displayed in a variety of windows. Was it my wishful thinking, or was she actually enjoying the views? Was the art exciting her? She definitely looked interested. The way she ran her fingertip across her lower lip—I could swear—I heard a sexy sigh. The erotically charged mix of modern and vintage art had set my body on fire. I nearly lost all control when she stopped and looked at Lily LaSalle’s collection of Erotic Windows, paintings, and photography. Lily was definitely one of my favorite artists, and though I would’ve loved to take her inside, I reminded her that the non-secular art galleries were a few doors down. Was that a sad look that I saw spread across her face, or relief? I was uncertain.
Moving on, we arrived at the intended location, and it seemed the mood between us plummeted as I opened the door to the showroom. The gallery specialized in religious art: original paintings, sculptures, photographs, and limited signed prints. It was a beautiful gallery. The work was all spectacular, but it was not appealing to me. I wasn’t even sure it was stimulating to Avril, she looked a bit sad. Attempting to cheer her up, I purchased a few special edition cards of the pieces she said she enjoyed the most. I wasn’t sure the gift worked.
Leaving the gallery, as we walked along quietly, heading toward a couple more chapels on our route, I felt something had changed. I knew she wasn’t right for me. I definitely wasn’t right for her. It was best to say our goodbyes at the end of the day. We visited one more chapel, one of my favorites because of the elegant ornamentation, but even that didn’t capture me like it usually did. Its exquisite tile patterned floors, marble arches, and gorgeous wall sconce chandeliers usually dazzled my senses. Yet, all I could think about was this was it… this was the end, before it really even began. The sooner the better, I thought, as we exited the sacred doors.
“Avril, do you mind if we don’t see any more chapels today?” I felt like an asshole, but I was starting to suffocate, my chest was actually tightening.
“Not at all, I’m a bit tired. Overstimulated.” I liked the stimulated part of her speech, but I was interpreting it in a completely different way. Time to get her home. Time to run. Returning her to her apartment building, I walked her all the way to her door, kissed her on both cheeks, and immediately turned towards the stairs to escape. Avril asked me if I’d like to come in for a cup of tea, I declined her offer. I told her I had a lovely time, hoped to see her again, then I was down the stairs, and out of her building as fast as my feet could take me.
As I walked home, I thought of what I wanted to do to her. I didn’t want to leave her at her door; I wanted to fuck her hard up against that door. She was unbelievably beautiful and her lavender eyes enchanted me, they were so intense. I wanted to look into them as I hammered into her. I wanted them looking at me when I made her come—I wondered if the color would change. Would they be more brilliant? Was that even possible? She may have nun thoughts, but she looked nothing like a nun. Maybe a naughty nun. Damn, I was going to hell, for sure. I told myself aloud, “Get your mind out of the gutter, Émile, she is so not for you.”
I needed a cold shower.
Chapter Six
Avril
Closing my apartment door, I dropped my black, leather mini day-bag, shucked out of my houndstooth coat, kicked off my flat, red shoes, and headed to the kitchenette. I was in need of a glass—a bottle—of wine. Sitting on my settee with my feet tucked under me glimpsing the tallest dome of the Sacré-Cœur out of my French doors, I wondered what the hell had just happened. Where did everything fall apart? The day started out yummy; breakfast with Émile, feeding each other was so sexy. The chapel tour was divine, not too many and his input was interesting; enjoyable tidbits. Lunch. Lunch was a bit awkward. I wanted to say so many things, but I was afraid I would chase him off. I wanted him, so I was willing to make sacrifices.
I loved the lunch itself, Japanese-French fusion restaurants were one of my favorites. Green tea was not terribly appealing to me. I really wanted a Sapporo beer to accompany the fish dishes. Unsure if Émile is a teetotaler (I hoped not), I was fine with going without alcohol. Our conversation was stimulating until it turned into a discussion about non-secular books and art. He was so informed about the non-secular world. I was delighted to hear his input, but I thought, please do not be a good, religious prim and proper man. I was not against religious men; however, they were not my cup of tea, so to speak.
Maybe it was my fault I was in this situation. I may have led him astray with the books sitting on my table as I listened to him mention my collection. They were probably the reason for this outing today. Sitting across from him, watching him, it was time to set him straight, but he was so damn gorgeous—maybe I could corrupt him. I knew I couldn’t walk away from him just yet. If he was into church and non-secular books and art, I didn’t want to offend him. I needed to give him a chance. Maybe it was time to move away from bad boys. He did look like a bad boy. I wished he was. He made my mind run to smutland as he reached across the table with a piece of sushi perched between two chopsticks and asked me to open wide. Opening, I accepted it as if he were feeding me his cock. God! I needed to get my mind out of the gutter. After all, the next thing he fed me was more religious art.
When Émile had mentioned strolling by art galleries he wanted to show me, I was excited. I loved visiting art galleries. Along the way, we passed a number of gallery windows with some highly erotic art. One piece in particular stopped me dead in my tracks; it was a brightly colored painting of a couple entwined on an ottoman before an open window in Paris, it was such an intimate pose. I wanted to go inside and view more works of art by the artist. Instead, Émile captured my arm, steering me farther down the block, into a gallery filled with religious paintings, sculptures, and photography. I felt terrible as I let a little sigh escape my lips, and Émile asked me if anything was wrong—did I not like the art.
“Of course, the artwork is stunning,” I lied. Not about the artwork, it was beautiful. The sigh was out of pure disappointment. I felt even worse when he purchased me a few limited edition cards of the pieces I said I enjoyed the most. He was such a sweet man, but I wanted a s
exy man. One who would push me against the wall and fuck me hard. I sighed again, that time so he couldn’t hear me. Maybe I couldn’t do this after all.
Leaving the gallery, part of me wanted to make up an excuse—no more chapels. But, I just followed along. I must admit, the last chapel was rather charming, but I had had enough, and was relieved when Émile suggested he take me home. On our way to my apartment, I thought of ways to seduce him, but he nicely walked me all the way to the door, kissed me on both cheeks, and turned to leave. I attempted one more move, asking him if he’d like to come in for a cup of tea. Oh, how I really wanted to pull him inside, crack open a bottle of wine, get him drunk, and drag him to my bed.
He declined my offer, told me he had a lovely time, hoped to see me again, but he did not mention exchanging phone numbers. He hoped to see me, but no invitation was extended for another outing. It appeared I was being given the brush off. So there I sat, drinking wine, trying to curb my sexual appetite with my own hand. I needed to speak to someone… my sister.
Looking at my watch, I realized it was a good time to call. I so needed to share my frustrations. I was thrilled when Chloe answered on the second ring. Bursting at the seams, I didn’t even give her a chance to say hello.
“Chloe, he’s driving me crazy. He’s so incredibly, fucking hot, but he ran away from me, again. This time, I think it’s over. The first time he ran from my apartment after he was caressing my legs. Well, actually he was cleaning my wounds. I was so wet, he had to smell my body craving him! Today—nothing. Just gone! It didn’t even get started and it’s over.”