by Serena Janes
Luc noticed.
“Yes, it seems cold in here. The temperature remains a constant forty-five degrees year round. Don’t worry. You’ll grow accustomed to it very soon. Stay close to me and walk carefully. All the paths are lit, but some are quite dark and the floor can be rough and wet in places. Wet limestone is slippery,” he warned, “so move slowly and stay together. I have a flashlight, and I’ll help you over any dangerous ground.”
They followed him along the path to the first large chambers. Jo was instantly enchanted. The cave was beautiful and eerie. Yes, there were plenty of the requisite stalactites and stalagmites, and lots of dripping all over the place, but it was the pseudo-architecture of some of the rooms that thrilled her.
Jo had read in the French Escapes brochure that the cave’s formations would evoke familiar shapes and objects. Some of the tall, delicate forms flowing down the walls made her think of massive pipe organs. It was like standing inside one of the great stone cathedrals of Europe. She’d been to Seville, York, Chartes.
But even more evocative were the great billowing limestone shapes that hung from the ceilings and draped over walls. The looked like giant lips, labia, women’s genitals ten yards high and three yards wide. The more she looked at them, the more sexual they seemed. It was as if they weren’t made of hard cold stone at all, but of enormous soft warm wet folds of flesh. Engorged. Glistening. Dripping. She smiled at the likeness.
Am I the only one who sees these slabs of limestone as sexual? Am I seeing the world through the eyes of a woman in lust?
Clearly I am, she decided with some amusement.
As she stared hard at the room full of giant vulvas, she heard Luc’s playful voice close beside her.
“This room is nicknamed La Salle des Femmes. Can anyone guess why?”
A few chuckles were his answer, and Jo felt slightly disappointed that her private thoughts were not unique. But then she blushed at the knowledge that Luc was thinking the same thing she was.
He quickly adopted a more professional tone.
“The primitive people who once lived in this region believed that caves were sacred places. Because they are deep inside the earth, Mother Earth, if you like, caves were seen as symbols of wombs—the place from which all life springs. You must admit that the entering of a large cavern through a narrow tunnel does have a sexual parallel.”
Peter guffawed, Edward said, “Oh. Right.” Duncan, deadpan, said, “Okay, I admit it.”
“Yes,” added Professor Arnold, the group’s private Oxford scholar. “There is much evidence to suggest that the female’s ability to bring forth life has been revered in primitive cultures worldwide. Today we don’t place much stock in it, do we?”
“I should say we don’t,” Marcie piped up. “As a mother of four I could use a little more respect.” She threw a sideways look at her stoic husband and the rest of the women laughed.
Marcie was a timid and tired-looking creature, Jo thought. Is that what motherhood is going to do to me?
But then she was pulled back into the present as Luc moved slightly closer to her. He had given the floor to the professor, who was elaborating on caves’ symbolic significance to primitive peoples. In the semidarkness, she closed her eyes and imagined she was alone with Luc in this giant room full of engorged labia. The enclosed space made it easy for her to pretend that the two of them were separated from the rest of the world by a mile of solid rock. She allowed herself to feel a subtle shiver of pleasure as she sensed Luc’s large presence close by.
When Thomas was finished, Luc thanked him and went on to explain how and when these particular caves were discovered. His voice seemed even deeper as it resonated off the stone walls, his accent strongly appealing. Jo indulged in another little shiver of pleasure as it pulsed through her body. Then she sensed that Luc had shifted his body even closer to hers, and she opened her eyes in surprise. He was almost touching her. She thought she could feel his warmth. In the low light, no one could see how closely he was standing to her. Almost holding her breath, she stood perfectly still.
Then his body did touch hers, ever so slightly, as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. She thought his chest brushed her arm and shoulder—or maybe it was just his shirt—and she felt another, deeper, shiver of pleasure, causing her nipples to harden.
Did that really happen? Or did I imagine it?
He looked down at her and gave her a devastatingly sexy smile before moving off to the next room. No one else could have seen the look on his face. She caught her breath as if the wind had been knocked out of her. Although there wasn’t much light, she’d read his message. His smile spoke it. His eyes seconded it. Subtly but unmistakably, he was flirting with her. Teasing her. Challenging her.
This has to be more than just a little harmless flirtation. My smiles and questions to him over breakfast were perfectly innocent. And so, possibly, were his smiles and answers to me. But this is something else!
It spoke quite clearly of different, not-so-harmless things. And at this thought her chest swelled with guilty pleasure. She allowed herself to indulge in a little fantasy of running ahead to trip him, to have him fall on her, right here on the wet, cold stone floor.
He would be so hot and heavy on top of me. So strong.
Not only had she forgotten all about James, she’d conveniently forgotten that Luc was a married man.
While she was deep in fantasy land, Luc moved the group slowly through to the next set of galleries. Each was equally beautiful, full of wide pools of sparkling clear water that gave the illusion of being bottomless. Although the water was only a few inches deep, it reflected the ceilings so clearly that their height turned into depth. It gave Jo the odd sensation of being turned upside down. Crystalline forms glimmered in the dim light, and the tips of some of the stalactites shone like glowworms. She snapped some photos but knew that the camera could never capture the cave’s surreal quality.
They moved on, the path suddenly narrowing and the ceiling dropping low.
Luc took command again. “Now, everyone, please form a single line and be very careful of the water on the ground as we continue. I don’t want anyone to slip.”
It was quite dark now. He stood at the narrowest part of the path, with his flashlight on, waiting to take the arm of anyone wanting help negotiating the pools of water covering it. Jo deliberately hung back so she could pass through last.
When it was her turn, she walked up to him confidently. He looked down into her eyes, the corners of his mouth curled up, and after a brief pause that caused her stomach to flutter again, he said, “Ah, Joanna. It’s your turn. Please allow me.”
The way he said her name—Jo-a-nna—with a deliberate slowing down around the first a, made her knees weak.
He put his arm around her back and took her elbow in his great warm hand. Then he drew her tightly towards him, his strength shocking her. Shining the light ahead of them, he pulled her slowly along the path. She could smell him. After breakfast, he’d excused himself from the table to shower, and now he smelled of warm soap and sweet, fresh sweat. She felt the heat of his arm as it pressed into her back, the heat of his side where it touched hers. It was intoxicating. Now she knew what the word swoon meant.
Not loosening his hold of her body, he lowered his head towards her ear and asked softly, “Are you enjoying yourself so far, Joanna? I’m doing my best.”
A French accent had always seemed sexy to Jo, and Luc’s voice was seductive even when it wasn’t meant for her ears alone. But these suggestive words sent fire to the very marrow of her bones.
Heart racing, she stammered, “Oh. Yes, um, of course, thank you very much. I appreciate your efforts.”
She knew she sounded like an idiot, but that was all she could manage. The confidence she’d felt at the breakfast table had disappeared as she realized he was, carefully and respectfully, initiating a serious game. Or did she start it? Either way, it was clear they were now both playing.
Bu
t do I know the rules?
He released her only after it was clear he could no longer hold her without being seen by one of the others.
What’s going to happen now? Omygod! Am I really in control of the next move in this game?
His touch ignited a desire for more. She wanted to reach out and put her hands on him. Her mouth filled with saliva at the thought of pressing her mouth to any part of him. Her fingers tingled with the urge to stroke his flesh. She wanted to push him to the floor and lay down on top of him. Cover his long hard body with her own.
Let everyone else go look at the stupid caves. I just want to stay behind and fuck the guide.
Oh my God…what am I thinking? Am I insane?
She stifled a giggle.
After Luc released her, Jo felt even colder. The next hour passed in a blur as she moved in step with the others. She heard nothing but his mesmerizing voice. She saw little else because she was thinking about what had just happened, and what it could mean. More fantasies sprang to mind—vivid fantasies with her and Luc together, alone, naked…
She was being a very bad girl.
Oh God—I have to stop this insanity. I have eight more days of this!
But it felt so good.
* * * *
Putain de merde! Holy fuck!
Luc couldn’t think of a French phrase to express himself any better than the crass old English standby. After last night and this morning he knew Jo was not only intelligent, but well-read, well-travelled, articulate, with a charmingly playful side. He couldn’t tell what was pulling at him more strongly—wariness or happiness.
He finished the tour through the caves on automatic pilot, speaking in monotone as if he were reading from a brochure.
“This part of the cave was discovered accidentally when…” and on he went as he battled an absurd desire to turn around, tell everyone to fuck off and get out, so he could be alone with Joanna underground.
He had always found that the cool, damp atmosphere of caverns made him horny. And a few times, with other lovers, he’d been able to indulge himself. But now he really wanted sex, with that damned American woman. The beautiful, sexy, smart, funny woman who couldn’t have been an iota more attractive to him. She was perfect. And he was in trouble.
Last night had been a surprise to Luc. Out of the blue, Jo began flirting with him. He thought it was just the wine talking, but this morning she started doing it again. It was as if she were a completely different woman than the nervous one he’d first met in Souillac. Or the quiet one he’d drawn out on the trail yesterday afternoon. And now he was even more deeply in thrall. He couldn’t not reciprocate.
Like any stupid male moth on the wing. I’m caught.
* * * *
When she stepped out of the caves, Jo saw that clouds had moved in to make the temperature perfect for walking. They followed Luc along the course of the Dordogne for an hour or so before stopping for lunch. The landscape was mostly natural, with very few signs of habitation. Groves of black walnut and oak opened to fields full of herbs and wildflowers. But, like yesterday afternoon, Jo was too preoccupied to appreciate what she saw. She dutifully snapped a few photos, and then put the camera back in her bag.
She did, however, stop to pick wild rosemary and oregano sprigs from the hills for her picnic, which she ate beside the rushing waters of the blue-green river. That morning she’d bought her lunch at a small shop in Lacave, treating herself to an expensive luxury—a small piece of goose liver pate. Despite her dancing hormones, she was able to enjoy it with the herbs, a fresh baguette and some baby carrots with the green tops still on. For dessert she savored a delicately formed pastry filled with marzipan. It was one of her favorites.
Time was a little tight that afternoon so they didn’t stop to bathe but pushed on to Rocamadour, situated in a magnificent gorge formed by the Ouysse River. Luc didn’t sit near her during lunch, nor did he walk alongside her during the afternoon, and she was grateful, for she was all abuzz inside.
He walked with Duncan most of the time, and they often got so far ahead that Jo lost sight of them completely. Luc’s red bandana, visible in the distance, was often all she could see of him as they made their way through the beautiful countryside.
Jo liked Duncan Hammond, a disappointed young man recovering from a failed engagement. He was stocky and a bit simian in his bearing, but attractive in a tragic, brooding way, with his thick black hair and sad dark eyes. Somewhere in his late twenties, she figured, he often seemed distracted, but showed a quirky wit and enthusiasm about everything that was planned for the week. Around her he was soft and eager to please. When he looked at her, his eyes seemed to grow a little moist, and sadder still. He did something with software for a living, but she never had learned what it was.
She was happy to see he’d found a friend in Luc. Thinking of James for a moment, she hoped Duncan’s holiday would help him ease his broken heart.
What will it take to mend James’? I’m not doing a very good job.
She hadn’t talked to James since Souillac. She’d deliberately left her cell phone at home and now she was dependent on the French public system. She would try to call him tonight, she promised herself.
They reached their destination in the late afternoon, which had grown very warm. When she first saw the stone buildings hanging off the steep cliffs of Rocamadour, looking as if they had sprouted naturally from the rock face, Jo was mesmerized. This was one of the places she had most wanted to see. A pilgrimage site for over eight hundred years, Rocamadour was an astounding melding of the natural and the manmade. And it was far more beautiful than she had imagined.
Locals parked their cars on the roads at the bottom or top of the town, because everywhere between was accessible only by foot. Pedestrians entered its narrow streets from below by climbing a steep stone staircase called the Grand Escalier.
As they approached, Luc explained its significance.
“These stairs are part of a pilgrimage route taken by the faithful on their way to Lourdes for the last two centuries. Pilgrims were expected to climb two hundred and sixteen stairs—on their knees—to St. Saviour’s Church, now called the Chapelle Notre Dame, at the top.”
Jo winced at the thought of such a painful show of devotion. Not a religious person, she marveled at the faith that would drive people to such an act of sacrifice.
Luc continued, “But many had another reason for making the climb on their knees. Some pilgrims weren’t interested so much in showing devotion as they were to give penance for their sins.” He flashed a wicked grin at the entire group.
This, Jo could understand better. Guilt and the fear of punishment were strong motivators to even secular humanists of the twenty-first century. She knew she wasn’t immune.
“You’d better get going, my love,” quipped Carol to her husband. “You’ve got a lot to make up for.”
Peter just laughed.
Protected by Nike technology, Jo began to climb, and by the time she was stepping over a dozing German shepherd in the lobby of the Hotel Christina she was soaking wet and out of breath.
Her room was perfect. Not fancy, but spacious, with large double windows opening out to a spectacular view of the gorge directly below. The vista was incredible. She could stand at the windows and see no sign of human habitation—no other hotels, no cars, no tourists. But she could see, and hear, birds on the wing. Swallows. Hundreds of them. They swerved and dipped through the clear air of the valley, enviable in their dexterity and grace. Their lovely calls could be heard everywhere in the village.
And to make Jo even happier, the room included a large bathroom with a shower, a bathtub—and a bidet.
The French are such a civilized people. Bidets are one of the greatest inventions, ever.
She wished her bathroom at home were big enough to accommodate one.
After a good soaking in the tub, she tried again to find something to wear that would make her feel especially attractive. As the temperature and humid
ity had steadily grown, she also wanted to be cool and comfortable, so she pulled the lightest dress from her bag. She called for an iron, carefully pressed out the wrinkles, and then slipped on the pale yellow linen. It was close fitting, yet comfortable. The lingerie James bought her on their first day in Paris worked perfectly with the low cut, sleeveless bodice.
Because her freshly washed hair was still wet, she braided it carefully into a single plait. The mirror told her that her smooth, tanned skin was aglow, and her dark, shining eyes needed no embellishment other than a little mascara. A touch of pale lipstick and she was ready to go down to the outdoor bar for a drink.
As she joined her group on the patio, all head swiveled to greet her, but she saw only Luc’s. His face wore an expression of real appreciation, eyebrows raised, eyes alight as they moved up and down in appraisal of her body. She felt herself beginning to turn pink, and tried to deflect attention from her face by exclaiming at the view.
“Oh, how beautiful!” she offered self-consciously. Everyone was sitting at rustic wooden tables under colorful umbrellas, an outstanding vista behind them. She had only to stand up and lean over the railing that ran alongside the bar to feel dizzy and enchanted by the scene below. The swallows were still swooping madly, filling the air with the sounds of their cries.
She took the vacant seat between Sarah and the Stewarts and ordered a beer from a very polite waiter.
“Oh darlin’,” announced Peter dramatically as she settled herself. “You’re breakin’ my heart.” He grinned at her crookedly as he clutched his chest in mock agony.
The lively Peter and Carol Stewart were already well lubricated. By far the most outgoing couple on the tour, they were always saying how thrilled they were to be so far from their home in Melbourne. Jo didn’t much care for Carol’s loudness, and Peter practically drooled whenever he looked at her, but she had to admit they did add a spark to the group. They owned a share of the family wine business, and despite the enormous amounts of wine they managed to put away between them, the pair looked fit enough to have just finished a trek across the entire continent of Australia.