The Labyrinth of Passion (romantic experiences)

by Charles Westmont

  Etienne was learning to understand this very unique lover. Justine was resourceful, always ready to exploit diverse avenues leading to their pleasure. She would place Etienne’s pleasure ahead of hers most of the time, but she would not always refrain from innocent digressions. For Etienne, an exciting feature of her attraction was a special blend of respect, spelling fidelity and an unthreatening yet predictable behavior, to appeal to other males. In the end, they shared comfort, in constantly searching to stimulate each other.

  A dark cloud

  Etienne returned to Paris ahead of Justine. She had left precipitously for Cairo. Samir Ghattas a dear friend and her former fiancé’s father had passed away after a long illness. She would make her way back to Paris in a few days.

  The Divin Marquis had decided to leave the St-James to return to the Hilton Suffren. Etienne figured that the Divin Marquis missed the arrival at the Paris hotel in the company of the Quantas flight personnel. He had all these flight hours to develop acquaintances with some of the world’s prettiest stewardesses. God only knows what followed at the Hilton.

  For his part Etienne elected to surprise Justine, upon her return from Cairo with a suite at his favorite Paris hotel, Le Grand Hotel. The luxury hotel of the Place de l’Opéra and its legendary restaurant Café de la Paix were inaugurated with great pomp for the Universal Exhibition of 1867 by the Empress Eugenie, under a soaring orchestra conducted by Jacques Offenbach. It quickly became a hub of artistic life, welcoming actors, musicians, writers, artists and representatives of the most innovative creative trends of the time.

  Justine was to make her grand entrance at the Grand Hotel. Etienne had told her that he would not be at the airport and suggested that they meet at the bar of the Grand Hotel. He pretended that he would attend a meeting that should have ended in time for her arrival. In reality, Etienne was waiting for her in the presidential suite, catching up on paper work. The assistant manager and two of the concierges were alerted of Justine’s forthcoming arrival. They agreed to welcome her with royal attention.

  Justine’s taxi entered the hotel indoor circle rue Scribe. The doorman called for the manager, who appeared promptly on top of the step when her car door was opened. The concierge ran down the steps to pay for her cab. The manager assisted her out of the car and up the steps. Two majordomos were holding the main doors open. Justine was escorted through the lobby to the grand staircase. Sarah Bernhard had preceded Justine a few decades earlier with a similar grandiose entrance through the lobby, now adorned with her famous portrait.

  The concierge led the cortege, followed by the manager and two assistants, taking Justine up the grand stairway to the Presidential Suite. The door opened and Etienne emerged from the end of the palatial living room with open arms. She was so stunned that she could only maneuver a polite kiss on his cheek. She saw the manager bowing and closing the door. “What is...?” Etienne mouth charged hers with a passionate kiss. She attempted to pull back at first, but quickly surrendered. They were standing with their mouth locked together, imprisoning two unruly tongues out of control. He dropped her on a chair. “This is a palace to honor your beauty and grace my lovely princess. You must be tired after this long flight. I will run a warm bath.”

  After a long night of sleep cuddled in each other’s arms, Etienne opened his eyes to catch an unusual stare from Justine. She was avoiding looking directly at his face, sitting in a Zen position on her pillow. He pulled her over for a kiss. He felt a slight resistance. A closer look into her eyes confirmed the strange feeling of apprehension growing in his stomach since observing her arrival.

  Etienne jumped from the bed to close the windows. Paris was unusually dark for the time of the morning. The heavy drapes were moving in frenzy. A lamp blew across the bedroom shattering on the wall and raining crystal particles in the living room. Horus riding the thunder was exploding with joy in anticipation.

  Etienne was coming back to bed and Justine could not look at him “I am feeling so confused my love. The night I was leaving Egypt, Dari drove me to the airport. EgyptAir announced a mechanical delay until the next morning. We went for a light diner. He took my hand and began crying. ‘Justine you are my only love, I would like you to reconsider marrying me.’” Justine had looked at him confused. She was more than fond of Darius but her new relationship with Etienne had invaded a large piece of her heart.

  Yet Justine could never act to hurt someone. She would prefer to sacrifice herself. Well, let us admit, at least in part! As a matter of fact she astutely omitted to tell Etienne that on the same evening, she had shared with Dari a block of hashish. Overtaken by female curiosity, she could not ignore Dari’s djabella boasting an irresistible bulge. She reveled in the memory of a unique toy that brought her so much pleasure for months on end during her past stay in Cairo. With the hashish helping, she went on all fours and slipped swiftly under the robe toward the appealing treasure of lust. Even in the darkness, the staff appeared even bigger than it had in the past. Its throbbing was sending Justine an irresistible command to attack. Justine felt a powerful rumbling invading her insides. Her mouth opened wide to capture the bludgeon. Her pussy was pulsating her pleasure in unison with her lips while the open mound was successful in capturing Dari’s leg in a wild rub. She began sucking and biting, both hands scrubbing the prize with increasing violence. Dari came quickly filling her throat. Justine swallowed every drop and in the space of a moment she was back continuing her aggression. Showing his form of old, Dari was soon to recuperate. Justine lost count of his ejaculations and much later she collapsed from hashish and exhaustion in a deep sleep. She woke up to see Dari lying on the bed looking at her with intensity.

  The vapor of hashish had dissipated, I she felt confused by the memories of her evening performance. “Dari, I told you of my relationship with Etienne. He is the man of my life and I will never resolve to leave him. I lost control last evening and I could not resist what was for so long my favorite toy.”

  Dari stood and wiped away a tear. “I cannot accept your explanation and I will fly to Paris and tell him of my intention.”

  “Etienne,” Justine went on, “Dari is in Paris today. He will meet us at the Café the la Paix this evening”.

  Etienne was struggling with an eruption of emotions. “My love, I am feeling so sad for you. Love is a complex feeling and listening to your own heart is a very difficult task, when there are such demands on the delicate fibers of your emotions. Making a wise decision becomes extremely difficult. All I can do is repeat from the bottom of my heart that I love you and that I am here for you.”

  It was a beautiful Parisian early evening. The sunset was retreating from the Café de la Paix along rue Auber, its weakening rays pressed between the Opera Garnier and the Grand Hotel. Etienne arrived to see Justine sitting at their favorite corner table, catching the last rays of the sun. Three men in jeans surrounded her. She was in an Arabic conversation with a smart looking young man. His portly demeanor set him aside from the others. He stopped his conversation, when he noticed Etienne approaching the table.

  “You must be Darius, Etienne extended for a handshake, Welcome to Paris!” Justine stayed still in her chair, numbed by the exchange happening outside of her reach. Etienne did not give her any attention and asked the waiter to bring a chair. Darius sent his companions away. Justine left with them. The two gentlemen talked privately for ten minutes and Etienne left for his room.

  Etienne returned to the suite feeling, in his stomach, an uncontrollable surge of fear. He found Justine crying. She told him she would join Dari at his hotel to resolve the situation. It was a first challenge to his love for Justine, but what a challenge! Etienne did not like to lose, or more specifically he did not like to lose unfairly. In this case, Etienne felt totally helpless. His only ally was the loving experiences of the last few months. He found himself questioning the quality of his attentions to Justine. He could see many missed opportunities to comfort her. He did not want to lose her, but he felt helpl
ess to add anything in his favor to keep her.

  Isis and Osiris were hovering above the sunset to bring about a solution. They sent Etienne a thought that struck him “the Divin Marquis!” A brief phone call set the tactic in motion and keeping his fingers crossed, he went to bed without dinner. The Divin Marquis had reassured him that he would intercept Justine on her way to Dari’s hotel. Etienne was never told what happened, nor did he enquire, so happy of having recovered his lover. It was the middle of the night, when he awoke to a joyous giggle that was the loving signature of Justine. She pulled the sheet and jumped over him “I love you! I love you! I love you!” Much could be said about what happened next, but in simple words, for the first time of his life, Etienne was willfully raped. Justine had surrendered to sleep but Etienne was kept awake by the hail of a summer storm beating on the window. He left the bed to close the heavy drapes, to attenuate the noise. The roof sculptures of the Opera Garnier just a few meters away across the street in front of the window had turned incandescent against the dark clouds. He saw a new bolt of lightning to announce Horus’s departure in a rage. The skies cleared, glistening with the multitude of stars and he felt high above, Isis and Osiris locked in an embrace smiling at him.

  Justine is 26

  Justine was taking longer than usual to prepare herself. Etienne was getting restless. “Justine had been growing roots in the dressing room, for close to an hour,” he kept moaning in a litany. This was the very special day of Justine’s anniversary. To celebrate the occasion, the Divin Marquis had offered dinner at a new Parisian restaurant. Chiberta was located 20 meters from the Champs-Elysées, the restaurant’s starred cuisine, its inexhaustible wine cellars and its enchanting welcome, made this typically Parisian restaurant the latest venue, a “Parisian haven of delight in 1988.”

  Etienne saw the door open slowly and a very special Justine emerged in the hall. She was wearing a black silk Lacroix sheath skirt, topped by a cream strapless blouse, holding her lovely breasts promoting two pink nipples in a mist, daring to surface. She sailed for a kiss to make Etienne notice that she was standing on a pair of talon aiguille, bringing her closer to his level. Etienne bit her ear and suggested that they cancel dinner and jump in bed for a love marathon. She frowned her displeasure and started walking to the door “This is my evening mister, I make the suggestions.” Etienne stood still for a moment to let his stomach digest a bundle of emotions. “Woof!” he murmured, “after all this time, I am still at a loss to understand how legs could climb so high.”

  Stéphane Laruelle, the chef, came to the door to extend the warmest of welcomes. He did not miss the opportunity to hold Justine hands, his nose plunging into her strapless blouse. He began to explain, with extensive details, the very special vegetarian treat that he had created for her birthday, following the Divin Marquis’s special request. Justine chose to sit with her back against the wall, facing Etienne, with the Divin Marquis and the Paysan on each side. Her napkin kept slipping from her silk skirt. She would bend forward to retrieve it, to find in turn, the Divin Marquis and then, the Paysan, preceding her to return it. The Maître D distributed the menus while the captain was pouring the champagne. “Happy Birthday, Justine,” they intoned to the ringing of the crystal glasses.

  Everyone disappeared behind the large menus. After a moment, Etienne felt presences at his side. He turned and saw standing in a perfect line, the Maître D, his order book in hand, the Captain and two waiters lined up behind him, all focused on Justine, who had just emerged from reading her menu. She was the only one of the cohort who did not notice, or pretended otherwise, that her left breast had jumped over her bustier and was pointing demurely for attention. It took a few seconds for the Maître D to construct a phase to take the orders. It took even longer for Justine to pull up her strapless top. She did not succeed in hiding a catty smile, conflicting with a pretense of embarrassment. The dinner was ending and Justine did not miss an opportunity to reprimand the peasant for his lack of table manners, especially, after he had taken a piece of bread to wipe the sauce from his plate. After much champagne and a delightful surprise for desert assorted with fireworks, Justine stood and bowed to the applause of the patrons.

  Justine and Etienne opted to walk back to the hotel. Their friends jumped in a cab. So captured in a lively conversation, they did not notice the long walk along les Champs Elysées, Place de la Concorde and les Jardin des Tuileries. They emerged in the garden of the Palais Royal. There were few store entrances or even large trees along the way that were not solicited by the couple as discreet shelters. They were passive witnesses to breasts released and fondled, wandering hands sliding inside moist thighs and lengthy kisses deflating pleasure squeals.

  Buren’s Columns

  Justine let herself fall on the first column in the empty courtyard, at this very early hour of the morning. The Colonnes de Buren represent one of the interesting outdoor architectural arrangements of Daniel Buren, a 20th century French minimalist artist. The project regroups a large number of white columns, striped vertically in black. They cover a large section of the Palais Royal courtyard. Their heights vary from a few inches to a few feet. They are disposed equidistant over the surface of the courtyard.

  Justine approached the tallest column and asked Etienne to lift her to the top. Etienne feared the effect of too much champagne, when she wobbled to pull herself up. “Let go of your shoes!” he asked. She kicked the shoes to the ground. Witnessing that her movements were becoming more hesitant, he grabbed her arm and pulled her down gently. He sat her on a lower column. She rose to undo the zipper of her skirt. She sat again, her pussy bulging from the garter belt. The presence of a drunken passerby, walking with difficulty under the gallery a few meters away, did not prevent Justine from plunging her fingers halfway inside her cunt. With both hands joining in the action, she began rubbing, patting, tapping, and pinching herself, as if possessed. At first, she would not let Etienne join in her labor. While her right hand kept plowing her vulva, the left finally grabbed Etienne by the sleeve and pulled him closer. It took only a brief moment before his pants were falling to his ankles, while her mouth was foreclosing on the protruding penis. One hand kept the organ in position while the other resumed the caresses of her pussy. Etienne felt less nervous, seeing that the drunkard had collapsed face first on the ground. His attention came right back to his aggressor who was sucking him wildly. One hand was fondling her breasts that had escaped the strapless top, the other masturbating. When he heard her breathing rapidly and moaning, in no time, he began ejaculating in her mouth. They were both in their world of bliss, when they saw the drunkard, reddened eyes sparkling, breathing only a few feet on their side. Back at the hotel, they collapsed on the bed. “Happy Birthday my love,” were the last words spoken.

  Père Lachaise

  Etienne met Justine at Place de la République to share a Pizza. “Would a visit to the Père Lachaise cemetery please the princess after lunch?” he enquired. The cemetery, after a difficult beginning in the mid XIXth century, became a famous landmark for its sculptures, its towering monuments and private chapels. The unique works of art bring back memories of the likes of Molière, Lafontaine and even Héloise and her lover the monk Abélard, among many notorious personalities of times gone by.

  Etienne was humming the second movement of Chopin’s sonata #2. He was kneeling at the humble tombstone of the genius composer. Tears were running on his cheeks. He was absorbing the wonderful sadness of the notes. “Grand Maman! Please play it again,” he was recalling, pleading, pressing her side, captured by her play. Justine would soon play it again and again, at his request.

  Etienne had this habit of requesting accompanists to repeat his favorite musical compositions that never seemed to soothe his soul. It had been so with Marcel, the church organist, at the Geneva Cathedral. “Please play ‘True Blue Heart’ again,” he would beg with his irresistible smile every Thursday after the choir rehearsal. Marcel never seemed annoyed and patiently, he would ex
ecute most of Etienne’s requests except at that one instance when he refused to repeat Bach’s Toccata and Fugue for a third time in a row after Sunday mass.

  The lovers fought their way through the crowd, to observe dozens of teenagers in contemplation around Jim Morrison’s grave. Hundreds of candles were burning over the large memorial. The rock star died in Paris of a suspected drug overdose. The City of Paris blessed the day that his remains were buried at Père Lachaise. His grave is one of the most visited attractions in the City of Lights competing with the Eiffel Tower. An attempt by the Long Island family to repatriate his remains to New York was met with a special request from the President of France for a status quo.

  Walking back, Etienne pulled Justine towards a mini chapel. The door was ajar and he pushed it open to find a large flat stone surrounded by six closed steles. Etienne was always fascinated by death. He had met with death very early in his life, when he was growing up in a poor area of Geneva. He was exposed to events that took the life of friends and their family, at times, under strange circumstances. He had seen a school friend lying on a dining room table, bloated after drowning, when he was only seven years old. He was walking back from school with his friend Pierre, when they came up the steps of the back entrance, to find Pierre’s father hanging from a beam.

  Sex and death have a number of connections, other than having been taboo topics in polite company. As is the case with many taboos, both can lead to fetishes and eroticisms. Without uttering a single word, Justine and Etienne’s bodies had entered an intense conversation. When Etienne pulled Justine close into his arms, their mouths remained inches apart, but their panting accelerated, a telltale barometer of the level of their excitement. The damp musky smell of the small chapel was a potent cocktail mixing with Justine perfume. She wore ‘Poison’, a powerful perfume, projecting Christian Dior’s fascination with eroticism and death. Etienne kept her close in his arms, kissing her under the neck. His nose was sliding between her breasts attracted by the ‘Poison’. She sat on the stone, shivering from the cold and let herself fall back, opening her thighs. Etienne responded to the invitation and pulling out an awaiting penis, he penetrated her craving pussy. There began an enduring crotch caressing crotch on the marble cenotaph. They walked out, in the early evening, just in time to make the closing of the cemetery gate.