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The French Cycling Bicycle Gourmet - French Country Travel Life Film Maker and Author. Your non-snobby Gourmet Guide to food, wine travel and Lifestyle Adventure!

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French Love Story – Part Two

(Authors Note : Part One might be helpful for connecting the dots.)

After a month of cinematic travels, I returned. With, naturally, equal amounts of anticipation and trepidation. Had I correctly assessed Michelle’s reaction to the exotic stanger from the far away lands? Or was it just another faux tremor from fantasy island? Unloading the bike, back to the street, I did’nt hear the car. The slamming door turned me around to see Michelle striding purposefully toward me. Preceded by a million watt smile. We kissed. Politely, of course. No body contact. Of course. My hands lingered, caressing her shoulders. Of course.

Time to go to the next level. Of course. “J’ai, une petite cadeau pour toi.” I murmured. In my best Yves Montand imitation. Her smile wattage increased as I offered the tiny, gift wrapped package.(A purloined bar of rose scented hotel soap) Michelle oohed and ahhed appropriately. Then, after an effusive thank you kiss on the cheek, and a see-you-later wave, headed for her door.

Michelle did’nt show at aperitifs. As tempus continued to fidget, still no show. I was’nt worried. Concerned, Yes. But, as You remember, dear reader, apprenticing to Joe himself in the art of cool, I restricted my comment to the imminently logical :
“Should’nt we wait for Michelle?” “No…….She won’t be back tonite.” Gabriel replied.

Crushed, not to mention decimated, destroyed, defeated, dejected, despondent,and, quelle surprise – forlorn – I connected the depressing dots. Not coming home tonite. So – sleeping where? With the boyfriend! Bozo!! – exiled to fantasy island!!!

Contemplating which monastery to join as I trudged bed-ward, I wondered what was wrong with my radar. How could I have jumbled her signals? Oh well! Maybe my equipment just needed a French re-calibration.

Pass on the teeth tonite. Curtains drawn. Shutters closed. Earplugs in. And, as I turned to the bed – a red rose on my pillow. Talk about salt in the wound! Leaves me a rose, then goes off to the boyfriend!! I resolve to leave fantasy island and never return!!!

In the pre-dawn hours, I tossed fitfully. Sensing a presence in the room. The vision that appeared was Michelle in a flannel nightgown. Not what I would have imagined on fantasy island. In my dream She was talking, but I could’nt hear her.I felt a shudder of helplessness watching her lips move – trying to get through to me. Then She raised her right hand and delicately placed her palm over my ear – as if to communicate without speaking. A screaming diesel truck broke the spell. And burst the bubble. Helllllllllo!……This is not a dream!!! Michelle is here. In the flannel nightgown.

She is talking. She is caressing your ear to say : “Hey dufus!…Take yer plugs out!!! I did. She told me she’d knocked last night, but got no response. (Gee, wonder why?) Then, placing her hand on mine, Michelle asked the question to which she already knew the answer : “Would you like to come upstairs?”

Rush hour’s roar dented, but did not break, the spell our hearts and bodies had woven. We woke slowly. Soft, delicate caresses confirming that our dream was real. We nutured it constantly. Always with wonder, reverence, and appreciation. Never taking our gift for granted. And because of that – it never got old. Each encounter remained as fresh and miraculous as our first. Deeping the bond between us.

Tho’ I don’t believe in guardian angels, lucky stars or destiny – I bowed long, low and constantly to whatever universal force helped these two become one. With Michelle, I had the best of both worlds. A girl’s “joie de vivre.” A woman’s maturity. And a chef’s talent. I was one happy camper. With a very full tent.

Off the road, an alley of cypress sequestered an unseen chateau. Neighbouring the trees, a wild, dry hedge. Beyond the hedge, fields parched pale yellow by the searing Provencal sun. Nestled in the hedge, fused together like wind and hawk, Michelle and I. It was a day first among equals. All lovers have one. A day so perfect, so exquisite, so intense, that it permeates every atom. Remaining chaste, pure and unscarred by time. Retreiveable at any moment. It is the day that opens the eyes of love to the soul of the universe.

Part Three – Next Time

THROW ME A BONE HERE, PEOPLE!
What are ya thinkin’

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16 Responses to “French Love Story – Part Two”

  1. karen anderson says:

    this post confirms you a poet as well as a writer.

  2. mabel winningale says:

    karen – da bg is not a writer. he is an AUTHOR (click “treasures of france” at the top for the proof.)

  3. tori zentos says:

    tori and karen – OK – da bg is a Poet and an AUTHOR!

  4. evelyn carstin says:

    the variety and quality of your posts never ceases to amaze and entrall. this one being one of my top favorites. more power to da bg!

  5. alma trenners says:

    easily your most sensitive and personal post. A great piece of writing!

  6. mandy lin says:

    this truly is a great love story. thank you so much for sharing something so personal.

  7. margaret lawson-rest says:

    an incredible story – told with great sensitivity and wit.

  8. ivan zemekis says:

    your writing here is too good just for a blog.

  9. betty freeman says:

    exceptional images fit perfectly with this exceptional post!

  10. andy grastin says:

    totally classic! – especially the rose on the pillow!

  11. nathalie burgeau says:

    yes, yes and YES! – as your other readers have said. huge bravos for this. I especially love the opening image. classic BG!!!

  12. howard wallace says:

    I would have loved to hear you do your Yes Montand voice. but – hey – great..no ..make that exceptionally great post!

  13. claire dennisot says:

    the way you build up the suspense is so cool….and natural…..never forced…makes for great reading!

  14. kevin morton says:

    dude….your dream sequence stuff is totally rad!

  15. mandy brewer says:

    this posts says a lot to me about how we build up our expectations.

  16. frank salinas says:

    mandy – “blessed is he with no expecttions. for he shall never be dissapointed.” – Benjamin Franklin.

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