Everyone in this story is over eighteen. Don't let the theme, male domination, be an excuse for the sort of disgusting jealous rage that makes some men abuse women. This is a different kettle of fish – and an essential part of it is willing, eager submission by the girl concerned.
Over the hill? Perhaps I was, but still just short of my sixtieth birthday, and pretty fit with it, I didn't feel quite ready for the slippers-by-the-fireside bit. Anyway, I didn't have anyone to put them there for me. I wasn't sorry for myself on that score – opportunities to 'settle down' had not been scarce, though things had, fair to say, dried up a bit of late. I had retired early from my job as an interpreter, on a decent pension, with my little apartment in the elegant sixteenth
arrondisement
paid for, my previous married life in England now a distant memory, fifteen years on. From time to time, the reputation I had built up brought me bits and pieces of work to supplement my pension, and it was when I followed up such an invitation that I first cast eyes on Giselle.
As one of my unwritten rules had always been to avoid contact with the very most attractive women, and as I was, I reckoned, thirty years her senior, I should perhaps have just enjoyed the view – but the old hormones.......
It was an open-plan publisher's office, where I had come to offer my services translating articles from French into English, Spanish and German. As I sat awaiting the arrival of my contact there, this vision of loveliness passed before my eyes, not once, but at least four times, glancing more than once in my direction – or was it wishful thinking? She seemed to drift weightlessly along, a dream-quality about her, this Bohemian-looking girl, slim and around medium height, looking taller, I thought, because she wore a long Indian cotton multi-coloured skirt. Above that, an off-the-shoulder peasant blouse, under which the barest hint of movement suggested she may not be wearing a bra. My eyes took in all that, but it was her angelic oval face which really caught my attention, devoid of make-up, framed by thick, soft brown hair, which fell, in a straight heavy mane, down practically to her waist. The only decoration she wore was a pair of long, heavy Spanish filigree pendants in her ears, and a tiny, glinting stone set into the side of her pert nose.
I was doing my best not to stare at her receding form when Alain Beauregard, my contact, wheeled into my line of sight, carrying a sheaf of papers. He quickly introduced me to the sizwable stack of articles, then said, 'Come on, I should introduce a few people to you.' He led me around the office, presenting first the accountant – 'keep the right side of Jean-Pierre, or you'll never get paid' – and then a couple of admin assistants, before ushering me into a cubicle at one end of the office.
'I'd like you to meet Giselle,' he said, 'she is a biologist by training, and will help you with any technical points you need clarifying.'
And I found myself shaking the proferred, cool, long-fingered hand of the beautiful creature I had seen walk past. Her voice matched, a slightly deeper-than-usual timbre to it, an accent which may have been Provençal. She looked at me evenly and said, 'We need to get to know each other, Monsieur Loxley.'
'Andrew,
s'il vous plaît,
' I told her. Her eyes were big and dark, like pools of chocolate, and her soft lips parted to show rows of good white teeth when a smile lit her face. I was reminded suddenly of a stupid phrase from my college days – 'I'd crawl twenty miles naked over broken glass to throw stones at her shit.' But it was as close as I could get to an opinion of Giselle. I left, wondering who was the lucky guy who possessed her, took her in his arms, kissed her................I sighed and decided I'd never know – some lucky bastard! – anyway, I was past it, wasn't I?
I set myself to work on the mound of translations, then, one evening as I was about to call it a day, the phone rang.
'You probably won't remember me. I am Giselle, from the office.' I was in shock. Not remember her? Jesus, I didn't think I'd ever forget the most gorgeous human being I'd ever laid eyes on. 'Yes, of course I remember you,' I managed to blurt out, 'wh...what can I do for you?' Fuck, I could do just about anything for her.
'I have some revisions on two of the papers. Can I bring them around to you?' Just hearing her voice had me getting excited.
'Of course, but do you know where I live?'
'It's on the agreement.' Of course it was. I agreed that I'd be waiting for her in an hour's time. Shit, I'd been waiting for her all my life.
I set frantically to cleaning the apartment, and, when it was half-decent, I still had time to change from a disgusting pair of shorts and sloppy tee-shirt into a pair of chinos and a button-down shirt.
The doorbell rang, and there she was. She was wearing a shorter skirt this time, knee-length, and pleated green cotton, with a white silk blouse, under which she was definitely not wearing a bra, as I could see clearly her nipples pointing at me through the thin material. I tried hard not to look. She wore leather thong sandals, and a different pair of long ear-rings completed her outfit. Her hair was scraped back and caught up in a pony-tail. Dressed differently, she had exactly the same effect on me, and as I sat her down at the kitchen table with a coffee ('decaffinated, if you have it') her radiant smile followed me to the coffee machine.
When I hd sat down opposite, both of us furnished with a coffee, she explained the revisions she had brought to me, and then complemented me on my apartment.
'I'll show you the rest of it,' I said, a trifle gauchely.
'You wouldn't be trying to get me into your bedroom, would you?' she asked, and I saw she was teasing me, as she laughed – a pretty sound. But I was flustered, and spluttered an apology.
She reached over and put a hand lightly on my arm. 'I'm sorry if I embarrassed you, Andrew,' she said, 'silly me. But yes, I'd love to see around your apartment.'
It took very little time to show her the place, but she was charmed by the rooftop view, with a distant sight of the Eiffel Tower, and admired the geraniums I had only just picked the dead heads from.
I looked at my watch. 'I suppose you're going back to the office now?'
'No, I've finished for the day.'
I hoped there was an opening, though always realising the hopelessness of any move. 'Then would you care to have dinner with me?'
You could have knocked me over with a feather when she replied, 'That would be lovely, but I can't go like this, I've been working in these clothes all day.'
'You look perfectly lovely to me.'
'That's sweet of you, but I'd like to go home and change. I live very close by, in fact.'
I felt as if I'd won the lottery when she left, and wouldn't have been surprised had she had second thoughts and not come to meet me a couple of hours later, at the bar on the corner, as we arranged.
It was hot, so I stayed with the chinos, and slipped on a brown silk short-sleeved shirt. So I was sat toying with a gin and tonic, nervous as a kitten, when she appeared. She stopped conversation as she threaded her way through the tables to my corner. She had changed – and how! Her lustrous black hair was now loose, and she wore a scarlet, halter-neck, backless dress, the loose top of which allowed her breasts to jiggle as she walked. The knee-length skirt was, however, skin-tight, and I glimpsed red, very high-heeled sandals as she neared my table. I stood and pulled out a chair for her, but first she pecked me on each cheek, that magnificent hair brushing me, and I caught the heady scent of....of what? – Guerlain? I was, in any case, thoroughly intoxicated by her.
When she sat down, I saw she had put in different ear-rings, simple, long silver chains that brushed her shoulders. She also had a broad silver amulet decorating her upper right arm – it looked painfully tight – and wore silver rings on her left middle finger and the thumb, as well as two tiny rings on the second joints of two fingers. I couldn't remember seeing them before. Her long nails were varnished red to match her dress.
'You look wonderful,' I said, my voice coming out strained, I thought.
She smiled. 'You like the way I look?' It sounded almost like a challenge.
'Any man who didn't would be a little....strange.'
'There are many kinds of men,' she said, enigmatically, then, 'where did you plan to take me?'
