Jenny juggles three men but marries Marc
A big thanks to my editor Ken, who does not only edit my stories but is inadvertently, or maybe advertently, teaching me how to write.
You might want to read The Lamp Ch. 1 before this chapter. Chapter 1 is only 750 words long.
**
"I think your lamp has come," Jenny's husband Marc said. He was reading his email and saw the notification from the doorman of their Park Avenue apartment building. Jenny had told him about the lamp, and how she was sure the sculpture was of her supposed ancestor, Francine de Chamonix, who had been a model in Rodin's workshop.
Excited, she asked for it to be delivered up to their apartment on the 15th floor, even though she and Marc were both naked, having enjoyed a Saturday afternoon romp. She threw on a robe and hurried to the door. She took the lamp to the living room and began to tear at the packaging. Her husband, also in a robe, showed up to watch the unveiling.
The lamp unwrapped, Jenny looked at it with pride. It was a modestly sized table lamp, and the beautiful sculpture of the naked woman was open to view, as the lightbulb and shade were well above the top of her head. It had been modified to 110-volt American lightbulbs. There was a fancy stone base, too.
"It's beautiful. Is it marble?" Marc asked.
"Yes, it's Carrara marble."
"How do you know?"
"It's in the provenance documentation."
"Well, it's quite beautiful, and sexy, too. A wonderful shade of marble white. It must have cost us a pretty penny," Marc said.
Jenny didn't reply.
**
A few years earlier Marc and Jenny had met for the first time in the gardens of the Rodin museum in Paris, France. Jenny was there for her junior year abroad. She lived with a family that was conveniently located just two blocks from the museum. When it wasn't raining one could often find Jenny sitting on a bench in the gardens, reading her philosophy texts.
Marc was a sophisticated, rich businessman but he could have been just a tourist who loved Rodin's artworks. Marc also appreciated nature's artworks, and he thought Jenny was a perfect example of the capacity for beauty within the human race. Jenny would be the first to tell you that was a ridiculous exaggeration. She was just an ordinary college coed. There was however a difference.
The difference was that some of the sculptured nudes inside the museum did in fact resemble the pretty little coed in the gardens. Once Marc noticed the resemblance, he couldn't get it out of his head. He was too embarrassed however to use his observation as an excuse to introduce himself to her. He just kept returning to the museum. To hell with the Louvre: The Rodin Museum had plenty to see and to linger over, with the gorgeous coed in the gardens -- for him -- being the primary attraction.
Marc himself had a connection to the museum. According to his mother, one of his distant ancestors was a model for Rodin and his assistants. She had shown him pictures of his ancestor, a certain Francine de Chamonix. His mother was embarrassed to have such an ancestor because, like many other women who modeled nude for artists in the 19th century, Francine had "libertine" tendencies. Libertines would be called "sluts" nowadays. Marc's grandfather simply called a relaxed attitude about sex "a free love microcosm." Marc's grandfather was mentally still living in the 1960's. Nothing wrong with that, he liked to say.
Suddenly it dawned on him: The coed reading Heidegger in the garden looked like a reincarnation of Francine de Chamonix, herself! He dismissed the idea; it was just the power of suggestion. Jenny would later call it metonymy, using the literary trope, when he told the story of his initial crush on her. Still, there was no denying she had the same face as the long dead libertine model. She also had, as best as he could tell, the same delightfully proportioned body. He gave up: He had to meet her!
Marc didn't know how to go about meeting the lovely girl but he had always depended on luck in his life, both romantic and otherwise. As he was leaving the garden to return to his hotel, the coed rose to leave, too. They bumped into each other at the gate, both apologizing and with Jenny giggling.
"You're American?" Jenny asked. It was obvious from Marc's thick accent when he tried to speak French to her.
"Yes, and I guess you are too. Say, do you know of a nice café close by?" Marc said, not wanting to blow this opportunity fortune had dropped into his lap.
"Sure. Buy me a coffee and I'll take you to it. It's on my way home," Jenny said, with a smile that Marc thought could possibly be a come-hither smile.
"Sounds delightful."
Imagine Marc's surprise when, talking with Jenny for two hours at the café, he learned that she was probably descended from Francine de Chamonix, too! He told her he thought she looked just like some of the statues.
"How can you tell? The statues are all naked, and I most assuredly am not," Jenny teased.
"You have the same face as our ancestor."
"Really? You really think so?" Jenny had always loved the way Mademoiselle de Chamonix looked.
"Yes. Here, let me sketch you," Marc said. Marc had some artistic talent and quickly sketched Jenny's face on the back page of her Heidegger text. Then he produced a book of artwork of Rodin he had bought at the museum. He put his sketch of Jenny's face next to a bust of Francine de Chamonix.
Jenny modeled for Marc's sketch with the grace of a professional model. Maybe it wasn't so surprising, actually, since she had served as a model for several art classes at her college in upstate New York. It was a bit challenging because she had modeled nude in front of her classmates. Most of the student artists were women, but some were men. It was clear the men enjoyed watching Jenny model. She was their first choice of all of the nude models.
Jenny was taken aback by Marc's sketch. The resemblance was remarkable. She was also impressed by Marc's artistic talent, so casually displayed. She was so impressed that when Marc invited her to dinner that evening, she nodded her head and mumbled "Okay."
Jenny let slip at dinner that she had a boyfriend (Dylan) back in the States and another one (Jean-Pierre) there in Paris. "You can't spend your junior year abroad and not have an affair with a French man," she explained. Marc silently thought perhaps Jenny had inherited not only her looks from Francine de Chamonix but also her relaxed, libertine attitude towards sex. He liked it. Hell, he liked everything about Jenny. She was a marvel; he had never before met a girl quite like Jenny.
Jenny proved Marc's suspicions correct rather quickly. On their second date Jenny asked to see Marc's hotel room, since he was staying at the Hotel Bristol, a famous luxury hotel on the Right Bank. Jenny asked in all innocence: she was simply curious to see how a rich tourist lives. She had never seen a fancy, elegant, Parisian hotel room.
Marc surprised her when he kissed her almost as soon as they were alone in his room. She melted. After all, Marc was handsome, smart, debonair, and rich. What was there not to like? He wasn't even married yet! That last was surprising because he was 28 years old, giving him seven years of experience and wisdom over Jenny.
Jenny knew she had submissive tendencies. She thought most women did. In any event, whatever Marc wanted in that hotel room that fateful night, she gave enthusiastically. He wanted it all. He got it all.
Jenny stripped naked and posed like the statues in Marc's book, as Marc sketched her naked body over and over again. She was startled when Marc lost his clothes too, and his penis stuck out at a right angle from his body, revealing a certain interest in what Jenny had to offer. Unlike Jean-Pierre, her French boyfriend, Marc was circumcised, which was Jenny's preferred penis format. Well, let's see how he tastes, she thought. She also wondered if he'd last longer than quick-draw Jean-Pierre!
Jenny broke her pose. Smiling sweetly she crawled on the lush Hotel Bristol carpet over to Mark and swallowed his cock. It was slightly too long for her small mouth, but this was why God, in Her wisdom, gave Jenny a throat. Years earlier Jenny had learned how to get around her gag reflex. Her American boyfriend Dylan had loved that about Jenny -- a bit too much, she had thought. It was fun giving Dylan blowjobs, but what she really liked was being fucked to smithereens.
Looking back, it was at that moment that Marc fell for Jenny. He fell hard. A huge pile of falling bricks comes to mind. Jenny fell for Marc when -- without anyone saying anything -- he produced a rubber as he took her to bed. He didn't need a rubber -- she was on the pill, after all -- but the idea he would not assume it and care for her enough to take the precaution would have charmed the socks off her, had Marc not already removed her socks.
In the morning Jenny got to experience the Hotel Bristol's delicious breakfast in bed. Freshly squeezed orange juice, the world's best croissants with amazing jam and butter, a couple of
pains au chocolat,
two eggs sunny side up, a fresh fruit cup and a fancy yogurt made from whole milk.
Right after breakfast she answered the text of her French boyfriend and sent an email to her American boyfriend back in the States. She decided to skip her morning class, since Marc was lazily fingering her while she sent the text and the email. By this point she knew that Jean-Pierre and Dylan were now dead lovers walking. If Marc liked her as much as she liked him, it would be Marc and only Marc. It would be Marc all the time.
