Monthly Archives: December 2015

Juliette’s Fromage de Meaux By Charles E.J. Moulton

The train ride from Cannes had been bumpy and the night had been short.  And yet the sunrise seemed somehow different in southern France. Mellow, sweet, contemplative, passionate. All the bright colors of the sky blended together in what seemed to be eternal beauty. His eyes witnessed the rising of the sun in Sète that day. A welcome change. For the beauty gave his pain a rest.

Maybe the fact that love was an issue influenced his perception. Maybe the eternal beauty was just his own imagination. That or the prospect of seeing her again. Funny, he hadn’t even asked René if she still worked here. If she did, he was lucky. If she didn’t, well, then he at least had seen the city again.

Janek had not been in Sète since that November of 2012. Called back to the ship again, he had been left with a promise. She had sworn him that they would stay in contact.

Had they? A mail here, a Facebook posting there and always the hint of a poignant sadness in her mails.

“When are you coming back, mon capitaine?”

Haunting words followed by a stunned silence on his part. A port too long missed became a reason to slip into every possible internet café. But what could a bridge officer on a cruise ship do? Resign?

“Beauté Éternelle.”

The little fish restaurant and hostel with the poetic French name presented a spectacular view of the Mediterranean. Janek knew what he paid for: quality, rural charm, French flair, fine meals. There was much more, however.

Janek had waited too long.

Damn profession.

Damn ship.

Too long.

He was sure of it. Maybe Juliette had left Sète. Maybe she had married. Maybe not. Or maybe Juliette felt what he felt, as well: that his love interest had not written him because she had someone else? Were they both waiting for each other? Had she given up on him because she thought it was impossible to love an officer on a cruise ship? He had to find out.

Accordingly, when one of the ten rooms had been announced as available that June, he booked one with a balcony and hoped for the best.

The best, what was that? Meeting Juliette again. Juliette with the Chopard perfume and the long flowing hair. His memories of all that passionate lovemaking had made him wonder why he had left at all.

The scent of newly baked baguettes meandered into Janek’s nostrils and suddenly his hotel balcony became a focal point of “fantastique cuisine française” and memories of fresh fish at five, French accordion music at eight, Juliette’s orgasms at night, and her Raspberry Crêpe Suzettes sometime during the subsequent morning. Oh, yes. And René’s anecdote about the beautiful French girl that had given the dish its lovely name, retold at every meal.

Janek took a quick glance at his watch and realized that there were still a few minutes left before breakfast was served. The flame of his lighter flickered incessantly, destroying the tip of the cigarette, but the Gauloises brought no satisfaction. Just empty poisonous nicotine travelling into his lungs gave him absolutely nothing in return for his lethal sacrifice, the big question additionally inscribed on the billboard of his heart: was Juliette here?

Janek paused, inhaling and exhaling the smoke like a bellows, listened to the puttering and splashing of the fishing boats, the early excitement of the French chatter, the wonderful roundness of the Languedoc dialect, smoothe as a lemon pie with the necessary sweet-sour tinge of Mediterranean flair.

Juliette’s flair. The flair of faded love. Love that he had tried to ignore, telling him how impossible it was to have any relationship with an officer on a ship.

The day that changed all that, the day that in the end had brought him back here, had started well: a tranquil ocean, a nice dinner, a few drinks and a fantastic looking woman. Once the rich twenty-something socialite finished shagging him, though, the sex left along with the satisfaction, replaced by arrogance of the worst kind. Her husband had also been on board, in bed with a waitress. Neither the woman nor the man cared. Janek wept.

Janek’s evening invitation to what the couple called a “Crêpe Suzettes Soirée” had ended in disaster, all affairs revealed and Janek witnessing a public divorce. Two liars, one lie. Two socialites, one ignorance. Janek rushed off, drank a pot of tea and rushed to bed.

That night, Janek decided to stop putting off his meeting with Juliette. Sète called him, Sète missed him, Sète cried. Sète felt real. The ship felt unreal.

“Please, Captain,” he asked his boss, “let me jump ship in Sète.”

The horrible return to the inquiry what had become of Juliette’s love awaited him. Inside, Janek shivered. Tough luck, buster. She had written and written him, again and again. Janek had waited and waited and finally written her, realized that he couldn’t live without her, that the profession didn’t matter and then nothing had come from Juliette. No email. No reply. Just silence. Janek wrote her and she didn’t answer him.

Janek extinguished his Gauloises with a neutrally arrogant gesture, arrogant only on the outside. Time to go, he thought to himself. Time for “petit dejeuner”. Time for Juliettte?

“Bon jour, mon capitaine,” a rough male voice burst out, a hoarse French croak chanting up from the street. The recollection of that phrase travelled through his brain-stem into the endorphins of his nerves and glands.

Janek looked down from his balcony through the curved bars and metal railings, his gaze meeting a rugged and friendly face. Janek greeted the caller, remembering life in the lovely French lane. “Oh, Monsieur! Pleasure to see you!”

“How long are you in port?”

The question rang out like a charming serenade sung by Yves Montand.

The inquiry required a quick response.

“A week, René,” he answered. “I’d rather stay here longer, though!”

“C’est la vie, mon capitaine! Soothe your senses with some breakfast! Allez! Freshly baked baguettes! Café au lait! Allez, allez!”

René clapped his hands twice in his very special brash Languedoc way, his moustache twitching and his mouth pouting. With his disappearance in through the doorway of the restaurant a new nervousness arose inside his heart.

Janek turned the ancient hotel room door key with apprehension. Even the decent clanging of cutlery seemed like gunshots in his mind and René friendly slaps on Janek’s shoulder felt like the knockouts of a boxer. When Janek wandered in to the smell of morning coffee and the candescent atmosphere of bitter love, René raised his eyebrows and gave Janek a masculine half-smile along with a cool tilt of the head.

“You are fine, mon capitaine?”

“Just dandy,” Janek lied. “And you? The city is still here, I see.”

René shrugged, his moustache dancing in the breeze of his laughter.

“Ah, Monsieur, Sète remains the same,” he said, looking out at the city harbour. “Business prospers. Tourists come here to eat, to sleep, to make music, to make love. Ah, amour. La grande mission de la femme est d’inspirer l’amour. Moliere said that. N’est pas?”

René smiled, giving Janek a wink.

“Juliette est ici,” René whispered. “Making breakfast.”

Janek’s heart skipped a beat. It felt like travelling back in time, actually untying all those complicated knots that had been created the last two years. What if she had been insulted? God, he had realized first after jumping into bed with that awful woman how much he loved Juliette. What if … what if … Juliette had found someone else?

That other voice cackled: “Then you better split real quick, Buster!”

Janek did not listen to that voice.

Janek’s hands shook.

“Come, Monsieur,” René mused and bowed. “I will show you to a table by the window.”

The view flabbergasted Janek. The women outside made him swoon. Juliette’s presence in here, in a place that he had avoided to think about, made him shake and fall into a coma and sing and dance, all at the same time.

Silly, wasn’t it?

An officer on a ship, so nervous, so in love. Meeting thousands of people every week, absolutely sick with love over a woman that wanted to remain in Sète. A traveller in love with with a provincial girl? Comme ce est étrange.

“Bon appetit, mon ami,” René chirped, serving him a nice tray filled with mysterious French goodies. The crispy Frenchness of the bread would’ve intoxicated Janek and the coffee given him a gastronomical orgasm, if it hadn’t been for René’s facial expression. “Juliette will be with you shortly,” he mumbled twice, as if he recited a mantra.

Janek heard someone rushing about in the kitchen. It was probably her, but impossible to see if that was the truth. Did she not want to see him?

A few early risers slowly made their way into the breakfast salon, le salon de petit déjeuner. Janek tried to pretend to be relaxed, just to give the appearance of some awkward normality, but life on board of that cruise ship had taken the better of him. His heart thumped like a regular army of tom-toms. Too many hours on the bridge, too many cold hearted captains. Too many superficial women and too long a time before he realized what he really felt. Janek glanced at the elderly couple arriving and sitting down and thought they threw him irritated glances. He glanced at the young girl coming from the outside and thought she found his stare rude.

“Juliette will be with you shortly,” René repeated again as if he were convincing himself that Juliette wouldn’t run away from facing him, swirling back to show the new guests their seats. Suddenly, everything felt weird.

René’s nervous mantra, Juliette’s late reaction in greeting him, when he knew she was here. Something had changed, but what was that something?

Nothing. Just fear.

Just as Janek had forced his baguette down his throat, a couple of familiar high heels approached his table. The crispy crunch of the bread created a few crumbs that dropped down upon his lower lip, one dangling a bit on his chin before falling down on his pants. At first, Juliette said nothing. She stood there watching him tragically. Yes, he had risen from the table, a half eaten baguette on his plate and a half full café au lait in his cup.

Janek couldn’t eat. The only cup Janek cared about was Juliette’s C-cup, her smile, her kiss, her scent, her love, her tenderness, her laughter, her sex, her embrace, her care. The only sugar level Janek cared for was her sweet smile. Her tender smile, almost resentful, sent an arrow into his heart. All the way from the bar, he had smelled her perfume. René’s push had ejected her an inch forward. Juliette took a few insecure steps up to the man she had called the captain of her heart.

Janek reached forward one hand, one solitary hand, and touched her cheek. Juliette closed her eyes and grabbed his hand, caressed it, kissed it.

The elderly couple threw some curious looks, but no scepticism reached his brainstem now. Only love. Love and nothing else. It was as if not a day had passed.

“Janek,” she swooned. “Why did it take so long for you return?”

“I thought our relationship was impossible,” he answered, speaking as he looked at her closed eyes. “Me, the journeyman. You, the French girl. But I’m crazy about you.”

When Juliette opened her eyes and gazed at him with her big brown and softly romantic Languedoc eyes, a wave of warmth spreading across Janek’s being. It felt like a warm blanket. The heat that exploded into his heart spread into his soul and made Janek produce one tear. One solitary tear that softly rushed down his cheek.

“I’m crazy about you, too, mon capitaine,” she answered.

When Janek’s arms reached around and caressed her back, the soft and white fabric of her blouse made him remember taking it off two years ago. He could feel the bra under the cotton and her big breasts pushing against his chest. The rustle of her soft skirt against his pants sent explosive waves of sensual heat into his groin.

God, how he had missed this woman.

Without even opening their eyes, Juliette and Janek released their grasp an inch and found each other’s mouths. Her lipstick tasted of cherries, her tongue tasted of woman, her cheek tasted of perfume and her hair smelled of mandarin scented conditioner.

Impossible to explain why they had not even said hello to each other. The kiss that replaced the greeting, however, lasted for two minutes and became so intense that they had to stop to break for air. The elderly couple cleared their throats for a bit. The young woman in the corner giggled. René retold his story about the Suzette for the millionth time.

Janek and Juliette looked over at René in a kind of a mutual consensus. René hesitated for a bit, but then he gave them a smile and a nod, calling the young woman over and handing her the apron.

Oh, Janek thought, no pedestrian, but one of René’s trainees.

The girl scooted off into the kitchen to take over Juliette’s work.

Janek and Juliette went as if on a trance, not seeing anything at all but themselves, up to his room, unlocked the door with that ancient key, ripped their clothes off, threw themselves on the bed and made passionate, sensual, wild and crazy French love.

The seagulls chanted, the fishing boats honked, the coffee spoons cling-clonged and the dogs barked as Janek thrust his long gender one last time into Juliette’s warm and tender female apricot, squirting his handsome long strains of sperm inside her female splendor. Juliette’s nails scratched his back as her voice shouted a very sweet and high pitched squeak.

Janek remained peacefully present waiting inside her body for a bit, lingering in there, letting his manhood rest inside the pussy he had missed making love to so. Juliette, as a response, opened her mouth and let him kiss her. With closed eyes, Juliette stuck her tongue way inside his mouth, swirling around inside it and beginning to fuck her again.

“Je lui boufferais bien la chatte,” Janek said in his broken French, sounding more like a Polish in his own ears, wondering if his invitation to lick her pussy would be met by a smile or a shake of the head. He had already cum, but having sex with her was like a dream come true. So much more honest than the sex he’d had with the socialite divorcee.

“Bardzo chciałbym, aby lizać łechtaczkę,” Juliette answered in sweetly French sounding Polish. She laughed, her tits bouncing as she did. “See, I still know how to say: ‘lick my pussy’ in Polish.”

Janek eyed heavenward and smiled: “I think I have died and gone to heaven.”

With a sloppy, happy squishing sound, Janek withdrew his cock from her pussy and kissed his way down past the naval to the salty place where he had spent the last fifteen minutes. It didn’t even matter anything that his own salty sperm was among the ingredients he was about to taste.

Almost religiously, Janek took two fingers and opened up Juliette’s pussy lips. That wonderful pink color of her clit still brought back memories of endless shagging by the beach. Endless shagging and endless squirting on her sweet and smiling face.

Janek stuck out his tongue and started licking that salty and very tasty vagina that reminded him of that fantastic French cheese, that Fromage de Meaux, that beefy, buttery and sweet cheese with notes of mushrooms and garlic, almonds and a sexy gastronomical delight.

It didn’t take long before Janek was inside Juliette’s sweet pussy, his entire head in there, licking away like crazy. When he withdrew, his entire face was wet and his cock again ready for action. So, he thrust his seven inch dick again into her vagina. Juliette’s reaction was a wide-eyed gasp that was followed by a bewildered row of high moans.

Accelerating like the fast French Zydeco style of French gypsy accordion music, Janek rode Juliette like a jockey rides a horse, causing her boobs to wobble so fast that the movement made him dizzy. Finally, after fucking her clit red, Janek withdrew with that happy, sloppy squishing sound and crawled over in order to straddle her face. She immediately responded with a greedy grin, sticking out her tongue and begging for his second load.

“Cum in my mouth, mon amour,” she crooned. “Shoot your loud on my tongue.”

When the load did cum, Janek’s cock delivered an unbelievable load, firmly filling her entire mouth and covering her happy smiling face with his juice. She swallowed every single drop, exclaiming with a happy creamy full-faced smeary laugh that his sperm tasted exactly like that fantastic cheese named Fromage de Meaux. Janek responded that her pussy had tasted exactly the same way: like heaven.

Janek quit his job on the ship that day and started working as a fisherman on the French coast. Renè loved having Janek around so much, especially since Janek never got tired of hearing his story about the Crépe Suzette.

Janek and Juliette are now married and have created three beautiful children.

They live in an idyllic little house off the main road in Séte, complete with roses and tulips. On Sundays, they go to mass and afterwards they stroll down to the sea to eat baguettes and talk about love and sunshine. On Saturdays, René takes care of the kids, because Henri, André and Yves, Juliette’s and Janek’s handsome three boys, love playing with René’s two grandchildren, the girls Edith and Yvette.

Sometimes René reprimands them for playing doctor and nurse, but he let’s them be. Once they become teenagers, he will lose the power of reprimanding them and they will again probably comment on how much their partner’s genders taste like Fromage de Meaux.

Janek and Juliette fuck on Saturday nights.

And they love each other dearly, faithfully and truly.

Janek just adores cumming on Juliette’ sweet French face and seeing her swallow every drop with her smiling face. She loves sucking his long Polish cock to the sounds of a French accordion playing in the radio. Ah, the tasty life of sweet southern France, so much like love, so much like Fromage de Meaux.

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