Ah, Marie-Franoise. ;-)
Between ASHICAWGOGIRL's question and HEATHERANN007's posts I'm inspired to write the Marie-Franoise story. Man I'd love to post her pic... but that's a bit out of line I'd guess. She's such a cutie.
We met back when I was 14. You were just getting ready to turn 18. It was amazing and still causes me to question the possibility of past lives how quickly and tightly we became close friends. I've only spent less than two full weeks in your physical presence, but what an impact on my life you made.
I was the good kid growing up. When I moved into the neighborhood at the age of 12 most of the people living on my block were elderly. I loved making friends with them, listening to their stories, shoveling their walks, cutting grass, you know the deal. Grace, shit, Grace came to Colorado in a covered fucking wagon from Kansas before the turn of the century. Amazing people. I was saddened when they died. That's why our first meeting was bittersweet. I remember that summer day walking down my block with my next door neighbor Pete. One of the ladies on the block had passed on the week before and now there was an estate sale at her house mid way down Custer Street. My first reaction was not positive as I looked across the street and saw the callous selling off of this old lady's life. Of course that didn't stop me from telling Pete we should go check it out.
There you were on the front porch. Tiny, blond, and speaking with that wonderful accent that I just couldn't place. Pete was younger beyond his years in some ways. He was put off by the foreign, the unknown. Not me... you were exotic, intriguing, someone to be explored. Pete quickly left and I stayed... I stayed forever. Old 78s of "When Irish Eyes are Smiling" will always make me think of that porch... as does the old teacher's hand bell that I bought from you. And we can't forget the tiny portable mid 80's era black and white TV that made a home in our camper for years.
It turns out you were French Canadian from Montreal. You father Gilbert had grown up in my neighborhood, gone to my jr. high, and the high school that I would soon be entering. That was his great aunt that had passed. He was the only living relative. That's why he was there taking care of the business of the estate left behind. What amazing fortune that he brought you, his oldest child with him to see the part of America where he grew up.
Remember our long walks and talks. Going down to Independent Records to buy rolling papers for your drum tobacco. You told me that the taxes were so high that in Montreal most of your friends rolled their own cigarettes. To me it was simply another exotic element to your being. Was I glowing every time you told me that you were amazed at how connected we seemed and how much more mature than even your own peers I seemed. I remember proudly taking you to the teen nightclub Peppers for METAL NIGHT. While I waxed to you about Ozzy's 'Bark at the Moon' you turned me onto Dead or Alive and Depeche Mode.
I wanted to learn everything about you and where you came from. But your allergies got in the way. Your great great Aunt had cats living with her for years. Twice you ended up in the emergency room with a throat too constricted to breath. Twice was too much and your pops put you on a plane bound for home. I tried very hard and probably unsuccessfully to not let him see the tears running down my cheeks as I watched you walk out on the runway to the small turbo prop that would take you to your connection in Denver. Walking back to his car I barely spoke as the pain cracking my voice would be obvious. Why did I hide how hurt I was to see you leave? Was it because I thought he'd think it was silly to feel so strongly when we'd only been around each other for less than a week? Or was I 14 and trying to stay tough?
For three years we stayed in touch. You wrote me letters, I'd call you. Our friendship grew. You were a Pandora's box. You spoke five languages fluently. You played flute for the orchestra. You drew cartoons and wrote poetry. At 20 you were published in multiple languages. I just adored everything about you.
Then came the July of my 17th year. My Father and I were going out to NYC to visit his Mom and Brother who still live together in the projects in Harlem right off the tri-borough bridge. I checked for tickets to Montreal as I would be on that side of the country and it seemed like a perfect opportunity. Can you believe that first class Amtrack was cheaper than Greyhound? How amazing and beautiful that ride was through upstate New York and into Canada. Even when the train stopped in a cornfield and Canadian customs agents checked our ids I had an inkling at how hospitable Canada and Quebec was to be for me. Turning off Peter Gabriel and putting my headphones away as the train pulled into Montreal's station I wondered if I'd recognize you now that it had been three years. Would you know me? After all my hair that I had been wishing so hard when we first met to be long was now down to the middle of my back. But it was to be no problem. There you were at the top of the escalator with your Da as I glided up to you. God you were gorgeous. Even more now on the cusp of your 21st birthday than you were at 18. You had moved back into your folks house on the island of TMR (Town of Mount Royal) They had turned the basement into an apartment of sorts for you. Your 19 year old brother Jean-Phillipe lived upstairs still, and your old room had become a guest room. That's where you were to stay while you gave me your futon in the basement. Thankfully I'd only sleep alone in it for two nights.
How did it all start? What did we do for those first two nights? It's all a blur but those two days were like a lifetime... so much evolved emotionally in those two days. The day of your 21st birthday... you have an appt. to meet with your publisher to arrange the details of a book party you'll have to attend later in the week. I end up in a mall. My impression of Canadian or at least French Canadian Malls is forged by the memory of the person standing in front of the wine store offering samples of the latest Cab Sav like it was a hickory farms snack tray. I bought a Merlot... I had no clue about wine then... but the guy suggested it. Then I went in to the grocery store... the first one I'd ever seen in a mall. I bought cup cakes and candles. Later when you came home I managed to keep it all concealed from you until the time was right. While you were upstairs I poured the wine and placed the candles in the cupcakes. The next thing I know you're there but we're surrounded by your family as well. We all shared and sang happy birthday to you. Inside I thought my little romantic moment had been blown.
Later your family went back upstairs and settled in for the night. You and I were on your small love seat couch. I tell you I'll give you your official 21st birthday foot massage. You warmly accept. How many hours passed before you moved me from your feet to your shoulders and back? Close to two I'd bet. Under your big loose wool sweater your small frame held perfect contentment and fascination to my fingertips. I can still completely feel your smooth and supple skin under my palms if I close my eyes, ...and tilt my head to the left a bit... doesn't hurt hold my right leg up and hop on one foot either, but I digress... I massaged you with every ounce of tenderness and care I possessed. Then suddenly you jerked around and faced me in exasperation and said we had to stop. Shocked into reality from my Utopian moment I was dumbfounded. You told me how you were having an internal struggle between wanting me to caress your breasts and telling yourself that this is your friend Dave and feeling torn. I tell you how I want anything to happen between us to be mutual and easy and not forced. I tell you how I'm actually ready to die happy in that a beautiful woman just wanted me to touch her breasts. You smile sweetly at me and give me a gentle kiss. You head upstairs leaving me alone in a pool of warm raw and happy emotion. The next day you had the book event that you were obligated to go to. I went with your father to a gallery/theater that was running a cartoon festival featuring your father's work as the keynote exhibit. I was just in awe of how creative your father is. From the superbly entertaining cartoons, to his mastery of seven languages. Years later he would be inducted into my high school's hall of fame. His picture sits right next to Cassandra Peterson's. You know... Elvira. I should have been relishing every moment with this man whose illumination twists and folds in every essence of his character. Wow, that almost made sense huh? ;-) But I was in a state of mild torture. All I could think of was you. Seeing you. Hearing you. Touching you. When you father and I made it back home the seconds were hours so I thought I would take a nap to catch up on the sleep I missed the previous magical night. Can you even imagine the joy of being woken to the sounds of Floyd's 'Meddle' and your smiling face looking down at me? That night we went and explored Montreal's night life. You took me to a killer Reggae bar. I was even more enamoured with you for also not having a second thought about being the only two white faces in a packed club. When that rather strikingly handsome guy came and asked me if I minded if you and he danced a song I told him he'd have to ask you as I had no say the matter. On the outside I was letting show that I completely respect you and your ability to think and act for yourself. On the inside I was dying with envy and irritation at the thought of someone better than me moving in on you. That quickly turned to pride and elation as you rebuffed him clutching me saying you were mine.
This was the night you would keep making a man out of me.
When we finally make it back down to your room it's late. The moments before we were both lying in your futon are again a blur. We took turns giving each other back rubs each of us getting one side of the cassette tape. I remember we each had to get up to change sides twice before you took us to the next step. Sitting on my ass and rubbing my shoulders I felt you come close to my head.... I could feel your warm moist breath on my ear moments before you began kissing it and offering me the new sensation of passion with your tongue finding it's way in my ear. That was the most pure moment of joy in my life. My recognition of what was happing was understated with banality as I thought these very words, "Well, this is it then" as I rolled over to face you. You had no way of realizing what this meant to me. I finally felt like I was a normal human. You were making me feel desired. My 17 years prior had been devoid of a girlfriend. When the rest of my friends were getting pretend girlfriends in late elemntary and fledgeling ones in jr. high... I was always alone. Awwww I make it sound so sad huh? Yay pity party for one please. ;-) Back at home I had been tormenting myself with the closet thing to a girlfriend I'd ever had... and she was not really a girlfriend till much later in college. g g g g ggg g girlfriend.... ;-)
But here we were. You were stradling my body looking down at me with love and desire in your eyes. I felt like I could start shoveling out bucketfulls of emotion that was welling up in my. Joy, Love, Release, Validation, Giving, Caring...
When the moment came I won't forget you had Paul McCartney's "Bluebird" on which was quickly followed by Genisis' "Ripples". Forever my songs for you. And I'd love nothing more than to type every detail... but I'm keeping those precious moments for just me.
Later while basking in the afterglow of one of our times you would tell me that during our earlier massages you had been lifting up a bit when ever I was touching your sides under your arms in hopes that I would reach for your breasts... you told me that you adored that I was a gentleman and didn't overstep boundries.
Jesus... I just realized I could write chapters more on the remaining week, how it was truly the best most romantic week of my life. All the special memories I have... the eventual slipping apart and the aftermath... but you're already endured enough... maybe in the future I'll be writing more about her. We'll see. Thanks for tuning in kids!
Between ASHICAWGOGIRL's question and HEATHERANN007's posts I'm inspired to write the Marie-Franoise story. Man I'd love to post her pic... but that's a bit out of line I'd guess. She's such a cutie.
We met back when I was 14. You were just getting ready to turn 18. It was amazing and still causes me to question the possibility of past lives how quickly and tightly we became close friends. I've only spent less than two full weeks in your physical presence, but what an impact on my life you made.
I was the good kid growing up. When I moved into the neighborhood at the age of 12 most of the people living on my block were elderly. I loved making friends with them, listening to their stories, shoveling their walks, cutting grass, you know the deal. Grace, shit, Grace came to Colorado in a covered fucking wagon from Kansas before the turn of the century. Amazing people. I was saddened when they died. That's why our first meeting was bittersweet. I remember that summer day walking down my block with my next door neighbor Pete. One of the ladies on the block had passed on the week before and now there was an estate sale at her house mid way down Custer Street. My first reaction was not positive as I looked across the street and saw the callous selling off of this old lady's life. Of course that didn't stop me from telling Pete we should go check it out.
There you were on the front porch. Tiny, blond, and speaking with that wonderful accent that I just couldn't place. Pete was younger beyond his years in some ways. He was put off by the foreign, the unknown. Not me... you were exotic, intriguing, someone to be explored. Pete quickly left and I stayed... I stayed forever. Old 78s of "When Irish Eyes are Smiling" will always make me think of that porch... as does the old teacher's hand bell that I bought from you. And we can't forget the tiny portable mid 80's era black and white TV that made a home in our camper for years.
It turns out you were French Canadian from Montreal. You father Gilbert had grown up in my neighborhood, gone to my jr. high, and the high school that I would soon be entering. That was his great aunt that had passed. He was the only living relative. That's why he was there taking care of the business of the estate left behind. What amazing fortune that he brought you, his oldest child with him to see the part of America where he grew up.
Remember our long walks and talks. Going down to Independent Records to buy rolling papers for your drum tobacco. You told me that the taxes were so high that in Montreal most of your friends rolled their own cigarettes. To me it was simply another exotic element to your being. Was I glowing every time you told me that you were amazed at how connected we seemed and how much more mature than even your own peers I seemed. I remember proudly taking you to the teen nightclub Peppers for METAL NIGHT. While I waxed to you about Ozzy's 'Bark at the Moon' you turned me onto Dead or Alive and Depeche Mode.
I wanted to learn everything about you and where you came from. But your allergies got in the way. Your great great Aunt had cats living with her for years. Twice you ended up in the emergency room with a throat too constricted to breath. Twice was too much and your pops put you on a plane bound for home. I tried very hard and probably unsuccessfully to not let him see the tears running down my cheeks as I watched you walk out on the runway to the small turbo prop that would take you to your connection in Denver. Walking back to his car I barely spoke as the pain cracking my voice would be obvious. Why did I hide how hurt I was to see you leave? Was it because I thought he'd think it was silly to feel so strongly when we'd only been around each other for less than a week? Or was I 14 and trying to stay tough?
For three years we stayed in touch. You wrote me letters, I'd call you. Our friendship grew. You were a Pandora's box. You spoke five languages fluently. You played flute for the orchestra. You drew cartoons and wrote poetry. At 20 you were published in multiple languages. I just adored everything about you.
Then came the July of my 17th year. My Father and I were going out to NYC to visit his Mom and Brother who still live together in the projects in Harlem right off the tri-borough bridge. I checked for tickets to Montreal as I would be on that side of the country and it seemed like a perfect opportunity. Can you believe that first class Amtrack was cheaper than Greyhound? How amazing and beautiful that ride was through upstate New York and into Canada. Even when the train stopped in a cornfield and Canadian customs agents checked our ids I had an inkling at how hospitable Canada and Quebec was to be for me. Turning off Peter Gabriel and putting my headphones away as the train pulled into Montreal's station I wondered if I'd recognize you now that it had been three years. Would you know me? After all my hair that I had been wishing so hard when we first met to be long was now down to the middle of my back. But it was to be no problem. There you were at the top of the escalator with your Da as I glided up to you. God you were gorgeous. Even more now on the cusp of your 21st birthday than you were at 18. You had moved back into your folks house on the island of TMR (Town of Mount Royal) They had turned the basement into an apartment of sorts for you. Your 19 year old brother Jean-Phillipe lived upstairs still, and your old room had become a guest room. That's where you were to stay while you gave me your futon in the basement. Thankfully I'd only sleep alone in it for two nights.
How did it all start? What did we do for those first two nights? It's all a blur but those two days were like a lifetime... so much evolved emotionally in those two days. The day of your 21st birthday... you have an appt. to meet with your publisher to arrange the details of a book party you'll have to attend later in the week. I end up in a mall. My impression of Canadian or at least French Canadian Malls is forged by the memory of the person standing in front of the wine store offering samples of the latest Cab Sav like it was a hickory farms snack tray. I bought a Merlot... I had no clue about wine then... but the guy suggested it. Then I went in to the grocery store... the first one I'd ever seen in a mall. I bought cup cakes and candles. Later when you came home I managed to keep it all concealed from you until the time was right. While you were upstairs I poured the wine and placed the candles in the cupcakes. The next thing I know you're there but we're surrounded by your family as well. We all shared and sang happy birthday to you. Inside I thought my little romantic moment had been blown.
Later your family went back upstairs and settled in for the night. You and I were on your small love seat couch. I tell you I'll give you your official 21st birthday foot massage. You warmly accept. How many hours passed before you moved me from your feet to your shoulders and back? Close to two I'd bet. Under your big loose wool sweater your small frame held perfect contentment and fascination to my fingertips. I can still completely feel your smooth and supple skin under my palms if I close my eyes, ...and tilt my head to the left a bit... doesn't hurt hold my right leg up and hop on one foot either, but I digress... I massaged you with every ounce of tenderness and care I possessed. Then suddenly you jerked around and faced me in exasperation and said we had to stop. Shocked into reality from my Utopian moment I was dumbfounded. You told me how you were having an internal struggle between wanting me to caress your breasts and telling yourself that this is your friend Dave and feeling torn. I tell you how I want anything to happen between us to be mutual and easy and not forced. I tell you how I'm actually ready to die happy in that a beautiful woman just wanted me to touch her breasts. You smile sweetly at me and give me a gentle kiss. You head upstairs leaving me alone in a pool of warm raw and happy emotion. The next day you had the book event that you were obligated to go to. I went with your father to a gallery/theater that was running a cartoon festival featuring your father's work as the keynote exhibit. I was just in awe of how creative your father is. From the superbly entertaining cartoons, to his mastery of seven languages. Years later he would be inducted into my high school's hall of fame. His picture sits right next to Cassandra Peterson's. You know... Elvira. I should have been relishing every moment with this man whose illumination twists and folds in every essence of his character. Wow, that almost made sense huh? ;-) But I was in a state of mild torture. All I could think of was you. Seeing you. Hearing you. Touching you. When you father and I made it back home the seconds were hours so I thought I would take a nap to catch up on the sleep I missed the previous magical night. Can you even imagine the joy of being woken to the sounds of Floyd's 'Meddle' and your smiling face looking down at me? That night we went and explored Montreal's night life. You took me to a killer Reggae bar. I was even more enamoured with you for also not having a second thought about being the only two white faces in a packed club. When that rather strikingly handsome guy came and asked me if I minded if you and he danced a song I told him he'd have to ask you as I had no say the matter. On the outside I was letting show that I completely respect you and your ability to think and act for yourself. On the inside I was dying with envy and irritation at the thought of someone better than me moving in on you. That quickly turned to pride and elation as you rebuffed him clutching me saying you were mine.
This was the night you would keep making a man out of me.
When we finally make it back down to your room it's late. The moments before we were both lying in your futon are again a blur. We took turns giving each other back rubs each of us getting one side of the cassette tape. I remember we each had to get up to change sides twice before you took us to the next step. Sitting on my ass and rubbing my shoulders I felt you come close to my head.... I could feel your warm moist breath on my ear moments before you began kissing it and offering me the new sensation of passion with your tongue finding it's way in my ear. That was the most pure moment of joy in my life. My recognition of what was happing was understated with banality as I thought these very words, "Well, this is it then" as I rolled over to face you. You had no way of realizing what this meant to me. I finally felt like I was a normal human. You were making me feel desired. My 17 years prior had been devoid of a girlfriend. When the rest of my friends were getting pretend girlfriends in late elemntary and fledgeling ones in jr. high... I was always alone. Awwww I make it sound so sad huh? Yay pity party for one please. ;-) Back at home I had been tormenting myself with the closet thing to a girlfriend I'd ever had... and she was not really a girlfriend till much later in college. g g g g ggg g girlfriend.... ;-)
But here we were. You were stradling my body looking down at me with love and desire in your eyes. I felt like I could start shoveling out bucketfulls of emotion that was welling up in my. Joy, Love, Release, Validation, Giving, Caring...
When the moment came I won't forget you had Paul McCartney's "Bluebird" on which was quickly followed by Genisis' "Ripples". Forever my songs for you. And I'd love nothing more than to type every detail... but I'm keeping those precious moments for just me.
Later while basking in the afterglow of one of our times you would tell me that during our earlier massages you had been lifting up a bit when ever I was touching your sides under your arms in hopes that I would reach for your breasts... you told me that you adored that I was a gentleman and didn't overstep boundries.
Jesus... I just realized I could write chapters more on the remaining week, how it was truly the best most romantic week of my life. All the special memories I have... the eventual slipping apart and the aftermath... but you're already endured enough... maybe in the future I'll be writing more about her. We'll see. Thanks for tuning in kids!
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;-)
Bought a bunch of groceries afterwards and chatting with ya... how much better could it be?