Franard (standard:romance, 1200 words)
Author: GXD	Added: Jul 20 2007	Views/Reads: 3454/2333	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
A young painter lives and re-lives his fantasy love for the little princess.

FRANARD 

Franard tickled the canvas with a brush tip and -- stroke by stroke --
his cousin, the sexy little princess, emerged from her rumpled 
bedclothes, lolled on her back, feet in air, and balanced her poodle 
high on her toes.  Paul's reward was, of course, the thrill of fantasy. 
And even if Jeanne-Marie had never privileged his aching eyes to view 
her playful nudity, or fondle her succulent protuberances, he had -- at 
the very least -- petted her poodle more than once. 

Paul-Honore Franard adored his own art as no other artist of his time.
Early classes at the Conservatoire prepared him to sense the subtle 
textures and contours of cats and young sheep as well as warm, flushed, 
ripe flesh in model after model -- raking it with his eyebrows, his 
supersensitive eyelashes and lips.  The taste, the flood of appeal or 
revulsion pumped through his brush onto a living cloth -- a cloth that 
shared its soul with every daub and stroke of paint.  And so, as 
Jeanne- Marie emerged, he felt her presence; visualized her with a 
crown; replaced that with a puppy.  But Jeanne-Marie herself was no 
poodle, with the Savoy Duchy to rule someday.  Franard recalled his 
three sensual encounters with Jeanne -- the day he slowly kissed her 
hand ... 

It was a lawn afternoon near Grasse.  Blue blouses billowed in the
mistral, wafting the cosmetic factory's perfumes up the hillside.  
Seurat would have carried this into every dab of pigment, were he 
alive. 

Jeanne was sitting on a little stool beside her mother.  Her voluminous
white crinoline, edged in blue, flounced and rippled as she twisted 
from side to side.  Her broad white hat brim bobbed in the breeze, and 
she bobbed up and down with it, to keep pace with the strap beneath her 
chin. 

"Tais toi!" said Maman across the finger on her lips.  Jeanne bent her
head under her hat and kicked her feet.  Paul came to within five paces 
of her, then stopped, but she caught his movement at the periphery of 
her vision. 

"Bon soir, M'sieu'" she said politely to Franard, extending her hand. 

Paul came over, bowed, looked up to Maman and reached out.  Jeanne's
hand was warm, humid, ridged with palm-prints.  Her fingers closed into 
his hand, the sharp little nails tickling his love line.  He leaned 
over, and as his lips brushed her fingertips a surge of warm, engulfing 
love raced from that hand through his every limb, his every organ.  
Seized by a nameless power, he stood and watched himself turn her hand 
palm up, press it deeply with his lips and gently bore into it with his 
tongue.  The palm was salty, and tasted good. 

Paul Franard found his canvas in that palm, and quickly sketched an
unequivocal message.   Somewhere birds were chirping -- perhaps it was 
cicadas.  Paul swept his tongue over the mound of her thumb, the mound 
of the moon, and deftly thrust it across her mound of Venus, wedging it 
between her index and middle fingers.   He paused and a church bell 
began to chime. 

Without lifting his head, Paul craned his eyes upward and met hers. They
were bright with tears, illuminating the secret smile on those cherry 
lips.  Tiny droplets of moisture bejeweled her perfect lashes.  Tiny 
droplets of perspiration misted her perfect brow.  Paul's viscera 
zoomed and dived deep into his loins. 

The bell rang more vigorously, and, at its end came a joyous peal of the
bells that lasted a full five minutes.  Slowly, Paul withdrew his 
tongue.  Jeanne cupped his lips, playfully, unwilling to let him go 
yet. Her hand grew very soft; soon it was cool in his.  A little at a 
time, their hands drew apart. 

That very instant, just as Maman turned her head, the poodle came
bouncing up and began licking Paul's hand.  Paul fondled the poodle 
playfully until it ran away.  Jeanne-Marie smiled a twinkle that gave 
way to a belly-laugh.  Her blush faded. 

That evening, when he had drifted more than half asleep, he heard a


Click here to read the rest of this story (55 more lines)