Dreaming Of You // If I'm Still Dreaming

[WARNING: Adult content below. Read at your own discretion.]

We strolled about the cemetery and visited a few more graves, first of them the one of Jim Morrison, where Jeanne made fun of me quoting a line from ‘Anyone Can Play Guitar’ about growing my hair to be just like him, making me laugh. She was so into the 90’s music. After that we visited some medieval lovers called Abelard and Eloise, and finally a French journalist with the oddest mythology, Victor Noir.

As she circled the life-sized statue of his grave Jeanne explained to me Parisians have the rare belief that touching his crotch enhances fertility. I found it curious, but I soon noticed as a result the statue had some shinny areas. It was sort of disturbing. Some people approached us near the grave and I jumped, fearing being recognised, but they were there to rub on Noir and didn’t even look at me. And Jeanne; she just walked around not fulfilling the ritual at any moment. I wondered if she had done it before, but I didn’t dare to ask. I assumed she didn’t. She seemed so beyond earthly things.

It took us about two hours to visit the four tombs, but it was still day when we returned to Jeanne’s flat. She undressed and sat on her desk to reread some notes and I did the same on the sofa with my iPhone. I needed to know if somebody had seen me through the streets of Paris or with Jeanne at Père-Lachaise but I found nothing on the subject on Twitter, where usually all alarms begin. Feeling relieved I went to Paul’s thread and saw he was telling me to pick me up at 1PM the next day to sound check and asking for Jeanne’s address.

“11, Rue Cujas, 5ème arrondissement,” she told me but I handed her my iPhone for her to write it down, which she did, smirking. By that time she was fully aware of the fact I only owned my Shakespearean English and nothing else.

Although she seemed fine with sushi I couldn’t manage Mitsuo another time so she made dinner. She asked me if I liked beetroot and I told her yes, so she took a blender and prepared something she called ‘gazpacho,’ a Spanish cold vegetable soup. It was pink and garnished with hard-boiled egg, Persil and sea salt flakes. I was a bit mistrustful about it but as soon as I tasted it I liked it very much.

“Original recipe doesn’t use beetroot–––she explained. Just tomato, cucumber, Italian green pepper, onion, garlic, olive oil and salt…”

“From whom did you learn this?” I discreetly asked. She laughed.

“What are you implying?–––she acted as offended. French people are a lot into soups. Haven’t you smelled the ‘bouillon’ on this very building?” I tilted my head at her. “OK, fine–––she surrendered. Unai. He is Basque.”

“Who was the best one?” I carried on, not sure about what aspect I was referring to. I knew it was sort of judgemental and sexist on my part being so obsessed with her love life, and didn’t feel too proud of myself.

“Gastronomically, the Italian one,” she asserted, unworried. She had them classified. “I’m Mediterranean…”

“Oh, come on–––I snapped flicking my hand at her. Paris is hardly Mediterranean.”

“Well, let’s say I have a Mediterranean soul…” She stated, giving me a caring smile that warmed me up. I don’t know if she realised her effect on me but she stood up from her chair and came to sit on my lap. “Haven’t you dreamt of being somebody else?” She murmured looking straight into my eyes, her cleavage plunging on her chest.

“All the time…”

Jeanne brought her notes to bed and started to translate them out loud for me. She was sitting with her back against the headboard and my head was resting on her lap as I caressed her hip from above her legs. I listened to her longingly almost as if she was speaking about somebody else than me. For moments it was as if I got split from myself and didn’t even recognise me on my own name. It felt good letting me go… It was practically the same feeling I experienced reading Fan Fiction about me. I became a spectator as any other, and for a brief instant I wasn’t the centre of attention. The centre was Jeanne, each word more clever than the previous one, as well as all the girls giving me their time and affection and overcoming me on her stories. I knew Jeanne was curious about this subject, so when the topic of her reading discoursed about sources her researcher side appeared.

“Have you read Fan Fiction somewhere other than the website?” She asked glancing down and brushing my hair. I shook my head ‘no.’ “Why not?”

“Because Internet is a scary place…–––I replied looking into space. The website seemed safe…”

“But there are so many Fan Fictions about you elsewhere. Wattpad or Tumblr.”

“I can’t stand Tumblr–––I mumbled. It’s overwhelming. If I know too much I fear I’ll quit it, I’ll just be unable to carry on with this…” Ignorance is bliss, as they say.

“But if you feel that, why did you read these stories about you?”

“I know I’m already too curious at my own risk,” I giggled lightly. God knows I began to read deeply perturbing things. “I got intrigued, and then sometimes I feel lonely. The boys are around while on tour but I’m always missing something–––I mumbled. I found stories that kept me company; yours, for instance. Some of the girls seemed to care about me very much.”

“They love you so much as if they actually knew you–––she said bending down as I lifted my chin towards her. Beyond obsession… It’s unbelievable…”

“Do you know why is that?–––I smirked. Because I’m a peach.”

“I know.” She leant to kiss me parting her lips and slowly brushing the underside of her tongue on mine. She smiled and kissed the tip of my nose, and straightened up, starting to read again. I knew it was my last night with her before returning to the tour but I felt so soothed holding her I began to fall asleep. When she noticed she made a gesture to drop everything off but I interrupted her.

“Won’t you mind to read for me a bit longer? It’s so pleasant just to hear your voice…” And she did, and I stumbled into slumber lulled by her whisper.

–.–.–

When I woke up sunshine was falling abundantly over the bed. I glanced at my watch. Almost ten in the morning. I looked around. Jeanne was lying by my side facing down, her right hand grasping the sheets near her face. There were some papers beyond her, a book and her glasses. I pulled away the sheets to watch her. She had her knickers on besides her grey top. She was as posing even in her sleep, a leg extended and the other slightly folded against the mattress. It was natural to her. She had that air. Art on her necessarily came first and then she came to art. And she had the most amazing ass. God, it was impossible not to touch it. That rhombus between the dimples of her back and the crease of her buttocks. I came closer, carefully lowering her knickers and leant in to lightly trace the imaginary shape with the tip of my tongue. She shuddered but didn’t wake up. I was so aroused just by looking at her I removed her knickers from her as well as my boxers, and searched for a condom underneath the pillow, but there wasn’t any.

By the movement of her shoulders I understood she was beginning to wake up. I remembered the blister of birth control pills on the bathroom’s shelf and felt an adrenaline rush swarming me from every direction. I lay on top of her trying not to touch her and placed my glans on her entrance. My heart was pounding violently. I slowly pushed myself inside, just the tip, groaning quietly. My stomach lurched and my arms almost failed me, but I thrust in yearningly as I felt her walls stretching around me. Jeanne’s back arched and her bum jumped under my grip. Once I was fully inside her I let my head fall on her neck, panting jaggedly and trying to control myself. I stayed like that for a second, breathing in and out, sensing how I was pulsing inside her… But then suddenly I felt she bucked her hips towards me and began to move them, grabbing my head from behind her. I growled to her ear.

I ran my hand underneath her body to graze her breasts as I lapped the length of her neck all the way to its base. I brushed the other one down her belly to her mound of Venus and left it there, applying a slight pressure, breathing sharply on her ear, my eyes wide shut. Everything was too much with the sun coming by the windows, warming up our bodies and the heat growing between us as she continued to push herself against me, practically immobilised under my full weight. As I couldn’t resist anymore and began to rock myself she threw her arm back to grab me by the side, biting her lower lip, eyelids fluttering in pleasure, back arched and bending her head backwards to listen to my breathing.

“Ah, Jeanne–––I panted. Tell me, Jeanne…”

“I want you,” she murmured. I sank my face on her hair.

Her body twitched brushing every inch of mine as she held me tightly by the hips. My lower belly began to tingle as I clenched onto her soft bare tact. She moaned, her pubis palpitating on my hand, and I came hard inside her. I remained quiet for a single moment surged by so many sensations, frowning and refraining a grumble. Jeanne’s legs convulsed and she sank her face on the pillow. I finally fell on my back, breathing confusedly and brushing my hair. I stared at the ceiling, listening to her erratic panting against the mattress. Moments later she turned towards me and rested her head on my shoulder. I ran my arm to caress her back, pulling her closer.

“I’ll make you a smoothie,” she told me. I wondered what was really on her mind.

–.–.–

It had peach in it. I held Jeanne by the waist while she prepared it, smelling her hair. She chose a pretty glass and served it to me. I noticed she didn’t have two of the same set. After I drank it we returned to bed. I was holding her over my chest as she drew shapes on it with the tip of her finger. I knew I should be talking about something else, but I was too curious.

“Sometimes your characters are difficult to relate to. They are too defined…” I mumbled staring at the ceiling on more time.

“I know. But they need to have a personality in order to fall in love–––she explained lazily. On the contrary, the reason they do becomes quite generic and I don’t like that… When two people fall in love there’s something unique they share, an intimate code for them only.” There was every single molecule telling me she was smiling again. I held her tighter.

“And that’s what you care about the most?” I quietly asked.

“It’s called ‘interpersonal attraction’, and it was the subject of my undergraduate thesis for my Psychology degree, with Epicurus and Freud’s quest for happiness as theoretical framework…–––she said. I’m boring you. You don’t even know who I’m talking about…”

“When I’m around you I have this constant urge for the Encyclopaedia Britannica…–––I giggled. But although I don’t know who Epicurus is, I think I get it. You are fascinated by the fact people actually fall in love against all odds.”

“I am–––she asserted, impressed. I couldn’t explain it better myself…” She lifted her head to lightly kiss me on the lips. I closed my eyes. She softly moaned and rested her head again. “I don’t like when stories resolve themselves ‘Deus Ex Machina’…” That sounded as anything I’ve heard before. “When solutions come miraculously from outside the characters–––she pointed out. It’s too old, from Ancient Greece but even then Aristotle didn’t like it either. And later on, neither Nietzsche. If characters are the problem they should be the solution too.”

“You are far too demanding…” I remarked, squinting, and she chuckled. Of course I was right. “Tell me, what’s your favourite Fan Fiction about me?”

“I’ve read a lot…–––she muttered. So I have many: ‘Hey Jude,’ ‘Big Hot Mess,’ ‘Permanent’… But there’s this one called ‘Things I Can, Things I Can’t.’ Especially the first ten chapters… She mastered the coherence of the psychological traits. It was you; everything I imagined about you. I felt so jealous…” A chill ran down my spine and I couldn’t help but grip on her.

“Jealous…” I chanted. She let out a nervous giggle, biting her thumb.

“And what is yours?” She asked avoiding any sort of eye contact.

“‘I Wish,’” I firmly said.

“No, but that doesn’t count–––she observed. It’s an alternate universe.”

“Well, then ‘Bookstore Girl,’” I hurried to say, nestling her between my arms.

“I thought you preferred ‘A Season In Paris’…”

“I prefer happy endings and it doesn’t end well because you took Clementine away from me…” I remarked acting offended.

“It’s an open ending!–––she exclaimed. Well, then you won’t like…” She interrupted herself. There was a silence. “‘Bookstore Girl’ then?” She said, changing subjects. So there were bad news for Harry and Laila.

“Maybe it’s what would’ve happened if I had not left that day we bumped into each other near King Street…” I murmured resting my chin on her forehead. But my curiosity hadn’t quietened down, so I spoke about a suspicion I got the night before when she read to me.“I know your thesis is not about your Fan Fiction but another’s… Why did you write it?”

“I needed to understand something…” She said quietly.

“And have you?” She nodded. I knew I wasn’t getting one extra word about it.

“Come, before you get dressed I want to do something…” She pulled from me until I sat on a cross-legged position. She bent to pick up a pen, and leaning against me she began to write something down on my back, by my shoulder blade.

“What does it say?” I smirked.

“It’s not important anyway,” she mumbled as writing. I sighed. Everything about her was so mesmerising. I wasn’t ready for something like that. She kissed the nape of my neck, lightly brushing my hair and I shivered. “Why did you tell me you dream to be another self?” She whispered, rubbing her cheek on my upper back.

“Sometimes I have the sort of feeling that one day I’ll wake up from this life and regret everything…” I muttered caressing her arm.

“I’m sure you won’t,” she grinned holding my neck and pressing her body on my back.

“Why?” I mumbled, slightly turning towards her and grabbing her elbow.

“Because you put your heart in it…” She said to my ear.

Only once I began to get dressed I finally realised I was leaving. My time with Jeanne seemed so brief. She was standing by her desk fixing some papers with her top barely covering her bum and half-naked back. I smiled, glancing around to the bed, the bath, the table with the sunflowers, and the narrow window of the terrace, the sunlight spreading everywhere.

She put on some record on the hi-fi and chose a track. I later knew it was ‘Famous Blue Raincoat’ from Leonard Cohen. I walked towards her as she did the same and offered me a hand. I took it and placed my other one on her waist. We started to dance slowly. Five minutes and I was going to be out of there. She rested her head on my chest. I needed to tell her so many things, to ask her for her number, if I could see her again…

As if she knew my mind she slid her hand from my shoulder to my mouth preventing me to speak. My eyes clouded suddenly and my jaw trembled into the moment and the song and her gesture and its ultimate meaning. I closed my eyes and threw my head forward. When the song was almost ending she let me go and moved towards the door. She opened it for me, quickly glimpsing at me but said nothing. I walked and stood in front of her in silence. I leant in and gently kissed the top of her head, inhaling her scent one last time. I rushed down those stairs I climbed kissing her in every flight almost forty-eight hours before, shook by the memories of her touch. Soon I reached the street, out of breath, but didn’t turn back.

I was looking into space when a van parked in front of me and the door opened. I saw Louis making gestures at me and jumped in. I sat between him and Zayn, placing my hands together over my lap. The van left and I didn’t look back.

–.–.–

Notes

UNPROTECTED SEX FOR LITERARY PURPOSES ONLY! What happened is only meant to illustrate intensity rising between them and won't have consequences; it would be addressed later on the story. Just have the pacience to wait for it.

What a chapter to write. When I finished I felt sad, but I guess that's what happens.
Don't forget to read this amazing books:

Big Hot Mess
Permanent
Study Of Life And Love
Love At First Type
Mainstream
In A Heartbeat
Unnoticed
Over Again
Snake Eyes
Feeling Fire

Thank you, everybody, for sharing your time with this story. Love you all, lovely, clever readers!