Dreaming Of You // If I'm Still Dreaming

Jeanne and I stumbled inside, falling into bed entwined, and we made love without even undressing completely. I couldn’t keep my hands or my mind away from her. I was drunk on Jeanne and even though I feared her mind, somehow the way her body reacted to me told me she was feeling exactly the same. She knew how to keep it quiet though, and that was a killer thing to someone as demanding as me. I struggled to restrain myself because I knew it was some sort of a turn off for her, but it wasn’t easy.

Soon after Jeanne started to prepare her steak tartare but I was full of doubts about giving it a try. With a sharp steak knife she chopped the beef in small, uniform dices. She put the meat inside a large bowl and did the same with a red onion and some capers as I toasted thin slices of bread. Aside she mashed oil-packed anchovies and combined them with Dijon mustard, fresh lemon juice, olive oil, egg yolks, Worcestershire sauce, a bit of Tabasco sauce, salt and black pepper. The more I knew, the more unsure I felt about the whole thing. Raw eggs? I could catch something. Paul would murder me. I held her by the waist watching from above her shoulder how she finally mixed everything together and presented the dish in a platter topped with chive, placing my toasts all around.

We sat at the table and Jeanne insisted that I should try it. How could I not eat raw beef when I ate raw fish? She had a solid point, but it was so rare, as meat prepared for a burger but without the cooking part. On the other hand she was devouring it. God, she loved to eat. And cook. And drink. She drank half a bottle of wine by herself in just minutes. And tipsy she was her better state: She made me wear my boxers and fedora and let her feet on my lap throughout the whole meal. She was so relaxed sitting there moving her glass from side to side as she talked.

We had a good breakfast and what Jeanne called ‘hors d’oeuvres' at the cheese shop, but after sex I was starving, so I finally gave in to the little toast she offered me. And as always, Jeanne was right about it. It was simply delicious. That day I decided I would always accept her suggestions.

As we had some few more hours before our visit to the museum we returned to bed. Jeanne was naked underneath her white robe. I observed her carefully as she sat with her back on the headboard and lifted her robe slightly, spreading her legs for me to slip between them, the plate of cold, wet grapes resting by her side. She motioned her hands to me and I approached her. I rested my back on her torso and my nape on her shoulder. With her arms around my back Jeanne brought a bunch of grapes to my mouth so I could eat them one by one. It was even more perfect than whatever I could had ever imagined, with Jeanne’s robe sliding aside and my back making full contact with the soft skin of her breast, her laugh and kisses in my ear as I caressed her legs generously. Leaving that bed was one of the most difficult things I had to do in all my life.

–.–.–

“What’s your favourite posture to do?” I asked Jeanne as we walked throughout our second room full of statues. Lolo had been very polite to me and got us inside by the employees’ entrance without any fuss, as Jeanne promised, but I was a little mistrustful still. We were in a museum packed with tourists from around the world, mostly American and Japanese.

“I have many but I really like this one here–––she replied approaching a statue. It’s a Venus. It’s called ‘Callipyge,’ but this statue is neither Grecian nor Roman; it’s a much later version from François Barois, around 1685.” I noticed the Venus was standing in a very strange position, as contorting, with her head turned backwards. I didn’t get why it was so special.

“Hmm. What’s a ‘callipyge’?–––I inquired curiously. And why is she looking at her behind?” Jeanne giggled.

“Well, that’s the key question–––she said getting closer to her and pointed at it. It’s a Romanisation of a Grecian word. It means ‘of the beautiful buttocks’…”

“But I can barely see her bum…” I mumbled, approaching her myself.

“That’s because French people are quite conspicuous and gave her a slip below the peplos,” Jeanne explained. She really seemed to know what she was talking about. It was her job after all, although she probably was more acculturated than any of her colleagues. “The Grecian original is lost but the most renowned Callipygian Venus pulls from her dress completely.” That sounded definitely hot. Who said classical art is boring? Those Grecian had a statue literally flashing her ass to anyone. It wasn’t just a nude. “You should see her… A beautiful, white marble statue–––she spoke in a languid way. I can show it to you later. I have a magnificent catalogue at home.”

“Definitely…–––I muttered to Jeanne’s ear. And may you do it for me?” The mere idea was too arousing, and she claimed it was her favourite pose.

“What?” She frowned, amused.

“The pose–––I said pointing at the statue but still talking to Jeanne closely, my breath hitting strategically the sensitive spot on her ear. Will you pose for me like that?” The geisha was sort of engraved in my mind.

“Maybe one day…” Jeanne murmured, walking away after giving me a seductive look. I knew she was planning on saying yes to my proposal. I was right to be cocky after all. I beamed.

“So, it’s not the pose you are doing tomorrow–––I meditated as I rejoined her. How will you be posing?”

“A crouching Venus like that one…–––Jeanne answered pointing to another statue near us. She’s bathing but the arms are different,” she carried on engrossed in, displaying the posture with her arms around her torso. God, she was so graceful as a ballerina. I was dying to see her on the task. Yes, I had already seen her naked and savoured every inch of her skin, but it was about something else.

“I like it–––I remarked crossing my arms over my chest, taking a good look at the statue. She has those back dimples…” I loved that part of feminine anatomy. “I’m sure I won’t get bored,” I snickered as Jeanne began to walk away. We soon arrived to the end of room. I glanced around. “So, ephebes…”

“Beautiful, young Grecian males…–––she sighed taking a slow full turn. Here you have many of them. They were an institution actually… Be careful not to knock anything over,” she joked and I chuckled.

“That’s what Zayn told us–––I claimed. They were about our age.”

“And younger, yes.”

“Do they ever smile?” I said playfully as we stood together in front of a statue.

“No, they never smile,” Jeanne muttered without even looking at me.

“But if they were smiling, would they have dimples?” I asked in a cheeky tone to her ear.

“Dimples?–––she snapped. Oh, no. Imagine! Of course they wouldn’t. They are meant to be perfect,” she claimed and I couldn’t help but scrunch my face at her energetic response. “Well, you know–––she carried on softening her tone–––dimples are an actual flaw, a muscle deformity… People with dimples have a double muscle where the rest have just one…” Was she teasing me? She didn’t seem to be teasing. Did my dimples have any effect on her? She hadn’t poked them once. Was she an alien? People have been poking my dimples ever since I have memory. My dimples were me.

“What about back dimples?” I retorted, crossing my arms again, mildly offended.

“Oh, that’s different–––she replied dramatically. They’re called ‘dimples of Venus’ and, as you noticed, Venuses actually have them. They come from shortened ligaments and are often accompanied by a visible rhombus-shaped contour. It’s considered a trace of beauty.” I frowned.

“I see a double standard…” I mused.

“Oh, well, you should go and complain to Praxiteles,” she scoffed.

“The Grecian sculptor?” I asked quickly. Jeanne’s eyes widened. “A lucky guess,” I laughed and she mirrored me. I returned my attention to the statue and she did the same. “So you have every specific feature from these sculptures and I just have a discreet pair of back dimples and decadent V-lines…” I was glad not to have the tiny willy, but I wasn’t going to point that out.

“Oh, and that makes you so sad…–––Jeanne ironised, tilting her head to me. Actually, look at this,” she said getting closer to the statue. I followed her. “This one is called Antinous, in this case, Braschi. He was the young favourite of Emperor Hadrian. He lived between 111 and 130 of this era but he was so beautiful numerous of his statues made it to our days, almost two thousand years later. That is standing the test of time…” She was as a museum guide.

“I certainly have his thighs,” I observed and Jeanne let out a high-pitched laugh. We glanced around discreetly.

“The body of this statue is not one of an ephebe–––she observed after a moment. It’s from Hercules actually, a demigod. They just put it on together with Antinous’ head on a restoration.” I had a squint at her. “So, let’s focus on his face–––she said but came closer to me. Do you know those little curls on the corner of your mouth? Right here.” She touched my lip delicately and I shivered under her contact. It was way better than poking the dimples. “Now look a this statue–––she said turning towards him again. Do you see his lips? Well, it’s exactly what you have, a highly desirable feature,” she asserted, pulling her hands to her back.

“Do you like it?” I asked. She had already praised my lips in the rapture of sexual intercourse, but I could listen to it again and again.

“I actually love it,” Jeanne spoke looking at him as I reacted to her statement in disbelief, turning to stare at her. She didn’t notice me though as she was too caught up by his presence. “I could kiss Antinous until the end of times. I’m as Pygmalion, enamoured of a statue,” she said softly. There I was again, lost with all those names but with a warm sensation swarming my body. Did she realise what she just asserted or was she too occupied rationalising everything? “I prefer Antinous Farnese at Naples’ National Archaeological Museum, the same collection as the Venus we were talking about.” I forced myself to look at the face of the statue attentively.

“Is this the guy I resemble to?–––I inquired boldly, pointing at it. Because he might be lacking dimples but I guess there’s a true likeness.” Jeanne frowned still not glancing at me. “I look a lot like him. Tall, athletic figure, curly hair, plump, curved lips…” It made all the sense.

“The painting on this statue had faded out but for a fact Antinous was dark haired–––Jeanne explained with her eyes fixed on the statue. He was born in a region of today’s Turkey although his family was Grecian. Ancient Greek were mostly blond against the current belief…”

“Don’t change subjects,” I told her in a serious tone.

“No, it’s not him.” Nice try, Harry. But who the hell was the guy? She had never mentioned him again. Did they have a relationship? She claimed to have been in love with him. God, I hated more than ever the whole idea of her being attracted to me because of some guy, but for some reason I wasn’t going to surrender.

“But Antinous is the original, not the guy then,” I observed acting casual. There was a silence and I glimpsed at Jeanne discreetly.

“I have never noticed it before…” She mumbled in shock, without taking her eyes of the statue. Yes!

“You liked that guy because he made you recall Antinous as I do,” I insisted joyfully. She would have liked me anyway even if the guy had never existed… “I can live with that–––I asserted. Could you settle down for me?” I said facing Jeanne.

“I think I could…” She grinned mischievously. I wanted to kiss her so badly, so I stood dangerously close. Jeanne’s body seemed to tremble lightly. “When I met you in London you were the perfect ephebe–––she said, tilting her head flirtingly. Now you look more like…”

“Like an accursed poet?” I joked.

“Like a confused tourist I should say…” She laughed and I couldn’t help but giggle in complicity. Yeah, she had already banned the bandana and was too smart herself to stand my normcore style. “Look at you, trying not to be all beautiful and failing spectacularly.” She got me so well read.

–.–.–

Notes

Forget chubby angels and Sistine Chapel. Harry Styles truly resembles a Grecian statue... OK, a whole chapter to point that out xD No, OK, this chapter is not a filler. I hope you enjoyed a bit more of cheeky Harry trying to figure out Jeanne.

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