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Dreaming Of You // If I'm Still Dreaming

'But I thought…'

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

At least she wasn’t a commie. I didn’t see it working between a commie and a pop star, no matter how cute the pop star was. But how could I deny it? Jeanne had me absolutely intimidated. A lover three times her age? There was the reason for her to be so mind-blowing. She had learnt to please a man twice my age. Of course just to flick a hand at me was enough for her to have me completely subjugated. The mere idea was burning my mind though. How come an adult could engage himself in sexual intercourses with a girl he met when she was little? And to make things worse, being surrounded by constant reminders, as her childhood photos, having been trusted by her parents… I knew she was fifteen years old then, but still. That Roland person gave me the creeps.

After supper we decided to go to the attic to watch a film. Beside the bedroom area was a large, cosy lounge with a telly. Jeanne was startled when I told her I didn’t know ‘9 ½ Weeks,’ as it is supposed to be a classic from the 80’s––an all-time erotic classic to be accurate. What have I been watching all this time? Well, my taste surely wasn’t as refined as hers. But she was unbelievable… She told me it wasn’t the primordial reason for us to watch it. Instead she argued some sentimental reasons. I was puzzled but I knew I had to play along and seize the opportunity to get to understand her better.

She explained to me it was her parents’ fetish film. While she was little they danced to a song from the soundtrack every night before getting in bed. Jeanne listened from upstairs, and when Lolo was at ‘La biguine’ they used to sneak out of the bedroom to see them dancing in the art studio. After they actually watched the film many years later Mickey Rourke became hers and Lolo’s first crush. I got it. He had that mannish yet sensitive look, but Kim Bassinger wasn’t bad at all.

Jeanne told me she despised the stereotypes of the film, all the ‘innocent girl discovering the world through a man,’ but she just couldn’t help herself. And I liked it somehow. She had her contradictions, only she was aware of them. Finishing to watch the film was impossible though. Whispering sweet nothings to Jeanne soon transformed into my tongue stuck in her ear and hands eagerly running on each other’s bodies. We fell right there in the sofa, barely undressed, having consciousness just to turn the telly off. To keep my hands away from her was hard enough to test my will with that sort of films.

When I woke up next morning I was lying alone in the art studio’s bed. I looked at my iPhone and it was pretty late. I glanced outside. Jeanne had made laundry and was hanging colourful tablecloths all around the back of the garden. I put on a plaid shirt and my boxers and went out to help her. Fresh grass felt good under my feet.

Jeanne was so focused on the task––as she always was with everything she did, the urge to creep up on her rose inside me. I silently approached her and grabbed her by the waist and the hand she had in the air. She bounced as a cat between my arms and laughed once she realised it could only be me, turning around smiling with her whole being. Placing her arms on my shoulders she murmured she had a surprise for me. How could she become more beautiful by the day?

After she made my breakfast we returned outside. I couldn’t help but laugh when I saw what she had prepared, a tin tub filled with rainwater for me to bath in the garden surrounded by the fresh linen. Strategically placed, the sunlight was falling generously over the tub. Jeanne went inside to grab some things to groom me and I undressed and got inside, resting my arms on the edge. Water was warm and shinny, the reflection of the sun drawing forms in my skin. There was a mild breeze blowing. I looked up, placing a hand over my eyes, but slowly closed them to relax to the sound of the linen flapping, the wind through the willow, the chimes, and the birds. The world seemed to be dancing in joy around me.

Jeanne came out of the house carrying a tray with an old-style razor, soap and shampoo. I knew I was going to enjoy the experience. I tied my hair in a bun and Jeanne laughed so hard she almost cried. Sitting on a low stool she washed my face to apply soap with her hands looking straight into my eyes. She rinsed herself in the tub and approached the razor to my bumfluff. I shivered a bit and Jeanne gripped my face tightly, shushing for me to stay quiet. She was so lovely with that ‘caught up’ grimace or biting her tongue, as I kept glimpsing at her constantly.

Not that I have too much facial hair so the shaving part seemed to be over quite soon. Jeanne cleaned my face and I lay down again for her to wet my hair. She sat behind me and I felt her hands running through my scalp. Pleasure quickly arose. I immediately remembered the time I washed her hair in Paris and beamed, relaxing even more under her delicate touch. I let escape a moan and Jeanne giggled.

“Enjoying yourself?”

“The soap doesn't allow you to see my hard-on, but it’s there…” I mumbled in a lop-sided grin. Jeanne pulled my head back and rinsed my hair with a can, gently massaging my temples with her free hand to remove the foam. “Do you like it?”

“What is it that I have to like?” She snickered.

“My hair…–––I murmured playfully. Do you like my hair now? You told ILoveTommoBear you were quite displeased.” Jeanne laughed.

“I wasn’t very sure when it was growing but now I do,” she spoke to my wet ear in a husky tone, kissing it at the end.

“And what else do you like?”

“I like this bone over here.” She kissed my jaw line.

“And what else?”

“I like this other bone over there…” She slipped her finger along my sternum.

“Do you like my tattoos?” I asked almost reluctantly. I sensed she deeply breathed in, shaking her head ‘no’ next to mine, her hand running down across my torso.

“Tattoos distract.” She was that violently honest, but I was already suspecting it, as her own skin was immaculate. I sighed.

“What else do you like?” I carried on, adjusting my body to the tub.

“I like this.” Jeanne plunged her hand under the water to feel my pelvis. I instinctively bucked my hips. “I like your cock too…” She whispered in my ear, sending chills all over my body. I felt the back of her fingers slightly grazing my shaft, inciting me.

“It is mutual.” She giggled, and grasped her hand around me.

“Show me…” She leant closer.

“You know how I like it…”

“Show me how you do it…” Jeanne murmured. I glimpsed at her. Her eyes were half-shut fixed on the water. I slid my hand over hers and tightly gripped it around.

“Ah,” I gasped as I began to pump my length in Jeanne’s fist. Her touch on me, but being able to set the pace was as nothing I had done before. And the soapy water splashing lightly at our movement… Everything was just too much as I brushed her palm on my glans and made her thumb it, combining long motions to my base, a brief pause, and short strokes on the tip. I pushed my head back to her, my breathing becoming erratic by the second, jaw tensing, eyes closing. I groaned as our grip grew even tighter on me. Jeanne moaned and the buzz around my heart was just impossible to hold. Two consecutive small rubs and I let myself go, shaking out of control.

“I can finish to shave you now…” I heard Jeanne saying as I began to return from my trance. What was she talking about?

–.–.–

“I'm sorry. I have to answer this,” Jeanne said apologetically and stood up from her chair, walking away. I couldn’t help but frown. “Ciao, mamma…”

“It’s Anne…” Maurice leant in to speak to me in a quiet tone, as he was sitting in front of me. Pat at his side raised his eyebrows. I turned to look at her in curiosity.

“No, non sono a Parigi; sono a ‘La biguine’…–––Jeanne spoke placing a hand on her other ear. Ho venuto martedi con due amici. Ci siamo qui, insieme a Maurice, sì… Sì, prendiamo la cena. La avevo fato io, sì…” She tilted her head. For some reason we all giggled. “Tutti antipasti e primi… Insalata di breasola e ruccola, burrata, vitelo tonnato, pasta crudaiola… Ma sì, mamma, habbiamo bevutto il vino. Forse l’habbiamo bevutto tutto.” Jeanne’s tone was getting higher, and she seemed nervous. “Dolci, mamma? Siamo al’estate… Ma comunque, ho fato un semifredo…”

“And why do they speak Italian?” I asked bending closer to Maurice, my hands together over the table.

“Anne is half Italian,” he explained and I became puzzled. Italian? I glanced at Jeanne walking to the kitchen. “It’s her mother tongue…”

“But I thought…” I mumbled in confusion, and interrupted myself. I thought she learnt from that Italian lover… I shook my head, straightening up, and glimpsed at Pat. He had turned away completely, all his attention focused on Jeanne. I threw him a napkin and he jumped in his chair. Maurice laughed. I noticed Jeanne was returning to our company.

“I’m sorry. My mother greets you all, especially you, Maurice.” She circled his neck from behind him, and kissed his cheek. He smiled, caressing her elbow.

“I miss her…” He mumbled. I instinctively glanced down.

“You should visit her in Otranto–––Jeanne claimed. It’s lovely there.” Maurice grinned to her as they locked eyes.

“Thank you so much for this magnificent dinner, Jeanne–––said Pat trying to release the sudden emotional tension. Maurice has been starving me these days.” We all laughed, and I winked at him when he glimpsed at me.

“Why don’t we listen to some little tunes?” Maurice suggested.

We took our party to the art studio and Maurice and I sat at the piano while Jeanne and Pat went to relax on a sofa. He played a bit of jazz telling me how Jeanne’s father used to accompany him on his trumpet until the small hours of the night. My heart narrowed. He was greatly missed. Their lives changed so much since he was gone. I glanced at Jeanne, massaging her hair as she spoke to Pat, both laughing.

My knowledge of piano is pretty rudimental but good enough to play four hands with an expert with plenty of patience. Louis on the other hand would have been showing off as he always does, being the heart of the party. Somehow I missed his company in that exact moment. He was the reason I was there in the first place.

“Why do they call this house ‘La biguine,’ Maurice?” I asked him at some point.

“Don’t you know what ‘biguine’ is?” I shook my head ‘no.’ “It’s a musical rhythm from Martinique,” he explained, playing some chords on the piano. I noticed Jeanne straightened up and looked at us. “Why don’t you put ‘Le coeur grenadine’?” Maurice told her. Jeanne agreed with the head and walked up to the record player. “It comes from this song–––he said as he heard the tune. Laurent Voulzy is a great friend of us.” I remembered that name from the song the hipster guy dedicated to Jeanne at the pub. “Why don’t you ask her to dance?”

For some reason I didn’t even think of it twice. I stood up and walked to her as Maurice went to the sofa with Pat, and offered my hand to Jeanne who was turning around. She smiled and slid her hand to my shoulder and I did the same to her waist. We began to rock slowly to the music, moving to the centre of the room, fixed on each other’s eyes.

“This song is awful,” I muttered jokingly. Jeanne giggled. “You should listen to our next record…”

“I will.” She rested her head on my chest and I pulled her closer, shutting my eyes and resting my cheek on the top of her head, losing myself in her warmth and that particular contact I had grown fond of. We didn’t say another word for what was left of the song.

“Et maint’nant la chanson d’la maison!” Maurice suddenly announced from beside the record player. “Forget Mick Jagger and David Bowie. The women of this house fancy Bryan Ferry…” Pat muffled a cackle. I looked at Jeanne and she reluctantly held my gaze, seeming hesitant. The first chords filled the room and I recognised the music from the film we had been watching the night before. It was her parents’ song.

“They’d be glad it’s us now,” I quietly spoke, running my arms around her waist.

To need a woman
You’ve got to know
How the strong get weak
And the rich get poor.

–.–.–

Notes

I-don't-get-this-woman Harry is just so sweet. He puts a smile upon my face every time I write him. I know you love him too! Next chapter: Harry returns to England and will have to face the boys! Expect a lot of teasing, but some things will be said that you can't miss...

We are currently at chapter 44. In six chapters, something I've been building for 46 chapters will be revealed! Do you want know more? Run to chapter 6, reread it, and relive it! Fangirl hard! The core of the story! That's why you love me, because I've been building it up for 46 chapters :D The best thing? I love you too! And as this story holds a lot of secrets, if we get more votes, I'll be telling you along the way. Do you like the idea? What a roller coaster is coming!

Thank you to all our new voters! Thank you for giving a chance to this unconventional story. I'd like to get to know you so, don't be shy and just leave a comment! Leave a comment, click the tenth star, and hit subscribe! You won't regret it! I can assure you this story hasn't been written before.

If you don't know Bryan Ferry's song or want to find out a bit more about '9 1/2 Weeks' you can check this. Highly recommended, and meaningful to the story! Don't forget to check our Tumblr account too: Dreaming Of You's Visual Journey. I'll keep posting, so check it out every once in a while.

Thank you so much for sharing your precious time with this story! Really love you all <3

Any story deserves hate

Comments

miss you a lot friend,
message me sometime if you have the chance ❤️

cococranberry cococranberry
3/13/19

You promised you would never make us wait for an update that long again... *cries*

JasperRenee JasperRenee
7/3/18

Hello,

I hope your life is everything that you want it to be. It seems like the past couple of months have really changed my perspective of the world, and how much you need to appreciate the little things in life. You never know when life will snatch them away from you.

I have really appreciated all that you have done for me. I miss your constantly developing plot, and your infinitesimal points of detail. In other words, I miss this story so much.

I feel like so much has happened since the last time you updated. I hope you know that I am always eagerly awaiting your next chapter. Even if it's 5 years from now, and I am a fully licensed Speech Language Pathologist, I will try my best to keep up my support. Maybe next year while I am studying abroad in Italy you will find the motivation to continue. Who knows what's going to happen. Maybe I should take the quote from the t-shirt I am currently wearing. "Life is like a box of chocolates. You never know you're gonna get."

Thanks,
Morgan

Oh no, and then the moment came there's no next chapter anymore! What do I have to do with my spare time now?!
On a serious note: I loved loved looooooved your story so far. I loved the way the sequel wasn't the same as 'Dreaming of you'. Another timeset, other places, other people getting involved, and the tension being build up from the beginning till now. Their 'relationship' didn't went back to the way things were in France 4 years ago, it needed time to get together again and in a different way (happy about their love right now, but after 111 chapters I know things can change...). I really loved the way you wrote about Mark Owen as being Jeanne's 'Boyband crush'. I've been such a big fan of Take That and Mark was my first true love when I was 11 or so. His picture was hanging above my bed, wich I kissed goodnight every night. (I guess I've just spilled my age, haven't I? ;-) )
When I read the last comments, I think your last update was from 2 months ago. I really hope you can find the time, the energy and the inspiration to finish this story, because I'm hooked! Give me a warning when you'll write a book, I will be in front of the bookstore, waiting!

Love, Leah



Dear You,

I've started reading this story two days ago. From the very first chapter I'm hooked and I can't stop reading. I don't want to go out, I don't want to sleep, I just want to read. Not to know how it will end actually, because I don't want it to end! So I try to find a balance between reading fast en making it last a little bit longer. I'm a fan of Harry from the day Sign of the times has released, so I have a lot of catching up to do. When you mention a song or a situation with One Direction, I look for it on Google or YouTube. So you're helping me to get to know the world of Harry and 1D, thank you for that! I've been to Paris a couple of times, It's such a beautiful city. I have good, romantic, memories of the times I've been there. You're writing about the city is so accurate and lively, it feels I'm there again by reading. My heart nearly broke for Harry and Jeanne when I read the last chapter of Dreaming of you. Happy to know there's a sequel, I going to start reading that now. I just wanted to write you this, because in the notes below the chapters you seem like a very nice, caring person. Thank you for writing such a beautiful story! (I hope my writing makes sence, English isn't my native language so I know I make a lot of mistakes. I'm sorry!)
Love, Leah