Conversational French (or the reluctant rapist). (CAW 24 Entry)

“An Affair to Remember” was the film we saw that evening, though I don’t remember much about it. Apart from it was a pretty formulaic 1950’s film, the last bit (Where she wouldn’t tell him of the disability) was silly and the ending was sudden. I can’t see why it was voted number five on the most romantic movies of all time. Now Casablanca, like they played a couple of months ago, was worth the number one spot, but not this one.

I may not have been paying that much attention, I was there with Aimée, we were sitting at the back and smooching. This was at the Stanford Theatre, someone rich had bought it and restored it. The inside was amazing, everything you’ve ever imagined of a theatre from Hollywood’s golden age. It was only ten minutes from home, so we go there a lot. They showed old films there, I’m sure they couldn’t be making any money on it, it was usually empty. We were lucky to get about six others when we were there. Actually, that suited us with our smooching, more private.

The movie was just about to start, and in walks this woman and sits two rows in front of us. There were plenty of seats in rows nearer the front, she didn’t have to sit near us and cramp our style. It was Aimée who noticed her, “Check out that bombshell.” She must have picked that word up from one of the old movies we’d seen.

She was hot, she was tall and elegant. “Not bad.” My guess would have been company exec, or lawyer, hardly rare in downtown Palo Alto. She was wearing a black suit, like I said elegant. The skirt was tight and came down to mid thigh, nice legs. She paused and took off the jacket before she sat down. I could see her shape, very nice swelling of boobs under her thin teal top. She also had a chunky necklace and matching chunky bangle in gold with jade it looked like, nothing cheap. She smoothed out her long auburn hair before finally taking her seat.

She was just Aimée’s type. Aimée likes girls as well as men (she likes me anyway). She likes them tall and powerful. They’re much more satisfying to bring down to her level. Aimée liked them to submit to her, she’s kinda kinky like that. Me, I could do without the kinky stuff, but if all three of us get off, who am I to complain. She brings me along as the muscle, I don’t really like beating up girls, but some of them like it.

Aimée likes to make up a bio of the object of her fantasy, in this case the woman in the suit. She whispered in my ear, “She’s Hélène, she’s French-Canadian, she did law at the University of Toronto, spending a year at the Sorbonne. She got her masters from Harvard and is now director of regulatory affairs at a biotech company, further up University Avenue.” A background like that would be perfect for one of Aimée’s playmates.

The lights went down, and we continued our smooching. Aimée kept up a commentary about “Hélène”. “Wouldn’t you like to find out what’s under the skirt?” Things like that, “I bet she’s wearing expensive lacy panties.” She kept egging me on. “That top wouldn’t get in the way much, you could rip it off, how much of a handful do you think her boobs would be.”

All through the movie, Aimée and me smooched, that was good, it was turning me on. Aimée kept up the fantasy about Hélène, that was turning me on even more. Hélène kept glancing over to us, if I looked her way, she’d look away. We were turning her on.

Suddenly the movie was over. Typical of old movies, all the credits were at the beginning, so the movie ended and that was that. The lights came up, Hélène got up, threw her jacket over her shoulder and walked out. We ostensibly ignored her and smooched some more. Once she was out the door, Aimée motioned me to move and we followed Hélène out. She turned right out of the theatre, a block and a half, across the street and half a block. We followed casually along behind, just strolling.

She was parked in the new parking structure, she walked up one level, we followed. She paused and fumbled in her purse, she found her keys, pushed a button and the car next to her flashed and clicked. Aimée nodded, I sprang up behind Hélène. One hand went around her mouth, the other caught the wrist with the keys. Aimée grabbed the keys and opened the car’s rear door for me. I twisted Hélène’s arm up behind her back and bundled her in the back seat. I piled in on top of her. Two car doors shut and the car started up.

Aimée drove the car out of the garage, a flew blocks and we were on a quieter street. I let go of Hélène and turned her over. She said something, it sounded like “Barley pat.” French, I guessed. Maybe she was French, my French was never any good, and it’s gotten pretty rusty. It was never on the conversational level, and it didn’t cover situations like this. Then she said “Salut!” though I don’t think it was a greeting. It was more like she spat it at me.

Aimée snarled “The girl.” I’m pretty sure I was missing something here.