Temporal Exploring 101 - Deep Future

IV.30 French kissing and the English way

The youth hostel where we stayed during our visit to Paris was less comfortable than one might have expected. We slept in one single large dorm room on mattresses that had been put on the floor. Ms Mallet had her own private room, of course, as did our guide, the girl Marianne.

The only hot beverage available with breakfast at the hostel was the seemingly inevitable rose hip tea, along with hard biscuits and marmalade. But hey, this was Paris we got to visit for free, so nobody complained about the quality of breakfast. Well, at least not very much.

As head girl of our class, Mallory Carmichael was in charge. It was her responsibility to ensure that we did not break any of the hostel's house rules or bother the staff and Ms Mallet.

Everything considered, things went reasonably well, though on the second night the Turner twins went to watch a  Varieté  show and returned only after ten p.m., breaking curfew. Ms Mallet had announced early on that any transgression committed by one of us would result in the loss of privileges, such as permission to explore Paris on our own, for all of us. Fortunately, our teacher came in to check on us about ten minutes after Jen and Deb had arrived, but it was a close call. As it was, Mallory herself did not have to say anything: she wisely left it to the other girls to chew the twins out.

Our guide Marianne was a jolly person, ever cheerful and in high spirits, sharing all kinds of funny anecdotes with us girls. That moment when she had bared her boobs to demonstrate the pose of her famous namesake Marianne in that painting by Eugene Delacroix, in front of the Eiffel tower, was nothing if not typical of her. She claimed that the French people were all of them born anarchists, and while I was not totally convinced of that, it was certainly true for Marianne herself. On one of our free afternoons we sat with her in the grass in a small park on the bank of the river Seine to celebrate Marianne's 21st birthday, sharing the content of three bottles of red wine she had bought for the occasion.

Under Ms Mallet's supervision, and with Marianne as a competent guide, we went to see many of the city's famous sights and landmarks, such as the Eiffel Tower, Moulin Rouge, the Pantheon, the Louvre, the Catacombes, Champs-Elysees, Sacre-Coeur, Notre Dame, Arc de Triomphe and  Montmartre, to name just a few. We also took a trip to Versailles and visited what felt like dozens of small museums and art exhibits. It was a bit exhausting but also great fun.

Of particular interest to us girls was watching the French and studying their strange ways.

There was that odd custom of cheek kissing, of course, faire la bise as the French called it. But there was also the carefree and casual way lovers exchanged intimacies in public, starting with but not limited to the way they kissed, involving a lot of activity on the part of their tongues.

"Well, I suppose it is called French kissing for a reason," Helen mused.

In the Louvre Museum, we watched a young man squeeze and fondle his girlfriend's buttocks through the fabric of her skirt while the two of them were looking at a painting. My classmates and I were greatly impressed, especially when it became clear that none of the museum's staff who were always hovering in the background saw fit to intervene and put an end to that shameless public display of affection. If anything, they appeared to be amused.

If we were fascinated by the mysterious behavior of the French people, Marianne appeared to be at least equally fascinated by us. On our second day at Paris, as we were walking on the Champs-Elysees, our French guide fell into step with Mallory and myself.

"So you are the one who is in charge here, Mallory," Marianne observed. "The prefect girl, no?"

She was pronouncing the other girl's name in a funny way, like 'Mullory', with the 'u' pronounced as as in 'hull'.

"I am not exactly a prefect, but I am the head girl of this class," Mallory confirmed. "That pretty much amounts to the same thing. It means I am responsible for discipline and stuff."

"Discipline?" The French girl looked oddly intrigued. "You also administer spankings, then?"

"Well yes, that happens. You can ask Hart, here." Mallory turned towards me, with a smirk. "Remember that time when I needed to spank you, Hart?"

I glared at her. "I remember that you enjoyed that way too much, Carmichael."

But Marianne was not really listening to what I was saying. She was completely focused on Mallory. "Mon Dieu! Spankings, eh?" I noticed that her cheeks had gained a bit of color. "On the bare bottom?"

Mallory nodded gravely. "Regrettably, it is necessary, sometimes."

"I knew it! It is like, the English way, no?"

Mallory grinned. "You are right, Marianne. It is most definitely the English way."

The French girl laughed. "In that case, I'd better watch my step, eh?"

Before Mallory could reply, we were interrupted by Ms Mallet who started to discuss our itinerary for this afternoon with our guide. Which happened to lead us to the Louvre.

The Louvre was also where I became aware of her presence for the first time: a slim, dark-haired girl, looking very French, dressed like a tourist or perhaps like a university student, who appeared to be spending a lot of time looking at Natty and me rather than at the pictures hanging on the wall.

When she noticed me looking back at her, she turned away and moved on to the next room which featured early works of the Impressionists.

I did not think much of it at the time, other than worrying if there was some kind of smudge somewhere on my blouse or if my hair was sticking out or something.

During the next few days I saw her again a couple of times, at Montmartre and at Notre Dame, and I began to wonder if this could be an accident, or if there might be some purpose behind it.

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