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Belle Epoque (a mix of actual events and fiction)  

yorkiechai 68F
0 posts
5/9/2018 9:53 am
Belle Epoque (a mix of actual events and fiction)

The lingerie store was a beautiful boutique in the Montparnasse area of Paris. But it, like its lingerie, was a "barely there" store, and by that I mean unless you were "in the know" it would be unlikely you would find it. Not on a main street, not even off a main street, but off more of an alleyway shaped like a small courtyard, down a few steps from street level, and there it was, set into a whitewashed 2 storey: a gleaming black door with a "belle epoque" door handle and the smallest of rippled glass windows displaying a discrete sign with the boutique owner's name, Madame G . . .
A tiny bell tinkled when I opened the door. A simple, old-fashioned device, maybe, but it was an elegant sound, fitting an elegant space. The lighting was muted, no overhead fluorescents, but 1 or 2 , I think it was, strategically placed floor lamps with velvet covered shades in addition to the banker's style desk lamp in champagne coloured glass shade on the art nouveau case that served as a display cabinet. The wall behind that cabinet was ceiling high with drawers handcrafted decades before out of some now richly patinaed wood and each drawer was neatly labeled with a small hand lettered card that was slipped into the frame which was part of the drawer pulls. Off to the right hand side of this very small shop were 2 wing backed chairs also upholstered in velvet with a small table between them and a worn Persian carpet underneath. Other than the curtain that covered part of the back of the space and the framed charcoal drawing on the wall, there was nothing else in the "petite maison". The scent I remember quite distinctly as many later on a different continent altogether, I found a perfumed candle that took me instantly back to Madame G's: the scent of the candle is - not was because I refuse to burn the last millimeters of wax in order to retain the scent memory - Absinthe and Blackberry.
I stood, once I entered the shop, and took in the simple elegance of the surroundings and then heard the tapping of heels crossing the floor behind the curtained wall. "Allo," Madame G said when she pushed aside a corner of the curtain and stepped through.
"Bonjour," I returned her greeting.
"You are looking for some undergarments?" she queried, and it seemed rather pedestrian to refer to her collection of lingerie as "undergarments" for I knew that she designed and sewed some of the most elegant, most luxurious garments - under or not - that I had encountered in my life for, after a dinner party a few weeks ago, the wife of a colleague (who was also my lover) had shown me a drawer full of lingerie she had purchased and she was the 1 who had sent me on this quest, unaware I think, of the betrayal of our friendship and their marriage, in which I and husband and were emmersed. The bras, panties, slips,<b> corsets </font></b>- you name it, they were in T's wife's bureau drawer - were a confectioner's dream in that the colours were the barest tints of pink, mauve, blue, and champagne much like the subtle hues of the meringues in the patisserie just down the street. And the fabrics? Silk, of course; a watery satin; the softest, most delicate lace; grosgrain ribbon rosettes and ties; and an almost transparent chiffon. Even the functional details were elegant: the clasps on the garter belt had, like the store itself, a belle epoque appearance in their shape and relief design and the hooks and eyes on the bras were made out of silver. Whispers were, T's wife had told me with a giggle, that Madame G also designed, had crafted, and sold sex toys - godemichet - made out of sterling silver that had art nouveau styled "ribbing" to them as well, but only to the most very special, the most intimate, the most wealthy, I would imagine, of clientele.
"Yes, yes please, Madame T sent me," I explained, and Madame G nodded in response.
"Oui, ca va bien," she moved as she spoke, the little kitten heels on her slip on shoes tapping quietly and efficiently as she flipped the lock on the door to the shop closed and pulled down a linen shade so that the window was covered and only the barest of daylight gleamed around the rim of it, leaving the shop softly lit by the lamps alone. "Oui," she said again, "you will take off your clothes then," and she moved to depart behind the curtain to, I believe, give me some privacy while I bared myself. "I will return in 'une moment'," she concluded, the soft French pronunciation of the word purring from her lips as she disappeared from view. I hesitated, of course, R's wife had not told me about this part. Bare myself? Strip all my clothes off? I hadn't even told Madame G what, specifically, I was looking for in the way of lingerie. But, I thought, maybe this is the French way of doing things, and when in Rome, er Paris, as they say . . . . so I shook off my North American reticence and did as she instructed, laying my rather embarrassingly utilitarian bra, panties, and dress across the arm of of the chairs and then slipping my French made high heels - a new acquisition - just out of the way, under that same chair. It was a bit awkward to stand there, entirely naked, in a stranger's store and I felt a small brush of cool air on my breasts momentarily, before I folded my arms to my chest and began to look around a little more carefully. I was standing with my bare buttocks to the room, then, studying the charcoal drawing which was entitled Maturity and Youth - nudes, a younger woman and an older - holding each other in an affectionate embrace - when Madame G. returned. Or, that is, if she returned by walking back through that curtain, I had not heard her, for it seemed moment I was studying the drawing and the next I was hearing her speak from just behind me as she was with a measuring tape, fabric swatches, a pin cushion complete with pins, and, what appeared to be a bra and a pair of panties all draped over her arm.
"You like?" she questid, and I must have looked a little confused. "You like the drawing?" she elaborated.
And I nodded my response, "Oh yes, it is beautiful." My smile was a little nervous as here I was standing, completely naked in front of a complete stranger who had just locked her shop door and pulled down the blind so no could see in, no knew, really, where I was.
"Oh, you . . . no, no, you must put your shoes back on," Madame G 'tsked' a bit as she nodded her head in the direction of my high heels, "Yes," she encouraged as I bent, giving her full view of "la chatte" to pull them back out from under the chair, "yes, the heels are very pretty, no? And they, how you say it," and with this she placed a small cool hand on my left buttock, "they, the shoes, they," stroking me a bit as she did so, "they elevate the buttocks," and then she cupped her hand around me, "they make it such a beautiful form, the woman's 'cul', eh?"
"Yes, yes, I guess so," I stammered a bit, thrown by her gesture and again by my awkward position, stark naked in front of this fully clothed petite French woman who must have been a decade or older than me, but now wearing my elegant high heels.
"Oh, and zee picture," Madame G nodded at it, "it is of my sister and me." She and I both paused and looked toward it. It was undoubtedly erotic; women, naked, natural breasts peeking out through the tangle of arms that was their passionate embrace. "Yes," again she paused in reflection, I think, her hand still cupped under my rear end, "yes, my sister and I, we . . . " a slight intake of the breath "we were quite close."

continued below


a2cmieux2013 60M/60F

5/9/2018 10:10 pm

I sometimes go to the district of Montparnasse to Paris. I would like to know this store of fine lingerie
Joël, a French Britain man


yorkiechai replies on 5/9/2018 10:43 pm:
If you find it, let me know!

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