My Man Has Me

I have to apologize for the brevity at only 900 words. AuPreviner pointed me to a YouTube link as an example of music that conveys a palpable feeling. The song almost forced to me write...

--ooOoo-

Phillipe came up silently but I didn’t flinch when he wrapped his arms around my tiny middle and whispered hotly in my ear.

“Tell me, ‘mon mec a moi.’”

His breath tickled my neck as he nibbled my earlobe, tugging gently on the tear-drop shaped pearl. A delectable shiver raced up my spine, which made me giggle.

“You know my junior high French is tres rusty… not that it was very good even then.”

I spun to face him in his arms. His lips found mine before I could speak but his husky whisper urged me again, “Tell me. Mon mec a moi.”

Still touching lips, I whispered into his mouth, “Mon mec a moi.”

His lips formed a smile as they kissed me and withdrew. His arms fell away from me but his smile remained in his eyes most of all.

I barely murmured, “What does it mean?”

“That guy of mine.”

“Why you!!” I mock scolded with a smile of my own and an ineffectual girly punch on his chest with the edge of my curled hand.

“It can also mean my man has me.”

I stopped cold and got lost in his smoldering eyes before I purred, “Oui. You do.”

“Shall I tell you we will be together always?”

“Yes,” I breathed as I stepped closer.

“Will you believe me when I say my love for you burns my flesh?”

“Oui mon mec.”

“Oooo. I love when you speak French to me. You know that, right?”

“Oui,” I repeated with our lips not quite touching.

“Would you…?”

My lips mashed his words as I pulled Phillipe’s head to me urgently. This time, it was I who broke our kiss… my pulse thick enough in my throat to hear it click with each throb. I stared at the smear of my lipstick on his mouth. I drank in the scent of him within my own perfumed aura.

“Lie to me Phillipe,” I started with a tear in my eye but not worried about makeup. “I will believe you.”

“To speak of your beauty could never be a lie.”

I smiled but reached up to unclip the earring that he had been so recently rattling with his teeth.

He continued, “To say that your smile rivals the sun only makes a lie of the sun.”

My matching pendant necklace came away from my bare slender neck as I said, “More. I will always believe you mon mec.”

His eyes drank me in as I unzipped my red dress and let it slip to my matching satin pumps, which I stepped out of too.

“Mon petite pie voleur. You stole my heart.”

“Pie voleur?”

“Thieving magpie, my tiny bird who stole my very being.”

I smiled as I pulled a false breast from one cup of my bra and then the other. I unclasped it from behind me with a well practiced ease in spite of my long red nails, which I then snapped off of my delicate little hands. Flutters of red fell to the detritus of my self about me on the floor.

“More lies,” my whisper-commanded as I unclipped garters from my stocking welts and added both garter and hose to the clutter.

There were no lies or other words as I wiggled out of the snugly binding red satiny panty, exposing the smooth hairless lie of my own.

Phillipe’s breath hitched, which made me look at the film forming in his eyes.

He whispered, “You are the most feminine woman I have even known.”

“I thought I told you to tell me lies.”

“I cannot, my love.”

I smiled as I took three small steps in my nakedness to my vanity. My soft frilly room only then started to coalesce around me as makeup removers first erased the ruin of my mascara.

Phillipe watched in silence as my face faded to the mundane. I remained as quiet as he as astringents removed my earlier strategical dabs of scent.

He watched me rise with the grace of a dancer and move to my dresser as a woman accustomed to heels.

“I don’t even know how to walk anymore,” I made light over my shoulder as I retrieved a pair of boxers from a near-forgotten drawer.

Phillipe didn’t smile, which made me lose mine.

Undershirt. Dark socks. A linen shirt. Pants and suspenders soon adorned me without adornment. Recently polished shoes felt foreign after all that time away.

“You’re still beautiful,” his sad whisper persisted.

I smiled back without using a voice that I wasn’t sure I could still find. An electric razor was strewn ready amongst the familiar femininity on my vanity, which I picked up and flicked on as I sat with my legs pressed together out of habit.

I forced them apart and held my locks as I began to shear myself of them though my tears and sobs. I let my locks fall away from my fingers until all that was left was a short buzz on my suddenly chilled scalp.

“I can’t do this Phillipe,” I cried, which made him rush to my side and hold me.

“You must… Richard.”

“But how?! How does one go about BEING a Richard?”

“There’s a war. You were called.”

“I know,” I said dejectedly into my lap, littered with teardrops.

“I’ll wait for you,” he lied.

I smiled and gently kissed his forehead.

“Thank you my love,” I said willfully believing him. “Mon mec a moi.”

The Youtube link (with subtitles) if anyone is curious: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jiWwNjM-RHM



If you liked this post, you can leave a comment and/or a kudos!
Click the Thumbs Up! button below to leave the author a kudos:
up
50 users have voted.

And please, remember to comment, too! Thanks. 
This story is 971 words long.