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A Celebration of Nudity, Art, and Nature
This is my entry in the Literotica Nude Day Story Contest 2025.
A young Norwegian woman travels to France hoping to keep alive a relationship with a French woman she loves. This fictional tale melds together nudity and a bit of sex, with sensual scenes from the beautiful Normandie region of France. All characters at all times are over the age of 18.
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Chapter 1
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"I am a wandering spirit," I said to my Mother. "But it is peaceful here on this pebbled beach, watching the breakers."
"Leah, the sea is always in motion, making the heart restless for those who seek adventure. There is a special bond between Norwegians and the sea."
"Where the wind takes me, I will go, Mother. But there is fear in my heart."
"Fear of what?"
"I love Anne, but after working with her last winter, she declared herself unable to live in Norway. I am staying with her this summer in France to see if I can live there. But what if I don't like France?"
"I have been told the French are full of passion. Perhaps you will find what you are seeking. Take this. The pendant is a Viking coin I found when I was young. Wear this necklace over your heart. Whenever you miss me, it will remind you of home."
"Thank you, Mother. I will treasure it."
"The blood of the Vikings flows in your veins, Leah. Be brave wherever you are, and in all things you do. Hail to the Sea!"
"Hail to the Sea!"
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Chapter 2
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It was in an alien place. Oak panels, darkened with age, framed the frightful entrance. Long have I dreaded to enter its ilk. Le Boutique de Lingerie!
I met Anne last winter while working at the Geilo ski resort in Norway. I was a ski rep, and she was an assistant chef at the best restaurant in Geilo, learning from one of Norway's most renowned chefs. We started as flatmates, became good friends, and then something more. When she invited me to spend the summer at her family's manor in Normandie, I gladly accepted. Being well-versed in Viking history in Ireland and England, I knew of their presence in France and welcomed the chance to explore this new region.
Upon arriving, I unpacked my rolling duffel bag, dumping out the scrunched-up balls of soft, stretchy athletic attire I prefer to wear. A few of the less-worn pieces were folded, but the rest exited the same way I had stuffed them in. Yelps of horror arose from Anne's mother, who informed me that my clothing was not de rigueur French fashion. It is a faux pas to wear workout clothing, except when going to exercise! I held up a few pieces I hoped would pass her critical eyes, but the words, 'hopelessly out of style', echoed off the walls. I thought it wise not to mention most of my clothing was purchased at a second-hand clothing shoppe in Oslo.
Anne's mother announced there was but a single cure for my wardrobe. Shopping! She insisted on taking Anne and me into the city of Rouen, about an hour north of their manor. Arriving there, we ventured into the old town section of Rouen, with its colorful half-timbered buildings, and entered a small dress shoppe. The owner fawned over me, though I suspect it was because Anne's mother was a regular customer. Ignoring price tags, Anne's mother treated me to a floral wrap dress from Rouje, and a solid blue dress from Sandro. Moving to a second shoppe, I exited with somewhat more casual clothing and two pairs of stylish shoes.
It felt awkward letting Anne's mother purchase these things for me, but judging from the size of her manor house and its interior appointments, she met my definition of rich. Located in the Eure region of France, she owns a small distillery and uses her seventy-five hectares of apples to make Calvados, a type of brandy made from apple cider rather than wine. It is the signature drink of Normandie, made from a blend of locally produced apple ciders.
Beneath this new high fashion, I continued wearing my athletic bra and wide cotton thong. Anne's mother surely noticed, and this necessitated a visit to a lingerie shoppe. Rather small, Anne whispered to me that it accepted customers by appointment-only. But a phone call from Anne's mother was the key to gaining entrance.
Anne was looking for a new bra and effortlessly removed her knit top and current bra. This allowed the two shoppe owners, Jacob and his wife, Sophie, to measure her breasts. Jacob and Sophie both appeared to be about sixty years old, each showing just a hint of approaching grey hair. I was surprised at how comfortable Anne looked, naked from the waist up, surrounded by the four of us. I gazed at her reflection in the mirror as Jacob handled Anne's wonderful breasts. Full and round, they paired well with her curvy figure. After announcing the results of his measuring efforts, Sophie left through a dark grey curtain and returned a moment later with a selection of bras. Casually waving her hand, Anne dismissed several candidates before selecting one. It fit perfectly, lifting her heavy breasts and showing them off well. Anne nodded, and the purchase was consummated.
Anne and I were in a kiss-and-cuddle lesbian relationship. I provided her emotional support as she struggled through the long, dark Norwegian winter. Not wishing to face the heartbreak of breaking up, we agreed to withhold our full commitment to each other until we were certain there was a place for both of us.
I was next. Anne's mother wanted to buy me both a bra and panties, so I knew what that meant. After completely disrobing, I stood in front of the three-paneled full-length mirror, fully naked. Well, except for my Birkenstock sandals and the silver necklace my mother gave me.
I must not have looked or acted French, because Jacob asked, "Parlez Vous Francais?"
"Un peu"
"Would you prefer English?" he asked with a heavy accent.
"Yes."
Pointing to my necklace, he said, "You vill need to remove zees."
"No. You will have to work around it."
I grasped the pendant in my right hand as he inspected my nude body. It was a token of familiarity in this strange world. I stood with my legs slightly apart, in what I considered to be a fighting stance. Looking at the mirror, I saw a woman who was perhaps a bit too thin, with small breasts. Her unshaven blonde leg hairs were quite fine, but that did not render them invisible. Somewhat plain-looking, I wished the woman in the mirror had done more with her hair.
I tensed as I stared at this apparition. There was no way for me to hide that. My mind filled with ideas on improving the appearance of this naked woman. I had seen myself naked before, but never actually looked closely at my nude body. I began silently conversing with the woman standing before me.
The woman in the mirror asked, "Like what you see?"
"Does any naked woman like what they see?"
"You clearly don't. Is that cellulite on your thighs?"
I reached down and pressed a spot on my thighs, "It's muscle. I take brisk walks around Anne's manor every morning."
"Okay. But you need to stop walking into every patisserie you pass. And what's with your boobs?"
"I've always had small boobs. But they're perky!"
"You're twenty-eight. In a couple years, the only time you'll use the word perky is to describe your morning coffee. Say, is one of your boobs bigger than the other?"
I cupped my left breast, then moved my hand over to the other. Leaving my hand in place as a shield, I replied, "It must be a trick of the mirrors."
"If you say so. Your shoulders look like they belong on a guy."
"I did a lot of cross-country skiing last winter."
"So you could look like a guy?"
"No, I like being a woman."
"Your bush looks like a jungle. A lover could get lost in there."
"Isn't that a good thing?"
"I meant physically, not passionately."
I moved my other hand to cover my mound. "At least I don't have tan lines."
"That's because you don't have any tan at all."
"There's not much sun in Norway in the winter. I just arrived in France. I'll hit the beaches, I promise."
"And when you get there, I bet your swimsuit will be out of fashion too."
"You're wicked!"
"When I want to be. Why don't you use more makeup like other women? You should pay attention to those beauty ads."
"I have fair Nordic skin. I don't need much makeup."
"Fair is a good way to describe your entire body."
"Go away!" I demanded. I closed my eyes, and she was gone.
Jacob must have noticed. "Open your eyes. Accept your body for the way it is. Here in my shoppe, there are no clothes to hide behind. You are beautiful in a way every woman is beautiful."
I peeked out from between narrowed eyes, then relaxed a bit, "I've never stood naked in front of a three-panel mirror. It feels like I am seeing my body for the first time."
Jacob said, "No one should tell you what kind of body to have. You are this shape naturally. Love your body for the way it is and stop worrying."
Sophie added, "Women are used to not liking our bodies. We are told to hate our bodies and to try for some impossible ideal."
Jacob put his hand on my shoulder and said, "You need to see your own beauty. You must have the courage to look, really look, at your body without any judgment of yourself."
Their words were encouraging. I lowered both hands to my sides, and the woman in the mirror gave me a small, private smile.
"Sophie and I have owned this shoppe for over thirty years, during which time we have seen thousands of women come in. You have an amazing body, athletic and fit. You must work hard to keep it this way."
"I do. Thanks for noticing."
"You have one of the impressively toned derrieres I have ever seen. Nature has given you a gift. I have contacts in Paris in the modeling industry. I think you would do well there."
"Even with my small breasts? I don't want to change them."
"The slender athletic look is very chic and fashionable right now."
I wondered for a moment, then replied, "Let me think about it."
After Jacob measured me, Sophie returned with a large assortment of brassieres and panties. As I tried them on, Anne and her mother helped me with the selections. Jacob was a master at the mysterious art of adjusting bra straps and hooks. I was never good at it, preferring the overall containment of athletic bras. Four bra and panty combinations ended up in the buy pile.
Jacob told me, "Your body is a vessel, and there is no point in judging it. Learn to be content with what you see. Drop your barriers and be yourself."
Thus empowered, I thought to myself, 'It's a body. My body. And I am beautiful.'
I thanked Jacob and Sophie, and then surprised each with a naked hug. Not only a master at adjusting bras, Jacob was also a master at making women comfortable with their bodies. I looked good on the outside and felt even better on the inside.
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Chapter 3
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Anne was passionate about cooking and had spent the last few years working in restaurants throughout Europe. I was sure Anne wanted a Michelin star one day. I could tell Anne was happy to be back in her life on the manor. Seemingly unpretentious, there were subtle but ever-present signs of her family's wealth. Anne lived in an elegant world where language, fashion, art, history, and especially cuisine, all danced together in sublime harmony.
Anne had her own car, and together we traveled around Normandie, looking at the manor homes and castles, the rich fields, clusters of ancient trees, and the famous Normande Cows. Norman history and culture were not in a book, they surrounded us everywhere we went. But Anne would be starting work at her uncle's restaurant, so she introduced me to her friend Adeline. The three of us visited Mont-Saint-Michel, the magical castle with the most extraordinary tides, and the stunning alabaster cliffs at Étretat. I got along well with Adeline, and with Anne working, Adeline agreed to take me to see Monet's Gardens in Giverny.
Claude Monet is my favorite French painter and the only one whose works I know well. Many of his paintings show a connection with nature and a sensual flow of color. I especially like his landscapes, flowers, and seascapes, and his use of bright colors. When I view one of his paintings, I feel like I am looking at something much more than paint on canvas. I often wonder what special beauty Monet saw while he was painting.
Adeline picked me up at Anne's manor in a rather expensive-looking Mercedes. Without Anne accompanying us, it felt like a date, but not like a date. I wasn't really sure what to expect. Adeline was just a friend. Anne had told me Adeline's family was quite rich and owned a big tech company. Her father bought a historic chateau about fifteen years ago.
It was going to be a warm and sunny mid-May day, so I decided to wear my floral wrap dress. After all, we were going to see Monet's flower gardens! I worried how well my new lacy lingerie would absorb perspiration, so I decided to skip the bra and wear only the panties. It's my breasts, on my body, and I was comfortable with them.
We were lucky to find a spot in the closest car park to Monet's house, which allowed plenty of time for lunch at a nearby restaurant. We were seated on the outdoor terrace, shaded by a row of red parasols. It was warm, so I let Adeline know I wanted something light. Adeline ordered a cheese platter showcasing four of the most famous Normandie cheeses, accompanied by thin slices of rustic whole-grain bread and a crusty baguette. I ordered a glass of Calvados, the iconic beverage of Normandie, but Adeline intercepted and had the waiter change it to a chilled hard cider.
"Calvados is considered a digestif, to be sipped after a meal. Many in France, including myself, consider Calvados to be a peasant drink. The hard cider available here in Normandie is far superior."
"Thank you," I replied. "There are many things I have to learn about France."
Adeline explained that cider replaced wine in the Normandie region, and is available in sweet, bitter, or tart. Two bottles and two glasses arrived quickly. After pouring the bottle into my glass, I sniffed the cider. Adeline gave me a funny look.
"Aren't you supposed to?" I asked.
"If you enjoy the smell, then by all means. But cider is not like wine in that way."
"I never understood why people sniff and taste the wine first. If it's a bad bottle, wouldn't you know right away? How can you tell if it is good?"
"There are expectations when you order a bottle of good wine. The tasting lets you confirm those are met. Every wine has a unique bouquet to reward the nose. As you swirl a sip over your tongue, you discover the taste and mouth feel. It is all part of the grand experience. A good wine should be slowly savored and enjoyed, not rushed."
Taking a sip, I found the cider to be light, refreshing, and sparkling. The food soon followed, with pear jam, nuts, and grapes accompanying the bread and cheese.
"Normandie cheeses are not aged very long," said Adeline. She pointed to one of the four and said, "Be careful of that one. It's called Livarot, named after a village in Normandie. Dating back to the Middle Ages, it is called 'The Colonel' by natives due to the distinctive five stripes of raffia on the rind, similar to an officer's uniform. Some compare the smell to a farmyard. I think it's worse than that. I prefer Camembert."
I started with Camembert on a thin slice of baguette, but found the smooth and creamy texture a bit boring. Intrigued by Adeline's comments about Livarot, I spread some on a small slice of whole grain bread. Drawing in a breath, I found the smell to be intense and quite pungent. I dared a small bite. Soft, with complex flavors, it was a bit tangy, with a hint of spice.
"Well?" laughed Adeline. "I warned you."
"Somewhat earthy, the taste is not unlike mushrooms I have eaten."
"You do know how they grow mushrooms?"
"Touché!" I replied. "I like your name. It's very pretty."
"Thanks. Adeline has German origins and means nobility. I'm told it was a popular name in the Middle Ages."
We continued eating but the amount of food on the tray did not seem to diminish. I asked Adeline about her chateau.
"My family bought the property from lessor nobility who could no longer afford the taxes and upkeep. Built in the 17th century, the design resembles a small castle, although it lacks certain features found on actual castles. Surrounded by four-hundred hectares of fields and forest, the view from the tower is incredible. My father put quite a lot of money into restoring the chateau to its former glory, but when the work was finished, it was worth every Euro."
Adeline continued talking, but my mind drifted off into a dream-like fantasy world where I stood looking out from the tower, and sighed softly.
"I would love to show you my family's chateau. I would treat you like a princess."
"Would that make you a handsome prince?"
"Who says a fairy tale can't have two princesses?"
Channeling every romantic French movie I ever watched, my heart stretched out to my mind, 'Help me. Really. I'm melting!'
For dessert, we split a delicious Tarte Normande. Thin slices of apples layered atop one another in ever-smaller concentric circles. Dusted with sugar, baked, and served warm, the edges of the apples were lightly caramelized, producing an effect resembling a flower. The flaky crust was surrounded by a light custard crème. Our forks flew as we quickly devoured the small treat, until only a bite remained.
Pointing off to the left, I exclaimed, "Look at that bird over there!"
Adeline did as I asked, and when she turned back, the last piece had somehow vanished. She gave me a fearsome stare.
"Magic," I laughed.
It was a wonderful lunch. Adeline had been engaging and attentive the entire time. We laughed often. I think the most amazing thing was her keeping eye contact. When she asked me a question, she waited for me to answer, without interrupting. She was into 'me' and not once did she pull out her cell phone!
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Chapter 4
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Our scheduled entry time approached, and we joined the queue. Monet's home is divided into three sections. His house, the flower gardens known as Clos Normand, and the Japanese Garden with his famous lily pads. We quickly passed through Monet's home and its oddly colored rooms, then went out onto the veranda to get our first look at Clos Normand. Before us lay a sea of flowers forming a palette of colors befitting an Impressionist painter. A few steps down took us to greet the flowers.
Adeline said Monet disliked order, so he mixed the types and colors of flowers, which helped ensure something was always blooming. Gardeners today are constantly swapping out flowers to achieve the same effect. We saw two doing just that. Passing beneath green arches, we slowly walked down the main gravel path, then looked back at Monet's house with its bright green shutters. Many smaller gravel paths interlaced the garden, leading to more floral wonders. Around the outside of Clos Normand were trees of various sizes.
Adeline and I held hands as we traversed the garden, stopping to look at the prettiest of the flowers among the lush foliage. Bees, hummingbirds, and butterflies were in constant motion around us, sipping the plentiful nectar. Sweet fragrances were everywhere. The popularity of Monet's Gardens meant it was crowded, and the warm sun beat down on us. I complained to Adeline and asked if we could go to the Water Garden, where I hoped to find shade. Adeline led me away from the center of the gardens to a row of flowering bushes near the boundary. The gravel path here was blocked by a green metal chain. Adeline stepped over the chain and offered me her hand. I took it and joined her on the forbidden pathway.
Adeline announced, "No one will disturb us here, and it is partially shaded. Take as much time as you wish to look at the flowers."
"They are beautiful along here."
"But not as lovely as the flowers on your dress," said Adeline.
We walked a little further and came upon a ten-meter-long stretch of waist-high hedge. Adeline stooped down and backed into a gap between the hedge plants. She would be invisible to anyone in the main part of the garden.
"Come to me," she said in a soft, seductive voice.
As I stepped in front of the crouched Adeline, she reached out to separate my wrap dress. I knew then what she wanted. Reaching under my dress, she grasped my bum cheeks, pulled me closer, and began nuzzling my lacy panties. My panties were already damp, with the warmth of the day joining the sexual excitement between my legs. Adeline pulled my panties down, and I took half a step back. The coolness between my legs felt delightful. My nipples were erect, and I felt them push out against the fabric of my dress.
Adeline picked up my panties and sniffed them! "A sweeter smell than any flower in this garden. May I keep them?"
I was surprised by her request, but it was a good excuse to be rid of them, so I nodded yes. Stuffing my panties into her pocket, Adeline pulled me close and began licking my bush in the bushes! Beneath my dress, Adeline's hands massaged, rubbed, and caressed my bum cheeks and upper thighs. Her tongue was in constant motion, probing and gliding. Pushing and teasing my labia. Damn was she good!
I can tell when someone truly enjoys licking my pussy. They have no goal. No timetable. No clock. They aren't even trying to bring me to orgasm. Adeline's words about tasting wine ran through my mind. Like a fine wine, a pussy should be savored and enjoyed, not rushed. Adeline paused. She inhaled. She admired. And I knew she appreciated the gift I was offering to her.
"Right there, Adeline!" Her lips found my clit and drew it into her mouth. Tingles radiated outward from my vagina and I grabbed the bush in front of me for support.
With Adeline's impressive skill, an orgasm was inevitable, and so, mine came. Intense beyond any expectation, my pelvis rippled with pleasure as I tensed my bum muscles. Pulsating sensations spread through my whole body, and it felt like I was shaking. This standing orgasm was so different from lying on a bed! Deep breaths tried but failed to satisfy. I felt Adeline's warm breath as she nuzzled my clit with her nose, and as I shook, I squirted onto her face and into his open mouth.
"Oh, Gawd! Your skills are amazing!" I gasped. I took a step back, looked down at Adeline's dripping face, and laughed, "How is the mouth feel?"
Adeline looked up at me and smiled, "I am in an exquisite place I only dreamed of being. And it is one I never wish to leave."
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Chapter 5
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"Someone's coming!" I yelped as I pressed myself into the bushes, hoping to conceal Adeline.
It was a female gardener. Bouncy brown curls, unkempt like a mop. Young and pretty. She had wide-set brown eyes, topped with brown eye shadow on her upper lids. Her wide mouth was accented by glossy pink lips. She had slightly darker skin, not uncommon in France, but I couldn't tell whether it was from genetics or working in the sun. She wore a T-shirt with the logo of Monet's Gardens and tight shorts of a matching color. Sweat stains were visible beneath her neck and under her arms. I looked around to find where she came from. The path led to a hen house near the edge of the garden. Apparently, it was still in use.
She looked at me and said, "I have been watching you two. Didn't you read the signs? 'No Eating in the Gardens'.
She knew, so there was no use trying to hide Adeline. I took a step back and pulled the bottom of my wrap dress together. The gardener looked down to where Adeline was hiding and put a hand on her head to prevent her from rising.
Adeline was left speechless, mumbling, "I was. I mean. I..."
The gardener looked at Adeline and said in an authoritative voice, "I should have you two arrested."
"Please don't," pleaded Adeline. "Perhaps we can come to an arrangement. Name your price. I'm willing to open my wallet."
The gardener laughed, "Open your mouth instead!"
Facing away from me, the gardener slowly pulled down her shorts in a rather seductive manner, adding unnecessary hip movements as she wiggled her ass. Was the dark gusset of her shorts caused by her long work day? Or did it come from watching Adeline and me? Perhaps it was some of both. The newly exposed skin of her lower body glistened with sweat. Oh, No! She wanted the same service from Adeline!
I concealed my words, but not my thoughts, 'Merde! You bitch!'
Then she turned her ass towards Adeline and said, "Embrasse me cul!"
The first and third French words eluded my limited French skills, but as she backed against the bushes, the meaning became clear. She wanted Adeline's tongue in a different hole! The gardener looked at me and smiled as she pressed her naked ass against Adeline's face. She casually fluffed her hair and shook her head, making it appear as if her bouncing curls were part of an avian mating ritual. I looked away in shame, uncertain of French laws and punishments. But only for a moment. My Viking blood was boiling! If the gardener wanted a hen fight, then I was ready too!
I pulled apart the bottom of the wrap dress and used my hands to pin the fabric to my sides, exposing the pure blonde plumage between my legs, still shiny from Adeline's efforts. The angry gardener was no longer smiling. She leaned forward, pushing her ass further into the bush. Poor Adeline! I responded by completely untying my wrap dress, letting it fall to my sides, allowing the gardener to see my full frontal nudity. Her mouth opened in wordless surprise, as if trying to hold back a horrid caw of 'Oh', and her eyes locked onto my naked form. Her lips tightened and the gardener began gyrating her ass against Adeline's face!
Judging by the amount of sweat on her T-shirt, she had plenty of lubrication. Adeline must be suffering badly, her head unable to move, trapped between sweaty bum cheeks. As I thought about my next escalation, a male gardener, similarly attired, approached us.
In a firm voice, implying a sense of authority, he said, "Come with me, Nicole. You're scaring the tourists."
"But I'm not finished, Jacques. She hasn't..."
Jacques took her hand and said in a softer and friendlier voice, "I'll finish for her."
Nicole reached down and partially pulled up her shorts, holding them at thigh level with a single hand. Jacques took her other hand. As they moved past, Nicole's bobbing head and odd gait resembled that of a chicken. She uttered, 'Hmmmmff'. But Jacques' eyes were on my naked form, and judging from Nicole's grimace, she noticed. A sweet victory!
I looked down at the crouching Adeline and asked, "You didn't? Did you?"
Adeline slowly rose to a standing position. Using my panties, she carefully wiped his face. "No. She tried. She wanted me to. But my tongue successfully eluded her efforts."
I reached around, grabbed the back of Adeline's neck, and pulled her face to mine, "Your tongue won't elude mine!"
We kissed intently, lips pressed together and tongues intertwined, until we were forced to take a breath. Parting, Adeline asked, "You still wanted to kiss me, even after?"
I laughed, "I'm becoming used to the taste and smell of barnyards. Let's go see the Water Pond. Many of my favorite works by Monet were painted there."
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Chapter 6
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After retying my wrap dress, we crossed under a rather busy road, passing through a tunnel into the Japanese Water Pond area. Monet created the pond by digging a hole and diverting an entire river. Times were different back then. Fascinated by Japanese culture, Monet planted willows and bamboo around the perimeter. My first glimpse felt like I walked into one of his paintings. Regarded as some of his greatest masterpieces, the pond held Monet's famous water lilies.
Adeline and I walked the path at the edge of the pond. I paused often, looking at the play of light and reflection on the water, much as Monet had done. This theme was the inspiration for some of his most famous works. Others walked swiftly past us, looking but seeing nothing. Chattering away, they did not appreciate the milieu, nor hear the crooning of love-sick frogs. What makes Monet's paintings special are the fine, intricate brushstrokes, done with a light touch to capture a sense of airiness. I wondered if these fast-paced walkers ever took the time to look closely at one of the Master's works.
The path took us into a small grove of bamboo. Dappled sunlight fought its way through the tall green stalks as a gentle breeze rustled the leaves.
"Stop right here!" I yelped.
"What's the matter?" asked Adeline.
"This place is special. Calm and tranquil. Close your eyes and breathe in slowly through your nose."
I waited perhaps twenty seconds, then asked Adeline, "Keep your eyes closed. What do you smell?"
"Uh, bamboo?"
I said, "I smell color."
Adeline protested, "What? Colors don't have a smell."
"I smell green. Fresh and clean, like a forest after a rain shower, or perhaps fresh-cut grass. When we were back in the garden, could you not smell purple and red? Lavender and roses? Every color Monet painted has its own smell."
Adeline said, "You are such an incredibly sensual person, Leah. I've never met anyone like you."
I replied, "I embrace nature, and let it surround me wherever I go. It is I, and I am me.".
We resumed walking along the path. I was unsure if there were more people here than in Clos Normand, but it seemed crowded because people concentrated in only a few places, such as the two Japanese bridges, wanting their photos taken as a highlight of their visit. As the afternoon passed, the crowds thinned. Tour groups left, and tourists headed back to Paris.
Adeline and I returned to one of the Japanese bridges, and happily we found it deserted. We stood for a moment overlooking the water lilies. Then I unwrapped my dress and held the fabric against my sides. For anyone viewing me from the pond, I was totally nude. But to my sides and back, it would appear as if I were dressed. Or so I hoped.
I asked, "I wonder what a nude painting of me by Monet would look like? Standing on this bridge."
Adeline replied, "Monet never painted a nude. After he became successful, Monet purchased paintings by his friends, Paul Cézanne and Pierre-Auguste Renoir. Some of the works Monet bought were nudes. Monet was a good friend of Renoir, a fellow Impressionist, and they even shared a studio when they were struggling artists. Renoir's oeuvre, his lifetime achievement, was the painting of female nudes. I can take you to the Louvre if you wish to see some of his works. There are others there by Edgar Degas, another Impressionist, who showed a special interest in the nude female form."
I previously had no desire to visit the Louvre or even Paris itself. Perhaps I should reconsider.
Adeline continued, "Renoir has come under criticism today because the women in many of his paintings have creamy white skin and blonde hair. Their breasts are compact, rounded orbs of perfection, not unlike yourself. Though times change, I am sure Renoir would have loved to paint you as his model."
"You flatter me. If I cannot find a famous Impressionist willing to paint me, at least I can be in a nude photo that looks like an Impressionist painting. Go across the pond to where Monet sat and take a photo of me on this bridge."
"I like how you think," said Adeline.
She hurried off, leaving me to ponder the power of the nude female form to inspire artists. While waiting, an older couple approached and stood next to me on the bridge. I turned my head towards them, and we chatted about the nice day and beautiful gardens. With my hips pressed against the rail, they showed no awareness of my full frontal nudity.
A younger couple came by and asked if I would take a photo of them using their cell phone. I agreed. Letting my dress fall to the sides, it opened further. They hesitated for a moment, but then handed me their cell phone and stood against the railing while I stepped back. The young man's eyes scanned up and down my body, and I grimaced when I saw the look she gave him. Gaining their attention with a shout of "Fromage", the French word for 'Cheese', I pushed the small button and took the photo.
"Done," I said.
The young woman asked, "You're not ashamed to show your body?"
I replied, "Why should I be? This is the way I am. I am at peace, and I am happy with my body."
The young woman smiled, then unbuttoned two additional buttons of her blouse. After pulling the opening of her blouse further apart, she pushed up her breasts. The young man's eyes were locked onto the partially exposed flesh, and I saw him smile. After thanking me, the two walked off, holding hands.
I looked across the pond and saw Adeline in position. She waved to me. I returned to the railing and let my dress fall behind me, barely holding onto it with my hands, hoping it would be invisible in the photo. Adeline held up her cell phone and took a photo, then made an adjustment, and took another. She blew me a kiss, and I could see a huge smile on her face.
Having seen the sections of Monet's Garden I was most interested in, and not wishing a second encounter with Chloe, Adeline and I left. We drove to Anne's home and we enjoyed a wonderful dinner prepared by Anne's mother. Adeline left out a few erotic details when describing our day, and later, quietly said goodbye.
I spent a restless night doing battle with my down pillows. It had been a fun day, but my mind kept churning with replays of my adventure in the bushes. French is recognized as the language of love. The French lifestyle, 'savoir-faire', and 'la joie de vivre', add to this allure. Iconic images of lovers have been captured by painters, writers, poets, and filmmakers, who use French to enchant the ear and bewitch the mind. In French culture, the art of seduction is essential to romance, expressed through a celebration of flirtation and courtship. Adeline had played her part well, but so had I. Swept up in a real-life Monet painting, I opened a path to my body and into my heart. I was unsure whether I wanted that pathway to remain open.
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Chapter 7
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For the next three days, I stayed away from my cell phone as much as possible. When I dared look, I saw a stream of texts and voicemails from Adeline. All of which I ignored by employing the fine art of Ghosting. But Adeline was relentless and even tried going through Anne. The excuse of, 'I forgot to plug in my cell phone', was wearing thin. Adeline was a good friend of Anne, which meant I needed a solution. During my walks through the manor's orchards, I remembered seeing a cluster of large, old trees. While virgin forests were a distant memory in Normandie, remnants remained untouched for centuries in the corners and on the edges of large estates. Leaving my cell phone behind in my room, I sought such a sanctuary.
A few meters after entering, the world changed to one of deep shade. The air was cooler and denser. Undergrowth was scant beneath these oaken behemoths. I sat down to think, leaning against rough bark. There was total silence. Not even birds penetrated this bastion. A spider was building a web between two of the raised tree roots. As I watched, I realized the spider was not free, but rather was trapped on a web of her own making. Was I like the spider?
I had to avoid a reprise of my encounter with Adeline in the bushes at Monet's Garden. A face-to-face encounter was a necessity, but not one of confrontation. Establishing boundaries was critical, making it clear that while I cherished Adeline as a friend, she could never become my lover, or more. I needed a place of temptation. A place of seduction. A place for 'Une Liaison Dangereuse', where the seducer becomes the seduced. And I needed enough inner strength and resolve to resist all the temptations of Adeline.
Returning to the manor house, I called Adeline, asking if she would take me to one of the famous Normandie beaches. She recommended Courseulles-Sur-Mer, a small village near Juno Beach. Adeline picked me up at Anne's manor, and the weather was cooperating, with pleasant temperatures and white, puffy clouds. Along the way, we passed prestigious seaside resorts, luxury hotels, casinos, manor houses, castles, chalk cliffs, and the unique Norman-style houses with circular towers, arched windows, and distinctive rooflines.
Locating a car park, we carried our beach totes and made a short walk through the village. Tri-color flags and banners hung from many of the buildings. I could smell the saltiness of the ocean even before seeing it, and quickened my pace. At last, the vista unfolded. Gentle waves, a wide beach, golden sand, and a row of small white beach huts.
"Juno Beach was one of the landing sites during D-Day," said Adeline. "The Canadians had to get across this beach under heavy fire, get over the seawall, then take the village fighting house by house. How about an early lunch?"
I was growing tired of Adeline making all the decisions, so I replied, "I'd prefer to stretch my legs and walk along the beach for a while before we eat."
I removed my low-couture athletic wear and stuffed it in my tote bag. Adeline removed her upscale outer garments to reveal a stylish multi-colored bikini. She looked good in it, and she had the body to show it off.
After seeing my monochrome one-piece swimsuit, Adeline said, "We'll have to do something about that. Sadly, this is not a nude beach, so you'll have to wear that thing, for now."
'Ouch!' I thought, catching the not very subtle dig.
"Are there nude beaches in France?" I asked.
"There are, mainly along the southern coast. I should take you to visit Monaco. My family has a sailing yacht on the Côte d'Azur, and perhaps we can go out into the Mediterranean for a week and see southern France."
We walked along the long, wide beach, my pale skin absorbing much-needed sunshine. People here wore a variety of clothing, from swimsuits to well-tailored suits. But plenty wore simple athletic wear, so I felt comfortable being here.
Looping back, we walked close to the row of shoppes and restaurants. Spotting a shoppe displaying swimsuits in their front window, Adeline took my hand and said, "In here! My treat!"
Upon entering, Adeline steered me towards the bikinis. Summoning the body confidence Jacob had bestowed upon me in the lingerie shoppe, I tried on several. Emerging from the changing room, I showed my benefactor, who ogled the results. After several attempts, Adeline said, "I prefer the first one you tried on."
I replied, "I liked the blue one I saw in the front window."
We checked the assortment of bikinis, but my size was not available in that color.
Adeline said, "Perhaps the one in the window is your size. Let's look."
Walking to the front entrance, Adeline slipped into the display window. A colorful ocean mural concealed her from the staff in the shoppe. Checking the mannequin, she turned and said, "It is your size! Join me in here and try it on."
"What? In the window?"
"Pretend you are a mannequin and I will be the window dresser."
I took a deep breath and formed the words in my mind, 'It's a body. My body. And I am beautiful.' I stepped into the display window, removed my swimsuit, and stuffed it into my tote bag. Then I stood in a similar pose to the mannequin. From the corner of my eye, I watched Adeline struggle to undress the real mannequin. Finally successful, she turned towards me.
Moving behind me, Adeline put the bikini top on me. Through narrowed eye slits, I looked down, and liked what I saw. Adeline reached around, cupped both of my breasts, and lifted them. I liked what I saw and felt even more.
Trying to remain a rigid mannequin, Adeline struggled to slip the bikini bottoms over my feet. Stooping, Adeline pushed her face into my bare butt, wrapped one arm around my thighs, and lifted. The other hand lassoed my feet with the bikini bottom.
"You can put me down now," I whispered with as little lip movement as I could.
A woman passed by, pausing to stare. As Adeline pulled the bikini bottoms up, the woman winked at me. She knows, so I winked back. The woman winked at me. She knows, so I winked back. The woman smiled and walked away.
"Perfection," said Adeline. "Remain still while I remove your new bikini."
Not wanting a replay, I let Adeline slide down my bikini bottoms and lifted my feet out to free them.
Adeline picked up the blue bikini and the two totes, then said, "Allow me to pay for this."
"What?"
Adeline left me standing in the front display window, totally nude! I froze. I couldn't go back into the store naked! She can't leave me this way.
A chubby young guy paused at the window and looked in at me with hunger in his eyes. As he stared, he began rubbing his crotch! For a moment, I enjoyed the power I felt over him. But enough! I lunged toward him with as frightening a countenance as I could muster, as if I were a crazed zombie! Eyes wide, mouth open, teeth showing, and outstretched arms ending in claw-like fingers. The look on his face as he stepped back was worth it! He shuffled off, looking over his shoulder, to make sure I wasn't following!
Thus empowered, I stepped out of the window and walked back to the counter, looking for Adeline. I was nude, but I had nothing to be ashamed of.
Picking up the blue bikini, I asked the stunned cashier, "Can I put this on now?"
"Oui," she replied.
Ten pairs of eyes watched as I slowly installed my blue suit of armor. Reaching into my tote bag, I covered the risqué bikini bottoms with my athletic wear, but not the top.
A woman, perhaps in her early forties, had been modeling a swimsuit for two other women. She came over to me. "I wish I had the confidence in my body that you do."
I replied, "You already possess it, but you must release it. Why not now?"
The busty, full-figured woman started to remove her swimsuit! As her breasts freed, I noticed a tattoo of a butterfly between them and said, "Papillon."
"Oui. Les papillons sont libres. Pourquoi pas mai?"
I knew those words, in another language, 'Butterflies are free. Why not me?' They were linked to Henri Charrière, better known as Papillon, a prisoner at the French penal colony of Devil's Island. Like a butterfly emerging from its cocoon, Henri's unwavering spirit was determined to pursue his dream of freedom.
Sliding her swimsuit the rest of the way down, the woman handed it to the cashier and said, "I'll take this one. Let me get my purse."
She slowly walked back towards the dressing room, holding her head high, as if she were on a Paris runway. Like Papillon, she had made her escape and was now free. Her full breasts and curvy hips drew eyes, including Adeline's. I snapped my fingers to regain her attention.
"I saw your eyes. For your optical indiscretion, I insist that you buy me lunch at the café next door."
"The pleasure is mine," replied Adeline.
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Chapter 8
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The café was set in what appeared to be an old oceanfront family home. The only seating was outdoors, overlooking the beach. Not that I minded. Looking around, I saw a classic French scene and felt like I was in a romantic movie.
The two-story building had certainly been built before World War II. While repairs had been made, untouched bullet holes remained from the D-Day landings, adding history, if not ambiance. Being right on the ocean, I wanted to try fresh seafood, but Adeline insisted we both have Croque Monsieur, a fancy ham and cheese sandwich covered in a cheesy bechamel sauce. She remembered eating these at the beach when her parents brought her here for holiday, staying in one of the luxury hotels. The service was attentive and the food delicious. But for much of the meal, Adeline prattled on about the finest Parisian restaurants she had eaten at, and her wish to take me to Paris to dine there. Finished with the meal, we each sipped a demitasse of rich espresso.
When the waitress returned, Adeline asked, "Est-ce que je peux utilizer vos toilletes?"
"Oui," replied the waitress, pointing. "A l'étage"
After a month in France, I knew that toilets at small French cafés were rarely on the main level. Adeline would need to go upstairs in order to, well, go.
As I waited for Adeline to return, the other tables began to clear as patrons finished up. A woman dressed in all white approached, wearing a white toque. She introduced herself as chef-owner of the café. Her face was stunning, and she reminded me of a famous French actress I had once seen in a movie, though the name eluded me. She looked to be in her mid-thirties, an age I thought too young to own a seaside café. I told her I enjoyed my meal very much, then asked her about a sign I had seen. As she finished explaining the sign, Adeline returned and echoed my compliments regarding the food. The owner excused herself and moved to another table. Adeline and I stood, then headed for the beach.
Adeline and I had a terrific afternoon of fun, sun, sand, and quick dips in the cool ocean water. I applied sunscreen to Adeline's back, and she returned the favor. But as her hand began to massage my bum cheek, I said, "Arrêt!" in a firm voice. Not wanting a reprise of our encounter in the bushes at Monet's Garden, I absolutely needed to establish firm boundaries. And now was the time. Adeline stopped, then sat back on her beach towel. I did not look at her for over thirty minutes, hoping her stunned silence was a sign of my success.
Adeline stood and said, "Let's go have some fun." We spent the remainder of the day teasing two good-looking lifeguards, riding on the vintage carousel, and watching the incoming tide melt away even the most impressive sand castles. Reaching the end of the oceanfront promenade, we stopped at the Sunny Bar and fought off would-be suitors while sipping a local craft brew. After Adeline dropped me off at Anne's house, I went to my room to shower and change for dinner. As I removed my new blue bikini, I looked down and saw them. Tan Lines!
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Chapter 9
**********
One week later
Anne carried two hangers up the narrow stairs, bearing the dresses her mother had bought, to my room above the café at Courseulles-sur-Mer. Wearing my heavy backpack, I carefully worked my wheeled duffel up the stair, one rung at a time. The owner had left the door to my room unlocked. Entering the room, we noticed the Spartan furnishings, consisting of a small bed, a lamp on an adjacent night table, and a creaky-looking old dining table with two chairs. Fitting the age of the building, there was no closet. A small folding stand would have to suffice.
Anne reached into her bag and pulled out a bottle of Calvados. Her family brand. She said, "In Normandie this is known as eau-de-vie. The water of life. The same as your Aquavit in Norway."
Going to the window, Anne said, "You have a nice view of the beach. You should know that both my mother and Adeline asked me to try talking you into returning. Should I try?"
"No," I replied. I said farewell to Adeline yesterday. I hoped today would go better.
"Then I guess this is goodbye, Leah," said Anne. She walked over, then wrapped her arms around me in a firm embrace. Our lips met. So wonderful. A French kiss, by a French woman, overlooking a French beach.
As we separated, I could see Anne unsuccessfully trying to hold back a tear. Like her, I knew this was the end of something that never quite was, and now, never will be. On a snowy, cold January day, Anne had made it clear she could never spend another winter in Norway. But after almost two months in France, I knew I could not live in Anne's world. I felt as if everyone kept trying to change me, rather than accept me as I am. I grew tired of being told what to eat, what to drink, what to wear, and what to do. I am not a doll to be dressed and toyed with. I am me.
"Perhaps I can visit you this summer," said Anne.
"I would like that," I replied.
"Your bed is quite small," stated Anne.
"Is that a problem for you?"
"No," she said with a hopeful smile.
Anne turned away, and I heard her utter a soft sob. Exiting my room, she left the door open. I wondered if her action held a thinly veiled hope.
This farewell was peaceful, unlike the one with Adeline. The two of us walked into the orchard at Anne's house for privacy. As we spoke, it was apparent Adeline was expecting something different. Adeline tried changing my decision, but her promises to pull me further into her Nouveau Riche world felt like bribes, devoid of passion and lacking emotional sincerity. Realizing the futility, an angry Adeline began shouting until finally, she gave up and drove off in a huff.
Alone, I looked to the Norse Goddess Freya for comfort, 'The most beautiful things in life are often fleeting, but the memory of them lasts forever.' I loved Anne, and I will never forget her. France itself was not a problem for me. Sensual, beautiful, and historic. But Anne and Adeline lived in a part of France I did not care to enter, and one they were unwilling to leave. Trapped in self-made cocoons, they could not free themselves.
Remembering the 'Position Available' sign I saw when Adeline and I ate lunch at the café, I arranged a video interview with the owner. "The pay isn't much, but you can keep your tips. Plus, if you want, there is a small room above the café where you can stay, and you can eat anything you want from the café."
"Perfect!" replied my spirit of adventure, reawakening from its slumber.
Opening both windows, the sea breeze fluttered the thin yellow curtains. I looked West, out over the wide sandy beach. Gentle waves lapped at the shore. There is a special bond between Norwegians and the sea. The sea is in our blood. Hail to the Sea! I am home.
Every ending is a new beginning. I pulled out my laptop, sat at the small table facing the ocean, and began writing a new story. It began, "I am a Wandering Spirit..."
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Author's Notes
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Leah first appeared in my story, "A Wandering Spirit." Both Anne and Leah briefly appear at the beginning of my story, "The Music of the Ice."
The Sunny Bar is an actual bar in Courseulles-Sur-Mer, adjacent to the main beach. Sadly, the restaurant described in this story does not exist. Rather, it is an amalgamation of several coastal restaurants stretching along the 25 km long Côte de Nacre.
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