Chapter Four

Rejean

 

 

“Is a ballerina really the best choice for a wife?” Rejean’s parents asked themselves.

Historically, the girls of the Paris ballet corps were no better than common prostitutes. Not only did they earn a living moving their bodies in a manner pleasing to the eye, but those lithe creatures also shopped around after each performance for a suitable man to support them. And they would do whatever it took to secure his patronage.

“But that was a long time ago,” Rejean’s papa assured his maman. “Ballerinas are highly respected artists these days. In any case, we’ve known Ondine since she was a child. She always was a sweet girl.”

“You’re right,” Maman finally agreed. “We should consider ourselves fortunate our son is so blissfully happy.”

Ondine’s parents were not so accepting of the impending nuptials. They did not wish to see their daughter throwing her life away for a penniless student.

“How will this boy support you?” they demanded to know.

“I will support myself, and him too, once I am accepted into the ballet corps,” Ondine explained in defiance. This was all so silly. She felt like sulky girl of sixteen, arguing with her parents about a boy.

“And until then, what will you do? You’ve been passed over twice before, and it’s at least another two years of study before you have another chance with the corps,” her father reminded her. “How will you support yourselves, you and your fiancé, until then?”

“Rejean’s parents are willing to pay for his schooling. They don’t want to see him cut his education short by getting a job to support his wife. I’m hoping you’ll do the same for me, papa.” Ondine cuddled up next to her father like a child begging for a puppy, but Papa walked away from his girl and fell with a heavy thud into his leather armchair. Resting there like a storm cloud, he picked at the worn-away edges. Why would he not even look at her?

“You have to learn to control yourself, ma fille. Wait to get married. When you and Rejean are both finished your studies, you can support yourselves without the help of your maman and I. Trésor, married women don’t ask their parents to pay their rent. They rely on their husbands, or, if they are independent girls like you, they rely on themselves. Wait a few years before you decide to marry. If you wait, then I will give you the most beautiful wedding celebration you can imagine.”

The walls of her parents’ drawing room seemed to be closing in on her. The door seemed so far away. The ceiling came down, crushing the plan she’d only set in place to abide by their rules of conduct.

“Maman?” She pleaded, anticipating her mother would negotiate with papa on her behalf.

“I agree with your papa, trésor,” maman reasoned. “We like Rejean. He’s a sweet young man, but you’ve known him ever since he was only a small boy. Why are you so adamant about marrying him now?” A look of alarm overtook her mother’s gentle countenance, and she stammered, “You’re not...”

“Ce n’est pas ça, maman,” Ondine pre-empted, sparing her mother the humiliation of making a dishonourable accusation. Of course she wasn’t pregnant. How could she be? She didn’t even like boys.

“Pourquoi, alors?” Maman asked. “You are still young, trésor. Why can’t you wait to be married?”

“Because…” Her heart shrunk in her chest. How could she explain her motivation to her parents? She couldn’t very well tell them she was falling in love with her closest friend and she desperately needed to marry a boy in order to stop herself from lusting after Yvette. Why were they making this so difficult? Her throat burned. “…because I love him, maman!”

Maman held her ground. “You will still love him two years from now. You can marry Rejean when you’re both settled into life as adults.”

Trying desperately not to sound like a sullen teenager, Ondine cried, “Non! I am an adult and I can do as I please. If I want to marry Rejean, I’m going to marry him and there’s nothing you can do about it!”

Maman attempted to wrap her arms around Ondine, but she broke free from the traitor.

Not two days later, she received a letter from her father. It stated, in no uncertain terms, that if she chose to go through with the wedding, he would no longer take responsibility for her expenses. They would be Rejean’s to worry about.

“Pas de problèm,” Rejean assured her. “We won’t be able to afford your apartment, but my parents said it’s fine if we want to live with them.”

She cried for what felt like hours. Possibly, it was only a few minutes, but it certainly felt like a long time. Yes, her apartment was miniscule, but it was hers. She wanted her space. More than that, she wanted Yvette snuggled next to her in that little bed. Now she was poised to lose her apartment, her space, and even her name! She would soon be Ondine Choquette, wife to Rejean Choquette. Was marriage really the best choice?

Rejean was a charming and intelligent young man, but she couldn’t love him as a wife ought to love her husband. Yes, her fiancé was an attractive boy, but she was not attracted to him. Even when they danced together, she had to imagine Yvette’s hand at the small of her back. Every time Rejean kissed her, she dreamed of her best friend’s tender lips. When he slid his hand along her thigh, she recalled the day in the dance studio when Yvette had done the same.

Ondine wanted nothing to do with planning their wedding, so Rejean set himself to the task. They would marry in a church, of course. Working with a shoestring budget, they would have to collect wildflowers from the park for decoration. Rejean’s sister had a sewing machine and an artistic bent; she would be only too happy to create a dress for Ondine. Music would be provided by a group of musician friends who would do just about anything “for exposure.” As for the reception, it would have to be an intimate affair.

“If we waited a few years and saved some money, I could give you the wedding you’ve always dreamed of,” Rejean ventured. “Your father said the same, didn’t he? It’s an option we should consider.”

“No,” she snapped, flustered by the suggestion. “We have to get married now. We just have to. It’s now or not at all.”

As the wedding day drew near, Ondine dreamed about Yvette every night. Her dreams were so sordid, and so full of scenes of graphic depravity, that when she awoke she tried simultaneously to recall and repress them. She blushed each time she looked at Yvette, certain her friend must know the contents of her imagination by the mortified look on her face. As much as she tried not to remember, the moment she caught sight of her friend, the dream image she desperately wished to suppress would streak across her mind.

Her most frequent dream took place under cover of darkness. She was driving an unfamiliar car along a dusty road, with Yvette in the back seat. When her friend leaned forward to kiss her cheek, lingering close to her face, Ondine’s heart began to race. She forced herself to watch the road.

Of course, Yvette wouldn’t allow her to escape the clutches of delicious arousal, and planted heavy kisses along the side of her neck. There was no mistaking her intentions when, reaching forward, she unbuttoned Ondine’s blouse. Quelle honte! She was not wearing a brassiere.

Yvette soothed her discomfort, whispering, “Ma jolie Ondine, you have beautiful breasts. Why hide them under a bra? You should wear them loose for all the world to see.”

Under the warmth of her friend’s touch, Ondine’s breasts felt supple as clay. She gasped as Yvette pinched her swollen nipples. The heat from her body was tangible, even in a dream. There was no use in fighting such strong desire.

With heart-palpitating alarm, she suddenly realized this naughty distraction might cause her to crash the car. Was Yvette concerned? Pas du tout! From the back seat, she crawled like a cat into Ondine’s lap and said, “Don’t worry about a thing, ma belle. So long as you’re with me, nothing bad can happen.”

As if by magic, her fears disappeared. Yvette’s words seemed to cast some enchantment over her, putting her perfectly at ease, and at the same time driving her mad with desire. Planting herself in Ondine’s lap, she drew a path of kisses from her shoulder to her neck, finally settling at her mouth.

Ondine forgot how to breathe. Those few sweet kisses grew hotter, harder, and wet as the tropics. It was only then she realized Yvette was completely naked. Where had her clothes gone? The sensation of bare tits against bare tits made Ondine’s skin skip with arousal. Those lovely breasts with their soft pink nipples pressed into her round seins as their tongues danced.

With great dexterity, Yvette released the lever holding the driver’s seat upright. The seat fell back, Ondine fell back, and Yvette fell forward, landing flat on top of her. Lying horizontal in the driver’s seat, she wondered how she could possibly be driving when her hands weren’t on the wheel. Ah well! What difference did it make when the intensity of her pleasure could so easily cause all rational thought to dissipate? With Yvette’s trim body writhing slowly on top of hers, her chatte tingled with delight.

In the style of all surreal dreams, Ondine suddenly found herself without clothes as well.

“C’est pas grand chose,” Yvette consoled, planting sweet kisses across her cheeks. “You look better without them.”

Though she watched herself kissing Yvette from a perspective outside her body, she could feel every velvet peck her friend pressed into her lips. In aroused disbelief, she watched her own hands exploring Yvette’s naked body, feeling that meadow-fresh flesh against her palms.

Ondine watched their naked bodies writhe together as the wet silk of Yvette’s lower lips moistened her thigh. Her arousal produced yet more arousal until she couldn’t stop herself from rubbing her mound on the smooth thigh between her legs. The moisture from her roused pussy allowed her to glide smoothly as she stroked herself against Yvette. Motion was effortless. Breasts pressed against breasts. Ondine whimpered at the satin sensation of juicy mounds rubbing against thighs.

They locked their legs tightly together, stroking their moist clito against each other’s flesh. This was like nothing she’d ever felt before. Her whole body was driven to produce more and more friction in that one tender place. Ondine heard herself moaning with the delight of another woman’s warm caress. She saw her own face contorting as their naked bodies struggled one against the other, rubbing with wild abandon.

Suddenly, it was light outside. For fear somebody—perhaps even her parents—might observe this act of carnality, Ondine pulled a pink blanket crocheted by her grandmother over their writhing forms. When she realized the blanket was far too small to conceal their naked flesh, she was struck with panic. In the glaring light of day, she pushed the nasty gouine away.

Yvette wasn’t very happy about that. Wanting everybody to see them together, she threw the blanket onto the passenger seat. When Ondine reached over to retrieve it, she was shocked to find it had been replaced by Rejean. He was naked too, with a diamond ring encircling his erection.

She woke up sweating, breathless, and—happily—alone.

When a dream like that flashed before her eyes in Yvette’s presence, her legs twitched. Often she ran, but the more she avoided Yvette, the more often she dreamed about her. Why couldn’t she shake those dreams from her mind during the day? They were nothing but trouble while the sun shone in the sky, but in the evenings, when she kissed her fiancé, she relied upon them to arouse her mind so Rejean could stimulate her flesh.

To keep her mind and body busy, she adopted a more active role in planning the wedding. The more time she spent with her fiancé, the more she found herself enjoying his company. As a philosophy major, Rejean talked incessantly about Hegel and Marx, Aristotle and Plato. The workings of his mind intrigued her and, unlike most young men of his age, he possessed an advanced wit. He preferred the company of young women over young men, but Ondine had trouble feeling jealous. After all, she also preferred women…

 

* * * *

 

“I think I’ll enjoy being married,” Ondine told Yvette as they changed their clothes after class. She forced herself to stare into her locker as they undressed. “I’m very comfortable with Rejean, so living together will be facile comme tout. And we agree about everything, so we’ll never fight.”

“There’s more to marriage than being comfortable,” Yvette scathed.

“T’es jalous que j’ai trouvé l’oiseau rare?” Ondine accused, casting her head inside the locker. Yvette was obviously jealous she’d found a nice boy to settle down with.

“I doubt very much Rejean is your oiseau rare, your one and only love,” Yvette spat, stripping off her leotard.

Through the slats in her locker door, Ondine’s lascivious gaze attached itself to Yvette’s breasts. She approached, clad only in cotton underpants.

Ondine’s pussy clenched the way it always did when it was about to get very wet. When she felt the heat of Yvette’s pelvis against her backside, she knew her dearest friend must be standing very close. In dreams, Yvette would have reached around to stoke her throbbing clito or pinch her nude nipples. But this was real life. Yvette loomed large while Ondine froze in place.

“You’re right about one thing,” Yvette said. “I am jealous. Très jaloux.”

Ondine’s breath held fast to her lungs. Ne me touchez pas… Non, touchez-moi…

How foolish to open Pandora’s Box in the change room. Melanie and Oksana were watching. What would they think? They would tell everybody. They would tell Madame.

Yvette backed away without incident. Stepping into a pair of American blue jeans, she stomped each foot down on the ground. After throwing on a blouse and jamming her hairbrush into her sac, she slammed her locker shut and stormed away.

“Bon sang,” Melanie whispered to Oksana. “Elle est un peu fou aujourd’hui, Yvette.”

“Bien plus qu’un peu,” Oksana replied.

Ondine laughed along, but she felt a pang of guilt in the pit of her stomach. Why should she feel guilty? She’d done nothing wrong. If Yvette felt betrayed, it was her own fault. For whatever she desired, Ondine had never led her on. She felt nothing for Yvette. In fact, every day she reminded herself, I feel nothing, I feel nothing, I feel nothing for Yvette.