The Lamp Ch. 02

Jenny juggles three men but marries Marc

A big thanks to my editor Ken, who does not only edit my stories but is inadvertently, or maybe advertently, teaching me how to write.

You might want to read The Lamp Ch. 1 before this chapter. Chapter 1 is only 750 words long.

**

"I think your lamp has come," Jenny's husband Marc said. He was reading his email and saw the notification from the doorman of their Park Avenue apartment building. Jenny had told him about the lamp, and how she was sure the sculpture was of her supposed ancestor, Francine de Chamonix, who had been a model in Rodin's workshop.

Excited, she asked for it to be delivered up to their apartment on the 15th floor, even though she and Marc were both naked, having enjoyed a Saturday afternoon romp. She threw on a robe and hurried to the door. She took the lamp to the living room and began to tear at the packaging. Her husband, also in a robe, showed up to watch the unveiling.

The lamp unwrapped, Jenny looked at it with pride. It was a modestly sized table lamp, and the beautiful sculpture of the naked woman was open to view, as the lightbulb and shade were well above the top of her head. It had been modified to 110-volt American lightbulbs. There was a fancy stone base, too.

"It's beautiful. Is it marble?" Marc asked.

"Yes, it's Carrara marble."

"How do you know?"

"It's in the provenance documentation."

"Well, it's quite beautiful, and sexy, too. A wonderful shade of marble white. It must have cost us a pretty penny," Marc said.

Jenny didn't reply.

**

A few years earlier Marc and Jenny had met for the first time in the gardens of the Rodin museum in Paris, France. Jenny was there for her junior year abroad. She lived with a family that was conveniently located just two blocks from the museum. When it wasn't raining one could often find Jenny sitting on a bench in the gardens, reading her philosophy texts.

Marc was a sophisticated, rich businessman but he could have been just a tourist who loved Rodin's artworks. Marc also appreciated nature's artworks, and he thought Jenny was a perfect example of the capacity for beauty within the human race. Jenny would be the first to tell you that was a ridiculous exaggeration. She was just an ordinary college coed. There was however a difference.

The difference was that some of the sculptured nudes inside the museum did in fact resemble the pretty little coed in the gardens. Once Marc noticed the resemblance, he couldn't get it out of his head. He was too embarrassed however to use his observation as an excuse to introduce himself to her. He just kept returning to the museum. To hell with the Louvre: The Rodin Museum had plenty to see and to linger over, with the gorgeous coed in the gardens -- for him -- being the primary attraction.

Marc himself had a connection to the museum. According to his mother, one of his distant ancestors was a model for Rodin and his assistants. She had shown him pictures of his ancestor, a certain Francine de Chamonix. His mother was embarrassed to have such an ancestor because, like many other women who modeled nude for artists in the 19th century, Francine had "libertine" tendencies. Libertines would be called "sluts" nowadays. Marc's grandfather simply called a relaxed attitude about sex "a free love microcosm." Marc's grandfather was mentally still living in the 1960's. Nothing wrong with that, he liked to say.

Suddenly it dawned on him: The coed reading Heidegger in the garden looked like a reincarnation of Francine de Chamonix, herself! He dismissed the idea; it was just the power of suggestion. Jenny would later call it metonymy, using the literary trope, when he told the story of his initial crush on her. Still, there was no denying she had the same face as the long dead libertine model. She also had, as best as he could tell, the same delightfully proportioned body. He gave up: He had to meet her!

Marc didn't know how to go about meeting the lovely girl but he had always depended on luck in his life, both romantic and otherwise. As he was leaving the garden to return to his hotel, the coed rose to leave, too. They bumped into each other at the gate, both apologizing and with Jenny giggling.

"You're American?" Jenny asked. It was obvious from Marc's thick accent when he tried to speak French to her.

"Yes, and I guess you are too. Say, do you know of a nice café close by?" Marc said, not wanting to blow this opportunity fortune had dropped into his lap.

"Sure. Buy me a coffee and I'll take you to it. It's on my way home," Jenny said, with a smile that Marc thought could possibly be a come-hither smile.

"Sounds delightful."

Imagine Marc's surprise when, talking with Jenny for two hours at the café, he learned that she was probably descended from Francine de Chamonix, too! He told her he thought she looked just like some of the statues.

"How can you tell? The statues are all naked, and I most assuredly am not," Jenny teased.

"You have the same face as our ancestor."

"Really? You really think so?" Jenny had always loved the way Mademoiselle de Chamonix looked.

"Yes. Here, let me sketch you," Marc said. Marc had some artistic talent and quickly sketched Jenny's face on the back page of her Heidegger text. Then he produced a book of artwork of Rodin he had bought at the museum. He put his sketch of Jenny's face next to a bust of Francine de Chamonix.

Jenny modeled for Marc's sketch with the grace of a professional model. Maybe it wasn't so surprising, actually, since she had served as a model for several art classes at her college in upstate New York. It was a bit challenging because she had modeled nude in front of her classmates. Most of the student artists were women, but some were men. It was clear the men enjoyed watching Jenny model. She was their first choice of all of the nude models.

Jenny was taken aback by Marc's sketch. The resemblance was remarkable. She was also impressed by Marc's artistic talent, so casually displayed. She was so impressed that when Marc invited her to dinner that evening, she nodded her head and mumbled "Okay."

Jenny let slip at dinner that she had a boyfriend (Dylan) back in the States and another one (Jean-Pierre) there in Paris. "You can't spend your junior year abroad and not have an affair with a French man," she explained. Marc silently thought perhaps Jenny had inherited not only her looks from Francine de Chamonix but also her relaxed, libertine attitude towards sex. He liked it. Hell, he liked everything about Jenny. She was a marvel; he had never before met a girl quite like Jenny.

Jenny proved Marc's suspicions correct rather quickly. On their second date Jenny asked to see Marc's hotel room, since he was staying at the Hotel Bristol, a famous luxury hotel on the Right Bank. Jenny asked in all innocence: she was simply curious to see how a rich tourist lives. She had never seen a fancy, elegant, Parisian hotel room.

Marc surprised her when he kissed her almost as soon as they were alone in his room. She melted. After all, Marc was handsome, smart, debonair, and rich. What was there not to like? He wasn't even married yet! That last was surprising because he was 28 years old, giving him seven years of experience and wisdom over Jenny.

Jenny knew she had submissive tendencies. She thought most women did. In any event, whatever Marc wanted in that hotel room that fateful night, she gave enthusiastically. He wanted it all. He got it all.

Jenny stripped naked and posed like the statues in Marc's book, as Marc sketched her naked body over and over again. She was startled when Marc lost his clothes too, and his penis stuck out at a right angle from his body, revealing a certain interest in what Jenny had to offer. Unlike Jean-Pierre, her French boyfriend, Marc was circumcised, which was Jenny's preferred penis format. Well, let's see how he tastes, she thought. She also wondered if he'd last longer than quick-draw Jean-Pierre!

Jenny broke her pose. Smiling sweetly she crawled on the lush Hotel Bristol carpet over to Mark and swallowed his cock. It was slightly too long for her small mouth, but this was why God, in Her wisdom, gave Jenny a throat. Years earlier Jenny had learned how to get around her gag reflex. Her American boyfriend Dylan had loved that about Jenny -- a bit too much, she had thought. It was fun giving Dylan blowjobs, but what she really liked was being fucked to smithereens.

Looking back, it was at that moment that Marc fell for Jenny. He fell hard. A huge pile of falling bricks comes to mind. Jenny fell for Marc when -- without anyone saying anything -- he produced a rubber as he took her to bed. He didn't need a rubber -- she was on the pill, after all -- but the idea he would not assume it and care for her enough to take the precaution would have charmed the socks off her, had Marc not already removed her socks.

In the morning Jenny got to experience the Hotel Bristol's delicious breakfast in bed. Freshly squeezed orange juice, the world's best croissants with amazing jam and butter, a couple of pains au chocolat, two eggs sunny side up, a fresh fruit cup and a fancy yogurt made from whole milk.

Right after breakfast she answered the text of her French boyfriend and sent an email to her American boyfriend back in the States. She decided to skip her morning class, since Marc was lazily fingering her while she sent the text and the email. By this point she knew that Jean-Pierre and Dylan were now dead lovers walking. If Marc liked her as much as she liked him, it would be Marc and only Marc. It would be Marc all the time.

Breaking up with the others was awkward at first. She made excuses to avoid Jean-Pierre until Marc had to return to the States. She was unable to break up with him by email or text; he deserved to hear it in person.

Marc had a crisis in his business back in New York and he left both Paris and Jenny behind. They kissed at the airport for so long before Marc went through passport control that he almost missed his flight. A few hours later Jenny met Jean-Pierre in central Paris. She melted when she saw him. His accent had always charmed her, but also he was so damned handsome! She was wracked with guilt. She confessed to him about her affair with Marc. Jean-Pierre didn't seem to care. He just wanted her, no matter what she had done.

Perhaps that's why her resolve left her and she fell back into bed with Jean-Pierre. After all, she had made no promises to Marc. She was just a cute little trollop to warm his bed during his Parisian business trip, and now he was gone. He couldn't have expected her to waste away in Paris pining for him, now could he? And if he did, how inconsiderate would that be? She had deep sexual needs; he had to have realized that.

Of course, she and Marc were cousins, although the connection was so distant and tenuous, she figured it didn't count for much -- perhaps it counted for nothing at all.

**

Winter descended upon Paris. Marc had left for New York two months earlier. It was December when Jenny's American college boyfriend Dylan came to visit her. She had to balance Dylan and Jean-Pierre. Jenny was not a prude, nor too influenced by Puritan culture and ideology, but still: Jenny had trouble being in two different on-going intimate relationships at the same time.

Jean-Pierre knew about Dylan, but dear sweet Dylan thought, in all of his innocence, that poor Jenny was all alone in Paris, saving herself for him and only him. The poor guy was so naïve! Jenny made one small mistake. During her third orgasm of one of her Parisian love sessions with Dylan, she had called out the name Jean-Pierre.

That was all it took. Dylan launched into an inquisition and a tearful Jenny confessed her ongoing affair with Jean-Pierre. Dylan drove Jenny to tears, but the ultimate verdict was clear: Dylan was her boyfriend no more. That cleared the American continent for Marc, should he still want her. She had not heard from him much since he left.

Marc had however squirreled away a postcard of Rodin's famous marble sculpture The Kiss. He sent it to Jenny and wrote "Thinking of you" on the back. Jenny was charmed. But she wondered: She wondered if Marc was simply not very epistolary or whether he was involved with some American wench, other than her, of course.

Could Marc be married, after all? Could he be in a hot and heavy romance stateside? Of course he could. Women no doubt threw themselves at a man as wonderful as Marc, probably on a daily basis. That's what she had done, wasn't it? Naively asking to see his hotel room: who was she fooling? Apparently only herself.

What if Marc had contempt for women who were so easy to get into bed? What then? Well, time will tell with Marc, she consoled herself. Uh-oh: Jean-Pierre was getting hard again! Little wonder there were so many French babies. The Frenchman wanted sex constantly! You had to like that in a guy -- even if their fucks were so short-lived, she silently thought to herself.

Jean-Pierre was a Parisian fling. Both Jenny and he knew that. Marc, on the other hand, was true love and a potential lifelong partner. Inspired by Marc's postcard Jenny began to wage a postcard campaign to keep Marc's interest and hopefully love for her alive.

Jenny made a point of finding artistic but sexy postcards to send to Marc. She suggested Zoom and she began slowly to bare her breasts at the end of the each of the Zoom sessions. She finally upped the ante: she got Jean-Pierre to take sexy pictures of her. She'd print them out and include one with each postcard, putting both the postcard and the picture together in an envelope. Marc's responses could best be described as enthusiastic.

She upped the ante one more time. Jean-Pierre happily took pictures of Jenny topless on many a lonely street in Paris. One time she even went naked under her raincoat. She would open it at strategic spots, facing away from any possible onlookers, and Jean Pierre would enjoy photographing his pretty lover that way.

The zenith was -- without question -- when one evening, after dusk, she went down to the lower quai on the left bank of the Seine and waited for a Bateau Mouche to sail by. The tourist boat would light up the left bank with powerful flood lights. The director would announce the architectural masterpieces as it sailed by.

Amid the architectural masterpieces towering above the river was one small, lonely woman standing on the quai and facing the river, clad in a navy blue double breasted raincoat with big shoulders and epaulets. The woman opened the raincoat and flashed the boat. Jean-Pierre was on the boat waiting and ready, and he took rapid-fire pictures of his girlfriend's naked body, flashed to the spectators on the boat. It all happened so fast that many on the boat missed the flash altogether.

Marc was impressed. He'd never met a girl like Jenny, and he was sure he never would again. The other floozies never had a chance. Marc never asked, and Jenny never explained, just who took the pictures. Had Marc thought about it, he would have assumed it was one of Jenny's fellow students. He might have figured it was probably Marsha who was helping Jenny out in this regard. He had met Marsha through Jenny. She was a sweetheart.

Jenny returned to New York in June, and as soon as she saw Marc's face she knew her tactics had won the day. Marc was hers to keep. A year after her return, with Jenny 22 and Marc 29 years old, they married. They took their honeymoon in Tahiti.

Three years of marital bliss ensued. Jenny was now 25; Marc was 32. They lived on the 15th floor of a Park Avenue building. The views from the windows were wonderful.

Jenny had won her prize, triumphing over all of those hussies who had made a play for Marc. As for Jean-Pierre, he was reduced to a lovely, sexy memory. But the memory of Jean-Pierre was getting dimmer and dimmer. Jenny told her best friend Lois she thought that soon the living-color memories of Jean-Pierre would be reduced to black and white.

In the meantime she got in the habit of gazing lovingly at her table lamp on her bedside nightstand. She wasn't proud of having given J. Byron Goode a blowjob as partial payment. Poor Mr. Goode had exploded in Jenny's mouth without warning and could not get it up again, so Jenny had escaped having to fuck him. She was pleased that she got away with just a blowjob.

However Goode was not happy, and if Jenny were to get the lamp for only $750, he wanted more. After some negotiations which could have been used as a model for achieving peace in the Middle East, Jenny agreed to return once a month for one year and give the man all the sex he could handle. After all, Jenny figured, it wasn't so, so bad since he was a once-and-done kind of guy.

Goode called the agreement his layaway plan. So far, she had kept the agreement secret from Marc, and indeed only Lois knew about her bawdy behavior. Of course, Goode himself may have told some friends or colleagues, but she doubted it. After all, his behavior was shameful and maybe even illegal. Who extorts sex for partial payment for an antique? It was disgusting. The disgusting aspect of it all kind of turned her on, however. Jenny, you're a strange egg, she thought to herself, giving herself a silent little giggle.

Two weeks later Jenny got a text from Lois:

J. Byron Goode wants to see you. He wants to make a proposition that will relieve you of your "obligations" to him re your lamp

What kind of proposition? Jenny quickly texted back.

Dunno. I'll bet it's sordid, though

He's probably horny and can't wait until the calendar says it's next month

I dunno. He seemed excited like it was something major

So far I've only given him a blowjob. Fucking me for the first time is not major??

I didn't mean that of course. I was there for your naked blowjob, don't forget, watching and recording it. Some men might like that just as much if not more than a good fucking. I remember his hands were all over you as you sucked his thing. He seemed rapturous

Jenny blushed at Lois' text. She remembered the blowjob more than the little fact that Lois was watching. Oh shit -- Lois took pictures, too! Knowing Lois, she doubtless took a ton of pictures. Now Goode has all those pictures. I'll bet his right hand has been busy, inspired by the pictures. Unless, of course, he's left handed? She smiled at the thought. Jenny texted back:

We'll find out soon enough. 11 AM tomorrow at the café near Goode Antiques. You in?

Wouldn't miss it for love or money!

Lois' last text brought another smile to Jenny's lips. She felt lucky to have such a great friend.

**

To be continued