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Story Notes:

 

I do NOT speak French.  I used a computer translater for the English to French verbage, so please do not be harsh with me for inevitable mistakes.  Almost all French words and sentences are followed by their English translation.  If you don't know what the word means in French, simply read the next word in English.

Future chapter, if readers wish me to continue, will be almost all English.  The use of French was necessary to convey the language gap between Manette and the American.

 

It is starting to get hot, too hot.  My face is going to sunburn.  Though I can hear a breeze through the leaves high above, the air is motionless down here.  I could move, but that might cause me to spill the glass of local Gamay currently cooling my right hand.  No, I’m just going to stay seated as I am.  It’s simply one of those moments you wait for your entire life, savor every moment of, then it’s gone.

 

No sooner do I recognize this than a shadow is cast over me and the temperature of my face drops from sunlight to shade.  Reluctantly I open my eyes to find out what so unceremoniously ended my life defining experience.

 

There close by is the culprit, its iron girders standing tall and strong.  I smile happily at having been disturbed by the Eifel Tower.  What better way to be wronged than by that which you adore.

 

My trip to Paris has been everything I hoped for.  I have not been to the Louvre, nor the Right Bank of the Seine River, nor the Arc De Triomphe, and not even the Notre Dame Cathedral.

 

No, none of that nonsense for me.  For I have come to Paris to experience two distinctly French notables with the most pompous, bohemian, bourgeois attitude possible.  Wine and cuisine.  This is a trip for my senses.  If I happen to relieve some stress or take in a tourist site as I pass by on the way to my next stop, such is life. 

 

I can see photos and watch videos of anyplace in the world.  A cool breeze and a warm wind I can experience by turning on an air conditioner or heater.  Why spend my vacation on what is so readily available in my living room?

 

The taste and bouquet of a wine not available at my local liquor store.  The taste and aroma of a meal nonexistent beyond the town it is prepared in.  What more of a unique experience to savor the more refined flavors of unfrequented local delights can one ask for?

 

For me this trip is my personal journey to find that which so few enjoy during our short lives, hidden French delicacies.

 

 

***

 

 

As I relax and shut my eyes once more, a few minutes pass, it’s brighter now and my skin is quickly heating up again.  ‘The Eifel Tower apparently no longer blocking the sun.’ I reason to myself.  Then back into darkness and cold, ‘What the heck could be blocking my sun now?’.  

 

“Vous souhaitez plus de vin sir?” comes the most gentle voice I ever heard.  It sends tingles down my spine in some weird ‘autonomous sensory meridian response’ sort of way.  I open my eyes and see a beautiful brunette standing above me surrounded in an angelic aura of sunlight. ‘Have I died and gone to heaven?’ I ask myself.

 

“Du vin?” she asks me again.

 

Waitress.  She must be my waitress.  She wasn’t the one who took my order.  What an upgrade!’ I figure in my head.

 

She holds up a bottle of wine.  It is not the same local Gamay I’ve been drinking.  She motions it to me in a pouring gesture.

 

“Oh, more wine.  Yes.  Oui.  S'il vous plait.  Yes, please.” I finally answer back as I hand her my glass.

 

“Anglais?  Mmmm, English?” she asks as she pours me wine in a new glass she brought with her.

 

The vision of her overwhelms me.  Truly she is an angel.  A sculpted beauty on the scale of Jules-Felix Coutan, Daniel Chester French or Antoine Coysevox.

 

“Américain” I tell her as I’m mesmerized by the sunlight passing through the loose strands of her curly hair.

 

“I speak Américain.” She tells me in that soft voice, such a soothing airiness to it, like the breeze in the leaves high above.

 

We smile to each other.

 

“Vacances?” she asks me.

 

“Yes, vacation, umm, holiday.” we both smile at my confused answer.  “Vacances.” I laugh.

 

“Famille?” she continues her friendly inquisition.

 

“No no, non.  I’m single.  Seul.” I tell her.

 

“But you are very…..very…..very?” she struggles to find the word “Beau?....Handsome! Oiu?”

 

“Handsome! Please, go on.” I retort with a big chip on my shoulder now.

 

“Why no femme, umm, why no wife?”

 

“I haven’t found a woman as beautiful as you to tie me down yet.” ‘Damn I can be suave.’ I think of myself smugly.

 

“Oh Monsieur.” she smiles at me “I tie you.” she says in that so alluring voice, her eyes lock on mine as she twirls a finger through her dark, curly hair. 

 

She hands me the glass she poured and I simply hold it as I gaze at her both awestruck and confused.  She puts her fingers under the bottom of the glass I’m now holding and she slowly lifts it up towards my lips.  A jolt, as if snuff and smelling salt were mixed together, hits my olfactory sense as I smell the harsh bouquet.  My eyes still locked on hers I take a sip as she continues to raise the bottom of my glass.  “Eh-hmmm” I choke slightly at the robust richness of the flavor.  I’m immediately repulsed and try to pull the glass away, only for her to bring it once more to my lips and tilt it.  More of the wine flows over my tongue and down my throat as the intensity of its flavor and aroma begin to overwhelm me.  Her shadow grows as the aura of sunlight about her fades.  My mind is lost in the caustic taste and smell as the world around me darkens into a surreal blur of drunken delight.

 

 

***

 

 

This bouquet.  This fragrance.  I know this.’ my mind ponders as I feel the warmth of sunlight upon my face once more.  ‘This taste, unlike any wine or gastronomic delicacies I have tasted on my journey.  Yet somehow distantly familiar.

 

I hear a breeze through the leaves high above, I feel warm air blow upon me down here where I sit.  My face is tickled by feather lite touches.  Suddenly my entire body bounces and I startle fully awake to the sight of my waitress’s beautiful face up close looking down at me.

 

“Did I pass out?” I ask, she smiles. 

 

I begin to lift myself off the floor only for my hands, arms, and legs to slide about a folded carpet, ‘Odd, wasn’t grass under my table.’  I look down, ‘Why am I rolled atop a rug?’ I question myself noticing I’m lying on an uneven carpet which ends abruptly on my right side and continues up to her face on my left.

 

“aaaaaaaaaaaaa!” My heart jumps as I let out the sissyest girly scream of the entire history of girly screams.

 

Holy Crap!  She’s holding me!  I mean I’m tucked away in her arm…..In Her Arm…..like a little baby’, looking at my arms and legs, ‘like a little shrunken man…..no…..NO…..As A Shrunken Man!

 

“Shhhh, hush my tout-petit.  Vous cultivez encore plus petite.  Mmmm, you are still growing smaller, uh shrink, shrinking.  Oui?” she quietly tells me as she taps my nose playfully.

 

“WHA…” I protest only to have her finger cover my entire face.  ‘How friggen small AM I?  Still shrinking? What the hell?’ I think as I’m overcome with fear.  I tremble in fright and can’t stop shaking.

 

“Tout-petit, aaah, little one, don’t be scared.  I have you.” She smiles as she looks around the empty restaurant as if to make sure she is not being watched.

 

Her words are hypnotically comforting, soothing, even reassuring to me.

 

She smiles down at me as she picks me up in her hand, my head poking out amidst her thumb and index finger while my legs dangle out below her pinky.

 

She’s holding me!  She’s holding me in one hand!  Holy Shit!  What the?  Why?’ I ask to myself.

 

Looking around the restaurant again, she pulls her dress top out and plunges me inside.  ‘Holy Crap!  I hadn’t noticed how huge her breasts were before as she was silhouetted with the sun behind her.’  Once inside the front of her dress her fingers begin to manipulate me about like a clump of Play-Doh until I’m balled up inside the closed palm of her hand.  No sooner do I feel the almighty power of her grip around me than she opens up her fingers and an even greater force compresses me from all sides as her fingers slip away from me.

 

A feeble “ehh” escapes my lips.  ‘I’m in her cleavage.  She stuffed me in her cleavage.  It feels like I’m stuck inside a hardened Jell-O mold.  I can’t move.  Not so much as wiggling my toes.’  “sniffffff, mmmmm, snifffffff” I whiff in the sweet sweat of her cleavage remembering that many French women only bath once a week; and it must be day nine for my bosomy, dark haired captress.  “Mmmm, snifffff, hmmmm, snifffff…” ‘I have to admit, I like her unwashed body, her odor, almost a stench, yet more aromatic and robust than the bouquet of any fine wine.  HEY, it’s like the drink she gave me.’ I note to myself as I notice my trembling has stopped, not that I can so much as twitch stuffed between her massive breasts anyway.  I also notice as tight as it is and as balled up as she has me, I’m getting an erection.

 

 

***

 

 

Looking about to make sure no one has observed her, Manette removes her hand from inside her dress and straightens her collar and sleeves.  “Vous êtes en sécurité maintenant.  You are safe now” smiling and bringing her arms and shoulders together she squeezes her ample breasts even closer and tighter than her constricting, undersized bra straining to hold them, “Keep shrinking. We are going home soon, then I will be the….. umm, Beautiful Woman to tie you down…..he hee…..on.”

 

With all his still normal sized clothing and other belongings stuffed inside her large handbag, Manette leaves a few dollars on the table for payment and tip to avoid any unnecessary confrontation with the restaurant staff.   She walks inside from the back patio passing the waitress along the way, both women nodding a friendly hello; the waitress oblivious to the fact that the customer she has come to check upon is now balled up and stuffed deeply within the crushing confines of this passing lady’s cleavage.  The waitress, preoccupied with wondering where her missing customer went, is also oblivious to Manette lustfully eyeing her.

 

Once outside the front Manette casually takes in the late Spring weather as she passes through the shadow of the Eifel Tower.  The sun and heat cause her to perspire.  She can feel dampness under her arms, and she can feel trickles of sweat run down her chest.

 

Manette also feels the man continue to shrink between her firm breasts, only much more slowly now after the initial surge.  ‘Still shrinking.  You will stop later tonight or tomorrow.  In a few days when I get home I will take you out and decide, barrette or bead.

Chapter End Notes:

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